summary|| you kiss them suddenly ! how would they react ?
gener|| fluff, humor
warnings|| kissing (duh), suggestive at some parts, some parts are longer than the others
reference|| you
a/n|| honestly this didn't stick to the idea but i couldn't get it out my head, i haven't slept all night so it may have errors or ooc stuff, my eyes are burning i should sleep,
also i am taking a hiatus but this is a little something for me to forget the stress
wc|| 822
BANGCHAN — absolutely, in the most obvious way.
he would pause whatever he was doing as soon as you were in his sight, hands off the keyboard and slowly circling your waist when you lean down to kiss him.
he lets out a heavy sigh through his nose when your lips finally meet his, it is like a heavy weight on his shoulder has been lifted, he doesn't pull you closer nor let you go, chan gives you absolute control on the pace, he just likes to sit and lose himself in you.
LEE KNOW — yes, but subtly
he immediately got suspicious as soon as you climbed up next to him on the sofa, he doesn't move much when you lean down toward him but you can feel the way he move his head at a better angle for you
minho doesn't let go of his phone, nor change his position if someone who doesn't know him well they'd assume he was unaffected but you know him far too well to notice how his tense shoulders relax and his breath hitching–how when you pull back his eyes stay on your lips for a second and you don't miss the tiny little move of him leaning a little closer, almost like he was chasing them in a daze
SEO CHANGBIN — um..quite the opposite actually
don't get me wrong he would, will, and is melting but he's too whipped to stop at a simple kiss
it doesn't matter where you are, your house, in the company, backstage, if you attempted to kiss him his arms are already pulling you closer tightly against his chest, and when you pull back he'd plant million of another kisses all across your face and wherever he can reach, cooing at how you love him so much
so yeah you're the one who'll end up melting and wanting more..good luck
HWANG HYUNJIN — yes and will last for a long time
this man straightened up as soon as he realized what you were going for and he met you halfway through, he immediately went for a deep kiss, inhaling like he was taking in your scent, when you pull away you can see clearly how happy he was just from the shine in his eyes
hyunjin wouldn't calm down after that either, he'll keep tracing, touching, or licking his lips every few seconds, if you were somewhere with the members he wouldn't hesitate to say that it's because you two kissed, hell you're sure that if he was allowed he'd say it on camera
HAN JISING — get a bucket to contain the puddle
han is the most oblivious man you'll ever meet, i stand by that, if even with you being a few inches away from his face didn't give him the clue that you're leaning for a kiss – BUT he's also the sweetest one too
as soon as your lips touches his he's gone, malfunctioning, he'll melt into wherever he's sitting, literally sliding down like a ragdoll, if you two were standing then he'll pull you closer and lean against a surface because he KNOWS his knees would give up if he didn't get support to stay standing
LEE FELIX — ...uh yes? kinda?
well i don't know what to call it exactly but he's too eager, his eyes would literally lit up and he lean into it excitedly almost knocking the two of you off, he'll be smiling widely the entire time, it's honestly cute how happy he sound
but that's it for you now you can't pull away cause he'll pout and ask for more or chase you around the house until you give in, and a small kiss turns into two that turn into a full on make out, he just can't get enough of you!!
KIM SEUNGMIN — well…
he's like a statue, doesn't even show confusion when you suddenly get closer to him, nor will he lean more into the kiss but he also doesn't pull away, if you pull away, offended by his reaction he'll act clueless asking you “what it is?” with those puppy eyes of his, when you get upset and try to walk away he'll laugh and pull you back “at least finish what you started”
(well of course he'll melt, he is a total softy–a mischievous one but still a softy, if you were standing up he'll ask to sit down if you were sitting down he'll ask to lay down with the excuse of it being more comfy but honestly he's just starting to feel all tingly and weak in his joins)
YANG JEONGIN — yes! ….with struggle
first you have to get him into the kiss to test him, if jeongin wasn't in a touching mood (which is 65% with you and 96% with the members (the remaining 4 are felix)) good luck on getting to him, you could swear he has muscle in his neck from how hard it is to get him to bend down his head when he doesn't want to
but if you managed to get to him and smash your lips against his, he'll simply let out a sigh before leaving everything he was doing and wrapping his arms around you, he'll grumble for a second but then he'll get more into it than you
i do think and believe that it'll end with his mouth all over your body–
warnings|| insecurity, could be read as chubby/overweight reader, fluffff, chan is the embodiment of perfect
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not even in a dirty way, he just want to cuddle while watching a movie, maybe make you sit there as you two work on your own thing, he wants to feel you as close as possible to him, yet everytime he asked you to, you found a way to change the topic and get out of it without refusing directly, you never told him why and he never asked too much, he just assumed that you wanted your time to get comfortable, but that time wouldn't stretch to a year and a half?
year and a half of bangchan yearning from afar for you, a year and a half of failing attempts to get you in his lap, even while sleeping you don't want to lie on top of him, how he managed to live this whole year without combusting is beyond him.
he should be crowned for bravery and patient, no man can handle not having the love of their life molding into their skin, what's the point of all that weight lifting if he can't get you to be on him?!
so he started throwing bigger hints, the bubble workout videos, the outrageous weight he lifted, all for you to see how strong he is, he'd send them privately "look how much i have improved, love. what do you think?" "that's so cool I'm proud of you!!"
cool? cool?! that's not what he wanted to hear! where is the "can you lift me?" the challenge he expected to come from you! then he'll show you just how strong he is and come literally lift you up then you'll be all impressed and you'll finally sit on his lap, where is all of that? can't you see how much he's doing and hinting at you? all he want is for his love to lean on him why is that so much to ask?
so after millions of failed hints he finally decided to come and talk about it clearly—you were in the kitchen doing whatever you were doing when he suddenly appeared beside you, leaning on the counter and looking intensely at you.
you looked at him in confusion "um, everything's okay?" you asked, feeling weirded out from his intense gaze. "no," he said simply, taking a step closer to you "i have a question and i need you to answer it", you looked around nervously before giving a forced smile "sure...?"
he let out a sigh and gave you a worried look "tell me, do i make you uncomfortable?" you paused—looking at him dumbfounded "what? no! where did that come from??" you frowned in concern, have you done something to make him feel like that? god, bangchan was the perfect boyfriend you could ask for, why would he ever feel like this
"then please tell me, why do you always avoid being close to me?"
"i don't–" "yes you do, you don't sit on my lap and you don't want to lay on my chest when we sleep, you always refuse to ride on my back when i do pushups even i specifically ask you to! i just want to know if I'm doing something wrong..." the pleading, worried look he was giving you made it so hard to avoid answering him.
you look away, biting your lip as you wonder how to phrase your answer "it's not you, i just.." you murmur fidgeting with your fingers "..i don't want to hurt you" you glanced up at him only to see his expression shifting to confusion "hurt me?" he asked, "i mean, like I'm a bit heavy so i don't want to hurt you" you said fast, fighting yourself to not get teary eyed.
"are you serious?" chan was looking at you like you said the most outrageous thing he has ever heard in his life "love, i lift weights that at least three times of yours" "i know but it—" you cut yourself off when you saw him stepping closer to you, and in a blink of an eye you feel yourself getting lifted off of the ground, you let out a yelp as your upper half dangled on his shoulder while he had a strong grip on your legs.
you grabbed his shoulder and looked back at him "chan put me down!", "no" he said simply and adjusted your position like you weighted nothing, now he had his arm around your thighs in a more comfortable grip "if you won't listen to words then I'll show you that i can handle you" he said and started walking around the house
all your fussing and struggle went on deaf ears, bangchan was determined to show you how absurd your excuse was when he was your boyfriend, so you spent the next three hours lying on his shoulder as he did random things around the house.
so the next time you better just accept your fate and sit on his lap because he will do it again.
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a/n|| i feel like i forgot how to write oh my god i did so much smau/fake texts and didn't write at all for weeks, please tell me i didn't forget how to write and this is still good cause im gonna cry
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domestic bf taehyung headcanons *sfw* — living together ♡⸝⸝
a/n: I needed to take a break from writing such an angsty dark fic finale so I'm writing these sweet fluffy moments to soothe my soul, here's you and your sweet tete as live in partners ♡⸝⸝
move in day with taehyung
♡ he'd arrive early in the morning as you were still finishing up your breakfast in the moving truck, and you'd hear that little beep beep of the horn before you peek outside, seeing your bf look overjoyed that he is driving a big boy truck, boxy smile wide as ever as he looked up at you in your window
♡ "baby, take a photo of me driving the truck" as he dangles his arm out of the driver's window, his sunglasses parked on top of his fluffy hair. "do I look cool? do i look like a truck driver?"
♡ "no no no baby let me get it", taehyung would keep saying to you as he rushed to carry as much as humanly possible to make the day as easy as possible for you, even if it meant making more trips
♡ he would insist on you carrying less than what you're capable of because he is so worried that you might hurt your back or something by overexerting yourself
♡ he'd register your names at the concierge under "Mr. and Ms. Kim" because he gets all smiley when the staff refer to you as Ms. Kim, or even better, when they accidentally call you Mrs. Kim. It's the little things.
♡ standing in the empty living room with his hands up, repeatedly going "oh this would be a perfect spot for ___"
♡ opening every single drawer and cabinet just to look at, and say "wow", before pointing at it to show you
♡ when the physical labour started to get a little tiring, he'd roll his sleeves up his biceps and push his hair back before continuing
♡ at the very end of the day, you would find him sitting cross-legged in a sea of unpacked boxes on the floor, and he'd look up at you with such a happy smile. "this is our home"
chores and tasks together
♡ taehyung isn't a great cook, but he'll be glued to your side while you made dinner, offering to stir things for you, wash things for you, just be as helpful as he possibly can be while not really knowing what he's doing. he's also your little cleaner while you cooked to minimize the amount of work at the end of the meal.
♡ he's a wine pourer for you as you cook 100%
♡ he's a passionate dish washer, though. as soon as dinner was done, he'd collect all the dishes and bring them to the sink, not returning until the kitchen was all clean
♡ "baby, I'm going to the dry cleaner's," he'd call out, while carrying a few garment bags in his arms. "do you want me to bring anything for you?"
♡ he's a learning plant dad, you have a lot of plants in the windows and hallways that he was determined to keep alive
♡ once a week was deep clean day, and he'd put the music up all the way as he dance-mopped the entire floor, using the handle as a mic, making silly faces at you while you folded laundry, making an otherwise mundane day feel like a date
♡ you'd come home one day and he'd be sitting on the floor in the closet with a bunch of clothes all around him. "I'm cleaning out the closet again, do you still like this sweater on me? I haven't worn it in a while"
♡ taehyung knew you hated touching the trash, so you never even had to think about it. that task was his and his alone, without you ever having to ask. once every other evening, he'd just quietly slip out sometime after dinner, carrying the bags out into the hall
♡ he cleans to music or to a podcast, so he'd just have the speaker going as he emptied the dishwasher or folded laundry, humming and singing to himself as he did the chores
♡ oh lots of "wait look what i learned the other day", and he shows you a new life hack for cleaning the blender or something, proud childlike grin on his face
quiet weekends/everyday life
♡ taehyung's in his glasses and fluffy unstyled hair all weekend, just his sweet darling bare face in your shared home
♡ lots of his and hers items: toothbrush holders, mugs, towels, slippers. he made sure there was visible evidence of your love everywhere
♡ he would hang your jackets together and tie his sleeves around your jacket to make it look like you were hugging
♡ "honey," he'd come over to find you before showing you a new song he discovered. "good, right? this artist is so talented."
♡ he wasn't a big napper, but he thought it was so cute when you did. he'd see you yawn from across the room just after lunch time. "time for her nap? let's bring you to bed"
♡ lots and lots of reading side by side, a jazz vinyl playing softly in the background, no words exchanged, just your legs over his lap as the two of you co-existed, sometimes sharing a snack, which he insisted you feed him
♡ walks with him always came with his wide smile and little coos every time a cute dog walked by, followed immediately by "should we get a dog?"
♡ taehyung doesn't drink coffee, but he'd be gone and back from your favourite cafe before you had even fully woken up, with your go-to order, still warm in the to go cup. his favourite way to wake you up on Saturdays
♡ lots of dinner on the coffee table with the TV on, watching your favourite YouTube video essays together, learning about things like 'why dust collects in a home' or 'you're storing your vegetables wrong'
♡ he'd come home every once in a while with a new activity for you to do together. "i got us a puzzle" or "have you ever tried watercolour painting? i thought we could try it this weekend"
evenings after work
♡ taehyung always asked for and memorized your schedule for the week. on nights you would get home late, takeout was already sitting for you on the table, with the table set, a candle lit and your favourite show paused on TV
♡ he'd rush to greet you at the door every night. "hi darling," and he'd grab your bag off your shoulder immediately, hanging your jacket for you. "how was your day?"
♡ some nights he'd come home later than you, and he'd still have takeout in his hands that he picked up on the way home because he takes care of you, no matter what
♡ "what time do you have to be up tomorrow?" because he wants to sleep and wake up with you as often as possible
♡ extra tiring, long days earned the ritual of showering together, washing up together, and then watching a TV show or movie in complete silence. comfortable but quiet.
♡ he'd text you when he was about twenty minutes from home with "20 mins until I get a kiss" or something equally as cheesy like that
♡ sometimes you'd get home and he'd be on game with friends, but his headphones would always slide off one ear, he'd mute his mic, "hi baby, how was your day? come give me a kiss, i just died"
♡ on extra long days for him, you'd rush in to hug him at the door and he'd squirm and run away from you, "no no darling I'm so sweaty and gross, can't let my girlfriend know I smell"
♡ you two would try your best to maintain the ritual of a date night every two weeks at minimum. Taehyung would pack a change of clothes in his car that day so he'd still look good for you coming right from work straight to the restaurant. and every once in a while, he'd arrive with flowers (which: how, he just came straight from work)
♡ every night ended the same: washing up together, getting ready for bed together, brushing your teeth next to each other, and then getting into bed together before you joint scrolled through your social media feeds to show each other the funny things you saw throughout the day
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
a/n: i hope u enjoyed! golden boy soft tete is my favourite cut of him ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა
things boyfriend Taehyung would do: physical affection, domestic + flirting —
established relationship kim taehyung x fem reader .✦ ݁˖
a/n: just a little something to carry you over while i'm publishing less due to my very busy work schedule i'm still here i still love u ⟢
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖· · ─ ·⚜· ─ · ·˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
— Taehyung has always said he really likes his own hands, he would love to keep his hands on you in any way that he can, splaying his large hand and fingers across your back, holding your waist, intentionally placing his hand on your leg, lower back or anywhere just to physically claim you while you two are out. Hands everywhereeee all the time; it's subconscious to him
— he would intentionally lean in extra close to you to speak into your ear or into your face. At parties or surrounded by others, he would pretend like it was too loud for him to hear so that he had an excuse to lean in extra close to you and whisper against your cheek. He loves being super close to your face because he knows it makes you flustered.
— he loves it when you suck on his fingers, another hand thing for him. He would press his large hand into your cheek, caress your face, and feed his thumb into your mouth gently to let you suckle on. It would drive him crazy, not only the sensation of your tongue and inner cheek against his fingers, but also watching you be so obedient to him, even during foreplay.
— he would always find your gaze in a room. Every once in a while, he'd stare at you for long enough until you looked back at him, and then give you a little wink or crinkle his nose and give you a little smile. Just to remind you that even if you weren't next to each other, he was thinking of you.
— he loves doing things for you, even if you're capable yourself. "Baby, let me get that for you," as he reaches up to grab something for you above your head, even though you were fully capable of getting it yourself. "Let me carry that for you," and it's just your purse that weighs nothing, but he is obsessed with taking care of you, even if you don't necessarily need to be taken care of. He loves the idea of doing everything for you because you're his little star.
— sure, he loves handholding, but he LOVES keeping his hands in his pockets as he walks and having you cling to his arm or loop your arm through his. It makes him feel like you're his little angel on his arm, his mademoiselle. He'd just feel so on top of the world to have you on his arm.
— you don't ever touch a door, ever. Car doors, restaurant doors, entrances, anything. If you're with him, he is getting the door for you every single time.
— if you're sitting next to each other on the couch, he always pulls your legs into his lap so that they're draped over his own legs. His hand on your knee, holding your legs so casually as you two watch TV
— when you two get ready to go out for fancy dates, etc., he doesn't want you to watch him get ready. He lets you get ready in peace, and disappears into his own bathroom and puts together his entire look in private before he reveals himself to you because he wants to show you his final look and wow you every time. He'd enter the bathroom in his pyjamas and unwashed hair, spend like forty minutes in there, and then come out so dolled up and gorgeous for you in his stylish little outfit and hair all done with his makeup on
— he likes playing in competitive games, and he tries extra extra hard to win when you're watching, and acts super casual and nonchalant when he does inevitably win, he'll come back to you after winning with a cocky little grin on his face and give you a kiss on the cheek. "Proud of me?"
— even if he prefers getting ready separately so that he can get dolled up in private, he LOVES getting unready together. The two of you taking off your makeup together, washing your faces next to each other, brushing your teeth, everything. He loves the ritual of getting ready for bed together; it's the hardest thing for him to leave behind when you aren't physically together
— he likes bickering with you. Lots of "oh yeah?" or "hm?" when he challenges what you're saying. Done usually with a straight face, unless you make him laugh, then he breaks into that pretty smile and breaks character.
— lots of singing at you, from inside the shower, he'd sing a song extra loud because he knew you could hear him from outside, singing in the car, singing to himself when he's next to you at home, and they are always a song he knows you like.
— a man of few words, he is an amazing listener, he asks you about your day and then props you up in his lap or makes sure you are resting your legs on him on the couch while he takes in every single word you say with genuine interest
— lots of movie watching together, and whatever the two love interests in the movie are doing on screen, he'd mimic with you jokingly on the couch. Hands brush together on screen? He brushes his fingers along yours the same way. The two leads just kissed in the rain? Taehyung would ask, "can I do that with you next time?"
— he loves being out with friends, but the moment he senses that you are tired, he would call it without you having to ask. "I've got an early day tomorrow," he'd always say, but he knew that you were ready for bed, and he was ready to leave with you.
— he loves it when you feed him. snacks, whatever. He doesn't even necessarily want your food; he just wants you to feed him. Same with lip balm, he wants you to share yours and put it on him.
— his hair on the regular is almost always unstyled, just fluffy and cute and kind of in his eyes, and that alone is flirting
— he loves sending selfies to you like all the time. gym? bathroom? in the car? getting his makeup done? on the way to work? doesn't matter. you're getting a photo of him.
— this man loves staying in with you, but when he's in the mood for it, he loooves going out, dinner, anything. He just loves dressing up with you so much
synopsis: Your husband proves he is perfectly fine.
requested: Dangerous army general (knight) Taehyung, feared by everyone in the kingdom for his fearless, bold, expressionless handsome face, a manly man who reeks of testosterone but soft just for oc (healer), his wife - kind, soft, and oh so feminine, mature lady. Their sex - rough but soft. I hope you are getting it bc being rough is his nature, but soft is his love for her that breaks his rough nature.
warnings: mdni, 18+, dark knight! Taehyung, healer! reader, husband! Taehyung, wife! Reader, mention of war, mention of battle, fingering, semi-public, bathtub, desk, bed, slight mating press, cream pie, unprotected, Taehyung is down bad, he just shows it weirdly, kth is big wdym, etc.
wc: 3.5k+
A/N: First time writing knight trope, kind of nervous - it's not historically accurate, but it's my world, and you're just living in it lmao I hope you enjoy
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
You know the battle is over, and your husband is coming home because the bodies stop showing up.
Men fighting the wrong side of the war and encountering your husband or your husband’s men, are wounded and captured and sent straight to you like it’s a courting gift. And after they pledge to the rightful crown, you’re the one who steps in to heal them.
They tremble even with your soft touches, and it isn't until one of your assistants is helping you rebandage a wound that they realize who you are married to. Their eyes widen, fear crossing their features as they shake at the mere mention of your lover.
And for good reason.
Your husband struck fear into many on the battlefield, his eyes hooded and dark like the armor he wore. He was without mercy, the last thing you may see before he swung his sword. And the only reason the men who came across him were given the graciousness of living another day was because of you.
You, his wife, were the complete opposite of him. His hands were rough, scarred, hands meant for death, while yours were soft, gentle, hands meant for healing the world he was trained to destroy.
It was also why you were in this medic tent, only miles from where the battle was taking place.
You were the best healer of your kingdom, a title passed down generations in your bloodline. Some may call it a gift, the way you were trained to stitch up even the worst situation. And others just figured you were favored, but either way, people flocked to be seen by you, to be healed from their aches and pains. And it was your king who had asked you to be here during the war.
War wasn't a place for a woman. To be surrounded by so much death and blood. But you and the people who helped you were as crucial a part in winning this war as your husband was.
Not that Taehyung was pleased by that.
As an army general, the highest-ranking knight, Taehyung's shoulders carried the weight of fighting for his people, for his king, but most of all, for you. And it's why when severely wounded men were brought into your medical tent, lips chapped, struggling to breathe, they knew to tell you, even if it may be their last breath, that your husband loves you.
It sounds morbid, and it is, the way you tried to heal while a man blabbered, "he says he holds you in his mind always!" The man's teeth chatter, and the words swirl around your mind as you try to placate him from the adrenaline racing in his veins.
"Sir, please lie down."
"Says he will come for you!" The haunted eyes swam with fear, like his only choice was death or playing messenger that allowed him to see another day.
"Sir-"
It was an endless cycle of men wounded and shaking, grabbing onto you like a lifeline and playing as pigeons with scrolls relaying your husband's words to you.
And that's why after another long day of trying to mend the broken, you're pissed. Everyone knows whether you're wounded or not, you come to the medic tent to be seen and cleared. Everyone. No exceptions. And yet, your husband does not come.
You know better than to fear the impossible, that he may be one of the fallen. That he doesn't mean to break his promise of coming home to you.
It leaves you in a slight panic. Your mind swirling with the unthinkable as you set your shoulders back, your jaw clenching as you marched to a specific tent. His tent is one of a thousand tents in the encampment. And the one Taehyung gets to call home was one of the bigger ones, a luxury, given his higher rank and command. And as his wife, you were graced with the privilege of sharing it with your husband.
Your eyes narrow when it comes into view. A white tent dirtied by mud, secured by rope, and patrolled by foot soldiers dressed in full armor.
Your makeshift home is in the middle of the encampment, protected by many smaller ones that housed ten to twelve soldiers each, and it was guarded twenty-four hours a day. It was another thing to add to your list of annoyances, including that you'd give up your tent if it meant your people would be better off.
As you think this, you still acknowledge the foot soldiers guarding your tent with a smile, nodding your head in greeting as they stand more at attention. "My husband." You don't ask, but your voice is soft like the fur blankets provided during the winter, your only concern being to verify with your own eyes that your husband is inside and alive.
"M'lady," the soldier on the left bows his head, and you're close to just shoving past them. "Sir Kim is inside."
Oh, thank the king.
"Thank you," you flash another charming smile and give them a look soon after, "when you are done here - remember to be checked before supper."
A chorus of "yes, m'lady" rings in your ears as you move the flap of your tent back and step inside before letting it fall into place behind you.
The inside of your tent is cozy. Rugs are layered on the floor, a bed with furs was to your left, a wooden desk was to your right that held miniatures of battle strategies you did not understand, and a bathtub was in the back. It was all the privileges of your husband's rank, and you had done your best to make it a home while you both were far from your actual one.
You had watched endless nights of Taehyung leaning on the desk, going over battle tactics until the sunlight rose once more. You had given up nearly the rest of the furniture you were previously provided to the other soldiers who needed it more, and you tried not to dwell on the fact that you got to go to sleep in a bed and not in a cot like many others.
And out of habit, you slipped off your shoes barely two feet inside before your eyes met your husband's.
Taehyung stood tall in the middle of the room, fully in armor, beside the sword and shield he had left next to the desk. His hair was wavy, falling in front of his piercing eyes as he took his time taking off his armor piece by piece. He had already removed his helmet and pauldrons, moving onto his breastplate as you watched.
"You didn't get checked out." You don't greet him; instead, you close the distance between you two and help him unbuckle the straps at his waist, your eyebrows furrowing as you do.
"I didn't need to." His words are blunt and to the point, and you step back as he removes his shin guards with expertise. He's left in mail and padding, his shoulders broad, his waist lean as he gives you a look that asks for a challenge. And when you don't speak right away, he continues to strip, shedding all of his clothes until he is naked.
Years of training in the knighthood, in guarding the king and his subjects, had made your husband strong. His body is sculpted in ridges and lines like marble, near perfection, but you may be biased in that regard. He barely glances at you before turning on his heel and heading towards the bathtub, making you bristle with renewed anger.
From where you stood, you could see the steam spiraling up from the tub, and you knew it had been freshly filled with steaming hot water just for your husband. "Do not walk away from me, I'm not done talking to you." You huffed, following your husband as he stepped inside the tub, sinking into it until the water reached just under his chest. His arms hung around the rim, his head tilting back as he gave you another look.
"I'm fine." The two words send you over your boiling point, and your hands go to your hips as you scold him.
"Only someone careless would say such a thing! This is why everyone gets checked over; you are not the exception, Kim Taehyung." Each word you hiss brings you closer to him, and the amused smirk he gives you does nothing to calm your nerves.
"Woman, I said I am fine." Only you would ever be allowed to speak to him as you have. And normally, even if that was true, you never did. You were always soft and kind, the support he didn't know he needed until you were brought into his life.
But that doesn't stop you from telling him off when needed, which was now.
"Fine? Your armor is covered in blood. Am I to assume it's not entirely yours? That you weren't harmed at all?" You rant, and Taehyung follows your movements with sharp eyes. He watches the way your eyebrows pinch in frustration, your hands waving about as you point a finger at him.
In all honesty, he was going to see you. But one of the stewards had informed him that they had prepped a hot bath for him, and his aching muscles screamed for that more than his mind debated checking on the wounded brought to you. It was entirely selfish, and he knew that, but a little part of him would rather just be looked at by you in private anyway.
So, that's why he doesn't hesitate. While you rant at him, his arms reach out for you. He grabs you by the waist, and in less than three seconds, you're straddling his hips, your bottom half soaked by water as you gasp in shock. "Taehyung!" Your hands instinctively rest on your husband's shoulders for balance as he tilts his head back more with a wolfish grin. "I am still clothed!"
"And I told you, I'm fine." He murmured low and sure. His large hands held your waist, keeping you anchored over his lap, and it caused your cheeks to flush in color. "Do you want me to show you just how fine I am?" He asks you with a small eyebrow raised, a voiced challenge as one of his hands slides under the water line.
His calloused fingertips glide down your waist, then your thigh, until he reaches under your wet dress, and up to your pretty pussy. And that's when he shows a little teeth while smirking, his hand cupping your pretty cunt as your thighs tense. He watches you from under hooded eyes, waiting for you to stop him, knowing you won't.
You are acutely aware that your husband is naked underneath you, his cock swelling and pressing into your thigh as his fingers brush over the fabric separating you from him. You are also acutely aware that soldiers are guarding right outside, and you weren't hidden behind walls but merely in a thin tent. "Taehyung, people are outside."
Your warning falls on deaf ears as Taehyung relaxes further, his fingers gliding up your covered puffy folds until his fingers dip further to press into your pretty clit.
The moment he does, your thighs spread more out of instinct, your arms giving out as your chest melts into his. Your hand comes to the back of Taehyung's head, your fingers curling into his hair as he drawls rough, sloppy hearts into the sensitive nub between your swollen folds with a cocky grin. "Am I supposed to care?" His voice is low in your ear, his lips brushing your earlobe as he continues to make you dizzy with his touch.
"Someone will hear," you whimper, and Taehyung slips his other hand between you two. His knuckles brush your inner thighs before you feel him tear the little fabric covering your sweet pussy from him. It makes you gasp at his strength and audacity to be impatient as his fingers spread your folds apart, giving him more room to play with your pretty pussy.
Taehyung takes. He doesn't ask. His life was meant to serve in everything he does. And he takes the most pleasure not serving his people, or his king, but you - his pretty wife.
"Let them hear you. Let them know who makes you feel this good," Taehyung demands, and two of his fingers sink into your cunt in one smooth plunge. His fingers curl deep, stretching your gummy walls as his other hand grabs your chin, pulling your head back to look at him as his fingertips find the soft, spongy spot inside you with ease.
He pulls you into a rough kiss, swallowing your whimpers as he abuses the tender spot over and over again, working you open as you lay your hands on his chest for stability. The water in the tub ripples with the movement of his arm between your plush thighs, and his tongue coaxes your mouth open to deepen the kiss, stealing your breath as heat pools in your lower stomach with each stretch of his thick fingers. He had you melting in mere minutes, your mind swirling as he added another finger to your cunt.
"My love," your mewl is said across his lips, and he groans low in response. You were rocking your hips, riding his fingers almost shyly as your cheeks flushed a deeper color.
If you thought you were dizzy from his touch, nothing compares to how he feels when you make such sweet noises on top of him.
Kim Taehyung was a fierce warrior, death incarnate on the battlefield. People parted from him like the Red Sea, cowering at just a mention of his name, but not you. You were his everything.
The sun rose and fell for you in his mind, and his heart was always going to be yours. So, when you hold onto him tighter, your thighs quivering as he stuffs you deliciously with his fingers, he gives you no mercy - just like he was trained to do in everything in his life.
When you cum, it's with a cry of his name, your gummy walls milking his fingers like it was his cock as you shiver in his lap from the pleasure. His fingers never stop moving, fucking you through your orgasm as his other arm holds you to him, forcing you to ride it out as he rubs your clit into sensitivity.
You're boneless when he finally slips his fingers from your fluttering hole, the water in the tub has grown cold as he strips your dress from your pliant body, letting the wet fabric puddle over the side of the tub.
"You believe I am fine, now?" Taehyung asks as he lifts you, making you cling to his wet body as he carries you out of the bathtub with ease. "Or should I convince you some more? Hmm?"
You can barely recover, processing his words too late when he sets you down, bending you over his desk. Your body is slick with water droplets rolling down your legs, your wet skin staining the map laid out on the wooden desk as Taehyung stands behind you. He holds you in place with one hand on your hip as he guides his thick cock to your weeping cunt, gliding his fat tip between your puffy folds.
He doesn't warn you. He doesn't go slow. He takes you in one swift movement, bullying his cock inside you as he did on your wedding night, stretching you open until your jaw slacks and your eyes roll to the back of your head.
When he reaches the back of your sweet pussy, the head of his cock greets your soft cervix with a filthy kiss, and he drapes his body over yours until his lips are by your ear. "Wives shouldn't fight their husbands." You can feel his smirk, his teeth nipping your earlobe before he holds the back of your neck, keeping you in place as he slides almost all the way out.
He sets a brutal pace, filling you balls deep with each thrust, knocking your hips into the wooden desk as the miniatures rattle, falling over from the force of his hips smacking into your ass.
The room fills with the lewd sounds of his cock pounding into your dripping cunt, making you squelch around his thick shaft as you moan so sweetly for him. He pushes the noises from you, sliding in deeper with each thrust as your fingers curled around the desk for support.
"Not too worried about anyone hearing you now, huh?" He murmurs low enough for just you to hear, and your pussy throbs around him in response.
He feels too good, molding you to his cock as he forces you onto your tiptoes. And your pussy tells him just that when you happily suck him deeper, making it harder for him to leave you, not that he ever wanted to in the first place.
Taehyung's teeth gritted, and his jaw clenched as your whines grew louder. He knew the two foot soldiers in the front had to hear you by now, and it only made his stomach flex, heat pooling low enough that his balls tensed in warning.
But he wasn't going to cum first, not if he had anything to do with it. And much to your impending orgasms' displeasure, he slips from your weeping cunt with a growl, flipping you around until you are facing him. "You don't get to cum unless you're looking at me, just me. Only me."
And then he's lifting you again, carrying you to the bed with his hard cock pressed against your sweet pussy. He lies you down on the furs, pushing your legs up until your cunt is on full display for him, and giving him the perfect angle to fill you up again. He uses his weight to fuck you hard and slow, smacking into your G-spot with each pound of his hips against the back of your thighs.
The primal need to get you to the edge, milking his cock while looking at him, burns hot in his chest. He doesn't tell you to be safe or kiss you goodbye before heading into battle; he doesn't tell you sweet nothings in your ear when you go to sleep with him. He doesn't know how to say I love you out loud.
But he knows how to show you.
He shows you by surviving another day and coming home to you. He shows you by winning every tournament in your honor, caring for the land he wins for you, and keeping you safe.
And he shows you his love for you when he gets you cumming on his fingers, his tongue, and his dick until your eyes are glossy like the way you coat his cock with your sweet arousal.
Your cunt flutters when he leans over you, his face inches away from yours as he keeps eye contact with you. His one hand pushes your knee up, keeping you open for him as his other hand finds your clit, and it's like your wedding night all over again.
His hips roll deep and hard, pushing soft gasps from your pretty lips as he rubs sloppy hearts into your little nub, pulling you closer to the edge as he watches ardently. He doesn't say I love you; instead, he makes you cum so hard your eyes water.
Your mouth drops in a silent scream, the breath leaving your lungs while your body locks up underneath him as you cum. Your pussy gushes hot and wet all over his cock, milking him with each flutter of your gummy walls as he keeps fucking you, prolonging your high until your legs quiver in ecstasy.
And when your pretty pussy creams a filthy ring around his cock, his head finally dips, falling into the crook of your neck as your ears ring in the aftershocks.
You can feel his breath hitch, his fingers dimpling into the fat of your thigh as he presses his hips into your ass urgently. His cock swells, twitching deep inside you when he finds his orgasm shortly after yours finishes. And he keeps his face hidden as he cums, rope after rope of his white gooey seed filling your pussy to the brim as he groans softly in your ear.
It's the hottest thing, feeling such a powerful man shudder on top of you, stuffing you full of his cum, and it makes your pussy flutter again, milking every last drop until he is mindlessly fucking it deeper inside you.
When he finally leans back onto his knees, he slides from your cunt gently, watching his cum seep from your puffy folds and onto the furs with heavy eyelids. He watches how your legs stay parted, your breath coming up as pants, as you look up at him with stars in your hazy eyes.
Taehyung gives you a loving smirk, happy his wife is fucked out because of him, and speaks up. "Are you convinced, my wife? Or would you like me to use my tongue next?"
Themes: Smut | Angst | Werewolves AU | Inspired by the movie 'Red Riding Hood' | Love Triangle | Forbidden Romance | Arranged Betrothal | T.W.: mentions of blood, death and violence (multiple character deaths)
Wordcount: 25K
Playlist: 'The Wolf' - Fever Ray | 'Monsters' - Ruelle | 'You Can Run' - Adam Jones | 'Flesh and Bone' - Black Math | 'Slave' - Ramsey | 'Hold Your Breath' - Astyria | 'Devil Devil' - MILCK
Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Oral (F. receiving) - Orgasm denial - Bodyworship - PIV - Unprotected intercourse - a disgusting amount of Praise - Soft Pleasure Dom! Seungcheol - Quickie - Possessive! F.Reader
This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.
The frost still clings to the leaves when the hunter’s boy comes screaming into the village square, his boots soaked. Not with dew. With blood. He stammers something about the tree line near the northern slope, where the pines curve down like crooked fingers, and then he vomits into the dirt.
Your father doesn’t speak. He just leaves.
They won’t let you see her. Your mother clutches your wrist as the priest anoints the body behind canvas sheets, whispering prayers too quietly to hear. You catch glimpses—flesh torn clean, the edge of a jaw, curls matted with blood. She’s not supposed to look like that. Your sister was beautiful. Gentle. Quiet, but not timid. She was everything they wanted from a daughter of your family name.
The red cloak lies on your bed, untouched for hours, until the funeral bell begins to toll.
You wear it because it’s hers.
By midday, the square is silent but full. Everyone comes. The town hasn’t seen a human death in ten years—not like this, not by it. The Wolf has been appeased for a decade with livestock, slaughtered under the full moon, their blood poured into the roots of the ancient tree that marks the forest’s edge. An old agreement. A darker kind of tithe.
But now he’s taken flesh. Your flesh. Lilly.
You stand at the head of the open space, your mother beside you, your father a statue on the other side. The red cloak is heavy on your shoulders, soaked in memory. The fabric clings to your arms where your grief tries to escape. Your knuckles whiten where your hands knot together in front of you. You refuse to cry. Not here, not in front of all these faces—some tight with grief, others wide-eyed with fear, all gathered like crows. The funeral is held outside. It has to be. The church refuses to let the dead of violent ends rest within its walls.
The priest’s voice booms across the crowd, gravel-edged and accusatory. “Let this be a lesson, children of God. For ten years, we have been spared. Ten years of quiet, of peace bought with our sacrifices. Livestock left in the clearing at every full moon. Blood enough to slake his hunger.”
A murmur ripples through the assembly, women clutching their shawls tighter, men lowering their eyes.
“But now—” the priest’s tone sharpens,“—a human life has been taken. Flesh and blood spilt on sacred ground. This is no accident, no act of nature. This is punishment. The Wolf is among us again because sin festers in our midst.”
Your stomach twists. You hate the way his gaze sweeps over the villagers, pausing—for the briefest moment—on Joshua. But he says nothing more, only lifts his arms to the heavens as if inviting judgment down upon you all.
Joshua stands a few feet away, expression unreadable as ever. His black coat fits his broad frame neatly, boots polished to a mirror shine. He holds his hands clasped behind his back, chin slightly lowered. There is no outward show of grief, but neither is there indifference—just a calm, measured respect that makes your parents glance toward him with gratitude. You don’t know why their gratitude unsettles you.
Wonwoo kneels at the head of the coffin. His grief is a raw, keening thing that refuses to be silenced. He presses a hand over his mouth, but sobs still rip through his chest. Townsfolk place gentle hands on his shoulders, murmuring condolences. Someone helps him stand when his knees buckle. Lilly’s fiancé. He had loved her—openly, fiercely. Even now, he wears mourning like armour. You can’t bring yourself to comfort him.
Instead, your gaze drifts. Past the coffin. Past the hems of expensive skirts and trousers. Past the church with its bolted doors. To the edge of the woods. He’s there.
Seungcheol.
Leaning against a tree as though carved from its bark. His shirt is simple, his axe hanging from the loop around his belt. His arms are folded across his chest, but his eyes—dark and fathomless—lock on yours. He does not move. He does not approach. He has no place here among the finely dressed and finely bred.
But he is the only one you want.
You take a shallow breath and beg him silently with your eyes: Please. Come to me. Just for today. He doesn’t.
He only straightens slightly, his jaw tightening. His gaze flickers once to the coffin, then back to you. A muscle feathers in his cheek, but his feet stay planted in the moss. He doesn’t bow his head or offer the obligatory words of comfort. He watches. And in that watching, there’s a distance to him you’ve never felt before.
The burial passes in a haze. You place a single white lily atop the polished wood—how fitting that her namesake flowers would be her sendoff. The townsfolk disperse in tight clusters, whispering to one another. About the Wolf. About sin. About your family.
You don’t speak. You only watch their mouths move and wonder how many of them mean their kindness and how many are rehearsing the gossip they’ll trade tonight over their hearths.
The days after the funeral blur together.
The house never empties. Every morning, a new set of boots tracks across the floors, another perfumed scarf drapes over the chairs, and another low voice murmurs condolences in the parlour. Town elders, wealthy families, women bearing baskets of bread and meat—all eager to perform their duty of grief. They leave their offerings with solemn nods, their pity clinging to the walls like mould.
You avoid them all.
It’s easier to remain upstairs, curled against Lilly’s old cloak. You trace the frayed edges with your fingers, memorising every stitch as if it could tether you to her. You hear the muffled voices below: soft, concerned, then bright with forced laughter. It all sounds like an act.
You don’t want their pity. You want your sister. But even now, the world spins on without her.
It’s on the third day when a familiar knock pulls you from your trance. Heavy. Hesitant. You freeze where you are, perched at the window seat. You know that sound. Your heart leaps painfully against your ribs as you lean forward just enough to see—Seungcheol.
He stands at the door, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for impact. He looks awkward in his attempt at formality, the kind of man who feels more comfortable in the solitude of the forest than in the heart of the town. You’re halfway to the stairs when the door cracks open and your mother’s voice cuts through:
“This isn’t the time, Seungcheol.”
“I came to pay my respects,” he says, his voice low but steady.
“We don’t need them.”
A pause. You grip the bannister tight enough to whiten your knuckles.
“You should go. Your presence isn’t appropriate.”
“I—”
“Please don’t make me repeat myself.”
The door closes with a dull thud. You hear his boots crunch on gravel as he walks away. Your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t move. You don’t run after him. You can’t—not with your mother still in the hallway below. But your heart breaks all the same.
Night drapes itself over the house, heavy and suffocating.
You lie awake, the voices downstairs drifting up through the floorboards. The priest’s voice is unmistakable—rich and deep like dark wine. “The girl is grieving, yes, but grief cannot last forever. She needs a strong husband to guide her through this pain.”
A murmur of agreement from one of the elders.
“It would unite two of our oldest families. Righteousness and tradition—that’s what we need now. A beacon of protection in these sinful times.”
Another voice—thin, reedy—adds: “And Joshua is a man of faith. He knows duty. His union with your daughter would honour both families. Perhaps it would even appease the beast.”
Your hands ball into fists. The audacity. To speak of your future as if you’re already theirs to barter. Your parents say nothing. Silence stretches long enough for hope to flicker faintly in your chest. Surely they’ll refuse. Surely they’ve learned from Lilly’s fate. Surely—
“Consider it,” the priest says at last.
Chairs scrape. Footsteps retreat. You remain still, a pit of cold dread forming in your stomach.
The next afternoon, Joshua comes again. He’s been here almost every day this week. You catch a glimpse of him through the window—his dark coat, his polite bow. He and his father speak in hushed tones just beyond the garden gate.
“It’s time, Joshua. We can’t delay.”
“I understand.”
His voice is tight, jaw working. But after a moment, he exhales, resigned. “If this is what’s expected, I’ll do it.”
Your nails bite into your palms. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. Before the tears come, you’re already moving—down the stairs, out the back door, past the kitchen where your mother arranges flowers for yet another visitor.
The woods swallow you whole.
By the time Seungcheol’s cabin comes into view, your breath is ragged, the bottom of your skirt damp and torn. The little house squats at the edge of a clearing, smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Lantern light spills faintly from the cracks in the shutters.
You pound on the door. Once. Twice. Three times. It creaks open, and there he is.
Hair slightly mussed. Shirt unlaced at the throat. His brows furrow the instant he sees you—red-cheeked, wild-eyed, clutching at the doorway like a woman possessed. “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is tense. “Someone might see—”
"I don’t care.” You push past him before he can stop you, the warmth of the cabin stinging your frozen cheeks. The scent of woodsmoke and cedar fills your lungs. You haven’t been here in months, but nothing’s changed—his coat still hangs on the hook by the door, the half-finished carving still sits on the table.
Seungcheol watches you pace the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The shadows from the firelight cut hard lines across his face, making his expression unreadable.
“They’re forcing me to marry him,” you blurt, words tumbling fast and raw. “Joshua. The elders… my parents… they think it’s best for the town, best for me, as if my heart doesn’t matter at all.”
He doesn’t move.
“They want me to be righteous. Traditional.” Your laugh comes out too sharp. “They think Joshua’s kindness is enough to make him a husband I can stomach.”
Still, nothing. His silence needles you like a thousand tiny cuts. “Say something.” He shifts his weight, but his gaze doesn’t waver. "They’re right.” The words hit you harder than any blow. “What?”
"It’s the best choice you have,” he says evenly, though the tick in his jaw betrays him. “Joshua can protect you. Give you a life I can’t.”
You shake your head violently, stepping closer. “Don’t say that.”
"It’s the truth.”
"No. You’re just afraid.”
His brow furrows deeper. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
"Safe?” Your voice cracks as you grab his hand, clutching it between your own. He stiffens but doesn’t pull away. “I don’t want safe. I don’t want him. I don’t—”
Your breath catches, the tears pressing hot behind your eyes. “I love you, Seungcheol.”
His shoulders tense like an animal caught in a snare.
“I’ve loved you since I was old enough to know what love meant. And I know you feel the same.” You step closer, fingers curling into his shirtfront. His warmth seeps into your frozen skin. “How could you tell me to marry another man when I've been yours in every sense of the word?”
For a moment, he’s stone.
And then—You crush your lips against his. His mouth answers yours with years of longing, secret touches and unsaid words. His hands cup your face, his calloused fingers cradling your jaw as he tilts your head.
The kiss deepens, desperate and messy, his lips parting yours as your hands fist tighter in his shirt. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmurs against your mouth, but he doesn’t stop. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” you breathe, tugging him closer still.
His hands trail down your back, gripping your waist like he’s fighting not to rip you apart. Your bodies press together, heat pooling between you in a way that makes you dizzy.
But then—He rips himself away. “No.”
You stand there, chest heaving, lips tingling.
“Don’t do this to yourself, Blossom.” His voice is rough. “You have to leave. Now.”
"Seungcheol—”
“Go.” His eyes close briefly. When they open again, they’re darker, more determined. “If you stay, it will ruin us both.”
Your throat burns. You want to scream, to beg, but the finality in his tone roots you to the floor. With a shuddering breath, you turn. You wrench open the door and stumble back into the woods, the cold air biting your tear-streaked cheeks.
This time, you let them fall freely.
The tavern door creaks open, letting in a gust of air. Heads turn briefly toward the doorway, but just as quickly return to their tankards and murmured arguments.
Seungcheol steps inside, his boots leaving damp prints on the worn floorboards. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meat and ale and the low hum of tension. Every table is full tonight—farmers, elders, merchants, their voices clashing in heated tones that speak of fear and righteous anger.
He keeps his head down. Not out of shame—never that—but because he has no desire to engage. Not tonight. The ghost of your kiss still burns his lips, his jaw tightening with the memory of your hands clutching his shirt, the desperate tremble in your voice as you said you loved him.
He needs a drink.
Behind the counter, Hyunwoo—the tavern’s owner—looks up and gives a short nod. Unlike the others in this village, Hyunwoo doesn’t care about Seungcheol’s upbringing or his lack of polish. He knows a man who works for his keep when he sees one, and Seungcheol has earned every coin and every scar.
“The usual?” Hyunwoo asks simply.
“Double.”
Hyunwoo pours as requested. “Rough night?” Seungcheol grunts in reply. “Rough life.” Hyunwoo lets out a humourless laugh. “That makes two of us.”
Seungcheol lifts the liquid to his lips, grateful for the burn of it down his throat. His eyes flick briefly over the establishment and its patrons. He was nothing to them. Nothing to your family. Nothing to the men gathered at the long oak table in the centre of the room, their voices rising.
“We’ve kept it sated for years,” one of the elders says, wringing his hands. “Sacrifices at every full moon. Livestock, fattened and tied in the clearing. It was enough.”
"Clearly not anymore,” the Mayor cuts in, voice sharp. “The beast has grown bold. A human life taken—it’s an act of war.”
“Perhaps we should pray harder for its’ redemption,” the Priest offers. “Perhaps we should reflect on the sins within our walls before we—”
“Don’t start with your sermons again, Father. That thing doesn’t care about piety.” Joshua’s father snaps. His voice cracks like a whip across the table.
Seungcheol’s lip curls slightly around his drink. Of course. Men like this—so eager to debate, so reluctant to act. His eyes meet Joshua’s across the room. It’s brief. But enough. The blacksmith’s son is seated near the fire, posture upright, coat pristine. Joshua’s gaze is steady, but the tension there is unmistakable.
He knows. Of course he does.
He knows what happened between Seungcheol and you. Maybe not all of it—but enough. And now, with your betrothal hovering like a noose around his neck, Joshua knows the wound must bleed. Seungcheol turns away first, draining his cup in silence. Not out of deference, but because if he stares any longer, he might do something reckless.
“We should wait,” one elder is saying now. “Reinforce the town. Guard the livestock better. Perhaps the Wolf’s anger will fade—”
Joshua’s voice cuts across the room, low and deliberate, his eyes locked on Seungcheol’s back. “Waiting doesn’t protect our families. Wonwoo already lost his bride; I’m not prepared to sacrifice mine. We can’t sit idle.”
Seungcheol’s laugh slips out before he can stop it—a short, bitter sound. The room stills as all eyes turn on him. Joshua’s father straightens in his seat, staring Seungcheol down. “Do you find this amusing, woodcutter?” Seungcheol meets his gaze without flinching. His fingers tighten around his now-empty cup. “No. But I find it cowardly.”
The Priest tuts under his breath. The Mayor leans back in his chair, expression unreadable.
“You have something to say, Seungcheol?” Joshua’s father presses.
Seungcheol pushes the empty glass toward Hyunwoo and rises. His broad frame fills the room as he sweeps his gaze across them, each man in turn, his eyes hard. “If you’re all so brave, why sit here arguing while the Wolf prowls free? You want vengeance? You want to keep your bride safe?” His voice sharpens on that sentence as his eyes lock onto Joshua’s. “Then kill it.”
Joshua’s hands curl into fists on the table, knuckles pale. The elders exchange uneasy glances. The Priest opens his mouth, but a new voice cuts through the room, calm and chilling.
“He’s right,” Wonwoo speaks up. He rises smoothly, the firelight catching in his eyes. “If we want peace, we can’t beg for it. We take it.”
He glances toward Seungcheol. “The Wolf will not stop. It never does. It’s not a man.”
“Perhaps, with Lilly’s sacrifice, it might stop. Perhaps—” The Priest intervenes. “Sacrifice?!” Wonwoo growls. “My fiancée was torn apart. You believe she chose this fate willingly?” A murmur ripples through the room. “My son is right,” the Mayor says, finality ringing in his voice. “He deserves justice. We all do. So we hunt it down and we end this.”
No one argues this time. The Priest crosses himself nervously. Joshua’s father nods grimly.
It is decided.
You hear the door creak open just past midnight.
The house is still, but not quiet. There’s always a hum beneath the silence—wind curling at the shutters, logs cracking in the hearth downstairs, and your father’s low voice as he mutters something to your mother. You hold your breath, ears straining beneath the covers. You’d memorised the rhythm of his steps long ago. Now, they hesitate just inside the threshold.
“They’re going through with it. At first light.” Your mother inhales. “God help us.”
You sit up in bed, pressing your bare feet to the cold floorboards. The ache behind your ribs grows heavier by the second. “Wonwoo is leading them to the northern ridge. The priest gave his blessing. Joshua’s coming too.”
“And you?”
“Of course, me. Do you think I’d let my daughter’s betrothed walk into the woods without me?”
Your stomach twists. You rise slowly and tiptoe to the door, easing it open just a sliver. The hallway is dark, but you can see the glow of lantern light leaking up from the main room downstairs, warm and orange against the bannister.
“It was the woodcutter who convinced them. He was at the tavern.”
A pause. “Of course he would,” your mother mutters sharply. “That man… always circling where he doesn’t belong.”
“Dear.” Your father’s voice carries a quiet warning. “Don’t ‘Dear’ me. You know how it looks. A girl like her… and him. It’s improper.”
“Enough.”
You’re moving, heart pounding as your feet find the stairs. The wood groans beneath you, but you don’t care. “What happened?” you ask, voice tighter than you mean it to be. “What did Seungcheol say?” Your father blinks, surprised to see you standing there in your robe and bare feet. He opens his mouth, but your mother interrupts before he can utter any words. “You should be asleep.”
“Clearly, I wasn’t.” You descend the last steps, gripping the bannister. “Tell me what he said.” Your mother stands swiftly, her skirts rustling. “You shouldn’t meddle with tavern talk. Go back upstairs.”
“No.” Your voice cracks. “I want to know.”
“That woodcutter is none of your concern.” She steps toward you, hands outstretched like she can herd you away like a lost sheep. “Go. Now.”
“Why? Because you hate him?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Her mouth tightens. “Watch your tongue.”
“You never wanted him here. You turned him away at the door. Even after everything—”
“Enough.” Her tone slams down like a gavel. “This is not a conversation we will have. Not now. Not ever.”
The silence that follows is thick with everything unsaid. You grit your teeth, nod stiffly, and turn on your heel without another word, but sleep doesn’t come.
The house is still cloaked in darkness when you slip out, the edges of night clinging to the walls. You tie your cloak tight and leave your boots by the door to muffle your steps. Your father will be leaving within the hour, but you’re already gone.
The path to the northern ridge rendezvous point winds behind the old mill and down past the stone well. You take it without hesitation. You’ve known these woods all your life.
The clearing comes into view just as the mist begins to lift off the frost-hardened ground. Seungcheol stands with his back half-turned to you, arms crossed as he watches the tree line. He looks as though he hasn’t slept. His hair is damp at the edges, like he washed his face in the stream to stay awake. There’s a weariness in the way his shoulders slope, but the tension in his jaw gives him away. He’s wound tight. Braced for something he can’t quite name.
“You’re early,” you whisper. He turns at the sound of your voice, and for a moment, the tension in his body softens. “You shouldn’t be here.” You cross the grass between you. “And yet, I am.”
“Go home, Blossom.”
“Not until you listen.”
He exhales sharply through his nose but doesn’t move as you close the distance. Up close, his eyes are rimmed in shadow, but they burn when they meet yours. You take his gloved hand before he can protest. He flinches, but you press something into the fabric covering his palm—a silver bracelet, small but intricate. It glints in the pale morning light. “For protection,” you say. “Just in case.”
He turns it over in his hand, expression unreadable. “Silver’s wasted on me,” he mutters. “Humour me."
He finally closes his fist, tucking it into his pocket.
Your eyes meet, and for a long, quiet second, you forget the rest of the world exists. You forget Joshua. You forget the elders and their plans. There is only the cold between you and the ache of everything you haven’t said. He leans in, just slightly. You tilt your head up. The space between you disappears inch by inch—until you both stiffen at the sound of boots on gravel.
Speak of the Devil.
Joshua walks into the clearing with his father at his side, followed closely by yours. You step away from Seungcheol as subtly as you can, heart pounding against your ribs. Joshua glances at you, his gaze flicking between your flushed cheeks and Seungcheol’s hands in his pockets. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to.
His father watches you closely as he approaches. “There you are,” he says, not unkindly. “Come to wish your fiancé strength?”
“Of course.”
You force yourself to smile, force your feet to move toward Joshua. His father nudges him forward with a hand on his shoulder. Your father nods approvingly. Joshua leans down slightly. “Good luck,” you murmur, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. His jaw twitches. His hand brushes yours, briefly but purposefully. “Thank you,” he says softly, though his tone is unreadable.
You turn quickly, as if you can erase the moment, but you feel Seungcheol’s stare from across the clearing—hot, coiled, quiet. He says nothing.
The hunting party moves in single file through the cave, boots crunching over loose stone and damp earth. Their torches cast narrow halos of light, flickering against jagged walls clawed deep with old scars. The smell hits them first—rank and heavy, like wet fur and rot.
“Stay close,” the mayor warns. His voice echoes oddly in the cavern, bouncing off unseen corridors. “This place is a maze.” The men murmur assent, gripping axes, swords, and iron-tipped spears with white-knuckled hands. Joshua walks near the front, expression unreadable. Wonwoo lingers farther back, one hand brushing the hilt of his blade, the other carrying his torch high.
And Seungcheol—he breaks away.
No one notices at first. He steps lightly over the stones, hugging the leftmost wall as if the shadows call him. He’s lived too long in the wild to trust tight formations in places like this. His eyes adjust faster than the others’. He doesn’t need their chatter clouding his senses.
A sound scrapes across the rocks ahead. The men freeze. “Rats,” mutters one. But his voice quivers. The deeper they press, the more oppressive the air becomes. The narrow corridors seem to twist back on themselves, leading nowhere.
“We shouldn’t have come,” an elder whispers, his breath frosting the air despite the heat of the torches. “This place isn’t natural.”
“Quiet,” Joshua’s father hisses. “You’ll have the whole ridge echoing.”
The group splinters without realising it. Pairs of men take wrong turns, their torchlight disappearing into the labyrinth of stone. Soon, only muffled voices and the occasional clatter of boots signal anyone is nearby. A sudden breeze slithers through the cave. Flames gutter and hiss. Half the torches sputter out, plunging sections of the cave into darkness. The men curse, fumbling to relight them.
But then—A sound.
Low and guttural. It rolls through the cavern like distant thunder. Then a growl. Closer. Louder. The elder nearest the sound drops his torch. The flames extinguish in a hiss as he stumbles back, eyes wide. “It’s here.”
The attack comes without warning. A blur of movement. The snap of jaws. Screams.
A hunter vanishes into the dark, his howl cut short by a wet crunch. Blood splatters the walls. The others swing wildly at shadows, their weapons clanging off stone. Another man is dragged backwards, his torch tumbling from his hand as claws rake down his back. He disappears into a side tunnel, screaming until his voice breaks. The growls grow louder. Closer. The smell of copper fills the air.
“Keep together! Keep—”
Joshua’s father’s words choke off as a shape barrels into him, claws flashing. His torch clatters across the rocks, flames flaring wildly before they die.
Panic consumes them. Steel arcs blindly through the air, meeting nothing. The sound of boots slipping on slick stone echoes alongside the wet, tearing noise of flesh giving way. Someone yells for retreat. Another falls silent mid-scream. The Wolf is everywhere and nowhere at once, a phantom of claws and teeth.
And then—Light. A shaft of pale morning sun breaks through a narrow crack in the ceiling ahead. The remaining men stagger toward it, their breaths ragged.
One by one, they emerge from the cave, dragging the wounded and the dead. Wonwoo is first—blood streaking his face and arms. He carries a limp form in his arms, head lolling. Joshua’s father. His chest torn open, his lifeless eyes staring skyward.
Two other townsmen follow—or what’s left of them. One clutching at a torn leg, another supported between two others, his ribs cracked and bleeding. Seungcheol steps out next, carrying the body of a young farmhand. His shirt hangs in tatters, deep gashes scoring his chest, but he walks upright. His jaw is set, his eyes burning. Joshua appears last, an arm hooked around your father to help him limp forward. Blood stains his coat, but none of it appears to be his own. His face is pale.
The survivors collapse to the ground outside, gasping in the cold morning air. The mayor’s voice is hoarse when he speaks. “What… what was that?”
No one answers. The priest leans heavily on a rock, his robe torn, his face streaked with grime. He crosses himself shakily. “It is no man. It is a demon.”
Wonwoo kneels, gently lowering Joshua’s father to the frozen ground. He bows his head, his body trembling—from fear or from the cold, nobody knows. Joshua helps your father sit against a boulder, murmuring reassurances, his expression shifting to his father’s lifeless corpse before averting his eyes.
No one speaks for a long time.
They stand in the rising sun, bloody and broken, the air thick with loss. Some weep. Some pray. Others simply stare back at the black mouth of the cave as if it might swallow them again.
You’ve been watching the edge of the woods since the first streaks of dawn.
The world around you has long since woken—the baker stoking his ovens, children tiptoeing across frost-covered paths—but you stand rooted at the edge of the square, the red cloak tight around your shoulders, heart pounding so hard it aches. Every rustle in the trees makes you flinch. Every crow that takes wing sends your breath stuttering.
They should be back by now.
The sun is high in the sky when you finally see them. At first, only two figures emerge from the tree line, staggering under the weight of what they’ve encountered. Your stomach drops when you realise who they’re carrying. Your father. He’s upright—barely. The Mayor supports him, his arm slung tight around your father’s waist.
Relief slams into you so hard your knees almost buckle. Your mother cries out behind you, skirts flying as she races forward. She throws herself against your father, nearly knocking the Mayor off balance. The sight makes your chest ache, but you don’t follow. Not yet.
Your eyes are still scanning behind them.
Two more men appear, grim-faced and weary. Then another, carried by Wonwoo. The man’s neck lolls at an unnatural angle. More survivors trickle out—limping, clutching torn flesh, faces pale and hollow. But not him. Seungcheol isn’t among them.
Panic seizes your throat as you stride forward. The snow crunches under your boots, loud against the stillness of a mourning town.
“Joshua.” You call out. He stands a few paces away, watching his father’s body being laid on a wooden cart. The older man’s face is waxy, slack, as if sleep has caught him mid-breath. Your feet slow. For the first time, you notice how eerily calm Joshua looks. Not a tear. Not a word. Just that stillness—the kind that feels like the quiet before a storm.
“What happened?” you demand, voice tight. “Where’s Seungcheol?” Joshua doesn’t answer. His eyes flick briefly to you before zeroing in on his father’s body again, and your stomach drops. “Joshua… I—” Your breath comes faster. “Joshua, I’m so—”
But the words die in your throat as another thought crashes over you like a wave. If Seungcheol is not here, does that mean...?
“Where is Seungcheol?”
Joshua’s eyes snap back to yours. Something cold flares in them. You step closer. “Where is he? Is he hurt? Joshua, please—” His voice, when it comes, is low and venomous. “The woodcutter?” You flinch at the disdain dripping from his words. “He left us. Just like he abandoned us in the tunnels.”
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “What does that mean? Abandoned you? Was he—Joshua, is he alive?”
There’s a beat of silence so heavy it feels like the earth itself is holding its breath. Joshua’s jaw flexes once, then again. “He’s fine,” he bites out. “Probably off licking his wounds in peace while the rest of us mourn the fallen.”
The relief that floods your chest is immediate, traitorous. Your knees almost buckle. You don’t realise it, but Joshua does. He watches the way your shoulders loosen, the way your lips part on an exhale. And it enrages him.
“My father is dead.” His words are a blade. “We lost three men in that cave. And all you care about is whether that scum came out unscathed.”
"Joshua—no, I didn’t mean—” You reach for his arm, your fingers brushing the blood-stiff fabric. “Please, you know that’s not—”
"Don’t bother.” His mouth twists. “You’re not as clever at hiding it as you think.” He pulls his arm away.
“I have a body to bury."
“Joshua, please.” You reach for his arm again. “I didn’t mean—"
“Go.” His voice cuts through you. He doesn’t look at you again as he pushes the cart forward.
You want to call after him, to say something—anything—but the words don’t come. Villagers whisper behind their hands. Their stares slide over you like ice. Calculating. Judging. You can’t stay here.
Your boots hit the snow hard as you turn, cloak slapping the air. You don’t care where you’re going, only that it’s away.
The clearing is quiet when you step through it, your breath catching at the sight of him. He stands by the well outside his cabin, sleeves rolled up, hands dipped into the bucket, scrubbing away blood and dirt with slow, methodical movements.
“Seungcheol!”
He freezes at the sound of your voice. Slowly, he lifts his head. “Blossom?” he breathes.
Your chest seizes at the name no one else calls you but him. Then his expression hardens. “Are you insane?” he snaps, closing the distance between you in three long strides. “Do you want to die out here? Or do you just want me to lose my mind?”
You barely have time to open your mouth before he grabs your wrist and yanks you toward the cabin. The door slams shut behind you. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I had to see you.”
“You’re running through the woods alone, with that thing out there, after what happened today—”
“I don’t care.”
You say it louder than intended, your voice trembling.
“I thought you were dead. You didn’t come back with the others. I waited. I watched all of them crawl out of those woods covered in blood, and when you didn’t come—” Your breath hitches, and your vision blurs. “I thought—God, I thought—”
“Hey.”
He’s crowding you in an instant, cupping your face with rough, calloused hands. You flinch only because the sensation of him is too much. Too real. Too warm. “I’m fine.”
But he’s not.
Your eyes fall to the torn fabric of his shirt, stained with dark blood and clinging to his chest. You reach for it, fingertips brushing the ragged edges where claws ripped him open. “You’re not fine.” He catches your hand. “It’s nothing. I’ve had worse.”
“Why didn’t you come back with the others?” You step even closer, unable to stop yourself. “What happened in there?” His eyes flicker, but he shakes his head. “Don’t ask me about that.”
“You can’t keep shutting me out.” Your voice cracks. “I thought I lost you, Seungcheol. And I—I can’t—”
You falter. The words twist in your throat, too fragile to speak, too heavy to swallow.
“I love you.”
His resolve breaks.
Seungcheol grabs your waist and crushes his mouth to yours. This kiss is all teeth and hunger, your back hitting the wall as he presses against you. His hands tremble at your sides, pulling you closer, closer—like if there’s even a sliver of space between you, you might vanish. You kiss him back with every ounce of grief, of guilt, of love you’ve kept hidden beneath layers of secrets and silence. Your fingers thread into his hair, your body arching to meet his, chasing the heat and pressure you’ve only ever felt in the shadows of being his. “Say it again,” he murmurs against your mouth.
“I love you.”
He groans, low and wrecked. “God, Blossom. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
He lifts you without effort, your legs curling around his waist as he carries you toward the bedroom. He lays you down on his bed, stepping back just enough to pull his ruined shirt over his head. Your breath catches again. His chest is broad, his muscles carved, but the wounds across his skin are red and angry, even if the blood has dried.
“You’re hurt.”
“I told you.” His voice is quiet. “I’m fine.”
You sit up and reach for his belt, your fingers trembling with anticipation. His hands tug your cloak from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
“If Joshua knew what I’ve done to you...”
He leans forward, brushing his lips along your jaw as his fingers undo the buttons on your bodice one by one. His voice drops lower.
“…what I’ve been doing to you, right here in this very bed.”
You inhale sharply, your skin flushed and prickling beneath his touch as your dress falls from your shoulder. “Let him find out,” you say. “Let the whole town find out. I don’t care anymore.”
His mouth crashes into yours again.
Your hands undress each other like it’s the last night either of you will be together. You run your fingers down the lines of his stomach, brushing the edges of each wound. He hisses once, but cups your face again and kisses your forehead. You feel him everywhere—his breath on your neck, his calloused hands at your waist, his voice breaking every time his hands remove a layer of your skirts. As the last of your clothes fall to the floor, he locks eyes with you again.
“Fuck, Blossom…” He murmurs, brushing his lips over yours. “You’re perfect.”
The air is cool on your bare skin, but his palms burn as they glide over your ribs, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t rushing. Every movement is deliberate, a kind of worship you feel down to your bones. “Seungcheol—”
“Shh.” His thumb traces your bottom lip. “I need to remember you.”
He lowers himself and kisses your jaw first—softly. Then your throat, your collarbone, down the curve of your chest. His tongue flicks against your nipple before he takes it into his mouth, sucking the peak gently.
“It’s been too long since I had you like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed about tasting every inch of you again?”
You whimper as his teeth graze lightly over the soft swell of your breast. “Seungcheol, please—”
“Please, what, Blossom? Use your words.”
Your hands fist in his hair as his mouth travels lower, down your stomach, nipping at your hip bone. You can feel his breath ghosting over your wet heat, and it makes your entire body shiver. “I need you,” you manage, voice trembling.
“You have me.”
He nudges your thighs apart and settles between them. His hands curl under your ass, pulling you forward until your hips rest against his shoulders. “God, look at you.” His voice dips lower, rougher. “I could just eat you up.”
The words send a hot rush straight through your core, and for a moment, you swear there’s a glint in his eyes that’s almost… feral.
But then his mouth is on you.
You cry out as his tongue drags a long, slow stripe between your folds. He hums low in his throat, as if savouring you, before plunging his tongue into your hole—lazier this time, teasing.
“You’re already so wet for me.” He presses a kiss to your clit, then another. “Does he make you this wet, Blossom? Or is it just me?”
Your breath catches in your throat.
“Answer me.” His voice sharpens slightly as his fingers stroke along your folds. “Have you let him between your thighs like this?”
"No—” you gasp.
His tongue swirls around your nub, the pressure increasing with every twist. “Not good enough. Say it.”
"I haven’t—I haven’t lain with anyone else.”
He groans, his grip tightening on your thighs. “That’s my girl.”
His lips seal over your clit, sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk. You’re panting, clutching at the sheets as he alternates between quick flicks of his tongue and long, slow strokes that leave you trembling. Just as you feel the heat coiling tight in your belly, his mouth pulls away. “Seungcheol—”
"Not yet.” His fingers replace his tongue, slipping inside your heat with an obscene wet squelch. He pumps them slowly, curling them just right as his thumb rubs circles over your clit.
“Say you’re mine.” His fingers thrust deeper, faster. “I’m yours.”
"Say you’ve always been mine.”
"Always—” you choke out.
“Good girl.” He leans down again, tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers keep working you open. You’re so close, your thighs trembling, breath ragged.
“Seungcheol, please—please let me—”
"Not yet.”
He pulls away completely, leaving you empty and desperate. You sob, reaching for him. He catches your wrists and pins them gently above your head, his body hovering over yours.
“I want you aching for me,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I want you to forget every man who isn’t me.”
You nod frantically. “I already—I only think of you—”
His jaw tightens as he searches your face, his own chest rising and falling in sharp breaths. “If anyone else touched you—”
"They haven’t.”
"You’d tell me?”
"Yes—God, Seungcheol—yes.”
His hand slides between your thighs again, teasing your aching cunt with just the barest brush of his fingers.
“I’ll never stop wanting you, Blossom.”
You’re trembling, hips lifting in a silent plea as he smirks down at you. But just as the coil in your belly tightens unbearably—He stops. Again. You let out a strangled cry as he sits back on his heels, dragging in a deep breath like he’s trying to rein himself in.
“I’m not done with you,” he says darkly. “But I want you to beg me properly.”
“Please, Seungcheol. Take me.” It’s barely a whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate. One hand grips your thigh, the other steadying himself as he lines up at your entrance. The heavy head of his cock nudges against your folds, and you both groan at the contact.
“Fuck—” he mutters, dragging it through your slickness. “You’re so wet for me. Always so fucking wet.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders. “Seungcheol—please, I need—”
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until his cock is fully seated inside you. You cry out at the stretch, your walls clenching around the girth of him.
“Goddamn it,” he growls, burying his face in your neck. Your hands cradle his face as his hips start a slow, steady rhythm.
"Blossom—”
He kisses you again—slow, deep, tongue sweeping against yours as he thrusts gently, his hands braced on either side of your head. Each push of his hips is controlled, like he’s savouring every second.
“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs. “Tell me you’re mine.”
"I’m yours,” you whisper, legs tightening around his waist.
“Say it louder.” His thrusts deepen.
“Fuck...I’m yours!”
"That’s right.” His pace picks up even more, hips snapping harder. “Only mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this. Nobody else gets to touch you here.”
His thumb slides between your bodies to circle your clit, drawing a sharp cry from you.
“Fuck, baby. You gonna come for me already?”
"Yes—”
“Not yet.” He slows, pulling almost all the way out before slamming his cock back in, making you moan out. “I want to feel you lose yourself. I want to see how beautiful you look falling apart on my cock.”
Your head thrashes against the pillow as you claw at his back, desperate for more, as he pulls out again.
“Seungcheol, please—”
“You sound so pretty when you beg, Blossom.” He grits his teeth as he drives into you again, the bed creaking beneath your bodies. “Makes me want to ruin you.” And then his cock slips out of you again. Your whimper of protest dies in your throat as he flips you both effortlessly, pulling you onto your knees as he lies down underneath you.
“Ride me.”
Your eyes widen in a daze. “What?”
“Ride me, Blossom. Now.”
Heat pools low in your stomach as you crawl over his body, his cock brushing against your slick folds as you settle your thighs on either side of his hips. His hands grip your waist tightly, steadying you.
“Take what you need.” His voice is ragged. “Show me how much you missed me.”
You sink down onto him slowly, both of you groaning out at the feeling. He is somehow even deeper in this angle, your walls sucking him in. His head falls back against the mattress, eyes half-lidded as he watches you.
“Fuck, look at you.” His hands slide up to your breasts, squeezing the mounds as you start to ride him. “Bouncing on my cock like that.”
You pick up speed, your thighs burning as you chase your high, your hands braced against his chest, careful not to touch the marks.
“Seungcheol—”
"Yeah, Blossom? Are you gonna come for me like this? Gonna soak me like I know you can?”
"Please—”
"God, you’re unreal.” He leans upwards, mouth latching onto your nipple as his hand slips between your bodies again, circling your clit.
You cry out at the sensation, hips stuttering as your release threatens to rip through you.
“Take it. Take all of me.”
You do. You can’t stop. The sounds filling the room as you bounce on his cock are obscene—wet, frantic, desperate. “You’re close. I can feel you.” His voice is dark, possessive. “Come on, Blossom. Come for me.”
Your walls clench around him, and his jaw tightens. He thrusts up into you, meeting your rhythm as his free hand slides up your back to tangle in your hair.
“You’re mine. Say it,” he groans, snapping his hips harder. “Say you’ve always been mine.”
"Always—always yours.”
"Good fucking girl.”
That’s all it takes. His movements grow frantic, hips slamming up into yours as the coil in your belly finally snaps. "Seungcheol—fuck!"
Your climax crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming, leaving you shaking in his lap. Seungcheol guides you through it, his hips pistoning up into you as his thumb continues rubbing your clit. One, two, three more thrusts are all it takes before he spills inside you with a guttural curse.
“Fuck—Blossom—”
You collapse against him, your chest heaving, his arms wrapping tight around your trembling frame. For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sound is your mingled breathing, his heartbeat thundering against your ear.
You wake tangled in sheets and strong arms.
The cabin is dim, the fire long burned to embers, and Seungcheol’s breath is warm against your bare shoulder. His grip is loose now, his hand resting on your waist like it has every right to be there—as if the world outside these four walls doesn’t exist. But it does.
The light outside is brighter than it should be. The faint sound of voices carries in from the village beyond the trees.
You’re late.
You move carefully, prying his arm from around you. He stirs but doesn’t wake, his lips parting slightly as he exhales a soft sigh. The sight nearly keeps you there, but there’s no time to linger—not when your absence is surely noticed by now.
You pull your clothes back on, smoothing your rumpled skirt as best you can. Your cloak lies in a heap on the floor where it fell hours ago. You drape it over your shoulders, fingers brushing the soft fabric in remembrance. You don’t look back as you slip out the door.
The village is already alive with morning bustle as you slip between the cottages. Vendors set up their stalls, and women balance baskets on their hips as they gossip in hushed tones.
You keep your head down, pulling the hood of your cloak lower as you weave through the crowd. Act natural. Walk slowly. Blend in.
It works. Until you feel it—eyes on you.
You turn and lock gazes with Joshua.
He’s in the blacksmith shop across the square, sleeves rolled up, striking iron with methodical force. Each swing of his hammer sends sparks flying. His face is unreadable at first glance, but you see it—the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes narrow slightly as they drag over your wrinkled cloak, your flushed cheeks, the faint pink where Seungcheol’s stubble must’ve scratched too hard along your throat.
You swallow. He knows.
The next strike of his hammer is harder, sharper, the sound ringing through the square. You take a step toward him. Maybe to explain. Maybe to beg him to keep his silence. Maybe to… you’re not even sure.
But you don’t get the chance.
A hand clamps around your arm and yanks you sideways.
You’re dragged into a narrow alley between two cottages, the smell of damp stone and firewood closing in.
“Where were you?” Your mother.
She’s in front of you, her eyes sharp, lips pressed tight. She doesn’t raise her voice—she doesn’t have to. The rage coils off her in waves.
“I’ve been up all night, praying you weren’t lying dead in a ditch. And here you are, strolling back like some girl from the brothel.”
“Mama—”
“Where were you?” she hisses again, stepping closer until your back nearly hits the wall. You open your mouth, but no excuse comes. You don’t think she’d believe them anyway. And then she inhales. Just once. Her nose flares.
“You smell like him.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice rises slightly, and you glance nervously toward the street beyond. A few passersby pause, curious.
“Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? Do you think I haven’t seen the way he looks at you? The way you sneak off like a common whore?”
“Stop.”
“What will people say when they find out their future mistress spent the night rutting in the woods with a man who swings an axe for his supper?”
“Stop it!” You snap, louder than you mean to be. “You don’t understand. Just—don’t make a scene.”
Her nostrils flare again, and for a moment, you think she might hit you. Before she can react, the bell of the square rings once, twice—urgent and steady.
Your mother releases your arm with a sharp jerk, nostrils still flaring.
“This isn’t over,” she says lowly before stepping out of the alley.
You follow after a moment, your pulse hammering in your ears.
The townspeople crowd into the square, voices murmuring, faces pale in the winter light. Wonwoo stands on the raised platform near the church steps, dressed in mourning black, his coat immaculate despite the chaos of the past days.
His expression is calm—too calm—but his eyes burn with something you can’t name.
“The Blood Moon comes tomorrow night,” he announces, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. “We must honour it. Honour the lives lost to the beast, and offer our strength to appease it.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
“The council and I have decided we will host a festival in the Wolf’s tribute. There will be music. Food. And at midnight, we will make an offering of our finest stock.”
“And if it’s not enough?” a voice calls from the crowd.
Wonwoo’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Then we will give more.”
The crowd murmurs again, unease rippling like a wave. Then—one by one—people begin to nod. The crowd breaks. Not in joy. Not in fear. In acceptance.
You move to follow your mother, but something stops you. Nothing tangible, but an invisible string pulling you to turn.
Your eyes lift—and meet his. Wonwoo is still on the platform, but his gaze is fixed on you. Unmoving. Unblinking.
There’s no warmth there. No grief. Just a quiet, coiled intensity that sinks into your skin and stays there. Like he’s not looking at you but through you. The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, not quite anything. A shiver runs down your spine.
You turn away too quickly, pulling your cloak tighter around you.
But as you retreat, you can still feel it.
His eyes. Watching.
The scent of lilies and dried lavender still lingers in her room.
It’s weaker now—faded beneath dust and time—but it clings to the linens and the curtains, to the edges of her mirror and the hairbrush left on the nightstand. Everything is just as she left it.
You shouldn’t be the one doing this. It should be your mother or the women from the parish. But they’d all agreed you should pick something of hers to lay beneath the festival altar—an offering of remembrance.
You kneel beside the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, opening it slowly. Inside: folded shawls, ribbons, an unfinished embroidery hoop. You reach for a scarf she used to wear to the market, soft and plum-colored, when something creaks beneath your knee. The floorboard.
You press down again. The wood gives slightly. Loose.
Curious, you pry at the edge. It lifts with a hollow pop. Beneath it—tucked just out of reach of unknowing eyes—is a small bundle tied with twine.
Letters.
You untie them with shaking fingers. The paper is delicate, and the ink has faded. Your name is nowhere on them. But his is. Joshua.
The first letter is dated nearly a year ago. Short, almost frantic.
“I see you across the market, and it burns me alive. I can’t bear knowing he holds you. That he walks beside you like you’re his, when I know you’ve never really been.”
“I dream of you in my arms every night, and I wake with nothing but regret.”
You blink. Reread it. It doesn’t make sense. Then you find the next.
“I heard them announce the engagement today. I thought I’d be sick. Did you look for me in the crowd? Did you see how I couldn’t breathe?”
“I’d give up everything—my name, my shop, this village—just to kiss you again beneath the orchard.”
Your stomach twists.
The next page is different. The handwriting rounder. Loopier. Lilly’s.
“He touches my hand in front of Mama and it makes my skin crawl. He says I’m lucky to be promised to him. I smile. I say thank you. I want to scream.”
“But then I see you, watching me, and I remember what it’s like to feel real. I remember that kiss behind the chapel. I remember your hand on my spine. I remember you.”
There are more. Half a dozen. Some short and scrawled in haste, others longer, more careful. But all of them carry the same aching intimacy. The same pleading, frustrated passion. Your heart pounds harder the more you read.
Joshua loved Lilly. And she loved him.
Her betrothal to Wonwoo was never real—not to her, at least. Just like yours, to Joshua, is nothing more than a name on a piece of parchment signed out of duty.
But Joshua never told you. Not once. Not after she died. Not during the procession. Not during the raid. Not even when he looked at you like you had broken something between you.
You fold the letters, hands trembling, and slip them into your cloak pocket. You need air.
The village is bustling today, anticipation sits thick in the streets. Decorations are being strung between buildings for the Blood Moon Festival. Ribbons hang limp in the still winter air.
You keep to the edges of the buildings, walking fast. You’re not sure where you’re going. You only know that your head is spinning, your heart is pounding, and—A hand grabs your arm and yanks you sideways.
You stumble behind a shed, twisting free with a gasp—until you see him.
Joshua’s jaw is clenched, chest rising and falling as if he’s been pacing, waiting for you. His hand is still on your wrist.
“You weren’t home after the raid,” he says. “I looked.”
“Let go of me.”
“You’re not even pretending anymore, are you?” he growls. “You don’t care that your sister’s dead. You don’t care that I had to bury my father alone. You don’t care about our betrothal, or this town, or anything but him.”
“You’re one to talk.”
He blinks.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” you ask quietly. “Did you think you could bury your affair along with her?”
Joshua’s face shifts—just a flicker, but it’s there. The fear. The guilt.
Then he recovers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You pull the letters from your pocket and shove them against his chest.
“Then explain this.”
He looks down, and his whole body goes still.
The silence between you thickens.
“I loved her,” he says finally, voice rough. “But it wasn’t supposed to be like that. We didn’t mean for—”
“Didn’t mean for what?” Your voice rises, trembling. “To hurt Wonwoo? To betray everyone? Or for her to end up dead?”
His eyes flash. “What are you saying, exactly?”
You take a step back, folding your arms.
“You tell me.”
His mouth hardens. “You think I would hurt her?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you whisper.
Joshua looks at you for a long, unbearable moment. “You don’t know a damn thing about what happened.” The next words sound like a thinly veiled threat. “Keep pressing, and you might not like what you find.”
Then he turns sharply, striding out of the alley with his shoulders tense and his fists clenched around the letters.
You’re left alone in the shadow of the shed, the echo of your heartbeat louder than the noise around you.
The village has never looked so alive.
Lanterns swing from crooked posts, casting flickering shadows that stretch along the building walls. The air smells of roasted meat, clove-soaked cider, and something earthier beneath it—ash, maybe. Or iron. Or blood.
They’ve dressed it up well, this night meant for mourning. Poured wine over the truth until it tasted like celebration. Drummed fear into dance.
But you know what tonight is. It’s not joy. It’s an offering.
You walk alone, the red cloak draped around you like armour—or perhaps a challenge. Bright enough to mock the very creature that tore your sister’s body to shreds, bold enough to declare you untouched.
And untouched, you remain.
Though you’ve passed through the woods more than once since that night—alone, without lantern or prayer or silver—you have returned each time with skin unmarked, breath still yours, limbs all where they should be.
People have started to notice.
They don’t say it outright, but you hear it all the same.
You walk past the old widow, who clutches her grandson tighter as you pass, pulling him just slightly behind her skirts.
“It’s not natural, the way she wanders into the forest and comes back without a scratch,” the baker’s wife murmurs to the woman beside her, voice hushed but not quite enough. “Even the priest wouldn’t dare walk that path alone.”
You pass the butcher’s stall. A pair of youngsters, no older than fifteen, pause their chatter when they see your cloak and fall silent, except for one muttered sentence as you step beyond them.
“They say the wolf can’t touch her.”
You step between a group of mothers near the well, who stop mid-conversation to glance your way. One whispers something, and another replies too loudly—“She flaunts it now. Wears that cloak like a badge. If I lost my sister that way, I wouldn’t be parading in her skin.”
That comment sinks under your skin like cold. Like rot. Like guilt. But you don’t stop. You don’t react. Because they are all wrong.
This is not pride. This is the only way you know how to carry grief—by wearing it, walking with it, letting it trail behind you like a shadow that never leaves.
You pass the chapel steps. A man there blesses himself as you walk by. Whether it’s for you or against you, you can’t be sure.
“There you are.” A voice slides in beside you, familiar and warm, an arm looping through yours.
Daisy.
Her perfume smells of honey and cinnamon, her dress daringly sheer beneath the firelight. Her presence is bright and unbothered, as though she hasn’t heard a single thing the town has said about you.
Maybe she has. Maybe she just doesn’t care.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she hums, pulling you closer as the crowd thickens around the bonfire. “Was almost ready to drag you out myself. Would’ve made for a scandalous entrance.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Barely,” she grins. Her voice lowers as she leans in. “But I’m glad you came. It’s a Blood Moon—you have every right to dance in it. Let them choke on their gossip.”
You glance toward her, but there’s no judgment in her eyes—only fire and mischief, like she’d dare the whole village to say something to your face.
“Did you see Margot crying by the sacrificial pen earlier?” she continues, spinning you slightly so you dodge a couple mid-spin. “Her prize cow broke free this morning. She swears it was a sign. A warning. I think she just got drunk and forgot to latch the gate.”
The laugh that escapes you catches in your throat.
“And you won’t believe this—but the Priest tripped during the procession. Spilled his whole bottle of anointing oil all over the altar. Had to bless the thing twice. He looked ready to throw himself into the fire afterwards.”
You let her talk. You’re grateful for the noise. The warmth. The way her hand squeezes yours like you’re not the girl who’s haunted half the village and seduced the other half.
Then her voice dips lower, conspiratorial almost.
“But none of that compares to the main attraction.”
You raise a brow. She nods toward the dancing circle. “Rose found a new victim.” Your gaze follows her gesture.
And then you see him.
Seungcheol is standing in the middle of the square, moving with the rhythm of the music, his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck from sweat. Pressed against him—giggling, sinuous, drunk on her own confidence—is Rose.
Her arms are wrapped around his shoulders. Her head tips back as she laughs, bare throat gleaming in the torchlight. His hands are firm on her waist.
Your chest tightens.
“Let’s dance,” you say to Daisy.
“Now?”
You don’t answer. You’re already pulling her forward.
The crowd parts just enough for the two of you to slip between the spinning pairs, your red cloak fluttering to the ground as you unfasten it.
At first, your steps are measured. Simple turns, a sway of your hips, the kind of rhythm that is easy to follow. Daisy twirls beside you, laughing freely, her hand tight in yours as she lets the beat carry her. You match her movements, mirror her spins, but then—
You see her. Rose.
Her back arches shamelessly as she drapes herself against Seungcheol’s front, hips grinding with the beat as though no one’s watching. Her fingers curl into his collar as she leans in, whispering something in his ear that makes her laugh, though he doesn’t return the smile. His hands remain at her hips, moving as she moves, guiding her in the rhythm.
Not pushing her away.
You pivot sharply, pulling Daisy back into your orbit. You move differently now—sharper, bolder. Your hands roam, one trailing down the curve of your own hip, the other sliding behind Daisy’s waist as you guide her into a slower sway. You tilt your chin up, eyes finding his across the fire-lit circle.
He’s already looking. Of course he is.
His eyes are locked on you, dark and burning, unmoved by the girl clinging to him.
Rose reaches for his waistband, palms flat against his stomach, sliding slowly, deliberately, down his thigh. Her mouth hovers near his throat, ready to kiss, ready to claim.
Your hands tighten on Daisy’s hips. You turn again, swaying harder, arching back, the fire catching the curve of your bosom, the flush of your skin. You let your fingers drift down your own sides, let your spine roll with the music, let your body become the challenge.
That’s when Seungcheol’s jaw tenses. He stops moving for just a second.
Rose doesn’t seem to notice. She keeps dancing, keeps brushing against him like she’s alone in the world, but he’s still not looking at her.
People start to notice.
You hear the first hush ripple through the crowd when your skirt sways too high with a spin. Someone to your left murmurs something behind their palm. A man glances toward his wife, eyebrows raised. Someone else whispers your name like a curse.
The music doesn’t stop. But something in the air shifts. Like the crowd is holding its breath, watching what happens next.
You’re not sure what possesses you.
Maybe it’s the way the night smells, or maybe it’s the way your skin tingles from his stare. Maybe it’s the dull roar of the music or the heat of your body from dancing, or the fact that everyone is watching and you just don’t care anymore. Maybe it’s all of it. Or none of it.
But the moment a man passes behind you with a silver goblet in his hand, you reach for it without a word, fingers slipping it cleanly from his grasp.
He barely registers your touch before you tilt the goblet to your lips and drink—head tipped back, throat exposed, your body still moving with the music. The wine is strong, too strong, and a rivulet slips from the corner of your mouth, trailing down your chin and throat and disappearing between your breasts. You feel it cling to your skin, sticky and warm, and you don’t stop it.
You can see it from across the fire—the way Seungcheol’s fingers dig into Rose’s hips like he might snap her in two if she moves again. His jaw is so tight you’re surprised it hasn’t cracked.
You lower the goblet slowly, never breaking eye contact. And then, with a single flick of your wrist, you toss it behind you into the dirt.
A beat of silence. Then you lift your hand, drag your index finger down your chest, scooping up the trail of spilt wine. You lift it to your lips and lick it clean.
His lips part slightly, breath uneven, pupils dilated. His chest heaves like he’s trying to calm himself. Good. Let him break. You want to see what happens when he does.
But then—A hand clamps around your wrist.
Firm. Controlling. Too tight. Joshua.
His expression is tight, his mouth a hard line of restrained fury, cheeks flushed red with shame. His fingers dig into your skin like you’re an unruly child being scolded for doing something naughty.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses low, his voice shaking with restraint as he tugs you closer. “You’re my fiancée.”
“Let. Me. Go.”
You yank your arm back, but his grip only tightens.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“No,” you snap. “You’re embarrassed by me. That’s not the same.”
“You’re acting like—”
“Like what?” you spit. “Like someone who didn’t ask for any of this? Like someone tired of pretending I belong to you?”
He goes rigid. His hand doesn’t move. “You are mine.”
Joshua tugs you again—harder this time, trying to draw you fully into him, as if proximity could restore control. Before you can react, Seungcheol is there.
In a blink, he is between you and Joshua—one hand gripping Joshua’s collar as he drags him off you with brutal force, while the other draws steel, putting a blade to Joshua’s throat.
Gasps ripple through the square. A few people cry out. The music falters.
“Touch her again,” Seungcheol growls, the knife steady in his grip, his voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do.”
Joshua struggles in his hold. You think I’m scared of you?”
“No,” Seungcheol sneers, “I think you’re stupid enough to test me.”
Joshua’s jaw tightens. His chest rises and falls in sharp bursts.
“You think she wants you?” he hisses. “She’s promised to me. You’re just—”
“Careful.”
The blade presses a little closer. Seungcheol’s voice remains calm, measured, a deadly contrast to the fury in his eyes.
Joshua leans in, reckless now, letting the words slip like venom. “You think that bed you share in the woods makes her yours?”
“I never said she was mine.” Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. “But maybe you should ask yourself why you’re so afraid she might choose me.”
Joshua goes still.
The words hit him like a blow. His breath stutters. And then, with a furious twist of his mouth, he tears himself away and storms off, swallowed by the crowd and the whispers already blooming behind him.
Seungcheol lowers the blade. His fingers move intentionally as he slides the knife back into its sheath beneath his coat.
You exhale the breath you had been holding.
“Seungcheol,” you call quietly.
He turns halfway, just enough for his gaze to find yours through the dark.
He shakes his head. Just once. Like he knows he shouldn’t have come, like he regrets staying. Without a word, he turns from you and walks away.
You stay there, unmoving, stuck in the space between two worlds. And in the aftermath, you realise that both men have left you behind.
But only one of them looked back.
When your feet finally move, you don’t hesitate. You step off the blood-warm stone and into the dark.
After him.
“Seungcheol!” you call out as you chase after him. “Will you stop walking away from me?”
He does.
The air around you tightens the moment he turns, still half-shadowed by the looming wall of the alleyway.
“What?” His voice is rough, biting. “What more is there to say?”
"Don’t do that.” You close the distance between you, anger and confusion crashing in your chest. “Don’t pretend none of this matters to you.”
"You want to talk about pretending?” he snarls. “You danced like you were starving for attention. Like you wanted the whole village to see how far you could bend before you broke. And you looked at me like—like I was the one who did this to you.”
"Maybe you did,” you snap, stepping into his space. “You keep running away every time I choose you. I show up—again and again—and you treat me like I’m some mistake you regret.”
“I have never regretted you.” His voice drops, low and guttural. “But that doesn’t mean I like watching you let him touch you like you’re his prize.”
You laugh. Loud and sharp and mean. “That’s rich coming from you.”
His brow tightens. You don’t stop.
“Rose was all over you, Seungcheol. Like a bitch in heat. She groped you through your damn trousers. And you just let her. You didn’t even look like you cared.”
“Nothing happened,” he growls.
“But you let her act like something had.” Your voice breaks. “And you stood there with your hands on her hips while I danced like a fool, hoping you’d see me. You— You made me feel cheap.”
His nostrils flare. “You think that’s what I wanted?”
“You made me say I’m yours.” Your voice is trembling now, but it doesn’t falter. “You made me feel like I’m yours. Like I always have been—like I’ll never belong to anyone else. And then you stand there in the middle of the square and let another woman put her hands all over you like I don’t exist?”
“You are mine.” The words snap from him like a whip, unthinking, and they hang there—too loud, too honest. Your heart slams against your ribs.
“Then why don’t you fight for me?” Your voice breaks into a yell. “Why have you never fought for me? Why did you let him—why did you let Joshua—get to me first?”
He stiffens, the name hitting like a slap.
"I didn’t let him. I wasn’t allowed near you."
"You were always near me!" you yell. "You were just too much of a coward to take me when I was yours."
“You think they would’ve let me?” His voice echoes against the wood, low and vicious. “I’m nothing in their eyes. I’m not a man they want for their daughters. I’m a woodcutter, a bastard with no name, no land, no future. Do you know what they’d do to you if they knew I’d touched you—really touched you?”
“They already suspect it,” you seethe. “They whisper it in the streets. I see the way they look at me—and I don’t care. I never have. You’re the one who’s ashamed.”
His head snaps back toward you.
“I’m not ashamed,” he breathes. “I’m fucking terrified.”
You don’t move. You don’t speak.
“I love you,” he says, voice raw. “But every time I look at you, all I see is what loving me would cost you.”
His eyes meet yours.
“But I don’t know if I can survive it,” he adds. “If they take you from me.”
Before you can form a reply, he’s grabbing you—and his mouth finds yours with a force that rips the breath from your lungs.
Seungcheol picks you up like you weigh nothing, arms locked tight around your thighs, and your legs wrap around his waist on instinct. Your back hits the barn wall hard—boards biting into your spine, the wood splintering behind you—and you gasp, but the sting makes you want more.
“Fuck, Blossom—” he rasps, voice already wrecked. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
Your fingers work at his belt, desperate, clawing. His hips grind into you and you can feel him already—hard, straining through his trousers.
“I need you,” you whisper against his lips, panting. “Need you inside me—please—”
He growls at your plea. Actually growls.
The sound vibrates in his chest as he grabs a fistful of your skirts and shoves them up around your hips. Your thighs quiver when the night air licks at your bare skin. Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate—he yanks your undergarments to the side and finds your core slick and wanting.
“God—you’re dripping for me already.”
You shudder, lips parting in a breathless moan.
“You want it like this?” he hisses, teeth grazing your ear. “Up against a wall where everyone can see us? You want them to hear you?”
You nod—desperate, burning, no room for shame left in your bones.
He curses again under his breath, unfastens his pants, and frees his cock with a flick of his wrist. He pushes inside with one sharp, glorious thrust.
Your moan rips from your chest before you can stop it, high and broken and loud enough to carry.
“Shh—baby—fuck, be quiet—” he groans, pressing his mouth against yours to stifle the sound. “You’re gonna get us caught—”
But you can’t help it. Not when he’s this deep, not when his cock fills you just right.
His hips snap forward again, his cock dragging against your walls with every thrust—thick and hot—his hips rolling with a brutal, punishing rhythm.
“Fuck—you feel that?” he grits. “Feel how good you take me? So tight I could lose my mind—”
Your fingers tangle in his hair, your mouth searching blindly for his skin.
“Harder,” you beg. “Don’t stop—fuck me like you mean it.”
He laughs, dark and breathless. “Oh, I fucking mean it.”
You feel each pulsing inch of him pump into your core, burying impossibly deeper with every surge forward. And still, something burns beneath your skin. Something hotter. Sharper.
Jealousy.
“Tell me I’m better.”
“What?” He doesn’t slow. His grip on your ass tightens, hauling you into each brutal thrust like he’s punishing you.
“You heard me.” Your voice shakes, but your fingers curl harder in his strands. “Tell me I fuck better than Rose.”
He goes still—just for a second. Then he slams back into you. Hard.
“I never fucked her,” he snarls. “Never even thought about it. I’d rather die than put my cock in anyone but you.”
Your head falls back against the wood, dazed and drunk on his confession.
“Say you’re mine.”
He bites your neck—not gentle, not careful—and you feel the possessiveness in every scrape of his teeth.
“I’m yours,” he growls into your skin. “Only ever fucking yours.”
Your core tightens around him so hard he curses aloud.
His rhythm grows frantic, the slap of skin echoing lewdly against the building walls as he chases the edge. Your moans are breathy, high, desperate—each one making him move harder, faster, until you’re clawing at his back and trembling around him.
His hand slips between you—fingers slick and practised, circling your clit in tight, ruthless strokes—and you feel your composure shatter.
“Come for me,” he pants. “Blossom—fuck—wanna feel you fall apart.”
His thumb rolls harder, pressing tighter against the bundle of nerves, never losing rhythm even as your hips buck helplessly against him.
You clench around him as you come, unravelling completely, crying out into his mouth. His hips stutter as he fucks you through it.
“God—fuck—baby, I’m—”
Seungcheol follows with a strangled groan, thrusting deep as his seed spills inside you, hips twitching with every pulse.
He doesn’t move for a long time.
Your foreheads rest together, chests heaving, still trembling in each other’s arms. The alley is dark around you, but not silent. You hear the distant laughter of the villagers. Drunken, harmless.
But neither of you speaks.
The sky has changed.
You notice it as you step back onto the edge of the festival square. The clouds above, swollen and brooding for most of the night, finally peel apart, and the heavens open wide. The moon appears.
Blood red.
No silver grace. No pale serenity. It bleeds over the sky like a wound ripped open, swollen and unnatural, casting everything beneath it in shades of crimson. The lanterns no longer glow warmly. They flicker with a sickly tint, warped by the colour of the moon. A ripple of unease stirs the air. A silence falls. One by one, the townsfolk stop mid-sentence, mid-laugh, mid-drink, to take in the transformation.
You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, feeling the chill of the sudden wind press beneath your dress. The warmth from before—Seungcheol’s breath on your neck, his hands, his voice tangled with yours—is still heavy on your skin. But now, it feels like it happened in another world entirely.
He’s gone. You both knew it had to be that way. No one could see you leave together. But you hadn’t meant to stay. You’d planned to vanish, slip through the trees and find your way to him again. And then you remembered—your cloak.
Abandoned like a calling card at the centre of the square. If someone found it… no. You needed to get it back. You couldn’t leave it behind, not with the way people were already watching you.
So you move, weaving between the stalls and fire pits, nodding to no one, slipping into the spaces between laughter and music. A few people glance your way, but most seem distracted—eyes pinned to the sky, murmurs growing louder.
“The moon—have you ever seen it like that?”
“It’s an omen. It has to be.”
“God above. Look how it stains the square.”
You keep your head down. Your steps quicken.
And then—A scream. Piercing. Guttural.
It cuts through the music. The drums fall silent. The laughter chokes in throats. You spin on your heel just in time to see the far end of the festival explode into chaos.
Something moves. Not a blur—no. It’s too large for that. A shape, almost twice the size of a man, erupts from the shadows behind a tent and leaps. Its fur glints black beneath the red moon. Its eyes—gilded, glowing—cut straight through the festivities.
The Wolf.
He tears into the crowd with such force that bodies are flung by momentum alone. A man collapses with a gurgled cry, his throat ripped open in one clean strike. Another tries to run, only to be knocked to the ground and trampled by the fleeing mob.
The Mayor is standing near the centre stage, shouting for order. “Get inside! Go to the church—!” But he doesn’t get to finish the command. The Wolf barrels into him, knocking him backwards so fast he hits the cobblestones with a sickening crack. Before the man can even raise his arms in defence, the Wolf lunges again—its jaws locking around the Mayor’s chest. Blood spurts upward in a horrific arc, splashing across the dais. His screams gurgle and choke out, then go silent.
The town’s leader—torn apart in front of everyone.
Everything around you fractures into chaos. Mothers clutch their children and vanish into alleyways. Couples dive beneath overturned carts. Lanterns fall and shatter, flames catching on discarded garlands and straw. Smoke curls into the sky. Spilt wine and lamp oil coat the cobblestones, turning the ground slick beneath stampeding boots.
You dash between the stalls, heart pounding, lungs seizing against the cold air. You stumble past a fallen tray of meat pies, a splintered wine barrel still gushing. You skid around the shattered apple cart, duck beneath torn bunting and flapping ribbons, searching for that familiar flash of crimson.
And then you see it.
Dangling from the jaws of the Wolf.
Your blood stills.
Across the square—through the smoke—he stands. Towering. Drenched in gore. The red cloak hangs from his mouth, the fabric darkened with saliva and blood and trailing down to the floor. His breath steams in the chill air. And his eyes—glowing, gold—are not fixed on the crowd.
They are locked on you.
You meet his gaze—and something in you knows he sees you. Knows you. The way he tilts his head. The way his nostrils flare, catching your scent on the wind.
He drops the cloak.
And then he runs. Straight toward you.
Your legs burn as you sprint, feet slipping, skirt catching on splintered wood. You see the crowd parting ahead—people pouring into the safety of the church like frightened cattle. The priest stands at the threshold, arms out, urging them in. The bell tolls, calling the flock to safety.
“This way!” he shouts. “To the stone! Get behind the stone!”
“Run!” Daisy’s voice pierces the chaos. You see her at the church steps, her hair wild, eyes frantic as she reaches toward you. “Go, go, go!”
You can feel the Wolf gaining on you. The thud of his paws. The low snarl curling into a growl. You don’t look back. You can’t.
The ring of stone comes into view—worn smooth by generations, pale beneath the red moonlight. A line drawn by hands long gone, blessed and bound to something holier than anything that still lingers in this cursed place. You cross it in a breathless leap, your foot slamming into sacred ground as your body lurches forward.
The thud of pursuit ceases with a hiss—not a cry, not a roar, but a sharp sizzle that lifts the hairs along your arms. You spin on your heel, stumbling slightly as you turn, just in time to see the Wolf lurch back from the ring of holy stone, one great paw raised mid-step. Smoke coils up from where it touched the consecrated earth, a thin veil of steam curling around his fur.
He stands there, muscles drawn tight, lips curled back to reveal bone-white fangs. His eyes—golden, glowing, unblinking—lock onto yours.
Your breath stutters in your throat. You take a half-step back, but your feet falter, unwilling. Something in the way he looks at you—so steady, so burning—roots you in place. All around you, the world swells with noise. Screams. Commands. The tolling bell. The priest calling your name from the church steps, his voice urgent and hoarse. “Get back—child, come back! Now!” And somewhere nearer—Daisy. “What are you doing? Move!”
But they’re distant. Faint. Like wind behind glass.
Because he’s still watching you. And you can’t look away.
The air between you stretches taut—charged and feverish. You don’t know why your lips part, why your voice slips through them, but the words rise anyway, quiet and trembling.
“Who are you?”
The Wolf does not move. But something flickers across his expression—just barely. A narrowing of the eyes. A twitch in the curve of his jaw.
He tilts his head.
And then the wind shifts.
It curls around your legs, lifts your hair from your shoulders, carrying your scent toward him. He sniffs once, sharp and fast, and something deep in his throat rumbles—a low, possessive growl that curls through the space between you.
You don’t know what you expect.
A leap? A lunge? A response?
Instead, he lowers his raised paw—cautious—and takes a step back. Then another. His gaze lingers, unwavering, until the shadows near the tree line swell and swallow him whole.
The world lurches back into motion.
You stumble, the spell breaking, breath catching violently in your chest. Someone grabs your arm—Daisy—pulling you into the fold of the others spilling out of the church now that the threat is gone. You can feel their eyes on you. All of them. No longer wide with terror—but narrow.
Why were you spared?
The bells never stopped.
They tolled through the night, clanging against the rafters and rolling over the rooftops of the village. Their song carried sorrow, carried warning. A sound to guide the frightened flock, and to mark the presence of the beast that had torn their world apart.
Those who had been driven into the church during the chaos of the festival had remained there all night, pressed into the pews, lying on the stone floor, whispering prayers into clasped hands. By morning, the air was thick with sweat, stale candle smoke, and the sour tang of fear lingering heavier than incense. Others had joined at the first light of dawn, filing in silently, faces drawn tight, eyes restless. No one came to pray. They came to decide.
The pews are so full the crowd spills into the aisles, shoulders pressed close, boots scraping the floor as they shift restlessly. You sit between your parents, your father’s hand clutched tightly around your own as though he fears you’ll be ripped from his side. Your mother is silent, her frame rigid, staring ahead toward the altar where the priest and town leaders stand.
Wonwoo is there, at the centre of it all. He wears no mourning clothes, only the same dark coat from the night before, but there is something new in his bearing. The boyishness is gone. His face is still, measured with a composure that makes your skin prickle. He wears gloves—black, thin, his father’s. When he speaks, his tone is calm, the cadence of someone who already expects to be obeyed.
“My father is dead,” he says plainly, and the words fall flat into the stifling silence of the church. “That leaves me. Until the Wolf is slain, until order returns, the protection of this village falls to me.”
His declaration passes without argument. Perhaps no one dares. Perhaps no one has the strength to challenge him.
Beside him, the priest raises a hand, voice rough with exhaustion. “The holy ground is our sanctuary. You saw it with your own eyes. The creature would not cross the stones. It recoiled from them, as though burned. Here—in God’s house—we are safe. If we remain faithful, if we remain together, He will shield us.”
Murmurs run through the pews. For a breath, it feels like reassurance. But then another voice breaks from the crowd.
“What about her?”
You feel the weight of them before you hear the words echoed. Dozens of heads turn. Dozens of eyes pierce you.
“The Wolf spared her.”
“We saw it—every one of us saw it.”
“It should have killed her. Why didn’t it?”
The murmurs turn cruel. Their voices sharpen, fueled by fear and accusation that need a target.
“Her blood is cursed—first her sister, now her.”
“The Wolf is tied to her family. It won’t harm her because she belongs to it.”
“Lock her up.”
“Send her away, before it comes back for her.”
“Better still, offer her as sacrifice—let the beast take what it wants, and it will leave the rest of us be.”
A woman’s voice pierces above the noise: “She’s a witch! No human creature is spared by a monster like that unless she’s in league with it.”
The word spreads like wildfire—witch, witch, witch—passed from mouth to mouth until the rafters ring with it.
Your mother rises to her feet, her voice breaking as she cries out over the tumult. “She is no witch! She is my daughter, my blood—she is innocent!”
Your father rises as well, his deep voice carrying over hers, steadier but no less fierce. “She was spared because the Wolf lost interest. That is all. Do not turn your fear into a noose for her neck.”
Their pleas seem small against the roar of suspicion and the faces turned toward you, with narrow eyes and tight mouths—even Daisy and Rose, their stares brittle and uncertain. You feel the heat of it crawl over your skin, pinning you in place by the weight of their judgment.
Wonwoo does not silence them. He does not soothe them. He simply watches, his face still and impassive, his gloved hands folded neatly in front of him—when another voice cuts through the noise.
Joshua.
He rises from his place near the front, the scrape of the bench carrying in the air. His face is drawn with weariness, but his voice—when he speaks—carries more fire than you have ever heard from him.
“Enough.”
The whispers falter.
“She is not cursed. She is not in league with the beast. You all saw the same thing I did—The Wolf stopped at the stones. It did not stop for her sake. It stopped for the blessing. That is what saved us.”
The crowd shifts uneasily. Joshua’s voice cuts again, sharper still.
“Do not twist your fear into cruelty. She is betrothed to me, and I will not hear her slandered.”
The silence that follows is heavy. You feel the eyes of the town pressing harder still against your skin, but something else swells beneath it—the faintest sense of a shield, thin and trembling, but standing between you and the mob.
From the altar, you see it—the minute clench of Wonwoo’s jaw, the faint flicker in his stoic mask as Joshua’s words hang in the air. Barely perceptible. But you catch it.
The doors groan open, and every head turns.
You feel your mother’s shoulders shift, the subtle lean of her body readying to stand again if she must.
Seungcheol steps onto the church steps.
He pauses on the sill, as though measuring the distance between the world outside and the one within. The morning light drags light along his jaw; he looks as if the night never let him go. Gloves sheath his hands, and from one of them hangs red that has become your ruin instead of your shield.
Your cloak.
He does not look at you as he walks the centre aisle; you feel the ache of that and respect it at once. He stops short of the altar steps—short of Wonwoo, of the priest—and lifts the cloak enough that the crimson spills down against the stone.
“It wasn’t her,” he says, voice low but carrying. “You saw it turn away. It wasn’t after her. It was after this.”
A ripple passes through the front rows. Joshua’s jaw sets; his hands bury themselves in his pockets, shoulders squared, gaze fixed forward.
Seungcheol doesn’t look at him. He keeps speaking, each word chosen carefully. “The cloak still holds Lilly’s scent. The Wolf picked it up in the square—followed what it knew. It went for the memory on the cloth, not the girl beneath it.” He inclines his head toward the nave, letting the logic fall where it must. “When it came close enough to breathe her in—when it knew she wasn’t Lilly—it left.”
The priest’s fingers worry the edge of his stole; he glances to the cloistered sisters near the back, then to the ring of stones embedded in the threshold. “The creature could not cross holy ground,” he repeats. “It is consecration that held it. But the boy’s reasoning has shape. It is not the girl the beast sought.”
Wonwoo’s expression hardly shifts. He studies Seungcheol as though cataloguing a thing he might someday have to break, then lets his gaze skim the congregation, stopping nowhere, revealing nothing. When he speaks, it’s the same calm from before. “There will be no accusations without proof.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it; he doesn’t need to. “For now, she stays. Within the church. We will post watches. We will prepare more silver, more rites, more holy water. We will not be caught unready again.”
Sighs snap through the pews—half-relief, half-dissent. You feel both and neither. Your mother sags a breath you didn’t hear her holding; your father nods once, as if the fact of you remaining is a victory he will accept and defend. From somewhere behind you, Daisy trembles—she won’t meet your eyes—but Rose does, and hers are flinty.
People begin to argue logistics because logistics are easier than grief: who will fetch water; who will move cots; whose cellar has salt; how many torches remain unbroken; whether the bell should toll at intervals or continuously, whether it draws the beast or warns the flock; which doors must be barred if the church must sleep the village a second night. Through it all, Seungcheol does not move. He leaves the cloak where he placed it, as if to make clear its guilt has been taken from your body to lie here, inert, on the steps.
At last, the arguments exhaust themselves—not because anyone is satisfied, but because fear has eaten through the night and left only bone.
Bodies begin to move, pouring toward the doors in a slow, stunned march. Families cling close, neighbours exchange glances, the scrape of benches and the murmur of hoarse voices bounce against the apse.
You stand. Your mother’s fingers brush your sleeve; your father’s nod steadies you only as much as it must. You slip free, step into the aisle, and let the current carry you forward until the cold morning air breaks across your face.
Outside, the square is a study in ash and aftermath—lanterns charred to husks, bunting torn, the blood dried but not gone. Your breath ghosts white. No one lingers. They flee the light like it could burn.
You make for the edge of the courtyard.
A shadow detaches from the doorway and stops you.
Seungcheol.
He stands just beyond the lintel’s reach. Out here, the air holds no listening ears; the door swallows the last of the voices and leaves only bells and wind.
“You shouldn’t stay here,” he murmurs. “Not with them like this. Not with the moon like that.”
“You came.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “To tell them what they needed to hear.” He glances past you to the street, then back, eyes hard with purpose. “And to tell you what you don’t want to hear. Run. Tonight. I’ll take you. We’ll be past the ridge before they even finish arguing shifts.”
“I won’t leave.”
“Blossom—”
“I won’t leave until I know who murdered my sister.” You do not lower your gaze. “He—whatever he is—someone—killed Lilly. And he walks among us. He stood in this square under that moon and wore a man’s face before he wore a monster’s. I will not run from that. Not while he breathes the same air I do.”
Something quiet and dangerous moves behind his restraint. “Then at least don’t walk alone.”
A humourless breath escapes you. “You say that like I never have before.”
His eyes slide, just briefly, back toward the inside of the church—toward the priest’s shadow, Joshua’s rigid silhouette, Wonwoo’s composed stillness—and then return to you with the same severity he carried inside. “If the bells stop,” he says softly, “if the doors open and it isn’t morning—find me. No questions. No pride. Just run.”
“If the bells stop,” you echo, the oath small and unadorned and absolute.
No one ever watches the door behind the sacristy.
You move softly anyway, a trespass wrapped in quiet, and shoulder your way up the narrow stairs into the little room where the old books live.
It smells of beeswax and dried lavender and the tiredness of paper that has outlived its scribes. Dust floats in the thin shaft of light cut by a slit of window. You touch spines with two fingers—gentle, apologetic—then draw down what the village has kept hidden.
Bestiaries. Sermons. A pilgrim’s journal, tide-stained with salt. A cracked volume stitched in boar-hide, its clasp stubborn. You fan them on the long table, strike a candle, and let the room close around you.
They call it a curse. They call it a bloodline.
You read until the shapes on the page become voices, the voices become rooms, and the rooms draw a map of the thing that unravels your nights.
Of the Moon-Marked: the Beast is not born of beast, but of men who trespassed a law older than tithes; one drank from the spring where iron bleeds, one hunted past the boundary stone, one was wed while the bell was silent and the moon was red. Their seed remembers. In the sons, it breaks the bone; in the daughters, it saves the skin and stains the dream.
—Liber Bestiarum Redactum, vol. 73r
When the red Moon sits low and the air smells of iron, the Beast walks as a man by day and a hunger by night. He will know his quarry before the quarry knows itself; he will circle the holy places but will not set his foot upon them. He is bound by three: silver that burns like cold fire, stone that has been blessed by honest hands, and salt that remembers what men forget.
—On Malisons & Moon-Signs, vol. II
You turn a leaf. Another. The wax on the candle creeps; the wick sizzles. The words begin to take hold of you.
He who is bitten and lives shall wear the Moon thereafter. The wound will not close clean; it will remember the night and open to it when the sky bleeds again. The malison passes not by oath nor envy but by blood. Beware the kindness of a spared throat; the Beast keeps counsel with its teeth.
—The Chronicle of Red Winter, chap. IX
Your pulse ticks hard under your thumb. He who is bitten and lives… You read it twice. A third time. The letters do not change.
You wet a torn scrap from a blank flyleaf and copy the lines in a narrow, ugly hand.
There is more.
Of the First Sin and the Origin, there is no single telling; some say a vow was broken in the woods—bride to bridegroom, hunter to horn, priest to bell. Some say a king’s man drank from a spring in which a blade had slept, and the iron wrote its hunger in his marrow. The line does not thin with distance; it waits. When the Moon stands red, it wakes in one, and the rest learn fear.
—Miscellany of the Elder Parish, scribe unknown
Of the Hunter’s Mark: when the Beast has chosen, he lays token or sign. It may be a garment, a trinket, a blood-scent borne upon some loved thing. The birds fall silent when the token is set; the chest tightens in the chosen. He will not strike upon consecrated stone, but he will set his claim at its very edge. He is patient with what he wants.
—Practicks of Watch & Ward, anno long forgotten
You sit back, the candle throwing a thin ring of light that makes islands of the books and a sea of the rest. The words move like cold through your bones: silver, stone, salt; the bite; a mark; a beast that remembers its sin more faithfully than men remember their prayers. You let one paragraph slip past your lips—He is patient with what he wants—but do not write it down.
The stairs creak.
You do not turn at once. You slide the copied scrap into your bodice, flatten the cover of the nearest book with your palm, and then you look up.
Joshua is standing in the doorway.
He leans his shoulder against the jamb, his hands in his coat pockets, thumbs hooked at the seams; his jaw is set in that careful way of his that says, I have chosen my words twice and am measuring them a third time. The sight of him here tightens the room, tightens your chest, tightens the string between what you owe him and what you will not give.
“I thought you might be up here,” he says.
You keep your breath level. “Everyone else is making plans,” you answer, and the words come smoothly because you’ve said them to yourself already. “Someone has to look for answers.”
He steps inside, slow as a man approaching a nervous horse. Sun threads his hair at the temple; soot stains the cuff of his sleeve where he forgot to shake it clean. He glances at the spread of pages, at the knife-pricked headings and the angry ribs of old ink. “And do they oblige?”
You tilt your chin toward the closed book under your palm. “Some.”
He waits—doesn’t press, doesn’t crowd—lets the silence lay the weight. That, more than whatever he might have said, makes you decide to give.
“The bite passes it,” you tell him, tasting the truth of the words. “If a man is bitten and lives, the moon will find him after. And silver… it burns.”
His gaze drops because something in what you just said resonates with him first in his hands. It is then you see them bare: the heel of his right palm webbed with a tender sheen; a crescent of red along two knuckles where burns linger.
You do not ask.
He gives the answer anyway. “They came to drag me to the church in the middle of a pour,” he says, mouth tightening into something that might be considered humour. “I didn’t bother with tongs.”
You nod. You do not tell him that the burns look older than an hour, fresher than a week; you fold the unease and tuck it beside the scrap of copied lines. For now.
He reaches into his coat and draws out a length of chain threaded through a small hammered disk. The silver throws a coin of pale light onto the page between you. He does not cross the table; he doesn’t have to.
“Protection,” he says simply. No flourish. No superstition. A craftsman’s oath in the shape of a thing. “Pure silver. Quenched in brine. I took it to the font after.” A rueful breath. “The priest humoured me.”
You lift your hair without thinking; he steps nearer only enough to lift the chain. The disk slides cool into the hollow of your throat. The clasp bites, delicately. The chill lingers and softens with your heat.
“Thank you,” you say, and you mean it.
He steps back half a pace. “Wear it,” he murmurs. “Don’t take it off until the moon is dark.”
The silence that follows is heavy. You rest two fingers on the disk and feel the thrum beneath your skin.
“There’s more,” you speak up. “The books speak of a mark. A token set when the… when he chooses. A garment. A trinket. Something that holds a loved scent.” You keep your eyes on the cloth of his sleeve, not his face. “He will not step on consecrated stone, but he will set his claim at its edge.”
Joshua’s eyes lift and hold. For a heartbeat, you think he will flinch from the word claim—argue it away, pare it down to caution—but he only nods.
“Then we keep the edges strong,” he says. “We chalk more lines. We bring more salt. I can spare silver if the merchants will be bought off without question. Hinges for the side doors. Nails for the shutters. I’ll bring them by dusk.”
“We’ll need all of it,” you answer.
He glances at your throat and away again, measuring whether the thing he made sits where it should. His hands, freed from his pockets, flex once, as if remembering the metal while refusing to touch it.
“Don’t go to the square alone,” he adds, softer. “Not with their nerves like they are.”
“I’m not afraid of the square.”
“Be afraid of the men in it,” he responds. “Fear doesn’t always wear teeth.”
You think of witch and sacrifice, and the way even Daisy’s mouth could not quite find a smile last night. You let your thumb turn the disk. Then you let it fall flat again.
There are two more lines on the page you do not read aloud.
Some say the Beast spares what it would keep. Some say it is bound to the breath of one the Moon will not let him kill. In such choosing, there is no mercy—only patience.
—A Clerk’s Marginalia, hand unknown
You close that one with your fingers still on the words and do not copy them. You put the knowledge where you put the unease. Not gone. Simply kept.
Joshua moves like a man withdrawing a blade with care not to widen the wound—slow from the table, slower from the doorway. At the threshold, he pauses, thumb rubbing the seam of his pocket.
“I’ll come back before dusk,” he says.
“I’ll be here,” you lie.
When he is gone, you lay your palm flat to the silver at your throat until your breath finds its pace. The candle gutters and steadies. The pages wait. You draw the scrap and read it once more—He who is bitten and lives…—then fold it smaller and slide it deeper, where even your fear can’t reach.
You promise yourself to look for the Hunter’s Mark—not in books this time, but in men.
The village settles quickly around a new leader.
Wonwoo gives orders that boys run down the lanes, stalls go back up, scorched beams get painted, and women sweep ash into piles. The bell tolls at set intervals, and the priest follows with a pail of chalk to redraw the thresholds. Doors open when Wonwoo says so. People move because he tells them to. Wonwoo wears the role like a well-fitted coat.
He speaks softly when he stands at your gate, elbows bare to the pale sun, the ribbon of his sash retied discreetly. “How did you sleep?” he asks—never did you sleep, always how, as if he assumes you did and wishes to be the one who improved it. He brings a loaf he did not bake and calls it kindness. His gaze lingers a fraction too long on your mouth when you thank him; the knot of neighbours by the lane pretends to be listening to a woman counting eggs and is not.
In the square, he oversees the mending of the canvas over the butcher’s stall, the measuring of a new beam for the cooper’s awning. When you pass, he notices; his voice finds you as though he’d been mid-sentence all along. “If you need to cross to the far fields, I can spare two men.” A pause, gentled. “Or three.” He steps closer—half a shoe’s length—close enough that you must tip your chin to keep his eyes. Close enough that onlookers can be reassured their leader cares.
Outside the church, he offers an escort you don’t accept—“It would put my mind at ease”—and does not pull back when you say you are fine. In the market, he insists on paying for your soap and salt, sets the wrapped parcels against your palm with a touch that is neither accidental nor quite casual. He lets his hand linger.
The tokens begin the same morning the lanterns are rehung.
A red ribbon, tied neatly around your door latch—silk, not village cloth. You didn’t see it when you left; it’s there when you return. You loosen it with the edge of a butter knife, ease the knot apart, and slip the strand into your pocket. Later, alone, you fold it twice and bury it at the bottom of the old flour tin beneath the hearth stones.
A sprig of wolfsbane, lavender-dark, tucked into the hem of your cloak—sharp-scented, wicked even before the stories made it so. You find it when your thumb snags the stitch holding it in place. Someone had to be close to set it there. You cut the thread and press the flower flat between two pages of a psalter you do not read, then tuck the book at the back of a high shelf.
A chalk mark near your bedroom window—nothing elaborate—only a rough half-moon scrawled at knee height where a man kneeled and watched. You wash it with a rag and a bowl of rainwater, then chalk your own small cross where the crescent had been. The next afternoon, a different mark appears farther along the wall. You scrub that one, too. You start checking the shutters twice before dusk.
They don’t arrive on a pattern. Not every day. Not at the same hour. They simply appear—here, then there. You hide them all.
You do not tell your parents. You do not tell the priest. You do not tell Joshua. You do not even tell Seungcheol.
Their distance speaks volumes while Wonwoo hovers. Joshua keeps to his forge, shoulders squared beneath the lintel, the glow from the coals making an ember of his cheek. Sometimes you feel his gaze from the alley—hot, steady, weighing something he won’t say. Seungcheol becomes a shape at the edge of the tree line, a dark coat against darker bark, there and gone before you can be sure you saw him. They are separate orbits around you, and you are a moon being pulled by more than one tide.
This new rhythm collapses at the well.
It’s the hour when the sun flattens into a bright, stubborn coin and the queue stretches long with buckets and stooped backs. Daisy bends to fill a pail and winks at you over her shoulder, face still pale with sleep she didn’t get. You take your place two bodies back, palms wrapped around a bucket handle smoothed by a thousand hands.
The rope creaks. The pulley ticks. The sounds are ordinary, reassuring. Until you hear a short, ugly snap.
You look up and see why: just above the wheel, the hemp isn’t frayed from use—it’s been pared thin, a clean shaving that wouldn’t survive a full haul. The bucket—heavy with water—drops. It falls straight through the glare, iron rim first, aimed at your face.
A hand wraps around your arm and yanks you backwards—hard, controlled. You stumble backwards, skirts tangling your ankles, your bucket rattling against the ground as the other slams into the flagstones where you just stood. Water explodes up and out, dousing skirts, soaking boots. It rebounds on the shortened line and starts pinwheeling, fast and wild.
Joshua’s breath is at your ear, body squared to take the next hit if there is one. “Are you hurt?” he whispers. You shake your head, breath stuck in your chest.
The swinging bucket ricochets toward a child; Daisy snatches the boy by the collar and flings him behind her, pail forgotten, water sloshing over her shoes. “Mind the rope!” she snaps.
The rope whips faster, paying out. The bucket lunges again—this time toward you and the knot of people gathered close.
Another figure runs in from the side.
Seungcheol plants his feet, grabs the rope with his right hand, and holds. The burn is instant—black tar streaks, skin peeling—but he doesn’t let go. He wraps the rope over his forearm once, then again, teeth bared, and leans his weight back like a man hauling a net in a maelstrom. The line bites. The bucket jerks and loses speed, skidding to a stop with a clatter as he kicks it to the ground with his left boot. He exhales through his nose, jaw tight.
Sound returns to you in a rush—shouts, curses, and an after-scream that arrives too late. Daisy is checking the boy’s face with quick hands. Joshua angles his body between you and the slack rope, palm open, keeping space clear. You can see the old white burn on his thumb, and the new, angry red ones along the heel of his hand, the ones you saw in the library.
Seungcheol’s own palm is a mess—raw, tar-streaked, wound already weeping. He tears a strip from his sleeve with his teeth and binds it fast, eyes flicking over you once and away again, as if looking longer would start more trouble than the bucket just tried to.
The crowd parts.
Wonwoo arrives last—steady, composed, two men with spears a step behind. He sweeps the scene: the shaved rope, the gouged stone, the sopping skirts, your face. “What happened?” he asks, though it seems he’s already taken the measure of it. His gaze settles on you. He steps in—close, polite, too near. His hand lifts and hovers over your sleeve. “She mustn’t walk alone.”
Agreement rises around you—relief turning into orders people are glad to follow. You feel the circle tighten: watch her, guide her, keep her in the centre of the road.
Wonwoo turns briskly to work. He has the damaged section of rope hauled down and replaced, a boy sent for oil, another for sand, and a third to the forge for a fresh hook. Then he comes back to you with the smile the village trusts. “Allow me to walk you home.”
Daisy’s fingers tap your elbow once—sorry, are you all right?—then she’s pulling the boy back from the edge once again. Joshua’s hands slide into his pockets, jaw set, eyes on the stones. Seungcheol finishes the knot on his bandage and nudges the ruined rope aside with his boot.
“Thank you,” you say, because refusal will only make this longer. “It isn’t far.”
“All the same,” Wonwoo replies, and gestures for his men to fall in at a distance. As you step away from the well, you glance back once, only once. Joshua meets your eyes and looks away first. Seungcheol does not look up at all.
You walk the centre of the lane, Wonwoo a fraction too close, the village parting for you like tall grass before a scythe.
What looks like order from a distance comes apart underneath.
It starts with the salt. The priest’s barrels—kept under the vestry stairs, hoops newly hammered, lids chalked with small crosses—begin showing seams that shouldn’t be there. Not leaks. Cuts. Thin, deliberate slits along the staves where brine weeps out and dries to a white crust on the stone. He finds one before dawn, hunkered with a lantern, thumb pressed to the split. By noon, two more have gone soft, rings swollen, the salt inside half-spoiled by its own escape. He says little; he simply drags what remains into the nave and begins again, shoulders set against the fear in people’s eyes.
The chalk goes wrong next.
He blesses a new batch, hands steady, words sure. The lines go down clean—door sills, window latches, the pale ring around the church. Then a quick rain comes and the marks melt to nothing, not washed so much as undone—like what slid from the rock was never chalk at all but powder made to mimic it. Women kneel with rags and smear grit into grooves, trying to make it stay. It doesn’t. The priest collects what’s left in a bowl and tips it into the brazier. It burns without smoke. He does not swear, but his mouth tightens like a man who would if he could.
By midweek, the silver is gone.
Not all of it. Just the nails Joshua keeps locked in the forge safe for shutter bars and door braces—three small sacks tied with twine, accounted for yesterday and iron when opened today. Your father brings word from the men setting hinges: the heads bend in the first strike, the shine is wrong, the taste against the tongue is dull. Joshua arrives at the assembly with his jaw clenched and his palms pocketed, and tests a nail between his teeth like a coin. “Iron,” he says, low. “Every last one.” He does not look at you when he says it. You see something old and ugly turn over in his eyes anyway—violation, insult, the craftsman’s rage at the false made to pass for true.
You start walking with your head down and your ears open. The village pretends not to notice, then adjusts to the new shape of fear. Too many doors latch before dusk, too many voices drop when someone passes.
Daisy is pushed on a Thursday.
You find her in the lane between the baker’s and the livery, hand braced to a wall, breathing through her teeth as she checks her ribs. A smear of dust marks the back of her dress where she hit the stones. No one stands nearby, though a shutter claps once and then goes still, and a dog under a cart decides, suddenly, that now is the time to sleep. There’s a purpling mark already rising at Daisy’s hip. Not a fall. A shove.
“I’m fine,” she says before you ask, because of course you ask. “They wanted me to say I saw nothing, and I will, because I saw nothing.” She lifts her chin, eyes bright, mouth stubborn. “You’re all right?”
“I am.”
“Good.” She blows out a breath like it’s a laugh. “Between the bells and the chalk, I was worried I’d forgotten how to use my voice.”
You crouch to pick up the bundle she dropped, and that’s when you see it: a single black hair ribbon near the gutter, tied in a neat slipknot. The knot is familiar. You saw it on your latch. You slide the ribbon into your palm and straighten, closing your fingers around it until the edges imprint your skin.
“Wind,” Daisy says, watching you watch the lane. “Or cowards.”
“Both,” you say.
You walk her to the square. Daisy makes a show of not limping. You keep your hand in your pocket, holding the ribbon so you won’t crush it between your fingers.
You find the two men in the churchyard on the sixth day.
You hadn’t meant to listen. You’d only come to leave a candle and check if the priest needed help with the ledgers he pretends don’t unnerve him. But the voices carry through the yews—low, tight, and built from words that started out as caution and turned into something more.
Joshua stands planted, feet square, soot drying along his forearms where he must have walked straight from the forge. Seungcheol faces him with that stillness he wears like armour, bandage still tight across his right palm, eyes up and unblinking. You pause at the shadowed edge of the nave, the stone cold through your sleeve, and listen.
“You can’t shadow her every hour,” Joshua says, the words flat. “You sleep, too.”
“I don’t,” Seungcheol answers. “Not when she’s walking through a village that’s trying to put a leash on her.”
“I’m not putting anything on her.” A beat. “But I won’t apologise for being there when things snap.”
“You dragged her from a falling bucket. Congratulations.” Seungcheol’s voice goes rough at the edges. “I kept it from breaking her legs.”
You step into view before the next sentence can land.
“Enough,” you say, and both heads turn like you’ve thrown a stone between them. “If you want to argue about me, include me.”
They square without meaning to, bodies drawn up out of habit—two men used to bracing for impact. The space between them measures exactly the length of your patience.
“I don’t need a ward,” you tell them. “I need the truth. Whoever is cutting barrels and swapping nails and shoving my friends is not a Wolf. He’s a man. And he’s here.”
Joshua’s mouth presses into a harder line. “Then you don’t walk alone.”
“She doesn’t,” Seungcheol says, and there’s a thread of defiance in it that takes up your side without asking.
It is the wrong moment for Wonwoo to arrive, and of course, it is exactly when he does.
He steps into the churchyard like he has always belonged in its centre—calm, composed, regal. He takes in the triangle you make and smooths it with a voice made for smoothing.
“This isn’t the place,” he says. “And it isn’t the way.” His eyes move from Joshua to Seungcheol to you, landing softly, then holding. “From now on, she’ll be escorted. By me.”
He doesn’t leave room for rebuttal. He doesn’t have to. The sentence finds the elders behind you, the women crossing the yard, and the boys coiling ropes on the steps. Heads nod in approval before anyone thinks to question it.
Your stomach knots. You tell yourself it’s the attention. You tell yourself it’s the way decisions make cages. You don’t know why it feels like stepping onto thin ice.
“We’re done here,” he says pleasantly, and the two men drift apart—Joshua’s jaw ticks once, then stills. He slides you a look you cannot read and turns away, feet purposeful, shoulders rigid. Seungcheol watches Wonwoo for a heartbeat longer than is polite, then tips his head at you in a movement so slight it could be imagined, and disappears toward the trees.
“Shall we?” he asks as if the asking were a courtesy. You keep exactly one step to his right as he sets the pace.
That night, the house is quieter than it should be. You know because you’ve trained yourself to hear. Your father’s cough in the back room, your mother’s careful footsteps on the kitchen flagstones, the soft tick of cooling iron at the stove. You sit on the edge of your bed and try to think past the long week that has bent everything out of order.
You reach under the mattress to shift the stuffing, and your knuckles knock something loose. A folded slip slides out from the slat and lands on the floor by your heel. You frown and pick it up. The paper is thick, the fold deliberate. It smells—faintly, undeniably—of smoke and pine pitch.
You recognise the hand before you open it.
The handwriting is not good—it never was—but it is hers. The cross of the t, the loop of the y—the same hand that wrote lists for market and notes you weren’t supposed to read, and the last birthday you spent together when she promised the next year would be better. Lilly.
Come to the glen where we used to meet. I need to tell you the truth. —L.
You stare until the lines blur and the ink swims. You read it again. The smell of smoke and pine gets stronger as if the paper is warming in your hand.
Your sister is dead.
Yet, the signature pulls at everything this town has taught you and rearranges it into something worse.
You read the note a third time. You fold it along the same crease it came with and hold it in your fist until the edges cut your palm.
Then you stand.
You go. Of course you go.
You wait until the house quiets before you pull on the red cloak and slip a silver knife into your pocket, testing the hold with your thumb. You leave by the back, step over the chalk line the priest redrew at noon, and do not look back.
The path to the old wayside shrine knows you as well as you know it. You could walk it blind. Palms against the same knotty trunks. Skirt held the same way when you cross the little creek. The same rise where the pines thin and the moon opens the sky.
The shrine sits where the hill dips—a stone with a shallow carving of a saint, a shelf beneath it for offerings, a roof of rough slats nailed up to keep the weather off the candles. Moss slicks the base, and the table is littered with burned-down stubs and long-dead flowers. Someone has left a single bright apple in the middle, skin unblemished, shining like it invites teeth.
You stop just inside the line of trees and listen.
Nothing moves that shouldn’t. No breath that isn’t yours. No clink of metal, no rustle of animal near enough to be a threat. You step forward, slow, and lay your hand on the table because that’s what you and Lilly used to do—touch the wood, whisper a secret, leave a coin neither of you could spare. Your throat pulls tight, remembering it. You swallow and say her name anyway.
“Lilly?”
It is ridiculous, yet you do it.
A voice answers. Not hers.
“You came.”
Wonwoo steps into the weak light as if he’s walked out of the carved stone itself. Immaculate. Coat buttoned. Hair smooth. Boots clean. He looks like a man who has not hurried and is not afraid.
You take a step back without meaning to.
He takes a step forward, hands open, voice soft. “I hoped you would.”
You force your spine straight. “Why the note?” Your voice doesn’t crack. You don’t know how you managed that. “Why in her hand?”
He glances at the little shelf, at the apple like it’s funny. “You were always the one who would come if you thought she needed you.” His eyes come back to you and do not leave. “I had to be sure.”
“You forged it.”
“I practised.” A lift of the shoulder, not quite a shrug. “She wrote… a great deal. Lists. Hopes. Apologies no one asked her for.” He tilts his head. “You found some of them.”
You don’t give him the satisfaction of confirming it. “What do you want, Wonwoo?”
He says your name like a whistle to a hound. Gentle. Certain. “To end this.” He steps closer again, measured, the way someone approaches a skittish animal. “To take you out from under their eyes. To stop your fear.”
You don’t move. “You wrote to lead me here.”
“I wrote to keep you from walking into someone else’s trap,” he answers mildly, and there is a shape in the sentence that makes your stomach knot. “I’m the only one who can keep you safe.”
“From what?”
He looks amused, like you’ve asked the wrong question in a play he wrote. “From me.”
The ground drops out under you.
Your hand finds the silver at your throat without permission. Wonwoo’s eyes flick to the movement, mouth curving. Tender. Terrible. “That won’t save you if you want to be saved,” he says.
“Tell me,” you say, and you are surprised at how steady you remain. “Tell me what you did.”
He obliges as if he’s been waiting to be asked.
“I loved her,” he starts, voice soft. “She was promised to me. Since we were children, they said. And I would have been a good husband. I would have given her anything.” His jaw flexes once, then smooths. “But she gave her heart to someone else.”
He doesn’t need to say the name. You know the truth.
“I warned her. I told her not to shame me. Not to shame the town. Not to break the thing that kept us safe.” His gaze goes past you, to the dark trees, to the place where the path back to the village vanishes. “Jealousy is a clean blade if you don’t look at it too closely.” Your breath feels like it belongs to someone else. “You killed her.”
“I tried not to.” The words are clipped; it’s the first time anything like heat enters his voice. “I meant to mark her. To keep her. To make sure she couldn’t be taken from me.” His lip lifts briefly over teeth too even for a man who never had the means and too pale for a night this dark. “But she fought. And I—” He spreads his hands a fraction in a gesture that is almost an apology. “Sometimes the moon goes through you and you can’t do anything but be what it wants.”
You hear nothing for a long moment but your own pulse.
“The men in the cave,” you say, because you need to hear him say it all. “The Mayor.”
He does not flinch. “Fear keeps order. It was needed.” Then, as if remembering the script requires a different set of lines, he softens. “I would have kept your sister alive when I turned her. We would have been the first of our kind to rule them together. But she chose him.” A tilt of his head toward where the blacksmith’s lane would be if the trees broke back into streets. “He made me do it.”
You taste iron. “Joshua didn’t make you do anything.”
He smiles again, predatory. “Of course he did.” His voice slides into a dangerously low pitch. “And now you are promised to him. Which is why we are here.”
You take another step back. Your heel meets the base of the shrine, and you cannot go any farther without climbing onto the offering table. Wonwoo watches the way your shoulder hits the stone, and something pleased flickers across his face.
“We can stop this,” he says. “If I mark you, they cannot take you. I won’t have to hurt anyone else to prove what I’m already owed.”
“What you’re owed?” The words scrape up out of your chest.
“A wife,” he says, simply. “You with me, where the moon can’t make me kill you because you belong to me.” He takes another step, close now, too close, the clean smell of him wrong in the damp green air. “I won’t lose you to him the way I lost her.”
“I do not belong to you.”
“You wear her cloak and walk where I walk,” he murmurs. “You smell like the thing that made me spare you on holy ground.” A small smile. “You wonder why I did not cross the ring. It was not the stones. It was the choice.”
You feel the night tilt. “At the church…”
“I put the cloak down,” he says. “I left you to step into me. You didn’t. You will now.” You keep your hand at your throat, fingers around the chain, thumb on the disk. “What about the barrels. The chalk. The nails.”
The calm returns to his face. “A village kept scared is a village kept still,” he says. “They needed to look at me and see safety. They needed to look at you and see danger. It’s cleaner that way.” His eyes lower to your mouth. “The well was clumsy, I admit. I meant to scare you enough to stay near me. I didn’t mean him to touch you.”
Him. Joshua. The knot of your stomach tightens and doesn’t let go. “And Daisy?” you ask before you can stop yourself. He dismisses it with a slight tilt of his head. “She needed to remember who holds the street when the moon isn’t out.”
“You’re a monster,” you tell him, even though you already knew.
“Only because I won’t pretend not to be,” he says, and then he is close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “Let me make it so you don’t have to pretend either.”
“No.”
He doesn’t frown. He doesn’t accuse. He simply moves—crowds you gently, his body a wall between you and the path, between you and the trees, between you and anyone who could hear you if you screamed. He sets his hand at the edge of the offerings table beside your hip. “This will be quick,” he promises. “I learned.”
The shift comes through his bones like a shiver—so fast you would miss it if you weren’t pressed close enough to feel the tremor. His skin pebbles; the lines of his jaw harden; the pale neatness of his teeth lengthens into points. His pupils open and swallow the dark, and what’s left burns gold around them.
He opens his mouth to bite. You jam the disk into his cheek.
The silver sears. The smell is immediate and sickening. He jerks back with a sound that isn’t a man’s shout or a beast’s roar but an ugly figure-eight of both, half-shifted, throat torn between voices. The burned skin blisters white, then red; his hand flies up, fingers clawing at the mark as if he could peel it off.
He howls. The trees shudder. Birds lift from the dark.
You wrench free of the altar and stumble sideways, hand already dropping for the knife in your pocket, breath punching fast, eyes on him and the gap he made by moving back. He looks at you through the new slit of his changed face—part human, part something else—and the tenderness doesn’t leave. That might be the worst part. “You’ll forgive me for that,” he rasps, voice doubled—one higher, one from somewhere deep. “Later.”
“I will never—”
“You will,” he says, patient again. “When you stop being afraid of the thing that saves you.” He licks the burned skin and flinches, then smiles with too many teeth. “Come away from them. Come away from him. I can make it so you never feel small again.”
“I’m not going with you.” He tilts his head. “Then I’ll take you.”
He steps in hard and fast, less man now, shoulder lowered like an animal driving prey off balance. You reach the knife too late. He bats your wrist aside and pins your forearm to the altar with a strength that doesn’t fit his human shape. The chain slips between your fingers as the disk swings; he follows its arc like a cat tracks a moth.
“You’ll thank me,” he whispers, and you see how sure he is. How inevitable this feels to him.
You do the only thing left to you. You breathe in enough air to split your chest and scream. It tears the night. It tears your throat. It tears the quiet to shreds.
Wonwoo recoils a fraction. He glances toward the trees—the smallest, stupidest measure of caution you’ve seen him show—and in that blink you rip your arm free and ram the heel of your hand into his burned cheek. He snarls and staggers; you slide along the altar’s edge, keeping the stone at your back, knife out now, blade held low like Seungcheol taught you, point angled up.
He laughs. “Nobody will save you, little flower.”
You don’t look away from him. You don’t give him your back. Your heart bangs. Your hand is steady. Somewhere beyond the pines, a branch snaps. A sound of a man running finds the edge of your hearing and lodges there. Wonwoo hears it, too. His smile thins.
“He won’t get here in time,” he says, malice seeping into the words when he recognises the scent. “He’ll try,” you tell him.
The wind shifts. The trees hold their breath. He moves.
He arrives like a storm breaking.
Seungcheol barrels out of the trees and slams his shoulder into Wonwoo with a force that lifts him off his feet and drives him sideways into the offerings table. Wood shrieks. Candles topple and skitter. The bright apple rolls off the edge and thumps into moss.
There isn’t time for words. The fight consumes them.
Wonwoo surges up half-shifted—jaw wrong, pupils blown, fingers hooked like something that isn’t quite claws and isn’t quite hands. He swings; Seungcheol takes it on the forearm and steps in close, close enough to smell the scorch where your silver marked Wonwoo’s cheek. Bone hits bone. Flesh hits stone. Breath comes out of both men in hard, ugly sounds.
Seungcheol doesn’t reach for you. He takes the space—your space—and makes it his, forcing Wonwoo back across it in short, mean drives, all fists and shoulders and intent. His bandaged right hand holds, his left darts, the little hunter’s knife flashes once, then buries deep into wood when Wonwoo jerks his torso away at the last second.
The altar groans. Splinters fly.
Wonwoo laughs—a low, doubled thing that vibrates the ground—and rakes at Seungcheol, tearing furrows through coat and skin. Claws scrape stone; stone answers with a bite of its own when Seungcheol shoves him into the carved base of the shrine, and the saint’s edge kisses his side.
“Run,” Seungcheol grits out, the word ripped from somewhere near his broken breath.
You don’t. Your feet won’t. Your fingers clamp your knife so hard your palm aches, but you don’t lift it because he is between you and the thing with teeth, and nothing in you will give that away.
Wonwoo drives a knee up; Seungcheol twists; both men go down hard. The air leaves Seungcheol in a bark; he rolls with it and comes up first, a smear of dirt along his jaw, eyes bright in the bad light. He wrenches his knife free from the altar with a sharp, angry jerk. Wonwoo lunges at his legs; Seungcheol jumps back and kicks, heel connecting with a chin and sending him skidding, snarling, through a crash of dead candles.
They circle.
Wonwoo is faster than a man should be, heavier than the body he wears. Seungcheol is steadier, meaner—the kind of sure that comes from living the way he has all his life.
They come together, and this time Seungcheol wins the angle. He pins Wonwoo’s wrist to earth with a boot and drives the blessed blade up and under the ribs, hunting the soft place a hunter knows without seeing.
Wonwoo’s head snaps back. The noise he makes tears through the clearing.
It doesn’t kill him. It hurts him.
He thrashes with a feral strength that throws Seungcheol off balance; claws find meat and rip. Seungcheol holds the hilt of the knife and jabs again—short, savage—until Wonwoo bucks hard enough to wrench free, rolling in a smear of his own blood and dirt. The knife leaves his body with a wet, sucking sound; Seungcheol catches the hilt before it can fly, shoulder dropping, stance braced.
Wonwoo goes still for one terrible breath, gold eyes fixed on Seungcheol’s throat.
Then he surges.
Seungcheol jams his forearm under Wonwoo’s jaw, forcing it up, up, knife cocked to drive again. Wonwoo is faster.
He twists, a whip of muscle, and bites high on Seungcheol’s shoulder—deep, deliberate, teeth sinking clean through flesh. The sound that rips from Seungcheol isn’t a scream; it’s a roar, a ripped-open, stupidly brave noise that makes your knees go weak. You take a step forward without meaning to. The knife in your hand feels small and stupid. The world tunnels down to blood and breath and the heat rolling off both of them.
Seungcheol doesn’t let go.
He drags Wonwoo closer into the bite, an ugly, brilliant move that opens the angle he needs, and with his free hand, he drives the hunter’s knife up to his neck.
Wonwoo chokes. The change flickers within him—fur and man, man and fur, neither holding. He stares at you over Seungcheol’s shoulder, eyes wide, a last, ruined tenderness that was never love soaking whatever he was saving for this moment. His mouth works around a shape your name might have been once.
Then the strength leaves him.
He collapses in a heap of body parts, breath rattling high and then low and then not at all. The forest goes very quiet. Even the wind forgets itself.
Seungcheol stumbles back two steps and then another, blood slicking down his chest from the high, ragged bite. He sways.
You’re under him before he falls.
He’s heavy and shaking and so hot it feels wrong. You get an arm around his waist and take as much of his weight as you can, dragging him sideways into the softer ground near the roots. He grits his teeth and tries to stand again, because of course, he does.
“Don’t,” you breathe, “don’t move—don’t—”
“Blossom—” It’s barely a noise. He blinks hard, finds your face, and the fight drops out of his eyes all at once.
You tear the cloak from your shoulders and wad it against the wound; he hisses, jaw tight, breath shuddering. The blood is already clotting, strange and slow, dark at the edges. You press harder. He doesn’t push you away, only closes his hand over your wrist like he needs the anchor more than he needs air.
“I told you to run,” he says, as if the outcome could still be changed if you admit it. “I wasn’t leaving you.”
His mouth twists, a laugh and a protest trapped in the same grimace. “Stubborn.”
“You love that about me.”
“God help me, I do.” He breathes and closes his eyes for a beat. He opens them again. “Listen to me.” His fingers tighten on your wrist. “It’s in me.”
You know. You know because the heat under your palms isn’t human heat, because something new is riding the edge of his breath.
“We’ll fight it,” you say, and you mean it all the way down to your bones.
A ghost of a smile. “Of course you say that.” His throat works. “If I change—if I go at you—”
“You won’t.”
“If I do,” he insists, rough, urgent now, “you run. Do you hear me? You run to stone and salt and light, and you don’t stop. Don’t try to prove anything. Don’t stand and be brave for me.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Then kill me.” The words topple out before he can stop them. You flinch; he sees it and drags in a breath he doesn’t have. “If it’s me and not me—do it. Promise me.”
“Don’t ask me for that.” Your voice breaks. “Please.”
He lifts a shaking hand and cups the side of your face. His thumb finds the tears at the corner of your eye and smears them out. “I should have taken you far away from this place before any of this,” he says softly. “I didn’t. That’s on me. Don’t let my mistakes eat you.”
The night holds still around the three of you—the dead man, the man you love bleeding in your arms, and the bright apple in the moss like a bad joke. Your necklace lies somewhere in the leaf where the chain snapped; your knife is still clutched uselessly in your right hand, point down, as if your body won’t set it aside until your mind understands you don’t need it anymore.
“I’m not leaving you,” you say again, smaller now, because it’s all you have left. He exhales a quiet, broken laugh and winces because even laughing hurts. “I know, baby.” His eyes skim your face like he’s trying to memorise it faster than the fever can burn it out of him. “Blossom—kiss me.”
You do. You lean in and press your mouth to his—careful of his breath, careful of your own—and taste iron and smoke and the stubborn, living heat of him, the one you know better than anyone. He kisses you back like the world is thin and he can step through if he just has one more second.
When you pull away, his forehead tips to yours. The tremor in him deepens.
“We have to move,” you say, and you don’t know where that certainty comes from—only that staying here means others will find you, and you have nothing left that you’re willing to let them take. “Can you stand?”
He nods once, lies to both of you, and then lets you help him anyway.
You loop his arm over your shoulders, and he rises with a sound he tries to swallow. His blood is on your hands, under your nails, warmed through the cloak you’ve pressed to his shoulder.
Behind you, Wonwoo’s body does not move.
Ahead, the pines open a seam of darkness, and the path you’ve always known becomes something different.
Joshua finds the red thread the forest has laid out for him.
The stones of the shrine slick with old rain and the iron shine of new blood. Wonwoo lies as if he fell mid-prayer and the ground caught him. The face is different in death—emptied of the careful smile he wore at market, released from the angle of suspicion that armed his jaw. Hands red to the wrist; a tornness to the throat that says beast, not man. Joshua kneels. He closes his eyes. When he reopens them, he sees the necklace snagged on a bramble—a small moon of metal polished by his own skilled hands. He frees it gently, the chain pooling in his fist.
Far off, water moves over rock. A man’s hush sounds nearer. He turns toward it. The hut shows itself only when he can taste charcoal in the air. A ring of stones hems the threshold. Salt beads the sill. Joshua stops at the edge. He sees you.
You knot a strip of damp linen and lay it across Seungcheol’s brow, your fingers careful even as they tremble. Heat comes off him in waves that catch and break against your chest. The room smells of willow bark, smoke, thinned blood, and the salt you’ve ground into the line that keeps darkness where it belongs. His hair is wet. His mouth works around words he can’t hold.
“Hush,” you whisper. “You’re here. I’m here.”
He turns toward your voice and subsides. His breath evens, then stutters, then lifts. You count each rise. You don’t look at the window where day bleeds out, or at the door where a shadow waits.
“Don’t cross the ring,” you say without turning. “Please.”
"I won’t,” Joshua answers, his voice soft. The break in it is small; an old ache loosens its teeth.
He crouches but stays beyond the salt. He slides the necklace onto the threshold with two fingers. A waterskin follows. Flint. A pouch of silver nails that chime like tiny bells. “You dropped this,” he says, and for a moment, he is a boy offering back a found coin because his father taught him the cost of keeping what is not yours.
You lift the necklace into the circle you made with stubborn hands. The metal steadies you. “Thank you,” you say, meaning it.
He studies Seungcheol the way men study maps on the eve of a hard road. Fever has painted him—cheeks colored, lips cracked, lashes too dark against skin gone pale. You smooth the cloth; he makes a sound you can’t name. Something eases in Joshua’s eyes. You see it happen: the reckoning, then the answer. Not love—respect, and a clear sight of where your heart lies, of a happiness he cannot claim, even if doom shadows it.
“So this is where you are,” he says, a breath more than words. “This is where I am,” you echo. “This is where I stay.”
He nods once, dignity of a bow without demand. He looks at the salt, the stones, the hand you hold. Understanding is quiet—he lets it happen. “They’ll come,” he says, truth laid down. "When they find the shrine… when they find him…"
“I know,” you answer. “We’ll be gone before the light is out.”
Pride, thin and bright, crosses his face. He slips more willow behind the threshold, places the nails nearer, lifts a hand, then lowers it. “You’ll need clothes,” he murmurs. “The roads will be watched.”
“We won’t take roads,” you say. It is simply the grammar of your next life. Seungcheol stirs, sweat beading his temples. His lips shape your name, then lose it. You tuck the blanket closer. When you raise your eyes, Joshua is looking not at him now but at you, taking stock of a truth already settled.
“I wanted you safe,” he says. “Even when I didn’t know what that meant.” You let the words sit until anger and tenderness find their places. “I know,” you tell him. “Thank you for bringing it to mean this.”
Night leans to the door. You add a line of salt, grains falling like prayer beads. Outside, owls trade posts; a fox stitches the dark. Joshua’s breath steadies. He sets his palm to the frame, leaves a faint print that will be gone by morning, then steps back. He looks longer than necessary, then lets go. “I’ll keep them off your trail,” he says—to trees, to future, to the man who might have made a mess by stepping inside. The woods accept it.
You swallow. “Go before the village wakes,” you tell him. “There’s nothing here for you to carry.” He almost smiles, not unkind. He turns. His steps fade into brush, then into hush.
Alone within the circle, you grind willow until its bitterness marks you. You brew what can be brewed. You lay the cloth. Three breaths in, three out; count heartbeats; look at the moon only as a clock. Seungcheol burns and gutters and burns again. When the fever peaks, it is like weather—unarguable. When it breaks, it does so softly, with a long exhale that leaves him slack and sleeping. You do not cry. There will be time when no one can hear. You tighten bootlaces. Fold the extra fabric around flint, nails, bitter packets. Bind the necklace at your throat; it settles as if it never left.
Dawn begins as a rumour under the door. The forest shifts; day-birds clear their throats. You erase the circle with a fir branch, sweeping salt into seams the hut will keep like a secret. You leave a little on the sill; luck is a thing you do. You touch his shoulder. He blinks up. “Easy,” you murmur. “We have to move before the light is out.” His mouth forms a question. You shake your head and help him sit. The world outside is barely blue. “No roads,” you say. “No names.” He nods because he trusts you more than his life.
Somewhere between shrine and village, Joshua will turn stories aside and lay false trails with the steadiness of a man faithful to the choice he’s made. The day inhales. You exhale.
You shoulder the pack, take his wrist, feel the beat—thin, but speaking. You open the door. The trees accept you. You step small and sure. Behind, the hut empties of heat. Ahead, the underbrush parts carefully.
“One step at a time,” you reassure him, and you feel his weight answer, yes.
A/N: Happy Halloween babies! Hope you enjoy this piece that I had sitting in my drafts for literal AGES. Thought now was a good time to release it into the world. Also my first time writing a love triangle (or should I say love quadrangle?) so please be kind. 💟
Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome. Want to be tagged in future works? Let me know.
(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest.)
summary: lee jeno is the furthest idea of a possible suitor in your mind. yet somehow, fate continues to pair you together.
genre: fluff, angst, smut
warnings: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, creampie, slight breeding kink
this is basically pride & prejudice (2005)
“You are behaving foolishly,” you comment as Minji runs around the room, encouraging your headache to grow. Jimin exhales from her spot next to you, hands folded in her lap like one of those formal ladies you used to make fun of when you were younger.
“Minji, please sit,” Jimin sighs exasperatedly. Minjeong giggles from her position on the opposite couch, slouching even though she’s not meant to look so unseemly.
Minji finally takes her seat and rolls her eyes at Jimin. “Sister, you must feel some ounce of joy. It’s our first time at a ball!”
It was true — your family had been all but shunned from any formal engagements due to your lack of wealth, but lately, your father has climbed up the ranks and gotten respect from some of the rich parties across town. His hard work resulted in you and your sisters being invited to your first ball, an elite event made up of high society members.
Your mother took this as a sign of a wedding on the horizon since none of your sisters have received formal proposals yet despite being of age. Minji is overjoyed, Jimin is stressing out, and Minjeong is displeased with the situation at hand. Minjeong has always been proud of your family, regardless of status, and she hates the social climbers that migrated around these parties.
You’re indifferent to tonight’s events, willing to tag along to whatever boisterous adventures you find.
Your mother comes frantically into the room just as Minji has finally calmed herself down, hair tied messily on top of her head and corset barely laced up.
“Girls, we must leave soon!” She declares, stroking her fingers through Minjeong’s hair to perfect it.
“Mother, you look unkempt,” Jimin scolds, standing from her spot to finish lacing up your mother’s corset and taming her unruly hair. Your mother profusely apologizes before shooing her away.
“This night is not about me. It’s about you girls. Now remember, Mr. Lee and Mr. Na will both be in attendance. They come from very affluent families, and it would be in your best interest to invest your time into them as they are the most desired bachelors of the season.”
Minjeong scoffs. “Mother, I highly doubt entertaining these men who deny our self-worth is in our best interest.”
Your mother’s mouth opens to scold Minjeong until the click of your father’s shoes come padding down the hall. In his old age, your father traditionally expects all of you to be married off before he passes. Otherwise, the estate transfers over to your cousin, Nakamoto Yuta, who has always been less than kind to your family. You know he would wed you and your sisters off to the first men he comes across just to keep your family’s earnings for himself.
“Are we ready to depart?” Your father asks, smiling proudly in his formal wear. All of your sisters rise from their seats, with Minji nearly jumping out of hers and Minjeong being heavily prodded by your mother.
It’s a long ride to the ball with your family’s estate being located further away from higher society. You and Minji play games on the journey as Minjeong sleeps and Jimin frets over what to say when you arrive.
Jimin has always been the more responsible one out of your sisters, and you understand she has a heavier burden on her shoulders to be married first. Luckily with you being one year younger, there wasn’t as much of an expectation for you to be wed so fast.
The arrival of your family is greeted with a hesitant welcome, most of the men smiling at your father and the women analyzing your sisters and your mother. You grip Minjeong’s arm for dear life, feeling a little more hesitant about the experience now that you have stepped foot on the grounds.
“This is absurd,” Minjeong whispers in your ear as you enter the expansive ballroom. People are gathered in some of their most formal outerwear with music echoing around the dance floor.
“Would you not enjoy a dance?” You ask your sister, heels clacking against the wood floors as you scurry your way through the crowd. You imagine dancing would be quite nice — you and your siblings have spent nights practicing in your rooms, hands joining together as you pretend that you all are actually on the dance floor. Tonight would be perfect to bring those memories to life, but Minjeong doesn’t seem very fond of the idea.
“Have you forgotten that we are not allowed to dance with one another? We must find a partner,” she reminds you, and your eyes flutter around the room to see the prospects.
You’ve seen most of these men in passing, like Lee Taeyong or Lee Mark. You have heard that the brothers are kinder than their appearance might make them seem and perhaps they would entertain you with a spin on the floor.
You suddenly feel Minji grip your arm and she squeals in your ear. “There they are! Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin!”
Your eyes turn to the entrance, where the men of the night are starting to flock in. Lee Jeno, a known affluent man, owns one of the largest estates in the country and has been one of the most desired bachelors for years now. His friend, Na Jaemin, has just moved to the country, making this ball his first public appearance. Similar to Jeno, Jaemin owns multiple estates with an abundant fortune sitting in his bank.
In this world, they are a girl’s one way ticket to safety.
You see Jimin’s back straighten in anticipation, and you know she has her eyes set on Jaemin.
Your mother approaches your side, squeezing your arm. “Behave now, girls.”
Your family gathers to present yourselves in front of Jeno and Jaemin, bowing and curtsying in respect. Jeno simply appears bored, eyes scanning the room in an air of confidence and arrogance. Jaemin immediately smiles at Jimin, who grows slightly bashful under his gaze.
“Mr. Na, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” your father greets first, shaking Jaemin’s hand with fervor.
“You as well, sir. I’m taken by the people’s hospitality to my arrival,” Jaemin remarks.
“It’s rare we get a new face in this town,” your mother replies happily. “And such a handsome one at that.”
Jaemin’s smile is blinding, basking in the compliments and attention. Jeno, on the other hand, looks like he wants to leave and never return.
The music suddenly changes to the tempo of the traditional dance, and Jaemin asks Jimin to join him on the floor. Your sister shyly accepts and you hear both your mother and Minji squeal to one another. Minjeong rolls her eyes and informs you she’s going to find some refreshments for herself.
She leaves you with Jeno, who still appears stiff and unapproachable. You decide to take the first leap into conversation.
“Do you like to dance, Mr. Lee?”
He blinks once, scanning you before answering. “Not if I can help it.”
You’re deterred by his answer until Minji tugs you forward, nudging you to join her on the dance floor. You’re paired with Taeyong, who politely bows to you.
You feel a pair of eyes follow you while you maneuver around bodies of the elite, and your mind lingers on the disdainful presence of Lee Jeno.
Once the music subsides, you take another politeful curtsy to Taeyong before sweeping the room for your fellow companion, An Yujin. Yujin, like your family, was not born into wealth and struggles in society as you do. However, because of her charisma, she is able to sneak her way into parties by charming some of the men for an invitation. You spot her in between a few other guests and eagerly pull her away.
“You did not tell me you were coming!” She exclaims, wrapping you up in a hug.
“We were not informed until earlier this week,” you share, walking along with her as you move your way through the crowd. “Is it not so lovely?”
“Very,” she giggles, her voice turning down when you spot Jeno and Jaemin walking very close to you two. They do not catch sight of you, speaking quietly to one another.
“What a splendid night, so many lovely women,” Jaemin chuckles.
Jeno replies in a bored tone. “You were dancing with the only lovely woman in this room.”
“Yes, she was quite a keeper, was she not?” Jaemin hums, and you and Yujin exchange a look. “I saw you speaking to her sister. She was quite admirable as well.”
Jeno scoffs. “Admirable? Barely tolerable, I would say.”
The conversation is cut short when Jaemin’s sister sweeps them away to meet another family. You huff at Jeno’s clear dislike of you and Yujin pats your hand in comfort when they disappear into the crowd.
“What a horrid man,” you comment.
“Do not fret,” Yujin smiles. “If he liked you, you would actually have to speak with him.”
You giggle in agreement. “Yes, imagine having to entertain a man like that.”
“Jimin looks rather happy, though,” Yujin remarks fondly. “She’s thoroughly taken by Mr. Na.”
You gaze over at your sister, who is happily chattering with Minji. “It seems so. I hope mother is taking her bearings and not placing too much pressure upon her shoulders.”
“I think it might be too late for that.”
Your mother has suddenly grouped Minji and Jimin into directly speaking with Jaemin and Jeno. You exchange a look with Yujin before walking over to save your sisters from this debacle. When you step into their circle, you hear Jaemin compliment Jimin’s dancing.
“She is quite the dancer, if I must say.”
“Yes, yes!” Your mother shouts. “She and her sisters practice all the time. My handsome Jimin, you see, is definitely the most well-rounded of all my daughters!”
“Mother!” You scold, trying to stop her as she continues to embarrass your sisters.
However, she ignores your protest and Jimin’s visible contempt. “Jimin’s always had a vast amount of suitors, you know. There was this one bewitching gentleman who I thought would propose to her last spring but alas, all the man did was write a few poems.”
“And that ended it completely,” you cut in, and Jimin throws you a grateful look. “Who ever decided that poetry was a suitable medium to a woman’s heart? Very poor choice, might I say.”
Your statement earns you a few laughs until a haughty voice interrupts.
“So what do you propose?” Jeno retorts, and it’s the most engaged he’s been with you all night. His eyes bore into yours with the most intense observance. “Poetry has been the love language for suitors across all ages. What do you propose is better to take its place?”
You smile mischievously. “Dancing, I believe. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.”
Jeno’s face morphs into a mix of understanding and discomfort at your recall. You smirk, offering him another curtsy before vanishing back into the crowd.
You feel the burn of his stare follow you.
—
“Shopping for such a simple piece of clothing must seem so benign, do you not think so?”
“Yes, it quite certainly is,” you reply, tugging Minjeong into a nearby fabric store. “But it is necessary in order to impress the likes of the Na family for Jimin’s best interest.”
You and your sisters have made a trip into town to purchase new dresses for another upcoming ball planned by Jaemin. Since your first encounter with him, he and Jimin have made slow strides into courting one another, and this dance may be an opportunity to make it more official. Therefore, you have taken the role of stringing your family into the best shape to appease high society.
Jimin is already browsing through a variety of pinks and blues, carefully explaining to the seamstress that she has no desire for lavish embellishments to her dress. Although she would never admit her nerves, you can detect it from the way she frantically combs her fingers through her hair.
“Play nice for once,” you say to Minjeong, stroking her arm in consolation. “This could mean wonders for Jimin.”
“I can play nice,” Minjeong agrees hesitantly, pretending to be interested in some of the frilly ribbon decorating the store.
The bell above the door rings, signaling another customer walking in. You all turn to see a gentleman come inside, and you curtsy to greet him.
“My apologies for the intrusion,” he smiles, and you take note how captivating he appears. “It’s pouring out there and I was hoping to take shelter in here.”
“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the seamstress nods, gesturing for him to walk about as he pleases.
His eyes zero in on you. He takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. You bow your head coyly.
“Lee Donghyuck, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are you ladies also shielding yourselves from the horrid rain?”
You smile and return your hand to your side.
“In contrast, Mr. Lee, we are prolifically finding ourselves a manner of dress for the Na ball,” you share, and his eyes sparkle at your response.
“Ah, I see. It must be an extremely difficult decision for you then.”
You laugh. “Yes, it’s quite the hunt for us.”
Minjeong suddenly reappears next to you. “And what brings you to town this evening, Mr. Lee?”
He offers a nod to your sister. “Some of the men from our militia district are in town for our homecoming. We have gathered into town to see what we all have dearly missed from our time away.”
His eyes flit over to you once more, and you bashfully glance down at your feet.
“I must come and see what beholds the community of this ball,” he states, hands wringing together behind his back. “It looks to be an event of importance.”
As soon as Jimin finds the right fabric for her dress and you review the designs for the rest of your family, Donghyuck offers to walk you all back to your estate. Luckily, the weather clears by the time you finish shopping.
You speak with Donghyuck on the way home, with Minji throwing the two of you suggestive looks as you break off from the others.
“How long are you in town for then?”
“Another fortnight or two, dependent on the weather,” he replies, his shoulder brushing against yours as you stride along.
“It must be pleasant to be back home. I cannot imagine how much you have missed it,” you say, enjoying the warmth of his figure every time his arm presses against yours.
He opens his mouth to respond before Minji’s loud hollers interrupt him.
“Oh, Mr. Na! Mr. Na!”
Minji calls out to Jaemin across the river, who is riding horseback alongside Jeno. Your eyes narrow at Jeno’s appearance, still feeling offended from his malicious comments against you. He, in turn, returns your heated glare but to your surprise, it’s not directed at you. His focus is solely on the man beside you, and you notice how Donghyuck tenses at his presence.
“Mr. Na, we just came from the dress shop to look fitting for your ball!” Minji calls happily.
Jaemin gives a nod, his eyes floating to Jimin.
“I’m happy to hear of it!” He replies.
The conversation is cut short when Jeno suddenly instructs his horse to trot away. You observe his abrupt exit, with Jaemin promising to see your family at the ball before following his friend.
“Very ill-mannered, that one is,” Donghyuck comments, scoffing as Jeno’s figure disappears further and further in the distance.
You begin the trek home again as Minjeong speeds up her pace and Jimin tugs Minji along to keep up. You fall behind in order to uncover the deeper meaning of Donghyuck’s words.
“You seem to have an uncivil assumption of Mr. Lee,” you note to him, and he hums in agreement.
“Mr. Lee and I do not get along well.”
“May I inquire why?”
“I have known Mr. Lee since birth, you see. Our families were very close and I thought of his father as mine and he thought mine as his. When my father passed, I became closer to his own as a result. Eventually, when Jeno’s father grew sickly, he asked that the rights of the Lee estate be passed onto me. At that point, you must imagine, we were closer than he and his son ever were and it drove Jeno wild with jealousy.”
You can visualize Jeno as the epitome of bitterness, envy blazing his form as he watches Donghyuck grow closer to his father. You fail to realize how your bias towards disliking Jeno prevents you from questioning the truthfulness to Donghyuck’s story.
He continues. “After his father passed, Jeno willingly sought my demise by forcing me into the militia and preventing me from inheriting his estate. I hope you can see now why I do not enjoy entertaining his presence.”
“That is purely vengeful,” you say with sympathy, almost wishing to apologize on Jeno’s behalf. “It pains me to think you had to go through such a thing.”
He smiles and shrugs it off.
“It is in the past, and we must look towards the future. I shall be delighted to see you at the ball, miss.”
You curtsy and grin. “You as well, Mr. Lee.”
—
Donghyuck is the first person you search for when you arrive at the Na estate.
You spot Yujin in between bodies, tugging her along in your search. She laughs and follows you as you weave your way through the crowd.
“How handsome is he that has you so besotten?”
“He’s just wonderful, Yujin!” You exclaim passionately. “If you spoke to him as well, you would know!”
You pass by numerous familiar faces, asking them if they have seen Donghyuck lingering around. You disappointingly receive a resounding denial at the sight of his presence.
Jimin calls your name quietly when she approaches you and Yujin in the drawing room.
“I do not believe Mr. Lee is here. It seems he has been sent off.”
You frown. “Sent off? Oh, but he must be here!”
“There you are.”
All three of you jump at the sound of a male voice entering your conversation. You turn to see your cousin, Yuta, staring at you intimidatingly. You curtsy in respect.
“I was wondering if it would please you to join me.”
He gestures to the dance floor and you almost choke.
“Mr. Nakamoto, I did not know you danced.”
If you did not know any better, you would guess Yuta was glaring at you judging by the weight of his stare.
“I do not think it so inappropriate for a gentleman of my status to ask a woman for a dance. As much as I think it is not inappropriate for you to accept.”
You flounder. Your sisters had gossiped a few days ago about Yuta being in search of a wife, but you would have never guessed he had his sights set on you.
You nod timidly, trying your best to ignore Yujin and Jimin’s incredulity. He guides you to the floor and you make your best attempt at taking him seriously.
The dance is almost comical to you, suddenly burdened by Yuta’s intense gaze. He has never shown the slightest interest towards you until now, and his advances only bring you laughter.
As soon as the music ends, you grab Yujin’s arm and pull her away to avoid Yuta’s further questioning. The two of you giggle at the spectacle that just took place.
“Can you believe Mr. Nakamoto just-“
Your voice catches in your throat when you almost collide into someone’s chest. Your eyes drift up to catch the sight of Jeno.
He still has that same bored expression painting his face but you can see a hint of nervousness clouding his eyes.
“May I have the next dance?”
You are slightly startled by the question, but you manage to keep your decorum intact.
“You may.”
He offers you a nod before disappearing into the crowd once more. Yujin squeezes your arm.
“Did you agree to dance with Mr. Lee?”
“For heaven’s sake, I believe I have. I must be going mad, Yujin. He is the man I have sworn to hate,” you gasp.
She shakes you from your trance and guides you back to the dance floor, bringing you face to face with Jeno. He is a lot more restless than usual, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he avoids your gaze.
The dance begins with a respectful curtsy and bow. You begin to move to meet Jeno at the center and remark, “This is a beautiful dance.”
He curtly nods. “Yes, I think so.”
He is rather lucky you’re determined to be on your best behavior or else you would have rolled his eyes at the simple comment. You turn past Kang Seulgi’s figure and meet him again in the middle.
“It is your turn to make conversation, Mr. Lee. Usually, you would compliment the host of the gathering or comment on the people who have attended.”
“Is that so?” He muses, taking slow steps around Lee Mark to circle back to you. You join your hands in the middle and pace quietly to the hum of the violin playing. “Please do tell what invigorating subject you would like for me to focus on.”
You can tell he’s trying to push your buttons and you grit your teeth. “A lady must not lead the conversation so easily, Mr. Lee. It is your job to set the tone.”
You separate to continue the dance, rotating again around Seulgi and Mark’s figures.
“Do you and your sisters go shopping in town often?”
You hesitate, knowing he’s beginning to broach the subject of Donghyuck. You connect in the middle, the bottom of your dress skirting by him.
“Lately yes, we have. We find it a great opportunity to get out and meet new people. In fact, we had just met a lovely man that day you saw us by the river.”
His lips press into a thin line. “Lee Donghyuck is charming, indeed. His ability to win over women’s hearts is quite notable, but it does not fare in comparison to his ability to quickly lose that adoration.”
You bite back, dancing in another circle and attempting to keep your composure. “Yes, and it was so devastating to hear that he has lost that devotion from you. Quite irreversible, is it?”
“Indeed,” he nearly hisses, stopping in the middle to sneer at you. The dance continues but you hold your ground, staring at him with as much anger as you can muster. “Why do you ask such a question?”
“To inquire into your character, Mr. Lee.”
His eyes burn with an unanticipated flame. “And what did you discover?”
“Very little. I hear quite different stories about your character and it baffles me exceptionally.”
“My apologies,” he states, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “I hope to clear your troubled thoughts going forward.”
You both resume the dance, but it somehow feels like the entire room has disappeared. The weight of your words builds the tension and you follow the steps of the dance you know by heart, but your eyes no longer drift to different parts of the room. They stay focused on Jeno, who is equally captured by you.
The two of you speak nothing more until you return to the same spots you started the dance in. The sound of applause jolts you out of your stupor and you take one last look at Jeno, offering him a polite curtsy before exiting the floor.
You’re startled when you nearly run into Yuta again on your way to the drawing room.
He says your name in a rigid tone. “You’re well acquainted with Mr. Lee?”
You almost stutter. “Not very well. I will admit, I’m surprised to see you at such an event, Mr. Nakamoto.”
“Are you? Your mother has brought it up to me on many occasions, especially noting that you would be in attendance.”
You clench a fist behind your back and silently curse your mother.
“Did she? I cannot imagine why she would think that would be of importance to you.”
“I am sure you have heard of my search for a companion to my estate. Lady Park has been stressing the issue and I am not one to avoid her suggestions,” he shares, taking a small step closer to you.
You take a step back. You and your sisters know all about Lady Park — the woman who financially supports Yuta until he gets a hold of your family’s fortune when you and your siblings are married off and your father has passed. She dictates every aspect of Yuta’s life and he must engage in her wishes to ensure his funds are properly taken care of.
“Mr. Nakamoto, I will save you the trouble. I have no desire to be married at this time, so whatever offer my mother promised you cannot be fulfilled on my account.”
He frowns. “Surely, a girl of your age understands the need for a husband in this economy. A comfortable life could save you the misfortune of attending these dances.”
“If you do not mind my candor, I do not believe a comfortable life for me would include you in it. I sincerely hope you are able to find a wife who is best suited to help you run your estate.”
You curtsy for him, ignoring the malicious sneer he throws your way. You scurry into the drawing room, searching for Yujin and finding her near the piano. Minji is playing to her heart’s content and it seems she has been doing so for hours, and your father walks over to tell her to be mindful of other people’s time.
You loop your arm around Yujin’s to get her attention.
“Oh, how was it?” She exclaims enthusiastically as you pull her away. “You did not look so pleased to be in Mr. Lee’s presence from what I could see.”
You huff. “Truly an understatement. And you will not believe the kind of proposal Mr. Nakamoto approached me with.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Do not tell me-“
“I denied it, of course. It would have been a loveless coupling, much to my mother’s chagrin.”
She frowns at your indifference. “You know, you are blissfully lucky to even have such an offer come across you. Your family has only been in high society for a few months yet you have already gotten a marriage proposal from a wealthy suitor.”
“Is that all you heard? A wealthy suitor,” you repeat with a scoff. “Yujin, Mr. Nakamoto has despised my family since Jimin came of age. I would like to think I should get a say in who I marry and not just because he is inheriting my father’s pocket.”
You brush off her continued sorrow over your situation. Your eyes scan the room, seeing your mother hang by the staircase with a glass of wine in her hands, loudly praising Jimin for catching the attention of Jaemin. Jimin, on the other hand, is conversing quietly with him a few feet away, awkwardly tucking her hair behind her ears and avoiding his gaze. Minji is tugging Minjeong along now that she is not berating a crowd with her piano playing, the both of them laughing at some of the guests around them.
“I believe my family is entertaining the masses well enough,” you muse.
She laughs and nods, sweeping your previous conversation about Yuta under the rug.
“The upside is that Mr. Na does not seem to mind,” she says, and the two of you watch him laugh at something Jimin has whispered.
“I think he is quite devoted to her.”
She hums. “But does she return his favor?”
You chuckle. “What are you on about? Of course she does! He’s all she ever thinks about.”
“All I am saying is that having a wonderful man like Mr. Na becoming smitten is a rare chance. However, if Jimin does not outwardly express her intentions, he could be deterred from continuing his advances.”
You shake your head. “She’s just shy, you know that. She is not the type to wear her heart on her sleeve like most other women.”
“But Mr. Na is not well acquainted with that fact. He does not know her as we do. She has to take advantage of his love before the clock runs out.”
You study your sister and her suitor, wondering if Yujin was right.
Your eyes drift over to catch Jeno’s, who is intently watching you from across the room. His hands are folded behind his back and despite the many women surrounding him, he only has his gaze directed at you. You interpret it in the wrong fashion, assuming he has once again taken on a mission to taunt you.
You hold your head high, hauling Yujin to the next room and disregarding the irritating presence of Lee Jeno.
—
It is weeks later when your family catches news that Jaemin is leaving the city.
Jimin is utterly distraught, ostracizing herself in her room while your mother frantically runs around the house, insisting the news cannot be true. You hesitantly approach Jimin as she is crying on her bed, curled up with her face stuffed in her pillow. You brush back her hair and sigh.
“Mr. Na is an idiot for leaving without proposing to you,” you say, trying your best to comfort her. “All of us could see he was so taken with you. I am sure he will return soon and bring you with him.”
“Do not bother,” she sniffles, wiping the tears falling down her cheeks. “I knew I could never be an acceptable fit for him. He saw our family and ran for the hills.”
“Stop putting yourself below him,” you scold. “You were a very acceptable match for him and it is his fault if he could not see how uniquely extraordinary you are. He will learn his regret soon.”
You leave her to wallow in her sadness, telling your mother to stop her fussing and leave Jimin alone. You catch some fresh air outside, basking in the sunlight before you hear the crunch of leaves from behind you.
You barely register Yujin’s form until she’s tackling you in a hug. You gasp and lock your arms tight around her.
“What on earth are you doing here?” You laugh, and she gives you another squeeze before pulling away. You take in the anxiety clouding her face.
“I have come to tell you the joyful news — Mr. Nakamoto and I are engaged.”
You take a step back, astonished by the reveal. You blink rapidly and stutter. “E-Engaged? To be wed?”
“Of course, silly. What other kind of engaged is there?” She drinks in your nauseated expression and sighs. “Do not give me that. You should be perfectly happy for me.”
“But he is ridiculous! And so much older than you. Yujin, you cannot possibly-“
“Yes, I can,” she replies in a stern tone. “Not all of us can afford to have choices. He is offering me a comfortable life and a beautiful home. And now, your family will no longer have to worry that some tyrant will swoop in and steal your father’s earnings.”
“But Yujin-“
She continues. “My father is very close to losing his job and my family is in danger of falling from high society. I do not have many prospects, and I am very thankful that Mr. Nakamoto approached me. I am terribly frightened, do you not see? So please, do not judge me.”
You embrace her. “I apologize, I did not realize how tough it must have been for you.”
She shakily returns your affection. “Promise me you will come visit when you can? Lady Park has a wonderful cottage that we will be staying in when we are married.”
You nod. “I most certainly will. I have to ensure you are being taken care of properly.”
She giggles. “I will miss you.”
After a tearful goodbye, you watch Yujin’s figure disappear into the horizon and return home. You feel a plethora of emotions swirling around your head from Yujin’s future — mainly concern but also a feeling of happiness for her safety. As much as you were not fond of Yuta, you know he would still treat her with respect.
You are taken aback when you enter your home to see your mother with a handful of garments in her arms. She rushes up the stairs with Minji following closely behind. You fume when you see her entering Jimin’s room.
“Mother, I told you to leave Jimin well enough alone!”
You ascend the staircase and follow them, confused when you see a suitcase splayed out on Jimin’s bed as your mother stuffs clothing into it as fast as she can.
“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims at the sight of you. “Come here and help Jimin pack for her trip. Where in heavens did you disappear to?”
Your eldest sister is now up on her feet, looking slightly more lively. Minji is eagerly folding dresses for her.
You speak slowly. “I was out speaking with Yujin. She is betrothed to Mr. Nakamoto.”
They all pause at the news. Your mother is the most engaged, furious by the revelation.
“I told you! Mr. Nakamoto is a reputable man who could have brought you wonderful children.” You wince at the thought. “You should have accepted his proposal when he offered!”
“Oh mother,” Jimin interjects, coming to your defense. “The man did not even have the decency to ask father for permission.”
“What exactly are we packing for?” You ask, desperate to move the topic of conversation far from you.
Your mother immediately brightens, forgetting about nagging you for a second. “Jimin is going out of the city to stay with your aunt and uncle! She will remain for a visit until Mr. Na sees the error of his ways.”
You frown, approaching them as they continue to pack Jimin’s belongings.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Of course it’s what she wants!”
You and Jimin ignore your mother’s enthusiasm. She nods at you, smiling softly.
“I think so. No, no, I believe so. I want to fight for him.”
You smile at the sparkle of determination in your sister’s eye. You happily help her fold the rest of her belongings.
Your mother has already called the carriage, with Minjeong holding the door open with a disinterested look on her face. Jimin envelops her in a hug as she passes and you see Minjeong’s hardened expression melt a little.
You all help Jimin into the carriage and wave her off, praying to the heavens that Na Jaemin will offer her a second chance.
—
You breathe in the smell of the quaint countryside, laughing when Yujin comes bursting out the front door of her cottage and embraces you tightly.
“I cannot believe you are finally here! I have waited so long for your arrival,” she says.
“I am delighted the weather was favorable enough for the trip,” you murmur, pulling away and smiling softly. “This is a lovely home, Yujin.”
“Oh please, you flatter me so. You have not yet seen the inside!”
She pulls you through the door, and you drink in the sight of the living room. It feels warm and cozy, which is exactly what you would expect from a home decorated by your friend.
Yuta comes walking down the long hallway, eyeing you.
“I see you have made a successful trip here.”
You curtsy. “Yes, Mr. Nakamoto. I am honored that you and Yujin have allowed me to stay for a short period.”
“You know you can stay for as long as you like!” Yujin exclaims. “I have missed your company a great many.”
She guides you into the room where you will take your stay. She helps you unpack your luggage, admiring the new dresses you have acquired in her absence.
“And how is Jimin? I was curious to know of her whereabouts since the last letter of yours arrived.”
You sigh. “It has been months since she left to stay with our aunt and uncle. No progress has been made for her and Mr. Na, and I fear for her heartbreak when she returns to us.”
Yujin frowns. “How dreadful. I do hope she is able to win his affections before it is too late.”
“Whatever the case may be, Mr. Na has surely lost a beautiful bride.”
She hums in agreement.
Yuta interrupts your conversation hours later, rushing into your room with a delighted expression.
“Yujin! Lady Park has asked us to come to supper,” he declares.
Yujin stands from her spot on your bed, clapping her hands in excitement.
“Oh, wonderful! That is absolutely delightful.” She turns to you, gripping your elbows. “You must come with us. Lady Park would be overjoyed to meet you.”
“O-Oh,” you stutter, unsure of what to say. “I haven’t got much to wear.”
Yuta brushes off your concern. “Lady Park is not averse to your manner of dress. Simply put on your best and you can accompany us.”
You join Yujin and Yuta that evening to meet Lady Park at her grand estate, which is merely a few miles away from their cottage. You hold your breath as you enter the grand drawing room, where Lady Park sits with her daughter, Chaeyoung.
You curtsy in respect alongside Yujin, and Lady Park eyes you warily.
“We are honored you have asked us to dine with you tonight, Lady Park,” Yujin says, hands folded neatly above her stomach.
You are about to voice your agreement until a creak in the hardwood distracts you. Your eyes flutter over to the doorway to catch the sight of Jeno entering.
“Mr. Lee,” you murmur in surprise. “I did not expect to see you here.”
The familiar burn of his stare welcomes you. He bows his head and you return the favor.
He says your name, and you feel a rush travel down your spine. You have not heard him speak since the night of the dance.
“I am a guest here,” he explains simply.
Lady Park stands from her seat on the chaise lounge.
“You are familiar with my nephew?”
You digest the information, storing away the fact that Yuta never mentioned Jeno was related to Lady Park.
“Yes, I had the privilege of meeting your nephew a few months ago, ma’am.”
You hear Jeno almost scoff at the suggestion of your encounter being anything but dreadful. You clench your fists behind your back to prevent an outburst.
“And this is my cousin,” Jeno introduces, stepping aside to allow another man to come into your line of vision. He smiles and bows. “Park Jisung.”
You pay your courtesy and Lady Park instructs the group to gather in the dining room for supper. You take a spot next to Jisung and across from Yujin.
Before you can get comfortable, Lady Park scolds Yuta. “Mr. Nakamoto, you cannot sit next to your wife and only converse with her. Switch with our guest.”
You awkwardly switch places with Yuta, now sitting next to Yujin and Jeno. Your shoulder brushes by his, and he instinctively leans closer to you. Your breath hitches slightly at the proximity.
With the seating arrangements in order, you all take your seats and begin dining into the feast.
Jeno clears his throat. “Has your family been faring well?”
It takes a moment for you to register that he is speaking to you. You glance at him, only to find him engrossed in his meal.
“They have been doing well, all things considered,” you reply. You cannot help but prod him for answers. “Jimin has actually gone to stay with our aunt and uncle, close to where Mr. Na is staying. Perhaps you have seen her.”
He looks at you. “I have not had the pleasure, no.”
You purse your lips. “What a shame. I know she would be delighted to have your company.”
He hums. “Is that so? Is she the only one who would enjoy my companionship at this time?”
Your mouth hangs open in surprise at his confidence. A sliver of his true personality shows, with the corner of his lips threatening to lift.
Lady Park interrupts your exchange as she calls your name.
“Do you play the piano?”
You shake your head, trying to disregard that Lee Jeno’s character seems to be more than that of a boring nobleman. “Not very well, ma’am. I’m afraid that is a talent reserved for my youngest sister.”
“And your sisters — how many of you are out in society?”
You smile as politely as you can. “All of us, ma’am.”
Lady Park is shocked by the revelation. “All of you? All at once? The youngest being out before the oldest ones are married? Why, that is unheard of.”
“I should not think to burden my younger sisters simply because the oldest ones are not yet wed. They deserve to have their fair share of enjoyment,” you voice, ignoring her continued surprise by your candor.
“You have a lot of opinions for a girl so young and still not in charge of her own household,” Lady Park sighs. “It would do you well to hold your tongue.”
Your fingers tighten around your spoon but you’re amazed when Jeno speaks up.
“I think she is very gifted for her age, considering her family was not born in the faces of high society. I do not think playing the piano would truly showcase the talent she encompasses.”
Lady Park’s lips dissolve into a thin line at her nephew’s impudence. You swallow the jarring emotions you feel at Jeno’s blatant defense of you.
“Well, I must be carrying the customs of my time then. However, I shall hear you play a piece for us after supper.”
“Ma’am, I stress to you that I do not lie when I say I play the piano poorly-“
Yuta hisses your name across the table, throwing you a stern glance. Yujin has a pleading look painting her own features.
“She would be happy to play for you,” Yuta says firmly, with no room for argument.
You swallow your dispute, looking back down at your bowl of soup as Lady Park scolds her daughter for her poor posture. In the corner of your eye, you see Jeno’s hand twitch.
Your head raises and you catch his stare — his eyes no longer holding the small glimmer of amusement you caught earlier.
The last thing you want is for Lee Jeno to feel sorry for you, so you return to finishing your meal, brushing off his concern.
After dinner, you go back to the drawing room and hesitantly take a seat at the grand piano in the corner of the room.
Your fingers clumsily press down on the keys, playing an off-tune version of the last piece you memorized. The group continues to chatter behind you as Lady Park invites Yujin to come visit whenever she pleases. Jeno slowly approaches you and you shake your head.
“There is no need to point out my terrible sense of musical inclination, Mr. Lee. It is a flaw I’m very well acquainted with.”
“I had no intention to do so,” he replies. “And no gentleman would ever raise attention to a fault a woman believes she has, even if he disagrees with her.”
You stop playing briefly to look up at him. He’s already staring back at you, his eyes now conveying an emotion you cannot recognize. You wonder what you would find if you peeled back a few layers of his hard exterior.
Jisung draws near, his hand cupping Jeno’s shoulder with familiarity.
“You must tell me how my dear cousin behaved when he was in your town.”
You laugh under your breath. “I must disappoint you, Mr. Park, as your cousin was very indifferent during his stay. Despite the many women begging for a dance and the lack of suitors on the floor, Mr. Lee still insisted on keeping to himself and refusing to make conversation with others.”
Jisung chuckles. “Truth be told, that sounds very akin to the cousin I know. I have never seen him dance with another woman willingly.”
You pause, remembering how Jeno asked you to dance the night of Jaemin’s ball. You recall how nervous he looked when he faced you, almost as if he was jumping out of his socks.
Jeno clenches his jaw. “Well, dear cousin, I am sure you understand how difficult it is for me to gab about with people I’m not familiar with. Dances are not something I take pleasure in.”
You interject. “Even if it is a woman’s choice of love language? A way you can show her your affection?”
The corner of his mouth twitches as he catches on to what you’re referring to.
“Perhaps then, there could be an exception.”
Lady Park admonishes you for not playing as instructed and you return to the piano, paying no heed to Jeno’s presence for the rest of the evening.
—
Your hand aches as you finish writing your letter to Jimin, sealing the envelope carefully.
You are anxious by the state of your sister’s duress, as it seems Mr. Na has still not come to visit her. Jimin is growing more and more disappointed by the day, feeling as if she has burdened your family with this ridiculous adventure. You wish you could see her and tell her that she would never be a burden to you, but writing a letter is the only communication you can give to her at this time while you continue your stay with Yujin and Yuta.
Just as you place the envelope back down on the table in your room, the door swings open.
You’re startled when Jeno walks through the door, his eyes frantic.
“Mr. Lee,” you say, failing to hide the surprise in your voice as you stand.
You both pay your respects and you wait for him to explain the meaning of his visit, as it has been a week since you saw him at Lady Park’s dinner festivities. However, the words seem to be caught in his throat because he says nothing to you, opening and closing his mouth furiously.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nakamoto went to the village,” you bring up, pondering if that was the reason he was here.
“Yes,” he clears his throat, fiddling with the sleeves of his coat. “Yes, it is a nice day to go to the village.”
You nod, still trying to decipher the reason why he’s here with no notice.
“This- This is a beautiful home,” he notes, bouncing from one foot to another.
It is the most disheveled you have ever seen him.
“Yes, I think so as well. Should I fetch us some tea?”
He immediately shakes his head. “No, no.”
You sit in an unpleasant silence for another few moments before you hear the front door open, signaling Yujin and Yuta’s return.
“Have a good day,” Jeno quickly says, walking swiftly down the hallway and out the cottage, not even bothering to acknowledge Yujin’s presence when he passes by.
Yujin stares incredulously after him, eyes darting over to you.
“What on earth have you done to poor Mr. Lee?”
You shake your head, puzzled by the odd interaction.
“I have no idea.”
—
“There are many conveniences which others may supply and which we cannot procure for ourselves…”
You fight the yawn threatening to come out as Yuta drones on in his sermon. One of the downsides of staying with Yujin and Yuta was the weekly attendance at the local church, where Yuta often read verses for the people. Yujin is always enthralled by her husband’s lectures, but you do not share her level of enthusiasm.
You lean over to whisper to Jisung, who is seated next to you.
“How much longer will you be in town, Mr. Park?”
“As long as my cousin needs,” he answers. “I am at his disposal.”
You scoff, imagining exactly how many people Jeno had at his disposal.
“I wonder why he does not marry so he can bring a woman alongside him instead of dragging you,” you quip.
Jisung laughs quietly. “If he did choose a woman, she would be very lucky. Jeno is a loyal man to both friends and family alike. I heard he recently helped save a friend from an unwise marriage.”
You frown. “Who was the friend?”
“One of his closest companions, Na Jaemin.”
Your features twist into a scowl, and you spot Jeno sitting across the church. Your chest fills with an indescribable rage.
“Did he explain why?” You ask Jisung.
“There were a lot of objections to the lady. I believe her family was not considered to be the right fit for a nobleman of his status.”
You could nearly feel the steam coming out of your ears. So this was the truth — Jeno found your family completely unruly and unfit for his standards and in return, he cut off Jimin’s chance of finding love. All of the pieces click into place and you clench your fists, wondering who gave him the right to dictate the fate of your family.
As soon as the sermon ends, you find the quickest exit, refusing to wait for Yujin and Yuta. You decide you must get back to their cottage to write to Jimin, insisting she come home and end her useless pining after Jaemin.
You gasp when you realize it’s raining, the heavy downpour soaking your dress. You waste no time, running as fast as you can until the church is no longer in sight.
After a mile, you see a nearby gazebo and decide to take shelter there to catch your breath. You place a hand on your chest, staring down at the hem of your dress, which is now covered in mud and dirt.
The call of your name causes you to gasp, and you look up to find the main character of your distress.
Jeno is also completely soaked from head to toe and offers you no time to say a word. “I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few months have been a torment. I came here with the sole purpose of seeing you and I must tell you how I am feeling. I am fighting against my family’s expectation and the inferiority of your birth because I am asking you to end my agony.”
You shake your head. “I do not understand-“
“I love you,” he confesses. You freeze, appalled by the revelation. “Most ardently. Please do me the honor by accepting my hand.”
You grit your teeth. “I apologize, Mr. Lee, for having caused you pain since our first meeting. I assure you it was not my intention.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is this your reply?”
“Yes.”
“So it is a rejection?”
“Yes.”
He swallows. “May I ask why you are so quick to voice your refusal?”
You laugh. “Then may I ask why you think it is so brave of you to confess your love for me against your better judgment? I must be so uncouth for you to hold onto your feelings for so long instead of speaking them to me!”
“I did not mean-“
“And I am frankly horrified to think that you believe me to have no dignity that I would accept the hand in marriage of a man who has ruined the fate of my eldest sister, whom I admire with all of my heart!”
His expression falls at the mention of Jimin, and you laugh mockingly at catching his lie.
“Do you deny it, Mr. Lee? Breaking up a young couple in the height of their affection and forcing my sister to question her self-worth?”
“I do not deny it,” he replies sternly.
“What gave you the right-“
“I watched them out of respect for my friend and realized his attachment was deeper than hers,” he explains, but it only causes you to grow angrier.
“She’s shy! She has never been courted so seriously by another man before, especially not one that became so public,” you vouch for her.
He stands his ground. “Jaemin had realized she was not returning his affection with the same amount of passion-“
“Only after you suggested it!”
“I did it for his own good!”
“My sister rarely shows her true feelings to me,” you yell, and Jeno is taken aback. “You will never understand the burden an eldest sister has to face when there are no sons born to the family. You will never understand the weight on her shoulders when Mr. Nakamoto is knocking on the door, waiting to take away what little fortune your family possesses!”
He continues to defend himself. “There was a call into the character of your family and the suggestion of an advantageous marriage-“
You sneer. “How dare you assume Jimin would pursue such a thing!”
“It was not her, but your mother, on the other hand-“
You taunt him. “And what of Lee Donghyuck?”
He narrows his eyes and takes a step closer to you. “Lee Donghyuck?” He speaks the name as if someone poured acid on his tongue.
“What excuse could you possibly conjure of your behavior towards him?”
He purses his lips. “You take a great deal of interest in Donghyuck.”
“How can you defend the misfortunes you have put him in?”
He smiles mockingly. “Ah yes, I’m sure his misfortunes are vast in comparison to mine. I see that this is how you view me — a horrible villain who casts a dark shadow wherever he goes.”
“You are the one who has decided to insult the inferiority of my birth, which is beyond my own control! That arrogance and selfish disdain for the feelings of others is why I believe you are the last man in the world I would ever consider to marry!”
His expression crumbles. It is only now that you recognize how short the proximity between you two has gotten. He seems to have grasped the situation as well, eyes flickering downwards to stare at your lips. You swear that he begins to lean in before he stops himself.
You think you would let him kiss you, despite all signs pointing to it being a bad idea. The desire building in your stomach has you questioning your common sense.
There is no possible way you want Lee Jeno to kiss you, to mark you as his, to marry you in front of all those presumptuous nobles like Lady Park-
“Forgive me for taking up so much of your time.”
He turns and walks away, leaving you panting with a gaping hole in your chest.
—
Days pass before you hear from Jeno.
You contemplate returning home, but Yujin convinces you to stay for a little while longer. You write out a letter to Jimin to tell her everything, but for some reason, you never send it. You fear the gruesome picture you will paint of Jeno and consequently, Jimin’s feelings towards him. You somehow care for your sister’s approval for the rich nobleman although you turned down his proposal.
It’s another dreary night when Jeno shakes the cottage with his presence. You hear his blazing footsteps behind you but you refuse to look at him, staring at the wall in your room with your back turned to him.
He clears his throat. “I came to drop off this.”
You do not know what he has left, ignoring the miniscule part of your brain that screams at you to check.
You speculate on what he looks like — was he wearing that dreary trench coat he likes to walk around in? Was he wearing a mask of contempt at his behavior? Did he really mean what he said? Did he really love you?
“I shall not repeat the confessions that were so insulting to you, but if I may, I will address the two offenses you have laid against me,” he says.
You want to see him. You want to see if he has that stricken expression on his face, if he still has a hint of playfulness hidden in his eyes.
But when you turn around, he is gone. You would believe you had imagined him if not for the letter sitting neatly on the windowsill.
You swallow and open it, eyes scanning over his neat penmanship.
My father loved Donghyuck like a son. After his passing, my father left him a generous living, but Donghyuck made it clear that he would not be taking orders. He gambled away his living within weeks and demanded for more money from me, insisting it was what my father would have wanted. I refused, and he severed all acquaintance thereafter. He returned to us last summer in an attempt to court my sister, Jayoon, and convince her to elope with him. My sister is to inherit half of our estate. When it was made clear Donghyuck would not be receiving a penny of that inheritance, he disappeared once more. I will not try to explain the depth of Jayoon’s despair.
You gasp, eyes shuffling through the ink in disbelief. You could not comprehend the deceit and maliciousness Donghyuck possessed. The man you met was so poised and charismatic, but you suppose all the best con men were.
As for the matter of your sister and Jaemin, though the motives which governed me may to you appear insufficient, they were in the service of a friend.
Yujin’s voice pulls you out of your stupor. She enters your room, carrying a tray of your meal for the night. A worried look crosses her face at the sight of you, and that is when you realize you have started to cry. You wipe the tears falling down your cheeks.
“Are you okay?” Yujin asks, frantically coming over to you.
You hide Jeno’s letter behind your back, clutching onto it for dear life.
“I-I hardly think so.”
She lays her forehead on yours, understanding what you need.
“I believe it’s time for you to return home.”
—
“Honestly, if he passed by me in the street, I would hardly even recognize him.”
You brush off Jimin’s blatant lie and ignore the way she is combing her fingers through her hair as a nervous tick. She frowns at your faint smirk.
“It is true!” She claims, hitting your arm with mischief. “Anyway, what news comes from your visit with Mr. and Mrs. Nakamoto?”
You returned home shortly after Jeno delivered his letter. Yujin was sorrowful to see you go, but she recognized you needed to be with your family, no matter how loud and boisterous they could get. Jimin arrived a day before you, declaring her efforts worthless, much to your mother’s displeasure.
Jimin insists the experience was a pleasant one and that she learned a great many, and you would not dare refute her claims despite the numerous letters you received that say the opposite.
You smile at your sister’s question. “Nothing exciting.”
You had decided to keep the contents of Jeno’s letter for yourself, afraid to admit your blossoming feelings and ignorance at your accusations towards him. Considering Jimin is handling the loss of Jaemin better than expected, you also did not want to burden her with the truth.
The door to the drawing room bursts open and Minji comes parading through, screaming wildly.
“The heavens have truly blessed me!”
You raise an eyebrow at her as she collapses on the lounge, dress flowing across her hips in an improper fashion. Minjeong follows her into the room, looking cross with her hands folded across her chest.
“They are not sending you there because you are a suitable wife, they are sending you there because you are a disgrace to the family!”
“Minjeong!” You scold her, watching as Minji simply laughs at her sister’s insult. “What on earth are you two jabbering about?”
“Father is sending me to live with the Baek family,” Minji divulges, wiggling her feet in excitement.
Jimin stands, outraged by the information. “What? Minji, the Baek family live across town!”
“Yes, and is it not so delightful?” She giggles, ignoring you and Jimin’s worries. “There will be a handful of suitors there at my disposal!”
You and Jimin exchange a knowing glance before heading to your father’s office. He appears to be expecting your arrival, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in anticipation of your anger.
“Father, you cannot send Minji away to the Baek family,” Jimin begins.
You continue. “She will make a fool out of herself and ridicule this family! She needs to be educated properly here, at home.”
Your father sighs. “Girls, you know I have tried with your sister, but she has become too complacent for my teachings. I trust Colonel Baek and his family to educate her about becoming well-behaved.”
“Father!” Jimin yells, utterly displeased. “Minji is not some farm animal you can dispose of as you please! She is part of this family, and her careless behavior is ours to own.”
“You cannot send her away or we might lose her forever.”
Your father shakes his head. “I’m sorry, girls, but my decision has been made. Minji will live with the Baek family and we will pray for success to come her way.”
You both scoff at him, infuriated by his carelessness. You leave his office and travel to the den in the kitchen, where your aunt and uncle are quietly eating. They have decided to stay for a while after dropping off Jimin.
Your aunt calls your name with joy. “Oh, you must join us this time out to the gardens in the district. It would do you well to take in some fresh air.”
You smile politely and take a seat on the bench across from your aunt. Your mind is still whirling at the thought of Minji, all alone, faring for herself at the countryside.
“I am satisfied staying here. I just returned from a trip to see a friend.”
Your uncle waves you off. “Come with us! There are many soldiers stationed in the area and plenty of suitors for your eyes to take in.”
“I have no desire to converse with them, uncle. Men are overtaken by their own arrogance or stupidity, and it would be a waste of my time to entertain them.”
Your aunt laughs mockingly at your pessimistic declaration.
“Well, what a voice of bitterness! My dear, do not allow your opinion of one man to cloud the wonderful soldiers who could bend and worship the ground you walk on,” your aunt advises.
You shake your head in disagreement.
“Men bring nothing but heartache.”
—
Much to your chagrin, your aunt and uncle convince you to travel with them through the district.
You are slightly grateful for their coercion as the breathtaking weather allows you to take a break from your resounding problems, albeit momentarily.
You stop in the middle of the journey as one of the wheels on your carriage is starting to lose its weight, and the coachman requires you to pull over so he can fix it. You lean on one of the nearby trees as your aunt and uncle sit beside you.
“Where exactly are we?” You ask, taking a look at your surroundings, yet all that encompasses you is trees.
“I believe we are close to the Lee estate.”
Your ears perk up. “Lee Jeno?”
“Yes, that’s the fellow,” your uncle murmurs. “I heard his estate is surrounded by a great lake. I have an immense desire to see it for myself.”
“Oh, let’s not,” you immediately object.
Your aunt and uncle turn to you with a raised eyebrow, curious about your swift rejection.
You clear your throat. “I mean, he is awfully busy, I am sure. We would not want to bother him.”
“Do not fret, dear,” your aunt assures. “Great men like him are usually never home.”
You swallow down your further protests, refusing to tell your aunt and uncle the real reason why you cannot see Jeno again.
Once the carriage is fixed, you travel to the Lee estate. As many have vouched, the estate expands beyond your wildest dreams. A large lake covers the entire front yard, with more windows and doors around the house than you could ever conjure up in your mind.
One of the maidens comes out to greet you. Your aunt and uncle are eager to receive a tour and you glance around, picturing the spots where Jeno would walk through, probably dragging that awful trench coat behind him. You giggle at the thought.
“Has something caught your interest, ma’am?” The maiden asks you and you jump, quickly wiping the smile off of your face.
“Oh, no, no. I was simply wondering if Mr. Lee’s sister was home.”
She nods. “Yes, the young girl is likely wrapped up in her piano lesson. You may go search for her while I show your aunt and uncle the gardens if you wish.”
Your aunt touches your arm fondly. “Meet us back at the lodging when you are finished.”
You faintly hear the sound of the piano drift from upstairs, and you follow the noise. You drink in your sights as you go, marveling at the expensive marble columns and gold accents of the house. You ponder over the idea of Jeno choosing the decorations himself.
You finally find the door to one of the drawing rooms, and you open it by a sliver. You catch a glimpse of Jayoon’s long hair with her back turned towards you, her fingers playing a melody as if she had memorized it from birth. You gape at the young girl’s talent.
Your heart beats wildly in your chest when Jeno’s frame comes into view, tapping Jayoon on the shoulder and surprising her. She gasps and jumps into his arms, clearly not expecting his presence.
You make the mistake of moving your foot, which causes the hard flooring to creak beneath your weight. The sound alerts Jeno and his head turns to the entrance of the doorway, where he catches your eye.
You wheeze, quickly spinning around and darting back down the stairs. You must look like a clumsy oaf but you do not care, trying your best at getting as far from the estate as possible. You manage to find yourself outside, but before you can descend down the back entryway, you hear Jeno calling your name.
You squeeze your eyes shut momentarily before slowly facing him.
“I-I apologize, I thought you were out of town.”
He swallows, his once confident stare now filled with nothing but anxiety.
“I came home a day early,” he explains.
He’s wearing that long trench coat again. You wonder if he ever takes it off.
“We wouldn’t have come if we had known you were here-“
“I had some business with my steward-“
You both pause when you realize you’re speaking over one another. His eyes soften at the sight of you.
You avoid his gaze.
“I’m visiting with my aunt and uncle.”
He nods. “And are you having a pleasant trip?”
You blink nervously. “Yes. Tomorrow we are heading to the district before going back home.”
“Tomorrow?” You swear you hear the disappointment in his voice, but it could be a figment of your imagination. “Are you staying nearby?”
You nod and tell him where you’ll be lodging. You place your hand over your chest in an attempt to control your frenzied heartbeat.
“I apologize again for intruding. They said the house was open for visitors and I had no idea you would be home-“
“You’re always welcome here,” he says, his voice filled with honesty. Goosebumps rise on your arms at his frank statement. “Shall I see you into town?”
“No, no,” you object, taking a step back. “I would much prefer to walk. I like to do that — to walk.”
You want to hit yourself over the head. You sound foolish.
Jeno just smiles, laughing to himself. You do not think you have ever seen him this way. Your stomach erupts with butterflies at the sight of his handsome grin.
“Yes, I’m well acquainted with that fact.”
You stare down at your feet, recalling the day you had run nearly three miles in the rain instead of waiting for Yujin and Yuta’s carriage. You’re curious if Jeno had to also run that far just to catch you. Did he catch a cold?
“I shall see myself off then. Goodbye, Mr. Lee.”
You curtsy, refusing to take another glance at him before fleeing the grounds of the estate.
You think about him on your walk back into the village. You envision him as a child, running through the gardens and playing games with the staff. You smile at the thought.
When you find the inn you’ll be staying at for the night, you inform your aunt and uncle of your return before slipping into your room. You decide to freshen up before supper, ridding your mind of any thoughts related to Jeno. You remind yourself that you will likely not see him again, so any of these confusing feelings that are rising need to be squashed.
Your aunt and uncle, however, have a different idea when you join them downstairs.
“My dear, Mr. Lee was just here!”
“What?”
“Yes!” Your uncle is overjoyed. “He invited us to dine with him tomorrow. You don’t mind delaying our journey another day, do you?”
“I-I suppose not.”
An ominous shiver runs down your spine.
—
A lively tune greets you at the Lee estate.
You pause when you see Jayoon playing at the keys with Jeno standing beside the piano to hear her. She stops when she sees you enter the drawing room, jumping up and running over to curtsy before you. She says your name with clear fondness.
You smile and return the curtsy, a little startled by her warmth towards you.
“My sister, Jayoon,” Jeno introduces, walking over. Your breath hitches at his presence.
“My brother has told me so much about you,” Jayoon beams. Your eyes flit to Jeno’s frame, and his head is bowed slightly in embarrassment. “I feel as if we are friends already.”
“It is an honor to finally meet you,” you say. “You play the piano beautifully.”
She bashfully stares down at her feet. “You flatter me so. My brother tells me you’re an exceptional player as well.”
You laugh. “Then he has uttered the most ridiculous lie.”
Jeno chuckles, staring yearningly at you.
“To be fair, I said you were a good player.”
“Ah, well good is not quite exceptional, now is it?”
He smiles at your jest. You both fail to notice how long you have been gazing at one another until Jayoon clears her throat. You divert your eyes and Jeno ignores how red his ears have gotten.
He addresses your aunt and uncle, who are standing behind you.
“I have heard your uncle is fond of fishing.”
“Yes, very much so,” your uncle replies with elation.
“I would be honored if you joined me out on the lake today,” Jeno invites, and your uncle nearly jumps for joy.
“And what about you?” Jayoon asks. “Do you play duets on the piano?”
You chuckle. “Not if I can help it.”
“Oh, brother, you must make her!” Jayoon says playfully.
Jeno looks at you. “She has quite the independent mind, dear sister. I am afraid I cannot make her do anything she does not wish.”
You do not return his stare, fearing you’ll get lost in his eyes.
Jeno and your uncle head to the lake to begin their fishing session while you and your aunt stay with Jayoon to chat and play the piano. You’re in the midst of drinking tea when Jayoon says something that nearly causes you to choke.
“My brother talks of you quite a lot,” Jayoon reveals with a knowing smile. Your aunt’s eyebrow ticks up. “He says you are different from the noblewomen we usually conversate with.”
“Yes, that sounds like something he would say,” you murmur, refusing to peer over at your aunt, who you know has a million questions to bombard you with. “I do not believe your brother chats with many noblewomen to begin with.”
Jayoon giggles. “You would fare on the correct side in relation to that guess. I have desired for him to find a lifelong partner but there has been no one who has peaked his interest until recently.”
You fiddle with your teacup, ignoring Jayoon’s smirk.
Your aunt’s puzzled tone speaks first. “How long has Mr. Lee been acquainted with my niece?”
“A few months only,” you answer before Jayoon can say something else that would embarrass you. “We met when Mr. Na first came into town.”
“Ah yes,” your aunt sighs, very familiar with Jaemin considering Jimin stayed in her home for weeks to capture his attention. “Does Mr. Na come to visit here often, Jayoon?”
She shakes her head. “Not as much lately. I believe he has been preoccupied for most of the season.”
Your aunt grumbles under her breath. You’re pleased by her disdain for Jaemin, understanding how tough this time has been for Jimin.
A maiden suddenly knocks on the door and Jayoon instructs her to enter. She says she has a letter for you and you furrow your eyebrows, taking the envelope from her hands. You recognize Jimin’s handwriting and rip open the letter immediately.
You gasp when you read its contents, placing Jayoon and your aunt on high alert.
“What is it, dear? What’s happened?”
You clutch your chest, heaving. “W-We must return home! At once!”
The two women try to stop you but you sprint out of the house and onto the lake, calling for your uncle with the most desperate voice you can muster. Jeno spots you first, quickly dropping his fishing rod and rushing over to you.
“What’s wrong? Are you injured?”
He clutches your elbows, scanning your figure for any visible wounds. You cannot stop the tears flowing down your face, your mind too overtaken with fear to think about how close Jeno is.
“It’s Minji,” you cry. “S-She has run away! With Lee Donghyuck!”
You crumble and he wraps his arms around you. Your uncle hurriedly comes to your side.
“What? When has this happened?”
“I do not know,” you choke back on your tears as Jeno gently wipes them away. “They do not know where she has gone! She has no money, no connections, no future!”
“This is my fault,” Jeno whispers. “I should have exposed Donghyuck.”
Your uncle gently takes the letter from your fingers, reading the words for himself. You hear Jayoon and your aunt approach, catching their breath from chasing you.
“What is it? What has her so enervated?” Your aunt questions.
Your uncle relays the message, including the part where your father has gone to the Baek family to search for Minji.
Jeno strokes your hair in comfort and you knock back your better judgment, digging your face into the collar of his trench coat.
“We must find Minji as soon as we can,” your aunt gasps. “If the news gets out, the family will be ruined!”
“I will fix it,” Jeno says with conviction.
You shake your head. “You can’t. This is my fault — I should have told my family the truth about Donghyuck or this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Do not blame yourself,” Jeno hisses, cupping his hands over your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His eyes are filled with steadfast determination. “We will get this sorted.”
“I shall join your father in his search for Minji,” your uncle declares. “Mr. Lee, I ask for your favor in borrowing one of your carriages.”
“Of course,” Jeno agrees. “Jayoon, please show him the way.”
Jayoon casts another glance at you embraced in Jeno’s arms before guiding your uncle away.
“I will ask for our carriage to be prepared to take you home,” your aunt says, also leaving the two of you.
You sniffle, feeling shameful by your appearance in front of Jeno. He stares at you in distress.
“I apologize for my behavior-“
“I wish you would cease asking forgiveness in front of me. You never have to.”
Your breath hitches at his candor. Your bodies are as close to one another as the rainy day he first confessed to you. If you tilt your head forward a few inches, you could plant a kiss on his lips.
You compose yourself and take a step back.
“Mr. Lee, I-I should go.”
“Yes, yes,” he mumbles, clearly taken aback by his own actions. “I hope your family can remedy the situation.”
You turn to leave but he stutters out a request.
“And please, take care of yourself.”
You glance back at him, eyes welled with tears.
“You as well, Mr. Lee.”
—
When you return home, your mother is bedridden and wailing.
You and Jimin gather around her bed as she sobs. “Oh, what shall we do? You are all ruined. Who will wed you now with a fallen sister? And now your poor father will have to go off and fight Lee Donghyuck!”
You and Jimin exchange a glance. Jimin clears her throat.
“Father hasn’t even found Mr. Lee yet, mother.”
Your mother ignores her and continues. “And then Mr. Nakamoto will turn us out when your father is killed! Oh, Minji must know what this will do for my nerves. How can she vex her poor mother like this?”
You decide to head downstairs, agreeing that your mother’s avid concerns would not be subdued any time soon. You frown when you see Minjeong in the kitchen, holding a letter in her hands.
“What have you got there?”
Jimin snatches it out of Minjeong’s grasp and scans it herself. “It’s addressed to father. It’s in uncle’s writing.”
You hear the familiar sound of the carriage pulling up and you all dart outside, frantically waving the letter around.
“Father! Father!”
He groans, taking a step out of the carriage. “Let me get my bearings first.”
“It’s a letter for you! From uncle!” You say, thrusting it into his hands.
He opens it as he walks back to the house, dismissing your frantic jumping to read the contents.
“Well?” Minjeong says impatiently. “What does it say?”
“He’s found them.”
Jimin gasps. “Are they married?”
He squints. “I cannot make out the script-“
You seize it and read it for yourself. Jimin and Minjeong lurk over your shoulder.
“Are they married?” Jimin asks again.
You sigh. “They will be, under the condition that father pays Lee Donghyuck a small sum for Minji per year.”
Minjeong scoffs. “A small sum! How barbaric!”
“Well? Will you pay it, father?” Jimin questions. Minjeong takes the letter from you to read it again.
“Of course I will agree. The matter of the question is how much your uncle has already laid on this wretched man,” your father exhales, walking back into the house sluggishly.
You turn to Jimin. “What does he mean?”
She shrugs. “Uncle must have threatened Mr. Lee wickedly. For the situation, with the three of us still unmarried and the family’s reputation hanging by a thread, Mr. Lee would be foolish to only settle for a small sum.”
You scowl. “Heaven forbid the day we have to welcome that wretched man into the family.”
The day comes sooner than you think. Minji and Donghyuck arrive a few weeks later, with Minji beaming at her newfound status as a married woman. You roll your eyes at her airy nature at the dinner table.
“You must all visit the Baek family soon. That is the place to get husbands! I hope you have half of my good luck.”
Your mother scolds Minjeong for her outburst before turning to Minji with a smile.
“I want to hear every detail, my darling Minji.”
You and Jimin chuckle at your mother’s quick change in heart. She was out of bed and celebrating as soon as you told her the news of Minji getting married.
You exchange a look with Donghyuck across the table, and he appears remorseful. You mock him and laugh.
Minji rattles off the story about the last few weeks with Donghyuck and their wedding. You tell her you do not want to hear it but she ignores you.
“I wondered if my dear Donghyuck would be married in his blue coat, as I love the way he looks in it. And of course, because of the quick ceremony, I worried that uncle would not make it in time to be the best man. Luckily, he arrived on time or else I would’ve had to ask Mr. Lee Jeno but I don’t really like that man.”
You pause. “Lee Jeno?”
Minji gasps and covers her mouth, making sure no one else at the table heard her slip up. “Oh heavens, I forgot. I should not have said a word.”
You prod her further. “Mr. Lee was at your wedding?”
She lowers her voice into a whisper, and you realize she cannot help herself in dishing out the truth.
“He was the one who discovered us. He paid for everything — the wedding ceremony, Donghyuck’s sum, all of my new dresses, everything!” Her elated expression turns serious. “But do not say a word to anyone! He told me not to tell.”
You’re astounded by the secret. “M-Mr. Lee?” You clarify for your own sanity.
She shoots you a sour look. “Quit it!”
You sit back in your chair, feeling as if you need to catch your breath. You cannot believe Jeno went out of his way to save Minji and fix her horrid nuptials to Donghyuck. It’s no wonder that Donghyuck only asked for a small sum from your father as Jeno must have paid the rest.
You digest the information, wondering how it was possible for a man like Lee Jeno to exist and how it was possible that he so clearly loved a girl like you.
—
You hear rumors of Jaemin’s return to town, pushing Jimin to a state of disarray. She insists she does not care about his arrival, but when a local butcher tells you that he comes without a woman by his side, her interest is clearly piqued. You attempt to convince her to locate him, but she still persists she does not care about the origin of his visit.
You are lounging in the drawing room when Minjeong comes bursting through the door.
“He is here! Mr. Na is here!”
Her announcement sends the room into a frenzy, with your mother gasping and shooting out of her chair, nearly tripping over the furniture. Jimin is on her feet, combing her fingers through her hair and straightening her dress. You flee to the window, shocked when you see not only Jaemin approaching, but Jeno walking right beside him.
“Act natural, girls!” Your mother shouts, struggling to stand.
You quickly draw back from the window, hand over your heart. You are not thoroughly prepared to face Jeno again, especially now knowing how far he has gone to ensure your family wasn’t laid to ruin.
Your mother pushes Minjeong down into a seat and shoves some fabric into her hands to make it appear like she’s been embroidering. Jimin cries at you in despair and you help her tie a ribbon around her waist and brush her hair.
Your mother throws you a book and you all hurriedly sit in different areas of the room, looking as natural as you possibly can.
There is a knock on the door before one of your handmaidens enters.
“Mr. Na and Mr. Lee,” she introduces, stepping aside so the men can set foot in.
You all stand, curtsying as they bow. You beg your heart rate to stop thumping in your ears.
Jeno looks so attractive that it makes you want to curl into yourself and scream. He avoids your gaze, and you contemplate if he no longer wants to be with you because of Minji’s incident.
Jaemin opens his mouth to speak, but your mother beats him to it.
“How glad we are to see you again, Mr. Na! I am sure you have heard of my youngest getting married while you were away. We are very proud of her accomplishments.”
Jaemin smiles politely. “Yes, I heard the great news. I offer my congratulations.”
His eyes drift to Jimin’s form, and you see your sister smile timidly at him.
Your mother continues. “It is a shame that Mr. Lee Donghyuck lives so far. Having my youngest taken away at such an early age is no easy feat.”
You interrupt her, hoping to salvage the conversation for Jimin’s sake.
“How long are you in town for, Mr. Na?”
“Just a few weeks for the hunt.”
You forget that now is the best time for hunting season, and many men in town partake in the activity. Your eyes flit once again to Jeno’s form, and you catch him staring at you briefly before he looks away. The butterflies in your stomach will surely make you ill.
“Oh, Mr. Na, you must come here once you get bored of the game in town. My husband would love to oblige you,” your mother invites.
Jaemin’s smile never wavers. “Yes, that sounds splendid. Thank you.”
“How are you, Mr. Lee?” You ask.
You cannot help yourself. You have dreamed about him since you left the estate and he has to take accountability for your sleepless nights.
He momentarily glances at you. “I’m quite well, thank you.”
“I hope the weather is favorable when you go hunting,” you say.
He nods. “I return home tomorrow. I will not be participating in this year’s hunt.”
Your heart drops. “So soon?”
He refuses to look at you again.
“My Jimin looks beautiful, does she not?” Your mother questions Jaemin.
He stutters. “O-Oh yes, she does indeed.”
The room is filled with silence, and while you’re pleading for Jeno to look at you, Jimin is desperately wanting Jaemin to say more.
Jaemin swallows before clearing his throat. “W-Well, we must be going, I think. It was lovely to see you all again.”
“You must come visit,” your mother reminds him. “You promised last time you were in town that you would attend a family dinner.”
Jaemin awkwardly nods before scurrying out of the house. Jeno lingers, looking disappointed.
He bows his head. “Excuse me.”
The request for him to stay lays on the tip of your tongue but he exits before you can ask.
Once the two men are gone, you all collapse back in your seats. You rush to Jimin’s side as your mother voices, “How unusual!”
Your sister seems as optimistic as ever, despite the gloomy look in her eye.
“Perhaps that was for the best,” she hollowly laughs. “Now I will not have to go to bed wondering about my fate. He’s clearly moved on and is no longer interested.”
“Jimin,” you sigh, placing a hand over hers. “You do not have to fabricate your feelings to me. I may also be hiding some truths that I am not content with.”
Her head whips around. “Like what?”
Before you can finally tell her your secret, Minjeong’s voice screeches.
“He is back!”
“What?” Your mother screams, flinging her body at the window.
You catch the billowing of Jaemin’s coat before you’re being hauled up again by your mother. Jaemin enters the room in a more uncoordinated fashion, not even alerting the handmaiden so she can announce his presence. His hair is sticking up in random directions, indicating he was likely running his hands through it nervously.
“I apologize for my abrupt actions, but I would like to request an audience with Jimin if I may.”
All of your mouths drop open. Your mother speaks first.
“Everyone into the kitchen,” she instructs, and you nearly trip when she pushes you forward.
You grab Minjeong’s wrist and tug her with you. Your mother closes the door behind her and all three of you immediately press your ears against it to listen in.
“First, I must tell you that I have been a halfwitted and reckless fool,” you hear Jaemin start to say. You scoff, internally agreeing with him. Minjeong elbows you to be quiet. “And second, I want to atone for the months I have been away. My fair Jimin, I will wrong you no further. Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”
You all gasp.
Moments pass before Jimin’s shaky voice replies, “Yes, a thousand times yes!”
Your mother bursts open the door and screeches in delight.
“My heavens, I never believed the day would come!”
You hurry in to envelope Jimin in a hug and congratulate her. The embrace gives you a direct view of the window, where a stony Lee Jeno stands in a far distance. You hold your breath, hoping he would come inside as well and give his own second version of a proposal. You would not hesitate to accept this time.
However, he merely situates himself there for a few seconds longer before turning away and leaving. You shut your eyes, quelling the ache in your chest and pulling Jimin closer to congratulate her once again.
—
That night, you giggle as you lay in bed with your sister.
“A spring wedding!” She exclaims, and your heart is full at the sight of her happiness. “Oh, he just looked so nervous but he had no idea how my heart was pounding out of my chest, sister. I wish for you to be this happy one day.”
Unlike the way Minji declared it to demean you, Jimin says it with pure virtue.
You fake a smile, thinking about how you screwed up your chances of ever being with Jeno.
“Maybe Mr. Nakamoto has a friend.”
She bursts into laughter at your joke and you pretend to share her joy. Your satisfaction, however, is broken by the sound of a carriage pulling up outside.
You frown. “Do you hear that?”
It was already well past midnight, so if a visitor was approaching, it must have been with urgent news. You and Jimin hop out of bed and rush downstairs, where the rest of your family is also starting to gather.
There’s a knock at the door and your father wobbles over to answer it.
You gasp when you see who is behind it.
“L-Lady Park?”
The woman shuffles in haggardly, and you all curtsy and bow at her presence. She looks disturbed, mouth twisted into an angry frown.
Your father awkwardly talks first. “May I offer you a cup of tea, madam?”
“Absolutely not. I need to speak with your second oldest alone.”
All eyes turn to you. You swallow and step forward, gesturing to the drawing room and leading Lady Park inside. You shut the door, placing a candle on a nearby table to provide you some semblance of sight.
Your palms sweat at the thought of what Lady Park had to confront you with. Perhaps you should not have messed around with Jimin — maybe Lady Park really was here to marry you off to one of Mr. Nakamoto’s friends.
“I am sure you are not puzzled by the reasoning behind my visit.”
You blink. “You are mistaken, ma’am. I cannot conjure up why you have honored my family here tonight by your presence.”
She scowls. “I warn you, dear girl, I am not one to be trifled with. A message has reached me that my nephew, Mr. Lee, has intended to unite you in the union of marriage.” You freeze, your mind running through a myriad of scenarios. “I know this to be a scandalous falsehood, so I instantly traveled here to make my sentiments known.”
You narrow your eyes at her degrading tone. “If you had thought the rumor so impossible, I ponder why you decided to travel so far.”
She steps forward, her scowl transforming into an expression filled with more hatred.
“I came to hear it be contradicted.”
“Your appearance will only serve as a confirmation if indeed such a report exists,” you say.
“If?” She spits out bitterly. “Are you meaning to pretend to not know of it? Were you not the one who started such a malicious lie to bring down the reputation of my dear nephew?”
“I have never heard of it!” You defend yourself.
“So my nephew has not made you an offer of marriage?”
You raise your head high. “You are the one who has declared such a thing to be impossible.”
You can practically see her shake with rage. “Mr. Lee has been engaged to my daughter since their infancy. Now what have you to say?”
“If that is the case, then there is no reason Mr. Lee would make an offer to me.”
“You listen to me, you selfish girl — if you think a woman of inferior birth with a scandalous sister who married the first suitor she came across can come in and tarnish Mr. Lee’s reputation, I will surely prove you wrong. Now tell me the truth, are you engaged to him?”
You contain yourself. “I am not.”
“And do you promise to never enter such an engagement?”
You put your foot down. You refuse to allow this woman to come into your home, insult you, and forbid you from marrying the man you know you yearn for.
“I shall never promise such a thing. You have traveled here in the dead of night to offend me in every possible way and I will tolerate it no longer. I must ask you to leave.”
You swing open the door, exposing your entire family on the opposite side of it, who were likely listening in on your ordeal. Lady Park gives you one last glance, and if looks could kill, you would be six feet underground.
“I have never been so disrespected in my entire life!” Lady Park declares before taking her leave, shutting the front door with great force.
“My dear, what is going on?”
“Why does she think something is happening between you and Mr. Lee?”
“Did Mr. Lee propose to you?”
You flee from your family’s questioning, running up the stairs with tears in your eyes.
“For once in your life, leave me alone!”
—
It is the break of dawn when you decide to take a walk.
You could not sleep all night. Jimin slipped into your bed at one point and comforted you wordlessly, wrapping her arms around you. You thought about Jeno and Lady Park’s scornful words. If you had a little less dignity, you would have told her how her nephew proposed to you but in all your stupidity, you denied him. She would probably get a laugh out of that.
You stare down at your feet, kicking around the patches of weeds childishly. Your breath hitches when another pair of shoes land before you.
You raise your head to see Lee Jeno standing there in all of his glory.
You say the first thing that comes to mind.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Nor I.”
You nod, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders. “Your aunt was here-“
“I should make amends for such insolent behavior.”
You shake your head. “After everything you have done to save Minji and I suspect to help Jimin, I should be the one apologizing for my behavior.”
“I told you that you never have to apologize to me, didn’t I? You must know I did all of it for you.” He says, smiling. You wonder if you could ever be this infatuated with another human being. “I came here because I beg you not to trifle with me. My aunt’s visit has provided me hope — a feeling I thought had disappeared months ago. I plead with you to tell me if your affections have changed.”
He takes a step closer to you. His eyes melt with a familiar fondness.
“If they have changed, I must tell you that you have bewitched me, body and soul. I love you, and I wish to never be parted from you from this day forth.”
You can no longer hold back your grin. You close the distance, gently tugging on the lapels of his dreary trench coat. You press your lips to his and his control officially snaps, one hand wrapping around your middle and tugging you closer. He kisses you with fervor, as if it is the last thing on earth he will ever get to do.
You giggle and pull back to catch your breath.
“Tell me, please,” he whispers with desperation. “I can bear it no longer.”
“I love you,” you say, stroking your fingers through his hair. “I love, love, love you.”
He kisses you again, hand traveling to the back of your neck and pulling you as close as humanly possible. He kisses you like he is afraid that you will slip out of his grasp. Warmth pools at the bottom of your stomach at his obvious desire.
“W-We should speak to my father,” you pant against his mouth.
“Yes, yes,” he agrees, catching his own breath. “A spring wedding? Or we could get married now, I have no objection-“
You giggle. “Mr. Lee, don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
“I cannot help it. I have waited too long for you to be in my embrace.”
“Then we shall not wait a second longer.”
—
You marry Lee Jeno on a beautiful day in spring.
The ceremony is simple at your request, and your mother cries when you walk down the aisle. Yujin sobs when she sees you in a veil, joyful that you have finally found your happy ending.
Your father was initially confused when you came to his office hand in hand with your betrothed until you explained to him the true nature of your feelings and all of the actions Jeno had taken to save your family. Jimin and Minjeong demanded to know all of the details you kept from them, and Minji even traveled into town to also hear your side of events.
Jeno has the wedding planned faster than you can blink, stressing that he cannot endure another day without you as his wife.
You have awoken something primal in him, and it shows on your wedding night.
He nearly breaks open the bedroom door as he pushes you in, shutting it loudly and practically throwing you on the bed. You laugh when he hovers over you, pressing kisses down your neck.
“Jeno, Jeno,” you hum, smiling as he tugs your wedding dress up. “Slow down, my love.”
“I want to taste you,” he groans against your collarbone.
His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You have only heard stories about what happens between a husband and his wife in their bedroom. They were usually filled with salacious recountings from many of the schoolgirls around you growing up. You honestly have no idea what you’re in for tonight, but all you know is that you would let Jeno take you at his heart’s desire.
“Too many buttons,” he grumbles against your chest, and you gasp when he rips your dress clean down the middle.
“Jeno!” You begin to scold but it turns into a moan when his lips latch onto your left breast, tongue flicking at your nipple lewdly.
“You’re mine, are you not? My wife, my forever,” he mumbles, kissing down your stomach until he is face to face with your core.
You tense at the sight of him being so close to an intimate part of your body. He senses your nerves, looking up at you and interlacing his hands with yours.
“It is quite alright, Mrs. Lee,” he smirks at your new surname. “You can trust me.”
You take a deep breath and relax. “I trust you.”
The first swipe of his tongue against your core takes your breath away. Your spine arches at the exhilarating feeling. He moves your hand until it is resting on his hair, urging you to pull at the strands as you please.
He laps at your folds eagerly, lips mouthing over you passionately. You cry when he suddenly takes your clit in his mouth and sucks hard.
He unlocks a new type of pleasure you never believed was possible — tremors running down your body as you chase the high. You fail to realize your hips are moving on their own accord, twisting and riding his face.
When the pleasure begins to subside, Jeno pulls away and lets you catch your breath.
“What was that?” You wheeze.
He chuckles, hoisting himself up to kiss you. He trails kisses across your cheek.
“Did it feel good, my pearl?”
“I-I need to feel that again.”
His laughter is like music to your ears. He nuzzles his face into your neck.
“Would you like me to show you how much better I can make you feel?”
You nod and he raises his head to see you. “I love you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss you again.
Since the day you confessed your feelings, he hasn’t failed to remind you of his love nearly every hour of every day.
“When this is over, will I bear your child?” You ask, genuinely curious about the answer.
He strokes your hair gently. “Is that something you want?”
You laugh and bob your head. “Of course. We simply cannot live in this grand house by ourselves. I fear I will go hysterical.”
“Then we will have as many children as you like, Mrs. Lee.”
He begins to undress and you eye him as respectfully as you can. You wish you had known Jeno was hiding his muscular glory underneath those boring trench coats. You likely would not have rejected him the first time if you were made aware.
“Please resist drooling.”
You narrow your eyes playfully. “You’re my husband. I may drool as I please.”
He grins and throws his coat and shirt to the side, slowly unbuttoning his pants. Your mouth waters when he finally takes off his undergarments.
His cock is beautiful, if you’re even allowed to say that. Pretty and pink and long. A bit of liquid leaks from the tip and you suddenly get a craving to taste it.
“We have all the time for you to do that later. I want to show you a good time now,” he says as if he can read your mind.
You smile and pull him close, pressing your lips together. You watch as he gives his cock a few tugs before lining it up to your entrance.
“This may hurt at first, but I promise it will feel satisfactory if you loosen your body,” he says, ensuring that you are listening carefully.
You nod, happy twinkle never disappearing from your eyes.
“I trust you.”
The first thrust is painful. You exhale, focusing on not tensing up your body too much as Jeno instructed. He soothes you, fingers running up and down your sides lightly.
“You are so perfect for me,” he hums. “I should have married you sooner.”
When he’s finally all the way inside, you take a deep breath. He rests his forehead on yours.
“Good?”
You stroke his cheek fondly. “Good, my love.”
He rolls his hips into yours and you groan. He picks up a steady beat until the furrow in your brow vanishes. A wave of pleasure shoots up your spine and you gasp, triggering Jeno to pick up his pace.
He grips the headboard tightly between his fingers, planting his knees on the mattress before driving into you.
“O-Oh!” You moan, not anticipating how intoxicating this would feel.
You raise your hips and subconsciously move to meet his thrusts. He groans at your effort, slowly losing it at how tight you feel around him.
“Here,” he says, moving one hand downwards to pinch your clit and roll it between his fingers.
“Ungh,” you wail, throwing your head back. “That’s so good, Jeno. Keep going.”
Vulgar sounds fill the bedroom with skin slapping skin and your moans mixed with his grunts. You probably look maniacal with the way you’re desperately chasing your high, but you have no care in the world right now.
Your mind is merely screaming Jeno’s name.
He collapses back on you, kissing you with an intensity you could not describe. You swear you see stars explode behind your eyes.
“May I try something?” He pants into your mouth.
You agree and he withdraws himself from you, nearly causing you to whimper at the loss. He grabs your hips and twists you around, taking off the scraps of your dress and flinging it to the floor. His hand pushes down your head and arches your back. You turn your head to the side and moan.
“Please, Jeno, please-“
He eases himself back inside, answering your pleas.
He breathes heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You are torturing me beyond no end.”
This position hits a different spot inside of you. You mewl, clawing at the sheets. You have never felt closer to Jeno until this moment with the way his cock fits so perfectly inside of you.
He leans down to press kisses to your shoulders.
“May I use you as I wish?”
The question almost has you whining.
“Whatever you like, my love. Please, use me for your pleasure.”
He drills into you, forcing his cock into your dripping hole until you weep for him. You bury your face into his pillow, preventing your screams from growing too loud when you ultimately fall into your second climax. It hits a lot harder than the first, especially since Jeno shows no signs of stopping.
You cry when he changes positions again, falling to his side and moving you to do the same, hiking up your leg until it’s wrapped around his hip. He angles himself so that he hits you deeper.
You wonder if you look like a woman vexed, completely overtaken by lust. He pounds into you to coax your third orgasm to come to bay.
You beg for him, unsure of what you’re pleading for.
“Please, please, please-“
His hand strikes at your clit, slapping it with an unexpected force. You dive headfirst into your peak, crying and whimpering until your throat is sore.
Your body tries to squirm away from Jeno’s sharp thrusts but he doesn’t let you, holding you down and turning you so that your stomach presses against the mattress again.
His cock beats into your soaking cunt before he reaches his own high, groaning loudly as he spills his seed deep into you. It is only then that he finally slows down, collapsing onto the bed and pulling you into his arms.
You both pant, trying to catch your breath as his cum leaks down your thighs.
🪷: Our Jimin and for the AU.... he works at an animal shelter and MC volunteered once- or she was supposed to- but she finds herself there anytime she's free these days
Just Another Good Deed | Park Jimin
Author’s note: Hello, my dearest husband's partner! Thank you so much for making the request, I really loved the idea <3 I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it ^^ (Really my favorite part was the moodboard, I loved it, patted myself on the back and everything).
Pairing: Veterinarian!Jimin x Volunteer!Reader
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings/tags: Little appearance of big brother Yoongi because he is my bias wrecker and if I can get him in, I will :), and that's all, it's all very fluffy.
Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthoughts
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
You glanced one last time at the rearview mirror in Yoongi’s car, adjusting your hair for the fourth time. It was hard to decide which side looked better.
"Yoongi, quick, which looks better? Over my ears or tucked behind them?" you turned to him, arranging your hair both ways so he could carefully consider his options.
“It looks the same to me,” he mumbled in the same monotone voice he used, well, almost every day he spent time with you. “Besides, why does it matter? We’re going to an animal shelter, not a double date.”
You rolled your eyes, finally deciding on leaving your hair over your ears; it framed your face more beautifully, and the soft waves made it stand out even more that way. “I can look nice for the shelter if I want to. I don’t need some hidden agenda, you know?”
Ignoring your comment, Yoongi pulled out his car keys and stepped out. You weren’t surprised to see him coming around to your side of the car to open the door and help you out. Your brother might have been a man of very few words—and expressions—but your mom had raised him to be a true gentleman.
“Alright, come on, let’s move. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” you grabbed his arm and pulled him along, slightly slowing his pace as you approached the entrance. Just a few more steps, and you’d see him again. You had to bite the inside of your lip to stop yourself from smiling too soon.
Yoongi, keeping up with your pace with his usual calm expression, couldn’t help but notice the strange look on your face. He could understand you wanting to dress up to go out—that was fine, everyone liked to look good—but the fact that you’d been smiling the whole way here and that you’d been visiting this shelter every week—or any chance you got—made him think that maybe...
“Oh! Y/N, it’s you,” a cheerful voice said. The man wore a white shirt and black jeans—a terrible choice for working with animals, but that wasn’t his problem, so he ignored it. His dark hair fell gracefully over his forehead, and his plump lips gave him a sweet image that would definitely charm any woman—or man—who crossed his path.
Now everything made sense.
“Jimin, hi!” you quickly let go of Yoongi’s arm, giving the man in front of you the brightest smile you could muster. “It’s so nice to see you here—I mean, obviously you’re here, you work here, but you know, it’s always great running into you,” you said awkwardly, ending with a nervous laugh.
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you were the strangest creature in the world. It was the first time he’d seen you so nervous around a guy, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or get mad. What was a big brother supposed to do in these situations? Get jealous?
“Likewise, it’s really great to see you here so often. I’m grateful to have someone like you supporting the shelter,” Jimin said with a soft, charming smile. If you hadn’t been holding onto your brother’s arm, you might have collapsed right there. Were you being dramatic? Absolutely. Were you lying about it? Absolutely not. His simple gaze already made your legs weak, and his smile? Don’t even mention it.
The small gesture of your hands wrapped around Yoongi’s arm immediately caught Jimin’s attention. You’d never mentioned having a boyfriend, and you’d never come to the shelter with someone before. It was only natural to be curious, right? “And… who’s he...?”
“Yoongi,” your brother answered, straightening his back to appear taller and lowering his voice a few tones deeper than usual. “I’m her older brother. And you are?”
“Oh, sorry, how rude of me,” Jimin gave a slight bow before returning to his original stance, not without first running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. Yoongi swore he heard you squeal. “I’m Park Jimin. I work here.”
“Yoongi, why don’t you go check out the cats?” you laughed nervously, wishing your brother would disappear so you could be alone with Jimin. “I heard Unnie mention she’d really like to have a cat at home.”
“She said that?” Yoongi turned to you so quickly that it startled you; you knew his girlfriend was his soft spot, and you would use it against him as often as necessary if it meant he would drop his overprotective older brother act. Plus, you knew enough about his girlfriend to be sure she’d love to have a cat.
“Yes, she says it all the time,” you nodded quickly, pushing him toward where you knew the cats were. You hoped that would keep him distracted for a few minutes. “Now go, hurry, don’t waste time.”
Both you and Jimin watched as Yoongi walked off, confused, looking for someone he could ask about the cats. Only when he disappeared from your sight did you turn back to Jimin.
“So… how can I help today?” you asked with a smile, feeling your chest flutter as he looked at you with those kind, gentle eyes. You probably needed to calm down if you didn’t want to get caught just yet.
“I didn’t know you had a brother; I thought he was your boyfriend or something,” Jimin said softly, chuckling as he watched the cat in front of them shake itself vigorously to get the water off its fur. It was cute—its coat was light-toned, and its blue eyes were so bright and big that it was impossible not to fall in love with it. This little cat had arrived at the shelter the same day you did; it was skittish, wouldn’t let anyone touch or feed it, and it was crucial to give it a check-up due to a possible infection in its left eye. Jimin had been the only one able to keep it calm and treat it properly so the infection could heal effectively.
Maybe that was the moment when you fell for him. There was something about the sweet and caring way he handled animals that made your heart race and your stomach churn.
“Well, I don’t talk much about my family when we’re together,” you said with a slight smile, preparing the towel to cover the cat and dry it. It was still cold outside, and it wasn’t ideal for the cat to get sick at this time of year.
“I’d like to know more about them,” he murmured softly, gently cleaning the cat’s ears. The cat—who still didn’t have an official name but whom you had called Taemin in your mind from day one—closed its big eyes and started purring, rubbing its head against Jimin’s soft touch. Ah, how much you wished you were a cat. “And more about you in general.”
You turned to look at him, feeling a wave of warmth rise to your face as you realized he had been looking at you all along. Damn Park Jimin, why did he have to be so handsome? You felt like throwing the stupid towel in his face.
“O-oh, really? Why would you want that? I mean, my life’s not that interesting and—”
“But I’m interested,” he said, taking the towel from your hands and letting his fingers brush against yours in a way that definitely wasn’t accidental. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours the entire time, and his damn lips were curved into a smile the whole time.
Calm down, Y/N, you can’t just go around kissing people without their permission—that’s not okay.
“Anything that has to do with you interests me. I thought that was obvious by now,” he said. After an intense staring match—which he obviously won—he wrapped Taemin in the towel and picked him up in his arms, one hand holding the cat’s weight to cradle him like a baby while the other rested on his furry head.
“Well, no, it wasn’t,” you replied awkwardly, trying to fully process whatever he was trying to tell you. Wasn’t it a bit presumptuous to think that meant he wanted something more with you? Had being single finally driven you crazy, making you see things that weren’t there? “Just so there’s no misunderstanding…” You rubbed your hands against your pants and looked at him expectantly. “Does that mean that…?”
Jimin let out a laugh before looking at you with his eyes turning into crescents from his smile. “It means I’d love to finally get your number.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Y-yes! Sure, g-give me your phone, and I’ll write it down right now,” you said, extending your hands toward him, trying to stop them from trembling so much and revealing how nervous you were. Too bad your body never obeyed your brain.
“Here,” he murmured, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it to you. His constant gaze on you made you even more nervous. You had to rewrite your number more than four times because you kept making mistakes. Both of you smiled when you called your number from his phone, and your ringtone sounded almost instantly.
Oh, shit. You had his number now.
“Y/N, let’s go!” Yoongi’s voice called from a few meters away. You were genuinely surprised to see that he actually had a small carrier in his hands, from which you could see two tiny green eyes staring at you from the darkness inside.
Its gaze looked a lot like Yoongi’s.
“Well, I guess you have to go,” Jimin said, adjusting Taemin in his arms as he watched Yoongi waiting for you near the exit. Truthfully, he didn’t want you to leave yet, but he understood he wasn’t in a position to ask you to stay, especially since you had come with your brother.
“Yeah, it seems like it,” you murmured, glancing briefly at your brother before putting all your attention back on Jimin. He had indirectly said he liked you, at least a little, right? And you had known each other for quite some time now… Well, you only live once, and you didn’t like living with regrets. You stepped closer to him and gave him a light kiss on the cheek—quite close to his lips—before stepping back and waving softly to say goodbye.
Then, you ran toward your brother as fast as you could, internally hoping he wouldn’t mention anything about it.
Ah, if only you had taken the time to notice Jimin’s face, you would have seen the bright pink covering his cheeks and the embarrassed smile spreading across his face like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
At least Yoongi had the luck to witness it, and he would definitely tease you endlessly about it.
i saw this on twitter yesterday and decided to post here.
It's essential that everyone knows that this community depends on you to stay alive. You, the silent reader, and you, the author who ignores that passionate reader eager to exchange ideas (personal experience), and even for me, a curator of readings. It's our responsibility to keep this community alive and maintain this archive.
cc to @mils_tk on X
that’s all!!!! let’s make friends and enjoy stories!
@rpwprpwprpwprw Thank you for putting this. Completely agree with this... TBH.
And it’s not just about fanfictions either. It’s about every kind of fandom content people make and share because they love something... be it stories, drabbles, headcanons or be it edits, banners, artworks, povs, theories, all of it.
The word “fandom” itself symbolizes a group of people coming together because of shared love and interests. But if the interaction disappears, then what’s even the point of being part of a fandom?
can you write about reader helping shave beomgyu’s beard(?), something like morning fluff? beomgyu seems to have more facial hair than the others and seeing some moas make fun of him makes me so sad ☹️
augh, i didn't know about that! but nothing like a little fluff can't fix… (and that beoms is attractive no matter what he chooses to do >:))
[🐯] i got you
✿ pairing: beomgyu x reader / non.idol!au / fluff, silly, sexual innuendos but nothing explicit / minor cursing (none with ill-intention!) / word count: 410 words
✿ the best parts of beomgyu's morning always involve you
[masterlist 🌸]
"c'mon, you're almost done. help me out here," beomgyu huffs into your ear, earning himself a muffled chuckle as your mouth is filled with foam from your toothpaste and toothbrush. the way he moulds himself against you is what makes it even funnier but you're holding it back and nudging him away so you can properly rinse your mouth.
his arms don't let up from around your waist, pressing his cheek to your shoulder just as you look into the mirror to meet with his pouty expression. with a sigh, you brush his hands off, put the toothbrush into the cup you've taken it from and turn around to–"gimme that,"
his pearly smile comes to view when you snatch his shaver. it's not like he doesn't know how to do it or if it was any difficult but it was just his excuse to have you up close with all your attention on him. it was the attentiveness in the way you carefully switch positions with him so that he's the one having his hip leaning against the sink. his hands settle on your waist, offering you stability as you lean in, one hand cupping the side of his face. the other gripping onto the shaver to begin smoothening the hairs lightly poking out of his chin, the space above his upper lip, anywhere you can reach as beomgyu rotates his head to give you access.
half the time, though, you're reminding him that excuse me, move your damned head, please because he's too busy smiling and staring at you. he only listens when you roll your eyes to glare at him that he complies with damn, okay. don't gotta turn me on with those eyes.
the playfulness is back in full swing when you switch off the shaver and beomgyu puckers his lips. with a snort, you smoothen your thumb over his chin to feel his skin and tug him lower so you can give him a kiss.
"that's all you're getting. brush your teeth first, then you'll get more." you're tapping his bum on the way out of the bathroom, after shoving the shaver back into his hands. he holds his toothbrush up, "wanna help me brush my teeth?"
even though you both know it's a joke, with the way you deadpan at him from the bed, hands on your hips and the tilt of your head, he quietly blows you a kiss and closes the bathroom door.
Congrats for getting more followers, I read your recent Yeonjuns fic and it was gjskkfkfkgkg sooo fluffy ㅠㅠ heals my dry kokoro after get back from work, thank you soo much for writing it Also For the event can i request a #4 "can i have this dance please" + #25 smiling between kisses + Beomgyu please? Thank you
kisses, smiles and dances
a/n. ahhh thank you so much for kind words!!! :D i’m glad my works can make your day happier and i hope you also enjoy this one <3
summary. rainy days don’t seem that bad at all when you get to spend them with beomgyu
you sighed, eyes glued to the window. well, more to the view outside the window. busy streets of seoul seemed not to be affected by the heavy rain that caught the city by surprise. cars passing by, as well people with umberellas. every now and then there was a colorful one but they were all mostly black and boring.
boring just like this afternoon.
"hey, don't worry about it" beomgyu's warm voice made you sigh again and wonder if he can read minds "you look like a kicked puppy"
"well, i feel like one" you mumbled, looking at a guy who didn't have an umbrella and used his briefcase as a protection from rain.
you planned an amazing date day. breakfast at a cafe, walk to the park. then cinema, picnic over the han river and at the very end a visit at lotte world. but you had to admit, it was you mistake, you didn't check the weather. and so now, after teasing gyu for weeks that this is THE date of the year... you're stuck inside.
"you do know i’m not mad, don’t you?" beomgyu hummed from behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist. you felt his chin resting on your shoulder "although i am curious what you had planned for us"
"mhm" you murmured, putting your lips into a straight line.
"c’mon, cheer up. it’s not the end of the world" he chuckled and leaned back, leaving the sofa. soon you heard his soft footsteps against the floor.
"it is… i wanted to have fun" you huffed. a sound funky jbl bluetooth speaker sounded through the room and you turned around, your curiosity piqued by his actions.
beomgyu entered the room, placing down the speaker on the floor and started lighting up candles in the windowsill.
some soft music started playing. once he was done, he approached you. with a dramatic bow and his hand reached out.
"can i have this dance?" he asked, holding back a giggle. you gently took his hand and he placed a tender kiss on top of it, looking you mischievously in the eye.
"of course you can" you grinned and beomgyu was relieved to see that you’re not sulking anymore. then he pulled you towards himself, making you stand up.
you landed between his arms, his fingers in no time interlocking with yours. one of his hands slid down on your waist and the other one, that was holding yours, outstretched just like you were dancing on a medieval ball.
you chuckled at his gentlemanly antics and beomgyu swayed you softly to the rhythm. you weren’t talking, there was no need to.
his chocolate eyes sparkling with childish joy and so much love as he goofed around, dancing in the living room with the love of his life.
you didn’t even notice when anther song started playing. suddenly beomgyu slowed down, placing both of his hands on your waist which allowed you to put yours on his arms.
he hummed along with the song and his gaze softened. beomgyu leaned in and placed a quick kiss on your lips. then he pulled away quickly and you chased after his lips, fingers creeping up to tangle subtly in his dark locks.
when your lips finally met his again, he swayed you gently. the sound of rain against the window sounded along with the music, making you caught up in the moment. beomgyu, yet again, pulled back. this time with a sweet smile. you pouted and he couldn’t help but give in to kiss you again.
and then again. and again. each time his smile growing wider, it was contagious. you pulled away and saw a glimpse of his smile just before his lips crashed onto yours for the nth time this day.
then he pulled away, finally breaking into a soft chuckle.
"i love you so much, you don’t even realise" beomgyu whispered so quietly, you almost didn’t catch that. what made him sure you did though was when you pecked his lips, fighting the biggest grin from forming on your lips.
genre fluff , headcanons , txt x reader cw kissing (obv) , not proofread and prob a bit messy wc 806 request no note still in my txt feels BAD like its not okay im so tired i love them net @kstrucknet @moadiarynet
CHOI YEONJUN 彡 최연준
he’s so smooth with his kisses
almost too smooth
he’ll come up behind you with an arm around your waist and spin you around to press a quick kiss to your lips
and then he’ll leave you dazed and wanting more but he’s already walking off with a cute little smirk on his face
or he’ll interrupt your sentence with a kiss making you forget what you were talking about in the first place
he always catches you off guard but it leaves your heart fluttering
other times his kisses are slow and passionate
he loves taking his time to savour the feeling
he’s almost too desperate sometimes, kissing you like it's the last time he’ll ever get the chance to
which is wrong because he kisses you all the time
but he just can’t help losing himself in you
kisses are used to celebrate, to commemorate, or to apologize
it's his way of communicating, of teasing, of acknowledging— the way yeonjun kisses you speaks a million words
CHOI SOOBIN 彡 최수빈
there’s nothing softer than soobin’s kisses
his lips are just so perfect that even when the kiss is rushed or a bit messy, you could hardly complain
you love to kiss his neck because it will make him flustered and shy
he’ll tell you to stop with his cheeks flushed, but he doesn’t really mean it
when he talks too much and you can’t get a word in, kissing his cheek always gets his attention
his brain pauses whenever you do cause he doesn’t expect to be kissed
even though he should by now because you can never resist kissing his dimples
if you can’t reach his lips, there are simple ways to get him to bend down enough
a tap on his shoulder or gently grabbing his wrist will give him the silent signal that you want to kiss him
and it has him smiling because he thinks you’re adorable every time you want him to lean down so you can initiate the kiss first
CHOI BEOMGYU 彡 최범규
beomgyu always kisses you when you need it the most
his kisses are soothing and loving, healing whatever part of you that was hurting instantly
kisses away your tears when you’re crying and delicately presses his lips to any part of your body that was aching
when the mood is light and playful, you like to tease him by not giving him any kisses while he begs for it
when he’s playing video games next to you, he’ll pucker his lips expectantly while his eyes stay glued to the screen
you act like you have no idea what he wants
it drives him slightly crazy, but he also loves it
because it means once he’s finally had enough of not getting what he wants, he’ll tackle you and kiss you until you’re both breathless and your jaws hurt from smiling so much
when you brush his hair back and give him forehead kisses, he practically melts into a puddle
he adores your delicate soft kisses more than anything
as a slow and patient lover, he cherishes the quiet moments with you the most
KANG TAEHYUN 彡 강태현
taehyun won’t ask for kisses out loud, but there’s always a pleading look in his eyes whenever he wants to be kissed
eyes shiny and observing you to see when you’ll notice that he’s desperate to get his lips on yours
if he gets too impatient he will definitely tug on your arm or something to get your attention
loves when you hold his face in your hands and run your thumb across his cheekbone or jawline
he’ll turn his head to press a kiss to your palm and his smiles are breathtaking
his kisses are so romantic with the perfect push and pull
he always knows where to put his hands or how to guide you perfectly
and when the time comes to break away from his lips, your heart always sinks a bit in your chest
because he has you addicted like nothing else
HUENINGKAI 彡 휴닝카이
his kisses are soft and sometimes teasing
hand kisses are some of his personal favourites
he’ll get down on one knee or bend down to kiss the back of your hand in the most chivalrous way possible just to see you giggle
will also kiss your knuckles one by one while holding your hand in his
he loves when you run your hands through his hair while kissing him
he’s addicted to the feeling and needs it like oxygen
he’ll sigh in content and pull you closer because nothing could ever be more perfect than your lips on his and your hands in his hair
he loves to nuzzle his nose against yours too!
he’ll leave a trail of kisses across your face whilst breathless giggles escape his parted lips
and delicate pecks to the apples of your cheeks or under your eyes are what follows
☕︎ genre: fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slowburn, jealousy, café au
☕︎ synopsis: years of working at the café have left you hopelessly in love with your co-worker, beomgyu. unbeknownst to you, he's been hiding the same feelings, but neither of you dared to make the first move. when a job offer threatens to pull you away, the delicate balance between you and him is put to the test. will you risk taking the chance or let it slip away in regret?
☕︎ a/n: mainly inspired by the song take a chance with me by niki and also a thousand miles by vanessa carlton. repost because i accidentally deleted the original (╥﹏╥)
☕︎ taglist: @bamgeutori @bamgyt @woncheecks
The chime of a bell caught your attention as the front door swung open. Your head jerked up as Beomgyu walked in. An apologetic smile adorned his face, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his backpack hung off one shoulder, wrinkling his tee.
“Look who finally showed up.” Soobin said.
“Sorry, I'm late. Some errands got in the way.” Beomgyu sheepishly said as he hurriedly made his way into the kitchen, flashing you a smile before disappearing behind the door.
“Hey, Y/N, could you finish up this order for me?” Soobin asked. “I'm running late for class so I'll just count the cash in the register before turning it over.”
“Yeah, go ahead. I’ve got you covered.” You said, swapping places with him at the coffee machine.
He had already finished preparing the ingredients for the hazelnut frappe and all that was left for you to do was assemble the drink together. After four years of experience working at the café to fund your college education, you’ve memorized all the recipes like the back of your own hand. Making them was just like clockwork.
You grabbed a plastic cup, drizzled it with syrup before filling it with ice. Then you carefully poured in the coffee, followed by milk, and lastly, the whipped cream—which was nowhere to be found inside of the fridge.
“Soobin! We’re all out of whipped cream. Why did you let a customer order a frappe and then forget about the whipped cream?!”
“What?! Didn't you do inventory earlier?” He asked, pausing from counting.
“Is the sky blue? Of course, I did! But sometime during your shift, you used up all the whipped cream and didn't tell me! Or even bothered to make some!” You were stressing out and it took every ounce of restraint in your body not to hit him upside the head.
“Calm down, tiger. Let me take care of that.” Beomgyu finally emerged from the kitchen in his apron and wrapped an arm around you as he gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I'll talk to the customer while you go grab the heavy whipping cream from the stocks. Breathe, okay? I don't want you to get an aneurysm over whipped cream.”
You inhaled sharply and sighed before walking off into the kitchen. Beomgyu turned to Soobin, who lowered his head, feeling guilty over the mishap.
“Sorry about that.” He said.
“Don't take it personally. Y/N just really cares a lot about working here. That's why they get worked up when something goes wrong.” Beomgyu reassured him.
“I know, but…” Soobin trailed off, glancing at the kitchen door before continuing his sentence. “Don’t you think Y/N has been super stressed lately? They're always so tense while working.”
Indeed, Beomgyu noticed this. He started working at the café a year after you began. He was the third trainee you had supervised and the second longest-serving employee after you. Due to this, the both of you were extremely close and even considered each other best friends. He quickly caught on to your quirks which made it easy for him to read your mood. So every little detail and any slight change would never go unnoticed by Beomgyu.
However, he knew this wasn't just any change of mood. You finally graduated from college four months ago but you were still working at the café. Despite sending out numerous job applications you could no longer count, not a single one had called back to say you were hired. To say you were anxious or troubled would be an understatement.
Beomgyu was well-aware that underneath the tough exterior, you were threatening to fall apart any moment. Another minor inconvenience too heavy to bear and it would tip off the entire tower. It was only a matter of time, like a fuse burning low. He had to make sure he was there to keep you from shattering under the weight of it all.
“I know, but don't worry about it. I'll talk to Y/N.” He said, patting Soobin on the back. “Just focus on that. You wouldn't wanna make a mistake with the money. The boss is the last person you'd want to get on the wrong side of. Also, could you point out who ordered the frappe?”
Soobin directed the other boy's gaze to a woman sitting in the corner of the café. Beomgyu approached her to apologize for the delay in her order and ensured that you were all working on it as promptly as you could. She didn’t seem to mind, smiling graciously before he left. As he returned to the counter, you walked out of the kitchen with a carton of heavy whipping cream in one hand.
“Great, you found it.” He said.
“Yeah but it’s staying in the freezer for a few minutes. I’m gonna have to put the hazelnut frappe in there too.” You said, turning around to reach over for the cup but Beomgyu was already handing it to you. As you took it, your hands brushed and what felt like a jolt of electricity shot up your arm, hot and sudden, causing your heart to skip a beat.
“Thanks.” You mumbled, swiftly turning your face away from him before he could catch the shift in your expression.
“Well, I’m clocking out now. Everything is balanced and double-checked.” Soobin shut the cash register with a click and took off his apron. “Sorry again about the whipped cream, Y/N.”
“It’s all good, just don’t forget next time.” You said before he headed off into the kitchen to grab his stuff from the lockers.
You shut the refrigerator door and dusted your hands off. Beomgyu was leaning against the counter, resting his weight on his elbows, silently watching you with an unreadable look. It made you uncomfortable, not in a creepy way, but more like nervousness that you were unable to tell what he was thinking.
It wasn’t the first time—and lately, it had been happening more often. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t despite the pressure bubbling, building up inside of him. Although the silence between you was thick, whatever was holding him back was growing thinner by the day. It was only a question of when it would burst.
Soon, Soobin walked out of the door and all the tension in the air dissipated. He waved goodbye as he left and now, it was just you and Beomgyu in charge of the café. You went to clean the coffee machine while he took charge of bussing the tables before disappearing into the kitchen for a few minutes to wash the dishes.
In the meantime, a couple of customers came in and you took their orders. Beomgyu assisted you in preparing and serving them as soon as he came back, then eventually moved on to making the whipped cream.
This is what you liked about working with Beomgyu. The two of you were just so in sync with each other that it made working at the café seem like a piece of cake. Maybe it was the years of experience or the number of shifts you worked together, but either way, nothing could go wrong with Beomgyu around. He was your right hand.
“Excuse me!” Called a voice from the pickup side of the counter—it was the customer who ordered the frappe from about fifteen minutes ago.
“I’ll be with you in a sec!” Beomgyu said, finally topping the drink with a swirl of whipped cream and some more syrup. Then he sealed the cup with a dome lid, slipped it and a straw into a takeaway holder before handing it to her. “Thank you for waiting, we’ll make sure it won’t take this long next time.”
“You know, if the wait always ends with you handing me my drink, I wouldn’t mind waiting again.” She said and your ears sharpened, zeroing in on them like the instincts of a guard dog. She took the drink with a smile that lingered a little too long for your liking.
Beomgyu blinked, caught slightly off guard.
She giggled, then tilted her head. “Wait… have we met before? Oh, I know! Did you take Introductory Biostatistics last semester? Professor Hong’s class?”
“Oh… um… yeah! I-I think so…” Beomgyu blinked again while stumbling over his own words. “You’re um… sorry, I forgot your name.”
“It’s Doah. Beomgyu, right?” She tucked her hair behind her ear, still smiling coyly.
You felt steam coming out of your ears as you gripped way too tightly onto a dishcloth, scrubbing aggressively on an already spotless counter. Her voice was laced with honey, a little too sweet to be casual, but hearing it filled you with venom.
“Lucky guess! You just read that off my nametag, didn’t you?” He chuckled, shifting on his feet as he shot you a look. The kind that screamed ‘HELP ME’ with his eyes.
But you dared not to look in their direction. Not when you wanted to grab the kettle and toss it in her direction.
Doah laughed again. “Yeah, I actually never got your name. But I remembered your face. Pretty impressive how I pay attention to detail, huh?”
“Didn’t pay enough attention in class, clearly.” You muttered under your breath, moving on to cleaning the portafilter, nearly dropping the filter basket. Fortunately, you caught it in your hand. Unfortunately, it was piping hot and you instantly threw it in the sink where it clanged loudly against the metal surface.
“You okay?” Beomgyu asked, turning around to check on you.
“Oh, I’m fine.” You said and waved a hand dismissively.
Doah cleared her throat and leaned closer. “It’s really nice seeing you around again. Mind if we exchanged socials? We could follow each other on Instagram.”
Boy, was she persistent. It was pretty admirable yet so aggravating.
You took a peek from the corner of your eye and saw Beomgyu hesitate for half a second. Then he smiled faintly, the kind that was shown to others as a gesture of politeness rather than interest.
“I guess we could.” He said but before he even got to finish his sentence, Doah was already handing him her phone.
The moment their fingers touched, you bit back your irritation as Beomgyu keyed his Instagram into her phone.
“There. I just sent a follow request,” she said while taking her phone back. Then Doah smirked. “And maybe next time, you can forget about my whipped cream on purpose.”
Beomgyu gave a tight-lipped smile. “Hopefully not. We're actually trying to do better in that department.”
That made her blink, smile faltering and charm wavering for a split second. But she recovered fast. “Well… see you around then.”
And with that she scurried out of the café, bell above the door chiming as she left. Beomgyu stepped away from his spot and stood next to you, letting out a breath he had no idea he had been holding in.
“You certainly handled that well.” You said, fidgeting with the check spindle on the counter.
If you weren't seething with jealousy right now, you'd have told him she was cute and he just blew it. But you'd never say it to his face because that would only mean having to come to terms with your feelings. And it was scary to admit it out loud, even to yourself, that you had fallen for him sometime ago.
“Handled? What's that supposed to mean?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows at you.
“Come on, she was ogling you. And she gave you her Instagram! You can’t be this dense.” You rolled your eyes, accidentally tearing off a receipt from the check spindle a little too hard.
He let out a short laugh, not buying your faux casual act. “I knew what she was up to. I was just being polite to the customer.”
“Yeah… real polite.” You forced a lightness into your tone that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
“You sound like you didn’t want me to be polite.” He grinned playfully and snatched your hand to keep you from tearing out more receipts. “That’s enough.”
“That’s not what I said!” You scoffed, yanking your hand out of his grasp.
“No, but maybe it’s what you meant.”
“Alright, this conversation is over. Since you’re soooo polite, maybe you should follow her back. I don’t care what you do, Beomgyu.” You walked away to find a new pointless task to do and settled with restacking the coffee cups.
Beomgyu chortled, following you from behind. “Really? Because it seems to me like you do care, though.”
You turned to him sharply. “I said this conversation was over.”
“Fine, I’ll drop it.” He said, raising his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk on his lips said otherwise.
You huffed, directing your focus on aligning the stack of cups so perfectly it could have passed a military inspection. He lingered for a while, watching you with that same undecipherable look from earlier, then sighed.
“I’m deleting her follow request.” He said and took out his phone from his jeans. “She wasn’t my type, anyway.”
You froze mid-stack, the corner of your mouth twitching before you forced it back down to frown.
“Well, you’re pickier than I expected.” You said snarkily.
His lips curved slightly. “I guess I am.”
He was too close for comfort and you wondered if he could possibly hear your heart thrumming in your chest.
“What are you doing just standing there anyway? Go help out in the kitchen or something. Go away.” You hissed, pushing him out of the way as you marched off to the cash register.
Beomgyu knew he had gotten to you. You were too easy to read, much to his amusement. Although he enjoyed poking holes in the facade you put on, just to catch glimpses of the feelings you kept hidden, he knew all too well that he was wearing one of his own. His was woven from careful smiles and harmless teasing, a shield to keep his real emotions from spilling out. If he let even one thread loose, he feared everything would unravel—and you’d see just how much he felt for you.
Later that night, you closed up shop and got ready to go home. You waited for Beomgyu while he dragged down the metal gate over the café and secured the lock in place. Then he got up and dusted his pants as you handed him back his backpack.
“I can’t wait to sleep. My back is killing me.” You yawned, stretching your arms above your head.
“Me too. Want me to carry your bag for you?” He offered.
“No, you don’t have to. I’m good.” You said, but he was already pulling it off of you and though you resisted initially, he was too stubborn and you caved in. You muttered, “Thanks.”
The two of you walked in silence, exhausted from all the work you accomplished today. It was a pleasant night, the cool air against your skin, and the faint hum of the city enveloped you like white noise. Your footsteps against the pavement echoed into the dark as bats flitted overhead, casting shadows underneath the glow of the streetlights.
You arrived at the nearest bus stop and sat down, Beomgyu taking the seat right next to you. It was ten minutes until the next bus rolled up, the arrival time blaring brightly on the screen. It was quiet, save for the occasional car passing by and the faint ambulance siren from a distance.
Beomgyu leaned back, hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie. His shoulder brushed against yours—too light to be deliberate, yet too lingering to be accidental. You stiffened, feeling the tension in the air rise. There it was again—the jolt of electricity that made your heart skip a beat. You were beginning to think he would make a very good defibrillator.
“I almost forgot to tell you, I got an email a while back and I have a job interview tomorrow!” You said, a wide smile blooming on your face.
“Really? That’s great! I hope you get it.” He said, beaming at you. “But what about your shift, though? Do you need me to take over?”
“Oh no, that’s taken care of. I talked to Yeonjun and he said he’ll handle it.” You replied, but you sounded way too casual about it for Beomgyu’s liking.
“You asked Yeonjun? Why him?” He pouted, realizing that he wasn’t the first person you considered, moreover, not the first person to receive the good news either.
“Well, he was the only one out of everyone else who won’t be busy tomorrow.”
I’m the last one to find out?! He wanted to say, but bit his tongue to keep it from spilling out. “But you could have asked me. I’ve been with you the entire time.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you mention that you have a quiz first thing tomorrow morning? You should be focusing on passing that instead of covering my shift.”
“Like I can't do both? You underestimate me.” He huffed and crossed his arms.
“It's not like that.” You chuckled, amused at how mopey he was being. “It's your last year in college. You can't afford any distractions this time around.”
“Who said you were distracting?”
“What?”
“Who said I was distracted?”
Silence stretched between you, as if time had frozen, and your gazes met. Beomgyu was still, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights—he dared not move a muscle, as if doing so made him invisible. Meanwhile, you blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly the first time. Then he shrugged, feigning nonchalance, before playfully bumping into your shoulder.
“I mean—” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, stretching back as if he wasn’t internally panicking. “I’m perfectly capable of juggling my studies with work. It’s never been a problem for me before. What? Like it’s hard?”
He said it so whimsically, even adding in a quote from an excellent movie. But buried beneath his laughter, he was desperately hoping you would catch the bait he just threw. You couldn’t be fooled, though.
“What did you just say?” You asked, not ready to move on from his Freudian slip.
“I said I can multitask. It’s not a distraction if I’m helping you out.” He said nonchalantly as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the time on the bus schedule, anxiously bouncing his leg and praying you would just leave his little blunder alone.
You sighed in defeat and decided to let it go, although feeling a little frustrated. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I?” He turned to you with a smirk and nudged you with his elbow, suddenly in a teasing mood. “Then next time you’ve got news, maybe tell me first… before Yeonjun.”
His tone carried a subtle edge that you certainly didn’t miss, the pout reappearing on his lips.
“Noted, I’ll do better next time… but why does this bother you?” You asked, tilting your head, eyes searching for answers in the expression on his face.
“Because,” he said simply, “I like it when I’m the one you call first. Not after Yeonjun… or anyone else.”
This time, he locked eyes with you, his gaze steady and unflinching. A warmth swelled in your chest and crept up to your cheeks while chills ran down your body. His words echoed in your head, crossing a fine line between a plea and a confession, leaving you wondering if you should read into it or let it slip quietly away.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” You said in a low hushed whisper, almost as if you were too afraid to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
“Like what?” He asked, lips twitching into a smug yet gentle smile.
You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Nevermind.”
Before he could press you for an answer, the bus rolled up with a loud hiss and the doors slid open. You both got up from your seats and climbed aboard, leaving the moment full of unspoken feelings to linger at the bus stop, tucked away in the past where it would stay. However, the tension between you was stubborn, refusing to dissipate and remained with you for the rest of the ride.
It was early in the afternoon the following day when Beomgyu clocked in at work. Your absence at the café shadowed him like a raincloud hovering above his head. It’s not that he was against you being away for an important job interview—in fact, he was so ecstatic about it that he wished you luck over the call early this morning before leaving for class. He just missed having you around to spend time with and work like a ‘dynamic duo’ (a term he coined sometime ago). How he dreaded the day you would finally resign. Working at the café wouldn’t be the same without you.
“Looks like we’ve got an order on the delivery app.” Yeonjun said, taking a look at the POS device. “Two iced caramel macchiatos, a breakfast croissant, and… rose pasta.”
“You take the kitchen, I’ll handle the drinks.” Beomgyu said, already positioned at the coffee station.
Yeonjun hummed in approval and left the room. Just then, the bell above the door chimed and Beomgyu instinctively turned to greet the customer—only for his brain to system crash. Doah walked into the café, instantly locking eyes with him, and his mind blue-screened so hard it needed a forced reboot. Internally panicking, he bolted for the kitchen door, muttering about Yeonjun burning the pasta.
“Change of plans. I take the kitchen, you handle the drinks.” Beomgyu said, attempting to snatch the ladle out of the other boy’s hand.
“No way. I was here first!” Yeonjun shot back, shielding himself with his arm to keep the former from stealing it.
“Come on, just let me have this.” Beomgyu made another grab but Yeonjun stretched his arm far from his reach.
“Why are you acting so crazy? You broke the coffee machine, didn't you?” Yeonjun’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Beomgyu relented and sighed. “There’s a customer outside that I’d rather not deal with.”
“Why not?”
“She asked for my Instagram yesterday and followed me.”
Yeonjun raised a brow. “And how is that a problem?”
He hesitated, squirming. “Let’s just say Y/N isn’t fond of her.”
“Ohhh.” Yeonjun nodded knowingly, a mischievous grin spreading like wildfire on his face. “They’re jealous.”
“What?! That’s not what I said.” Beomgyu retorted.
“Trust me, it’s obvious. Still not my circus, not my monkeys.” Yeonjun said, turning the stove off and grabbing the other boy by his shoulders, then shoved him out of the kitchen. “Deal with it yourself.”
With that, Beomgyu was sent stumbling back to the counter where Doah was eyeing the pastries in the display case. Upon hearing him return, she glanced up with a bright smile as he straightened his apron, as if it somehow made him look less flustered.
“Find anything you like in there?” He quipped, shuffling behind the cash register like it was a shield, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.
“Actually, there is something I like over…” She drawled as her fingers tiptoed across the counter and stopped just short of him, “here.”
Beomgyu let out a small squeak, mentally scrambling for words but coming up with none.
“Aha! Yes,” Doah cut in smoothly, her index finger sliding down the menu lying on top of the counter. “I’d like a hot pumpkin spice latte. To go, please.”
“Great taste!” He chuckled sheepishly and tapped a few buttons on the touch screen pad. “Would that be cash or card?”
Doah fished through her wallet, took out her money, and handed it to him. Beomgyu took it—indifferent to the way her hand brushed against his—opened the drawer to the cash register, and then handed over her change.
“This will probably take a while, we just have to finish up an order for delivery. Why don’t you take a seat first?” He said, stepping away from the cashier and returning to the coffee station.
“Yeah, take your time. I’d love to watch how you make the drinks.” She sat on a chair by the pickup side with her chin propped up in her palm.
Beomgyu pressed his lips together into a thin line. Doah’s flirting game was strong but he had no interest in playing along. Without you around, it wasn’t the same. Seeing the look of jealousy on your face, the sarcasm dripping off your words like venom, the way you distracted yourself with insignificant tasks—it was half the fun. No, all of it.
Without it, it just felt hollow. Like there was a you-shaped hole in his heart and he needed your presence to patch it up. Your attention was far more captivating than Doah’s and he knew he was hopeless if he still kept his feelings to himself.
But alas, he couldn't risk upsetting the perfect balance of the universe that allowed him to exist in the same time and place as you. He couldn't stand the thought of you pulling away should he cross the line beyond being friends. So instead, he swallowed it down, but it was like drowning at sea, the saltwater burning in his lungs.
“Watch out! Hot stuff coming through!” Yeonjun scurried out of the kitchen, holding a takeout box of freshly cooked rose pasta in his hands.
He set it down on the counter then went over to the display case to grab a breakfast croissant with a pair of tongs. Beomgyu gave the drinks a neat drizzle of caramel and capped them before carrying them over to the counter. He fit the cups into a takeaway holder as Yeonjun stood next to him, placing the food into a paper bag before sealing it with a stapler.
“Delivery rider should be here in about…” Yeonjun read off the screen of the delivery app, “three minutes.”
“Well, time for me to make that pumpkin spice latte.” Beomgyu wiped his hands dry on a dishtowel and returned to the coffee station.
Meanwhile, the other boy stood by the cash register, waiting for someone to arrive and claim the order. He glanced to the side and caught sight of Doah, who had been patiently waiting in her seat, scrolling through her phone but peeking every now and then at Beomgyu. It did not take long for him to piece two and two together. A cheeky smirk formed on his face as he sauntered towards his co-worker.
“Is that her? She is pretty cute.” Yeonjun teased, nudging him.
“Cut it out.” Beomgyu muttered, pouring milk into a steel cup and turning on the steamer, releasing a sharp hiss. He purged out the excess water before lifting the cup to the nozzle, the milk frothing and a sweet scent filling the air.
Yeonjun took one more glance at Doah. She had lost interest in her phone and was now watching them curiously. He turned back to Beomgyu whose eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he carefully tilted the cup, the milk swirling in a gentle vortex.
“You know, I can see why Y/N would feel threatened.”
“Threatened?” Beomgyu let out an incredulous scoff. “The only threat here is this boiling milk to your face.”
Before Yeonjun could clap back at him, the bell chimed and a man walked in. Outside was a motorcycle with a delivery box parked by the curb.
“And that's my cue.” He stepped away to hand over the takeout order to the delivery rider.
The cup in Beomgyu’s hand grew warmer, the milk slowly rising to the brim. He held it in his hands for a few more seconds until it was almost too hot to touch and set the cup aside. He twisted the knob on the machine and turned off the steamer.
Once the drink was blended, he grabbed a paper cup from the neatly stacked pile you had unnecessarily fussed over yesterday—he giggled at the image of you with a pout etched on your face, eyebrows knit together as you refused to look his way—and poured the warm pumpkin spice latte into it, topping it with whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon powder.
“Here you go. Be careful, it’s hot.” Beomgyu slid the cup across the counter towards Doah.
“Funny, I was about to say the same about you.” She said with a playful glint in her eyes and took the cup.
Beomgyu quickly pulled his hand away and tugged at his apron, straightening it again like he always did when he was nonplussed by her flirty remarks. This did not go unnoticed by Doah who giggled at his reaction, stirring her latte idly.
“So… I’m guessing you must have had a busy day yesterday?” She asked.
“Well, we were quite preoccupied. Lots of customers—especially in the evening.” He answered. “Why’d you ask?”
“Well…” she tilted her head, the kind of move that might have made his chest tighten if it had been you. From Doah, though, it fell flat. “I understand work must have been so hectic and you probably forgot to follow me back.”
He never intended to. In fact, he had already deleted her follow request immediately after she left the café yesterday. Doah showing up again only proved how impressively persistent she was. Beomgyu’s ears tinged with pink, realizing she must have found out.
“I–uh… yeah, I totally forgot all about it,” he stammered, taking a dishrag and wiping the counter clean. “I was just so tired, I went right to sleep as soon as I got home.”
“It’s fine… I was just hoping to wake up to your cute face on my feed,” she said and brought the cup to her lips before stopping short a few millimeters. “But I guess seeing you here in person is even better.” She winked and then took a sip.
“Oh, don’t waste your time.” Yeonjun appeared out of nowhere, casually slinging an arm around Beomgyu’s shoulders, a teasing grin on his face. “He’s already taken. That barista he was with yesterday? Yeah, they’re totally dating. Aren’t you, Beomgyu?”
Doah’s eyes went wide, taken aback as she stared at him, waiting for his response. He stood there for a moment, blinking and utterly appalled at Yeonjun’s sheer audacity to lie. There was a smirk on his face so wide as if he had just dropped the juiciest gossip. Before the awkwardness could thicken, Beomgyu knew he had to take matters into his own hands.
He opened his mouth and all he could come up with was, “Yeonjun!”
“Oh, shit!” He slapped a palm to his forehead, feigning shock. “I forgot you guys were still keeping it a secret,” then he lowered his hand and turned to Doah, the smirk returning to his face. “But between you and me, they weren’t exactly subtle about it. He still blushes when he gets a text from Y/N. He’s completely smitten—”
“Alright, I think you’ve said enough.” Beomgyu snatched a napkin from the dispenser and slapped it over Yeonjun’s mouth.
Doah laughed, yet the sound of her voice quickly wavered and her smile did not reach all the way up to her eyes. She took another sip of her pumpkin spice latte, but longer this time, as her gaze drifted to the side in thought. Once she set the cup down, she stood from her seat and slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Well, I guess that explains a lot.” She glanced one last time at Beomgyu, wearing a smile that dimmed at the edges. “Lucky Y/N. I’ll just have to settle for my latte then.”
Then she grabbed her cup and left the café, like a soldier retreating from a lost battle. The bell clinked and then there was silence. Beomgyu whirled around immediately, seizing Yeonjun by the shoulders.
“Are you crazy?!” He shrieked, shaking the older boy so hard his head bobbed. “You told her I’m dating Y/N! What if they hear about this? They’ll kill me!”
Yeonjun laughed, prying the younger boy’s hands off. “Relax. You can’t be more wrong. Did you really think I was making all of that up?"
Beomgyu froze, his already pink ears glowing into a bright red. “W-What the fuck do you mean by that?”
“Seriously, Beomgyu?” Yeonjun crossed his arms. “Anyone with eyes can see that you and Y/N like each other.”
Beomgyu scoffed and ran his fingers through his hair, pacing behind the counter. “You can’t be more wrong. Just because we’ve been working here the longest, it only makes sense that we’re really close friends, but it doesn’t mean we like each other.”
“Sure.” The older boy rolled his eyes. He held his arm out to the counter, blocking Beomgyu from moving any further. “Deny it all you want but we’ve seen how you look at Y/N with those heart eyes. It’s disgusting!”
“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe you’re reading too much into it?”
“Am I also reading too much into it when you two cover for each other every time one of you makes a mistake? Or when you take the bus with Y/N until they get home even though you live on the opposite side of town? Or how Y/N immediately volunteers to take over your shifts when you can’t?”
Beomgyu’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, but no words came out. He wracked his brain for a response—an excuse—but each one died on his tongue. Yeonjun was right but he was too proud to back down and admit it. Even though it was the truth, saying it out loud would make it feel too real. If you found out he had been harboring a deep affection for you for quite some time now, how would you react? Would it make things different between you? He was afraid of what might happen next.
“We’re co-workers.” Beomgyu said at last, his voice cracking halfway through. “We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. You know… teamwork.”
“Oh, cut the crap!” Yeonjun snorted so hard it bounced off the walls of the café. “Teamwork, my ass. Then I guess I should start offering to carry Soobin’s bag and hold his hand every time we cross the street.”
Beomgyu’s jaw dropped to the floor, his face flushing. “I do not hold Y/N’s hand!”
“I never said that,” Yeonjun shot back with a wolfish grin.
The younger boy groaned, collapsing against the counter with his forehead in his hands. Meanwhile, his teasing co-worker just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.
“You do a really bad job at denying it,” he said, then the expression on his face shifted into a more serious one. “But how long do you plan to keep on pretending? Y/N is bound to move on—to a better job, maybe even someone else—and then what? Stop stalling before you lose your shot for good.”
A chill ran down Beomgyu’s spine as realization dawned upon him. Yeonjun gave him a reassuring pat on the back before pulling away to go back into the kitchen. As soon as he left, Beomgyu eventually stood up, regaining composure as he resumed carrying out his duties at the counter. However, he could not seem to brush off Yeonjun’s words that echoed in his head incessantly throughout the day.
“And then what?”
He may not know what would happen next, but surely enough, he did not want to risk losing his chance at something real all because he was too scared to try.
The next few days went by normally. You were back at the café, working full-time, while Beomgyu and the rest of the part-timers rotated shifts.
The first thing you talked about when you got to work together was your job interview. You were brimming with excitement and a newfound confidence he had never seen in you before—and he loved how it looked on you. Your energy was so infectious that he could not help but give in to it, ignoring the anxiety prickling in his heart.
Today was a particularly busy day. The café was bustling with customers; seats were taken and tables were full, but that did not stop more from coming. Takeout sales went up for those who could not be seated.
The workload was too hectic for two people alone. Due to this, you called for backup and thankfully, Soobin showed up to lend a hand. With three of you on the job, it was much more manageable. Soon enough, the swarm dwindled to a murmur and you finally had a moment to catch your breath and sit down.
“The sink is overflowing with dishes but I really don't feel like doing them now.” Beomgyu dragged a stool next to you and plopped down on it.
“Let Soobin take care of that.” You said with a yawn.
The boy next to you stretched and the bones on his back released a series of satisfying pops. You chuckled in amusement then mimicked him, unable to resist the temptation of cracking your back. Somehow it helped ease the tension in your body and you felt much lighter than before.
The two of you sat in silence, simply taking the time to rest in the absence of chaos. You fished your phone out of your pocket and turned it on. Thumbing through the notifications flooding your screen, you swiped them away one by one, stopping when you came across an email.
It was from the company that interviewed you a few days back. You held your breath, already bracing yourself for rejection, just like all the other jobs you applied for.
Each time, you hoped for good news but wound up with disappointment after seeing those dreaded five words. “We regret to inform you…” and that was all you needed to read. Why go on? You got the message. The rest of their explanation was irrelevant.
Beomgyu noticed your stillness. His eyes lingered on your face before dropping to the phone, which trembled in your grasp. Without second thought, he cupped your hand with both of his and the warmth of his touch was surprisingly comforting.
“You did your best. Whether you get that job or not, things are going to work out. Rejection doesn't define your self-worth. Don't let the cruel world of employment snuff out your spark. You've got potential and a promising future. Believe in yourself, Y/N.” His brown eyes bore into yours while he spoke, in a voice so gentle, as if raising it even slightly would disrupt the calm.
His genuine sincerity made your heart swell in your chest and something within you shifted. You could no longer hold onto your pride if it meant not taking a chance on Beomgyu. He was one of a kind and you would be a fool to let someone so sweet and caring as him slip away.
“It’s a good thing you're here with me today. I don't know what I’d do without you. Thanks, Beomgyu.” An earnest smile bloomed on your face along with the courage to open the email sitting in your notifications.
You bit your lip in an attempt to steady your nerves as you read through the message.
“Oh my god.” You gasped, slapping your free hand over your mouth. “I got the job. What? We are pleased to inform you… oh my god, I got the job! Beomgyu, I'm hired!”
You jumped up from your seat and squealed, catching the attention of some customers in the café. Beomgyu immediately stood up, joining you in your revelry. You threw your arms around each other and bounced up and down like little kids behind the counter.
He giggled in delight. “Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!”
“What's going on here?” Soobin asked upon walking in and you paused from jumping.
“Y/N passed the interview! They're hired!” Beomgyu exclaimed.
“That's wonderful news. Congratulations!” The taller boy rushed over for a group hug, squeezing both of you in his arms. After a few seconds, he let go when Beomgyu started squirming and pleading for air. “We should throw you a farewell party. A proper send-off before you step into the real world.”
“Of course! We should ask Ms. Jung to join us too. After all, this café, and her, carried me through college.” You said.
“She has helped us out a lot.” Soobin nodded thoughtfully and briefly patted you on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’ve got to clear the sink before the next rush hour.”
With that, he gave one last smile before turning away and slipping into the kitchen, leaving you and Beomgyu alone behind the counter. The café seemed to quiet just a little, but you were still bubbling over with excitement. You glanced at the boy next to you and beamed, his heart skipping a beat, he could have sworn he saw stars twinkling.
“Hey… want to celebrate after work?” You asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Just the two of us,” you added.
Beomgyu grinned like an idiot. “Of course, I do! Where are we going?”
You chuckled softly, pleased by his uncontainable enthusiasm. “There’s this new diner I’ve been wanting to try for some time now. Their dessert menu looks interesting. What do you think?”
“I do love diners and desserts,” he said—and you, he almost added. “I’m sold.”
“Then it’s set!” You said, clapping your hands together. “We’ll head there right after closing.”
You promptly went back to work, unable to hide the giddiness in your grin. Beomgyu found it endearing, his eyes reluctant to leave you before he finally forced himself to look away.
“And then what?”
He may soon have to find out. It made him nervous, but nevertheless you were worth the risk.
Once the café was closed and Soobin had gone his way, you and Beomgyu set off together toward the diner. The streets were lined with traffic, the noise of horns and engines drifting in the background. LED signages and street lights colored the night aglow, the pedestrian light flashing green as you felt Beomgyu hook his fingers to the strap of your bag, tugging you close to his side while you crossed. Upon reaching the other side, he tugged slightly stronger on your bag, trying to get it off your shoulder.
“You don’t always have to carry my bag for me, you know.” You said, though there was no hint of protest in your tone.
“I know,” he replied simply. “I just want to.”
“Why?” You asked, eyeing him curiously.
His answer was quick, made without thought, a deflection disguised as nonchalance. “Why not?”
You tried to read the look on his face, as if it were much easier for him to show than tell, but he was just like a starless night—full of secrets. He locked eyes with you and smiled, the kind that meant he knew what you were up to. Then he looped his arm around yours and steered you ahead with a gentle but eager shove.
“Come on. I’m hungry! Where is this diner, anyway?” Beomgyu whined and you could practically hear him pouting through his words.
“We’re almost there—hey, not too fast! I might fall!” You laughed as he tugged you along.
“Then hold on tight because I’m not slowing down.” He teased as you struggled to pick up the pace.
Seven hundred meters, ten minutes, two crosswalks, and a single detour down the wrong street later, you finally stood before the diner. And to your dismay, it was closed. The lights were out, the doors were locked, and the sign out front read “Sorry, we are CLOSED”.
“No, this can’t be. I swear I checked their page and it says they’re open until midnight.” You said, taking your phone out to double check. As your eyes scanned their latest post, you frowned and let out a dejected sigh. “Well, shit. They’re under maintenance… for three days.”
“Don’t fret. The night is still young.” Beomgyu said in an attempt to cheer you up as he rubbed circles on your back. “You and I can still celebrate.”
You gazed forlornly at the diner. “I don’t know where else to go. I was really looking forward to trying their brownie sundae!”
“I know a place. Come on.” He held out his hand for you to take.
For a moment, you stared at him. The gesture was simple yet so tender, causing something tacit to tug at your heartstrings. Your heartbeat was thumping loudly, you could hear it, tuning out the rest of the world. For a split second, you wondered if Beomgyu was being his typical self, casually sweet and good-natured. But one look into his eyes and you could see right through. Smiling, you finally slipped your hand into his, letting him lead the way. Your palms pressed against each other, filled with warmth and an unspoken longing. It felt like catching starlight—fleeting, but achingly surreal.
Beomgyu warned you that it was going to be quite far, but with nothing else to do tonight and tomorrow being your day off, you didn’t mind. It took one bus ride away from the suburbs, you and Beomgyu sitting side by side, sharing a pair of earphones. You stared out the window, watching the city lights guide you to your destination as you allowed the music to quiet your thoughts.
Twenty minutes went by unnoticed until you felt Beomgyu tapping you on the shoulder, signaling that you arrived at your stop. As you alighted from the bus, a cool breeze drifted by and you were instantly hit with the scent of moss and fresh earth. The trees rustled gently in the wind and the shrill buzzing of cicadas drowned out everything else.
He pointed at a convenience store across the road. “Let’s go in there and grab some food first.”
You nodded, humming in agreement. He took you by the hand again as your heart violently skipped a beat, and then you walked across the road and into the convenience store.
Even though tonight went differently, you were happily living in the moment. Beomgyu sat across you, his hair falling over his eyes as he hungrily slurped the last of his ramyeon. Meanwhile, you were chewing on your food while popping open a can of soda. It fizzed and the smell of sweet carbonated cherry filled your nose as you lifted the drink to your lips to take a sip.
“So, where to next?” You asked before taking another swig of cherry soda.
“You’ll see,” he said, showing you his palm and making grabby fingers—a gesture that meant he wanted to try what you were having too. Despite the moue of disapproval on your face, you passed him the can anyway. He drank down a few gulps, much to your annoyance that you began pinching his arm until he stopped and gave it back.
“Don’t finish it!” You said, snatching it from his fingers.
He only chuckled before letting out a small burp. He said, “Wanna grab some ice cream?”
“Finally, dessert!” You stood up from your seat, collecting your trash and discarding it in the bin.
“But I'm paying this time.” Beomgyu said with narrowed eyes and you shook your head dismissively. “You paid the bus fare for both of us and all the food we just ate. At least let me pay for the ice cream, please?”
You smirked and pinched his cheek, teasing him. “Fine, but if you're paying, I'm getting the most expensive one they have.”
Then you let go and slid the freezer open in search of a sweet treat. His fingers brushed the spot you had pinched, a tingling sensation lingering on his skin, as he gazed at you fondly. At last, you chose one in your favorite flavor and held it up with a big smile on your face. It was a sight to behold that had Beomgyu thinking that he would happily buy it for you everyday, even if it cost him his whole paycheck, just to see you smile.
“What? Is there something on my face?” You asked.
Beomgyu snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he had been staring a little too long. “I was just thinking since I’m paying for it, would you at least let me have the first bite?”
You shrugged coolly. “Sure, why not?”
“Actually, forget it.” He said and grabbed another ice cream. “I’ll just buy the same one so we can match. Besides, anything you like has to be good.”
He said it so casually yet it made you blush.
“I guess it’s decided. Let’s pay for it now.” You said and walked to the counter in haste, hoping he wouldn’t catch the flustered look on your face.
After Beomgyu added a bag of chips and paid for everything, you both stepped outside again. The air smelled sharper and greener, the cicadas still singing under the soft glow of the moonlight. He guided you to the other side of the street, and you easily fell into stride beside him, eating your ice cream along the way.
Past the foliage of trees and down the stone steps, you found yourself at a park by the riverside. It was quaint and tranquil, with so few people around you could count them on one hand. There was a vacant bench facing the river and Beomgyu went over to it with you in tow, taking a seat once you stood before it.
At first, it was silent. The both of you simply basked in each other’s presence as you watched the river steadily drift by, the reflection of stars and city lights sparkling in the water. Though your mind began wandering elsewhere, it could barely ignore the feeling of Beomgyu’s leg pressed up against yours. Rather than tensing up, this time, you allowed yourself to feel comfortable. You had always liked the warmth of his touch, even if your feelings made you jump at every brush of contact. However, tonight, with the truth lingering on the edge of your tongue, you chose to welcome the closeness instead of shying away.
“This is certainly better than going to that diner.” You said, gazing moonily at the scenery before you, half-distracted by the haze of your thoughts
“Really? What about the brownie sundae you were talking about?” Beomgyu teased, but he couldn’t help himself from grinning at your words.
“I’m still going to try it someday,” you giggled, then turned to him and smiled tenderly. “But I’d love to come here more often with you.”
Beomgyu returned your smile, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Yeah, me too.”
I should tell him now, you thought but the second you opened your mouth, all your courage went down the drain together with your words. You mentally scolded yourself for hesitating, but you miscalculated your confidence and were at a loss for what to do next. Soon, you both finished consuming your ice creams and Beomgyu tore open the bag of chips.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving the café so soon. I’ve gotten used to working with you there.” He said, digging into the bag and tossing a chip into the air before catching it in his mouth.
“Me neither. I’m going to be a real adult and start doing adult things,” you said, sticking your hand into the bag, the wrapper crinkling as you dug for a chip. “Filing taxes, paying bills, building my career… I’m going to be adulting.” Your voice was filled with dread as you dramatically shuddered.
“You’ll be fine. You always figure things out,” he said. “Remember that time a customer ordered a blueberry muffin and I punched it in, forgetting we were sold out? And instead of refunding them or asking them to order something else, you sent me to the nearest grocery store to buy blueberry compote. While I was out, you chatted up the customer to keep them from growing impatient. Then when I came back, you grabbed a plain muffin, cut it open, and filled it with blueberry compote before serving it to the customer.”
“Yeah, that was actually a clever move. After that, Ms. Jung promoted me to team leader.” You smiled fondly at the memory.
“Clever.” He nodded in agreement. “Resourceful and charming too. The world needs more people like you in it, Y/N.”
“Aw… thanks.” You ducked your head, hiding the way your cheeks warmed at his words.
Beomgyu smirked knowingly, watching you from the corners of his eyes before playfully bumping into your shoulder. “I’m just telling the truth. You’re reliable and people don’t just like you—they lean on you.”
“Like you’re doing right now?” You teased and he rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him.
Then you poked your finger into his side, causing him to yelp and jump away before he seized you by the wrists to keep you from tickling him any more. You both laughed in glee as he held you tightly while you struggled to free yourself from his grasp.
“Will you stop wriggling so I can finish?” he said with a grin, but something in his tone drew the mischievousness right out of you, grounding you in the moment.
“You were saying that you can lean on me.” You said with his hands still firmly wrapped around your wrists.
And if you didn't notice before, you were now highly aware of how close you were. Beomgyu’s face was mere inches from yours, you could feel his hot breath fanning over your skin. His hands trembled nervously but his gaze was fixed on yours, heavy and lingering. It messed with the rhythm of your heart, beating much faster than you thought was possible.
“It’s because you’re strong,” Beomgyu said, voice low, loosening his grip on your wrists but not letting go. “You don’t back down from a challenge, even the ones that make others give up. You find a way around it. You’re a good listener, but you don’t just help people feel seen, you make sure they’re understood.”
He spoke almost too earnestly, it was hard not to believe he meant more than he was saying. Hope surged in your chest, wild and frantic, coalescing with the fear that you were only imagining it. Beomgyu let the silence stretch as he thought of his next words very carefully. Meanwhile, your pulse hammered in your ears as you prayed he would speak again.
After one long minute that felt like an eternity of waiting, he said, “You’re the type that makes people believe they can get through the day… because you make me believe I can. You—”
His voice faltered, breath hitching as he broke eye contact. For a moment, he looked like he was on the verge of saying more, his lips parting—but he caught himself, pressing his mouth shut before the words could escape.
“Y-You make me wish you w-weren’t leaving the café.” He sputtered out quickly and let go of your wrists to rub the back of his neck. All the sincerity and courage he mustered up instantly shattered, replaced by timidity. “Anyway, I’m really going to miss working with you.”
Oh.
You were quite frustrated with how that turned out, but you couldn’t blame him. You were just as reluctant. There was nothing else you could do but soften at his words and allow a small smile—half warmth, half the ache of words left unsaid, a bittersweet feeling sitting in your chest.
“Yeah, me too, Beomgyu.” You reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, “me too.”
Later that night, you would find yourself in bed, laying wide awake and staring at the ceiling above. The quiet of your apartment amplified the restlessness inside you. Questions raced in your mind as you replayed everything that happened earlier.
Confusion surrounding Beomgyu’s real intentions and feelings grew, but it only sharpened the ache in your heart. He could lie to you all he pleased, but someday he would have to face the truth. Although you understood his fear, you hoped he trusted you enough to know you’d still be by his side when his walls finally came crumbling down.
Day after day, Beomgyu went to his classes with his hands in his pockets and headphones in his ears, but his thoughts were always louder than the music. The lecture hall faded around him as he spun a pen in his hand, his mind circling back to the night by the river. In his hands, he held your wrists and felt each pulse drumming against the pads of his fingers. He recalled the way you looked under the moonlight, your eyes wide and bright, keenly listening to his every word like it was gospel.
The moment you shared was very sentimental that he nearly drew back his facade, as though it were a veil of clouds dissolving into a mist, faint starlight peeking through. However, as soon as he was about to say it, his throat tightened and fear held him back. He caught a shadow of disappointment flicker in your eyes, which was quickly masked by a forced and subtly pained smile.
Beomgyu cursed himself for hesitating. The timing was just right, perfect even, yet he could not bring himself to tell you the truth. He hated being such a coward, especially when he was so close to finally opening up his heart to you. But he didn’t, and the weight of his regret felt much heavier than the years of longing he carried for you.
“Earth to Beomgyu. Earth to Beomgyu!” Soobin snapped his fingers in front of his face.
Beomgyu blinked, realizing class had already been dismissed while he had been staring absentmindedly at a blank page on his notebook. He hopped out of his seat and picked up his bag, flinging it carelessly over his shoulder.
“You okay?” Soobin asked, chasing after Beomgyu as he walked down the steps, in a rush to exit the lecture hall. “Hey, wait up!”
“What?!” He whipped around with a scowl on his face. Although he didn’t mean to sound so harsh, it came out that way, the taller boy visibly flinching at his tone.
“Dude, I just wanted to check in on you.” He said, raising his palms in front of him like he were approaching a wild animal. “I’ve noticed you’ve been out of it lately. Are you alright?”
Beomgyu noticed the way his own shoulders were tensed up. He rolled them back and sighed.
“I’m fine… yeah, I’m good.” He lied; it was lazy, but he didn’t care enough to make up a more compelling argument or even try to sound convincing.
“Seriously, you’re gonna have to do better than that if you want me to stop asking.” Soobin crossed his arms and eyed him skeptically.
“You’ll tire out eventually because I don’t want to talk about it.” Beomgyu’s reply was curt as he tugged on the strings of his hoodie and tightened it.
Then he began to walk away when Soobin said, “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”
Hearing your name alone was enough to stop Beomgyu in his tracks. He stood rigid, like a tree rooted to its spot.
“You’re anxious about them resigning, and it’s been eating at you for a while now.” Soobin didn’t wait for him to reply and continued, “You don’t think I’ve noticed how you have trouble paying attention in class lately? And you’ve been messing up a few orders this week. You poured milk in a customer’s black coffee for fuck’s sake.”
Beomgyu’s jaw tightened, but he mustered up a scoff as he finally turned to face Soobin.
“Look, I haven’t been sleeping well these days because I stay up until three in the morning to study,” He said, knowing all too well that he’s been sleep-deprived because he spent nights overthinking things between you. “I’m bound to make a few mistakes which I am taking accountability for, but it’s no big deal. I’m just tired and I really want to go back to my dorm now.”
Soobin raised a brow. “Tired enough to pour milk into straight black coffee?”
“Leave it, Bin.” He grumbled, tugging his hood lower over his face. “It’s not about Y/N. You’re reading into things.”
Before his friend could say another word, Beomgyu dashed off, disappearing down the hallway.
“And then what?”
It rang in his head, over and over, like a broken record he couldn’t shut off. It was also a gnawing reminder that his time was running out and he had to act sooner before his chance could slip away.
By the time a week had gone by, the day of your farewell party arrived, and Beomgyu’s nerves were shooting through the roof. It was a Friday and Ms. Jung shortened the café’s business hours, closing two hours earlier than usual to make time for the celebration. She invited all of you to dinner at a Korean barbecue restaurant across town.
While you bickered with Soobin and Yeonjun over who would be in charge of the grill, Beomgyu could hardly hear a word, too absorbed in his own thoughts as he bounced his leg restlessly. The fact that you were all celebrating your farewell felt strange. He truly was happy for you achieving a new milestone in your life, but the trepidation creeping in his bones made it hard for him to be in the moment.
“Why don’t you help out by cutting up the meat?” Yeonjun said, shoving a pair of scissors into Beomgyu’s hands with a pointed look.
“Uh… yeah, sure.” He stuttered, reaching over to snip at the beef strips sizzling in the grill.
Meanwhile, you stole glances at him every once in a while. It was hard not to notice that Beomgyu wasn't being his usual self. He seemed to fade into the background, sitting across you wordlessly with glassy eyes. If your suspicions were correct, it was safe to assume neither of you have moved on from the night by the river.
The table buzzed with chatter and laughter, empty dishes clattering as you stacked them near the edge of the table, smoke and the warm, savory aroma of meat filled the air. Beomgyu did his best to laugh at all the jokes and stories, watch the others congratulate you, and join in on the conversation, but as the night went on, the more he grew anxious. Soon, the drinks came and you were now taking shots. He swallowed down the alcohol together with the words burning in his throat, desperate to escape.
“Ah… this takes me back to when Y/N had their first sip of alcohol,” Ms. Jung said, turning to you with a fond grin. “You already started working at the café in your second semester of freshman year. You were so preoccupied with studies and work, leaving no time for friends or parties. I thought to myself, ‘this kid works really hard that it makes me proud, but they need to loosen up,’ so I took on the mantle of introducing Y/N to college drinking culture.”
“You’re a terrible influence, Ms. Jung.” You joked.
She picked up the bottle of soju and poured some more into your shot glass. “Just drink up and let me finish the story.”
“You guys are seeing this, right? Unbelievable.” You threw your hands up in mock despair, earning a round of laughter from the table.
“At that time, Y/N was the youngest of my staff, being the only freshman there,” Ms. Jung said. “We went to a bar to celebrate the birthday of a previous employee—”
“Eunbi.” You supplied.
“—and then we ordered some cocktails and beer. Beginner drinks,” Ms. Jung continued. “Y/N tried the cocktails first, figuring they’d be the easiest way to ease into the taste of alcohol. After a few glasses, they grew confident and wanted to try beer next. So we poured them a glass and then… and then…”
Ms. Jung’s words dissolved into a fit of giggles as she recalled the memory, pounding the tabletop with her fist as she grew red in the face.
“Get yourself together, Ms. Jung! Don’t leave us hanging! Tell us what happened next!” Beomgyu egged her on, already a bit tipsy after downing more shots past the point of keeping count.
“They took one swig and spat the beer back out into the glass. Then they started coughing like they’d choked on a fish bone! The look on Y/N’s face was priceless!”
The table roared with laughter, you included. Tears were prickling in the corners of your eyes and you couldn’t even be mad. It was indeed a hilarious memory and it was nice to finally see Beomgyu filled with mirth that night.
Soobin decided it was his turn next. He recounted a time when the café ran out of condensed milk and you asked him to make a run to the nearest grocery store. But to your surprise, he was afraid of crossing the street on his own, something he revealed to you quite bashfully. It ended with you on the run, leaving him alone to take charge of the café.
“Boy, was it a relief to see that he hadn’t burned the place down while I was away.” You teased.
“How are you six foot one and afraid of crossing the street alone?” Yeonjun said, looking at him incredulously.
“The crosswalk light was broken!” Soobin retorted, hitting him with his elbow.
After that, it was Yeonjun’s turn. He recalled when he was the only employee during the morning shift on a chill day. It was raining hard and he was dealing with a bad stomachache. When there were finally no customers around, he temporarily closed the café and locked the front door before using the restroom. By the time he was done, he saw you glaring at him from outside the door, shivering and drenched from the downpour.
“They stood there, shaking like a wet dog! I felt so bad, but now I just laugh whenever I remember it.” He grinned, trying his best not to burst out laughing again.
“You’re mean.” You pouted and gave him the stink eye.
Throughout the entire time sharing stories, your eyes kept finding Beomgyu’s in the laughter. Each glance was like a silent reassurance, despite the words left unsaid by the river, that neither of you had pulled away. Whatever tension lingered between you gradually softened into a dull ache, small enough to ignore but impossible to forget.
“How about you, Beomgyu?” Soobin asked and everyone’s heads snapped towards him.
“Yeah, you and Y/N are the closest out of all of us. You must have thousands of fond memories together.” Yeonjun said, nodding in agreement.
You leaned forward, eyes fixed on Beomgyu and eager for whatever story he might share. Caught in the weight of your gaze, he struggled to decide where to begin. He thought of everything and nothing all at once. How could he just pick one when all his memories of you were his favorite? Especially not when the phantom of the confession he never gave by the river still haunted the corner of his thoughts.
Beomgyu thought back to the first day he met you—a memory that always stuck in his mind. He chanced upon the café on a hot day in search of a good iced americano. When he finally reached the front of the line to place his order, it was like love at first sight. You were cute and charming, causing him to develop a crush on you instantly. Thus, he came back occasionally and finally built the courage to ask you out, but the moment he stood before you, his words fell flat. Instead, he asked if there were any job openings, consequently leading to him getting hired at the café. But after ending up as co-workers, and eventually best friends, every second spent with you was special.
He recalled when you came crying to him once. You were convinced that you were going to fail a class and feared losing your scholarship. Seeing you in pain like that pained him too, so he provided you with emotional support, delivering words of comfort and reassurance. Little did he know, that was the day you started seeing him in a different light.
Suddenly, you found yourself looking forward to Beomgyu’s presence, hoping to work more shifts with him. Every brush of your fingers sent electricity surging through your veins. His laugh was an angelic melody which was enough to make you believe heaven was a place on earth. His gentle manner drew you in, like a warm sunrise over the horizon at dawn, and his silly personality lit sparks that made every moment with him feel alive. It was an unlikely blend, but fit so seamlessly. And that made you fall hopelessly in love with him over time.
“Well… Yeonjun is right. There’s just too many,” Beomgyu admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “But maybe the one that stuck with me most was when I was a bit too clumsy and scalded my hand with the steamer. I tried to act tough, saying it was nothing to worry about, but Y/N wasn’t having it.”
He let out a short laugh and glanced at you, reading the expression in your eyes. You gave a curt nod, as if to say, “Go on.”
“They marched over and dragged me behind the counter then shot me in the leg—no, I’m kidding.” Beomgyu waved his hand before him as the table erupted in snickers.
“You should thank your lucky stars that all I had was patience and burn cream, not a loaded weapon.” You remarked playfully.
Beomgyu grinned, his gaze softening before he continued. “Y/N made me run my hand under cold water and refused to let me move. I was just stuck by the sink and if I offered to help, they barked at me to stay out of it. And mind you, it was quite a busy day. After that, they shoved my ass onto a stool, grabbed the first-aid kit, and patched me up while still keeping an eye on the counter. Just imagine Y/N juggling a bandage in one hand and the café in the other. Honestly, it was impressive and terrifying at the same time. Kinda like a tiger.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. For a fleeting moment, his eyes lingered on yours again, and the table caught a faint flicker of something unspoken. It was like a flash of lightning—charged and burning, but gone in the blink of an eye. Before anyone could point it out, he quickly looked away, clearing his throat.
“After that, I couldn’t go back to work one-handed and Y/N called for backup to send me home. And honestly? It was the first time I realized just how stubborn they are. So stubborn they’d single-handedly run the café while also making sure I was taken care of.” He said, drawing his story to a close with a soft smile.
Everyone seemed to agree, nodding their heads and murmuring amongst themselves. Your heart brimmed with a pleasant warmth as you began to tear up.
“I always thought of the café as my second home. I’m really going to miss you all.” You bit down on your lip, quivering as you attempted to stifle the sobs.
“Man, you’re such a drama queen.” Yeonjun said with a shaky voice and not-so-subtly wiping the tears in his eyes, causing everyone to have one last good laugh.
“This calls for a toast.” Ms. Jung declared and grabbed the bottle of soju, refilling each of your shot glasses. Then she raised her glass in the air as everyone followed suit. “To Y/N, we wish you nothing but the best as you explore a new chapter of your life. I hope you know we’re all proud of you. Here’s to all the success waiting for you. Cheers!”
“Cheers!” The rest of you responded in unison, clinking glasses before you tipped them back.
After everyone sobered up and Ms. Jung paid the bill, you walked out of the restaurant and said your goodbyes. At first, she offered you a ride back to your place but Yeonjun discouraged her, insisting it was for the best while shooting Beomgyu a look. He knew what that meant. Time was ticking and his feelings could no longer wait. If not now, then when?
After Ms. Jung drove off and Yeonjun and Soobin headed for the subway, it was only you and Beomgyu left walking down the sidewalk. There weren’t many people around as you reached the bus stop. The night pressed in around you and the world felt smaller—just you and him in the afterglow of shared smiles and lingering warmth.
Beomgyu tucked his hands in his pockets, rocking gently on his heels as he worked up the courage to do or say something. Anything. It had to be now.
Though you sought his eyes all evening, now they were the one place you couldn’t bring yourself to look. Instead, you took interest in the cracks on the pavement, tracing them with the tip of your shoe. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, not exactly, but it was taut and stretched thin—like Cupid had an arrow drawn too long against the bowstring, longing to strike true.
For the billionth time that night, your eyes met and it felt like you were crashing into the situation you had been dodging for far too long. This could be the last time things would be the way they are and it scared you shitless. Nevertheless, what you felt was real and you had to give it a voice before it was silenced forever.
“Beomgyu,” you said, the tone in your voice delicate and shaky, “I have something to tell you.”
“Me too.” He said, like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“But… you have to promise me that you won’t hate me after this,” you said.
The corners of his mouth tugged upwards as he gazed at you tenderly. “Nothing in this world could ever make me hate you, Y/N."
“But I need you to promise me.” You tried to sound firm but the words trembled out of your lips.
Beomgyu shook his head and stepped closer. His hands reached for yours and gently closed over them. The warmth of his touch was both exhilarating and grounding, making you blush and calming your nerves at the same time.
“You don’t have to make me promise that. Allow me to go first. Let me be the one to carry the weight of it.” He said and you felt your shoulders relax, suddenly aware of how tense you had been this whole time. “If this ruins anything, then I’ll take the blame for it.”
He drew in a shaky breath, his smile wobbly and faltering as his gaze flickered between your eyes in search of courage. Then, he let out a laugh that sounded almost self-mocking and said, “I thought I’d never say this out loud, but every day that you’re here reminds me that it’s impossible for me to keep it a secret forever.” He paused and swallowed hard, his throat burning from all the time he spent straining to keep the words from coming out. “I’m going to miss you so much, and not because we’re co-workers. I like you, Y/N. I really like you—no, I’ve had enough of being hesitant. I love you, Y/N. More than I should and for such a long time now. I’m sorry I was too afraid to tell you before, but then it scared me more to think about how different things are going to be once we lead separate lives. And now I can’t let you walk away without knowing.”
Your mouth hung agape as you stood there, stunned. His eyes glimmered with utter sincerity and you searched for any hint of mischief—but there was none. He was telling the truth and you found yourself smiling, unable to contain the rush of overflowing joy. You threw your arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace, catching him by surprise, but he was quick to respond and reciprocated the gesture.
“I love you too, Beomgyu. I’m sorry it took so long, but I knew we’d finally come around. I was also so scared because you’re my best friend and I didn’t want to lose you over this. But it pained me every single day to think I’d lose you for not being honest about my feelings.” You blurted through tears of joy while sniffling.
Then you pulled away and giggled. “Oh, this makes me so happy!”
Both of you stared at each other, grinning from ear to ear and fingers intertwining. Then you noticed Beomgyu’s gaze drifting down to your lips before finding your eyes again.
You smirked and lifted an eyebrow. “What are you planning?”
“Oh, you know,” he said in a low voice, leaning dangerously close to your face, his breath fanning over your skin, “just another thing I’ve been wanting to do for some time now.”
His lips pressed against yours, soft and reluctant, as though giving you one last chance to pull away if you happened to change your mind. But when you leaned in, sufficing as a clear response that you wanted this too, the kiss deepened and all restraint broke.
He drew you nearer, his free hand cradling your cheek as if he was afraid you’d somehow fade away, desperate to make sure that this moment was real. Your fingers found the back of his head, threading through his soft locks, urging him closer even though there was hardly any space left between you.
The kiss was tender and sweet, yet strewn with desperation, like a ravenous appetite you were dying to finally satiate. Your lips moved in a rhythm where every missed chance and swallowed word were pacified to stillness, instead replaced by an inevitable craving for more. You could feel his pulse racing through the press of his lips as well as your own, echoing the same cadence. Every breath, every gentle brush, every lingering pause carried an intense longing for this moment and neither of you were holding back anymore—and it felt like time and space had come to a standstill for this very moment.
By the time you parted, faces barely an inch away, you were breathless. Your face was hot, your lips tingled, and your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest. Beomgyu spent a few seconds trying to catch his breath, chest heaving and hair slightly disheveled.
“Wow… if I had known kissing you would be this amazing I would have done it sooner.” He said with a goofy smile plastered all over his face.
“Lucky for you, there's plenty more where that came from.” You said, growing bolder as you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss.
His lips landed clumsily on yours and he laughed, nearly breaking the kiss until you pressed harder, tugging him closer to muffle out the noise. This time, there was nothing graceful about the way you moved. You bumped each other's noses and teeth, but neither of you cared. The messiness of it all only made it sweeter and intimate, as though the walls you put up were finally coming down, allowing both of you this moment of vulnerability.
When you broke away, Beomgyu laughed again, giddy and breathless. Then he rested his forehead against yours and all you could see were his warm brown eyes. You giggled with a wide smile spreading on your face that mirrored his. The joy was simply too infectious.
“I guess that makes you all mine now.” You said, more as a statement than a question.
“I was already yours long before this moment.” He said, threading his fingers with yours and clasping tightly onto your hand. “And I'll always be yours for as long as you want me.”
His answer was more than enough and you were glad. All those missed opportunities and bouts of hesitation, though they were frustrating, led to this very moment and you wouldn't have it any other way. It was perfect in your own special way.
“Still got an appetite for a brownie sundae?” He asked, the tone in his voice making it sound more like a suggestion.
You jolted back and gasped, eyes going wide as saucers. “The diner is back in business?!”
“They sure are.” He said, unable to keep himself from grinning at your adorable reaction. “I say we head there tonight and order one brownie sundae for two.”
Just then, the bus rolled in, coming to a halt with the brakes hissing. The doors opened as light spilled onto the sidewalk, illuminating the bright smiles on your faces.
“Is it a date?” You asked.
“Consider it our first.” He said.
With your hand in his, he pulled you towards the bus and guided you up the steps. The doors shut as soon as you boarded and the driver pulled away. You and Beomgyu slipped into a seat at the back, still hand in hand, your head finding solace in his shoulder while he rested his lightly atop yours.
This was only the beginning, a risk that promised change, but grounded in the familiar bond that tethered both of you in comfort.
It was getting increasingly harder and harder for your eyes to stay open. The bright light from the tv or the plot of the show weren’t doing their intended job of keeping you awake as you had hoped.
Jeno had originally told you that he would be home 3 hours ago and then it got pushed back more and more. First he had to record his lines, then their new choreographer wanted to practice just the chorus, which then became practicing the pre chorus. Then Jeno’s manager wasn’t there to give him a ride and everyone had gone home so he had to wait for his manager to go and get him.
By the time Jeno trudged through the door of your shared apartment you were peacefully curled asleep on the couch. His shoulders sagged, he felt bad seeing as how you had clearly been waiting for him to come home. He knew it was out of his control but it didn’t help seeing you curled up in the couch and not the comfort of your bed.
He shook your shoulder lightly, “baby, let’s go to bed.”
Your eyes blinked open slowly, “Jeno? What time is it?”
“Time for bed, let’s go,” Jeno replied quietly, helping you get up before he turned off the tv and folded the blanket you usually kept on the couch.
You settled under the covers, watching as Jeno slowly shuffled around the room getting into his pajamas. He finally slid under the covers and laid his head on your shoulder while he laid on his side. His eyelids were low, you could clearly see how exhausted he was.
He began mumbling on and on about how long the day was. One thing led to another and suddenly he was working with half an hour until the new day. He was relived however that they only had dance practice the next day for a few hours. As he spoke you gently dragged your nails up and down his back, “we get… get to go in… afternoon.”
You continued to gently scratch his back until he was lightly snoring and sound asleep. You couldn’t fight the silent, sleepy chuckle at just how easily Jeno fell asleep. All it took was a soft series of scratches down his back and he would be out within 2 minutes. It worked like a charm every single time. When he had long days like today, when he was sick, when he was a little crabby and needed a nap to reset his attitude, he would simple lay himself on your side and place your hand on his back to give you the cue that he wanted you to scratch his back.
There were even times where he’d tell you that he wished he could bring you on tour with him when jet lag was kicking his butt. One time Jaemin even told you that Jeno had sheepishly asked him- and made Jaemin swear he’d never tell anyone- to scratch his back. Though it didn’t take the usual 2 minutes for him to sleep, because Jaemin “didn’t have the touch,” Jeno did fall asleep after 15 minutes.
You couldn’t stop laughing at the thought of Jaemin whispering it to you and Jeno’s embarrassed red cheeks when you brought it up. Current Jeno on your shoulder hummed sleepily while one eye blinked open. You stopped laughing quickly, shushing him like you would a baby, and continuing the scratching down his back while you apologized for unintentionally waking him up.
Jeno wrapped an arm around your waist, his thumb rubbing small circles on your hip bone. You eased him to sleep while the lazy circles on your hip eased you back into slumber. Before you knew it you were both knocked out, having put each other into a restful night of sleep.
Fratboy!Jaemin did a lot of things in university just for the fun of it. Massage class? Sure, why not. Gymnastics? Again, why not. Join a frat? Only because Jeno did. Working at the on campus daycare? Well, that one was because of his mom. He needed a job and she happened to know the head teacher.
So now he spent three of his days here at the daycare, taking care of the young kids with the help of one main teacher and another aide, you. The kids had named you "Pretty Teacher" and he couldn't agree more. You were a full time aide and he found that he could handle some clingy kids and no sense of personal space for a few hours a day when you were helping out beside him.
Right now, you were both leading the kids through circle time outside while the head teacher took a quick break. After some stretches and some calming exercises for the kids, they focused on building with some blocks.
One of the girls, looked up at you, judgement written clearly on her face as she looked between you and Jaemin. Her little voice rang out, "Pretty teacher, is Teacher Na your boyfriend?"
The other kids looked up then, "oohing" at the word "boyfriend." You shook your head with a soft laugh, prying apart two blocks before handing them to the boy sitting beside you, "no, Teacher Na is not my boyfriend."
The kids pouted and even Jaemin found himself fighting back a pout along with the four and five year-olds. He wanted you to be his girlfriend. He thought he'd made that pretty clear when he insisted that he play the role of 'dad neighbor' when you were given the role of 'mom neighbor' or when he brought you snacks or coffee at the before the kids showed up.
Another girl, this time sitting beside Jaemin, squealed with excitement, "he's your husband then! You're married!"
Jaemin coughed awkwardly, "we're not married."
"But you like her?" The girl asks as she cocks her head to the side.
"Yes," Jaemin answers, immediately drawing sounds of excitement from the kids. He even finds that your eyes flicker to meet his gaze before he adds quickly, "because she's my friend."
"My mommy said her and my daddy were friends before they got married!" A boy adds, "my daddy was my mommy's sister's boyfriend! That's why they don't talk no more!"
You bite back a look of shock as you try to guide the conversation away from marriage and parents, or any other topics these kids might have overheard at home. They're stubborn though, insisting that the two of you get married because that's what adult boys and girls do, "duh, teachers!"
You're given a bundle of flower weeds and pushed until you and Jaemin are sitting side by side on the bench. The oldest of the bunch, a five year-old, grins widely and begins the 'vows' going on about love and happiness. She claps her hands, "now you're married! Kiss!"
The kids sound out in a mix of cheers and boos. You laugh softly, choosing instead to hug your coworker swiftly to give into the requests of the students. It's basically nothing, you can barely call it a hug since it's more like two bodies just pressed against each other for a second. Jaemin thinks he just saw heaven. It's the best hug he's ever had and it lasted a full, singular second. It was great.
Somehow that's the only thing on his mind as he finishes off his work day. He grabs his stuff after everything has been wiped down and disinfected, lingering around the gate as you walk toward him.
"Hey, Pretty," he greets you, watching as you laugh softly.
"Hi, Nana, you waiting for me?" You ask as you close the gate behind yourself.
"A good husband waits for his wife doesn't he?" He asks with a gentle smile.
You giggle softly, knocking his elbow with your own, "oh, did we go straight from coworkers to husband and wife?"
He shrugs with an easy smile, "gotta start somewhere, right?"
You shrug, staying silent as you both walk across campus. He comes to a stop, drawing your attention, "actually, I did really want to ask you... do you want to go out some time?"
"Ooh, first date as husband and wife?" You laugh with a wiggle of your brows.
"We have to start somewhere don't we?" Jaemin asks as his smile turns nervous.
You turn to him and notice how he seems less confident, nervous as he waits for her to answer. You reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, "a date sounds really nice."
summary: Johnny has decided that enough is enough! He can’t stop thinking about you and he needs to do something about it! Well… it’s so much easier said than done
word count: 4.4k
warnings: profanity
a/n: fic is set in our new and beloved, fratboy!Johnny universe and will chronologically follow after this post! and oh my gosh yes! stop pestering me! I did name this after linger by the cranberries!
Johnny wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt this restless in his whole life. How is it that his life had gone from normal, boring, standard, to a complete mess simply because he’d talked to you? You, the girl he hadn’t so much as spoken more than two minutes with him in the years that he first saw you and now you lived in his head! He couldn’t stop thinking about you, he constantly hoped he’d see you again on campus, he wished you’d come to the house again.
He didn’t think he’d ever been this infatuated before. He felt like a kid with a crush all over again. He wasn’t like any of the stereotypical frat guys who jumped from girl to girl. No, Johnny was more of a boyfriend kid of guy and he hadn’t had a relationship since he and his high school girlfriend ended things before going to opposite end of the country for college. Was it so bad that he wanted a timeless love like his parents? Was it so bad that he wanted to find his other half? The person who would know him better than anyone else and love him for who he was.
Less than an hour spent together and you had completely taken over his thoughts. When would he see you again? What was your favorite color? What was your favorite class? Did you like him as much as he liked you? He sure hoped you did.
He laid in bed, staring at his ceiling while he tried and failed to fall asleep. Why was his brain even so focused on memories of you in the class you shared during his second semester? He could remember vivid images of you, or more, the back of your head. His mind thought back to one specific moment where the class had been tasked with some kind of whole class, lazy activity. The professor, who looked worse for wear, had kicked his feet up on his desk, displayed the instructions on the projector screen and knocked out for the entirety of the class.
Johnny remembered walking around the auditorium, filling out his worksheet with only one space left to fill out. Nobody that he’d spoken to knew the answer, since none of them had read the last chapter like they were supposed to. He knew he should have done his homework, he probably could have been out of class already, but he’d gotten caught up in frat stuff. Johnny perked his head up, making his way down the stairs and toward the row that was just two rows away from his own row, right to where you were sitting alone and diligently filling out the worksheet with your head ducked down.
Slowly, Johnny lowered himself into the seat beside you so as to not startle you, “hey.”
Still, you jumped in your seat, having completely missed how his tall frame slipped beside you so seamlessly and quietly. He watches as your hand spreads over your chest in your shock. Your cheeks bloom with warmth and he smiles softly, you’re really pretty. Seeing you up close and not in passing, not from the back, he feels a part of him fall hard for you.
Your voice is prettier than any song he’s ever heard, even as you laugh shyly, “you scared me.”
He chokes on his words, is that his heart pounding in his ears or is someone banging on the door? Are everyone’s eyes as gorgeous as yours? He clears his throat, blinking a few times to refocus himself, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just uh, I need some help answering the last question on the worksheet. I asked a bunch of people and no one knows the answer. Can you help me?”
“Oh, yeah! That question was hidden somewhere in the last few pages of the chapter, but I actually happened to make a note of it…” you tell Johnny as you flip through your notebook to find the page.
He can only watch and admire your dedication to passing this class, even if it is a general requirements class. You slide your notebook over to him and he admires your neat scrawl and organized notes. “Here it is,” you tell him softly as you point out the line with the information he needs.
Johnny copies down the information and smiles at you gratefully, “thank you so much. I’m usually so on top of my assignments, but I guess I got carried away with all the frat stuff I have going on.”
You cock your head to the side with a soft furrow in your brows, “I’m not judging you at all. It’s okay to be busy with things. The homework wasn’t even homework anyway so it’s really no bother at all.”
His body is reacting in that weird way again, but worse than usual. Probably because he’s doing more than just looking at you this time. He’s actually talking to you! A real conversation! His heart is thumping hard and fast in his chest as he forces his brain to remember to breathe! He chuckles softly, “well, I appreciate the help anyway.”
You nod as you pack up your things and stand from your seat with your backpack over our shoulder. “It’s no problem. Have a good one,” you tell him before you walk away from him to leave the lecture hall.
The memory brings a smile onto Johnny’s face as he drifts off to sleep with thoughts of you on his mind.
The next time he sees you, it’s not even planned. He’s just come back from a run when he walks past Mark on his way out of the door. Johnny looks at Mark in confusion, “what’s up? I thought you didn’t have class on Thursdays.”
Mark sighs, “I don’t but you guys are up my ass about going to my tutoring sessions so…”
Johnny lets out a laugh, “I think you mean that we’re up your ass about succeeding. Nu Chi doesn't keep idiots around.”
“That’s debatable,” Mark replies with a laugh, “I’m off to the library so I won’t be late. I’ve kept my tutor waiting for too many sessions already. See you later, bro.”
The door shuts and Johnny stands in the entryway for less than a second before he’s sprinting up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He pushes someone out of his way with a shout of “sorry!” He rushes into the bathroom and forces himself into an ice cold shower to wash the sweat and stink off his body.
He knows he’s dripping water all down the hall as he runs to his room to get dressed. He knows he’s yelled at his brothers for this before, but he has a very limited amount of time to meet you at the library! You wouldn’t be tutoring Mark forever!
He finds one of his nicer t-shirts hanging in the closet, a clean pair of jeans and tucks his wet hair under a backwards cap before slipping on his shoes and making his way out of the house. He’s hustling across campus trying not to sweat while practicing what he’s going to say to you. He feels like a total idiot right now. He’s never been the kind of person to be nervous about meeting anyone. He’s always confident and charismatic, even though you’re his social opposite, he finds that he’s not himself. It’s kind of a fun feeling to experience again.
He slows his stroll as he walks through the library, trying to look casual as he peeks into every study room, examines every table on the first floor, on the second floor, and finally, the third floor. He peeks his head to take a look in what was, of course, the last study room on this floor. He finds you and Mark looking at your laptop and taking notes.
Johnny takes a deep breath and straightens out his clothes before freezing. Shit, what was his excuse for being here even going to be? ‘Hey there, I was just casually prowling the third floor of the library, mind if I join?’ No way! He pulls a random notebook from his backpack before knocking on the glass door with a friendly smile. He pushes the door open, “hey, sorry to interrupt. Mark, you left your notebook at the house, I wasn’t sure if you needed it.”
You look over at Mark with a confused look on your face and Mark looks at Johnny with a matching look of confusion, “I have my notebooks. That’s not mine.”
“Oh, well…” Johnny gulps nervously with sweaty palms, “I just wanted to be safe. I want you to do your best Markie.”
Mark’s face twists into a look of disgust, “since when have you ever called me Marki-”
Johnny coughs, cutting Mark off, “well, since I’m here. You guy’s don't mind if I just stay, do you? I’ll be quiet and I’ve got some studying to do of my own anyway.”
“That’s fine,” you nod slowly, returning to Mark.
Johnny spends about an hour sitting on the opposite end of the table from you, pretending to study. Really, his mind is busy working out the conversation he wants to have with you when your session with Mark is done.
“So I guess, when in doubt, just add as many details about this time period as you can. I think your professor is likely to focus on the areas we covered today for the essay question, but don’t hold me to it. Do you have any questions before we wrap up?” Johnny hears you ask Mark.
Mark laughs as he packs his things up, “yo, I’m actually feeling really good about this test! Thank you, dude.”
Your laugh makes Johnny’s heart skip a beat as you help Mark gather his things and smile up at him, “It’s my job Mark, it’s really no problem. Good luck on your test and let me know how it goes.”
Mark leaves the study room, but not without a look of pure and utter suspicion thrown in Johnny’s direction before he leaves the two of you alone in the study room. Johnny clears his throat, “hey, so are you- you doing anything after-”
Someone clears their throat and Johnny turns to find a girl waiting in the doorway. Johnny’s eyes flit over to you to find that you’re already looking at him with wide eyes, “I’m sorry Johnny, I have another tutoring session right now.”
Johnny’s mouth snaps shut and he nods awkwardly, grabbing his backpack and making his way past the girl quickly. In an hour he’s going to feel like a major idiot for trying and failing to ask you out. He should have just spit it out! ‘Hey! Please go out with me! Please! I will beg!’ But he didn’t and somehow he didn’t feel like a loser quite yet… Mostly because, well, this was going to make him sound like a total dweeb, but you said his name! Was it possible to have two new favorite sounds upon the first time hearing them? Your laugh and his name on your lips.
If he’d have looked over his shoulder while he was leaving the room, he’d have seen you staring at his back as he left. He’d have seen how your eyes were wide and tracked his form until he was completely out of sight. Then consequently seen your next student bumping your arm and teasing you while you hid your face in your hands.
He walks back to the frat house with an extra pep in his step, though as soon as he opens the door, there’s Mark with a smug look on his face, “dude, you are so fucking lame. Really? ‘You forgot your notebook Markie.’” Mark’s face twists into an unimpressed smirk while he holds up the same notebook that Johnny had used as an excuse. A notebook that clearly read ‘JOHNNY’ in Yuta’s signature tag style. Johnny swallows as his cheeks get hot, “you didn’t show her that did you?”
Mark chuckles, “nah, you were smart enough to only show the back of the notebook. She’s not hard to talk to, you know?”
Johnny drags a hand down his face, “she is to me. Only God knows why.”
“You got it bad, bro. Pull yourself together,” Mark laughs brightly as he shakes Johnny by the shoulders.
Very rarely does Johnny like to admit that Mark is correct, but Mark is right this time. He does have it bad, so incredibly horrendously bad for you. He’s no longer keeping an eye out for you, no, he’s “casually” walking across campus to the humanities and social science buildings because that’s where your classes are more likely to be held.
It’s a Monday when he sees you again. A whole two and a half weeks since he last tried to ask you out. His classes have already finished for the day, but he finds himself making the familiar walk across campus toward the humanities building. The sky is warm and the sun feels nice on his skin as he strolls and swipes through his phone. In the blink of an eye his phone is falling to the floor as his body collides with another.
“Oh shoot, I am so sorry,” he hears the other person say. Not just any other person, you. He gulps, falling to his knees beside you as you gather all your papers and books back into a neat pile. He can hear your nervous rambling, “I’m really sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going. I’m just running late on my way to the library and— Johnny? What are you doing on this side of campus?”
Johnny isn’t even thinking of a response because while he was listening to you speak, he wasn't listening to what you were really saying. His brain was too busy memorizing the timbre and tone of your voice to focus on any words. It takes his brain a whole minute to process your question all while he stares at you blankly. He clears his throat, right, what was he doing over here, “I… the… I like that bathrooms over here…” What the hell, John?! The bathrooms?!
You giggle softly, “the bathrooms? Surely, the engineering building would have the nicest bathrooms since that building is the newest.”
Oh. You actually bought that flimsy excuse. He coughs softly, “are you… are you doing anything right now?” Wait a second, did your fingers just brush against his? Why was a simple brush of your fingers against making his heart race? What the heck was up with him?
“Yeah, actually, I’m on my way to another tutoring session,” you answer as you pile all your things into your arms before standing.
Johnny stands up slowly, looking down at you as his eyes trace over every small detail on your face, every curve and every edge. His eyes drag over the curve of your lips, the lashes that line your eyes, and the way your cheeks round as you smile up at him. He blinks slowly, once, twice… what was it about you that made him act like such a fool? Why didn’t his brain work how it was supposed to around you? “Right,” he shakes his head with a smile, “of course. I’m sorry for making you later.”
Your brows furrow just slightly before you smile up at him in such a sweet way that he might just feel his pupils turning into hearts. Your hand comes up to squeeze his forearm. Great, now he’s a puddle from a simple squeeze of your hand. “You get this really faraway look in your eye when you look at me. We’ll have to talk about that next time we see each other,” you tell him in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard before hustling away like you always do.
He doesn’t even care if you see him if you choose to turn away, but he hunches over, one hand gripping his t-shirt as he tries to catch his breath. Fuck, this was the best feeling in the world, being around you, looking at you, talking to you. And was it just his imagination or did your hand actually linger when you squeezed his arm?
His train of thought is interrupted when someone coughs, “dude, are you having an asthma attack or something?”
“Something better,” Johnny breathes out.
The person shakes their head, “dude, you’re strange.”
Johnny has been practicing asking people out for a week now. Not only in the mirror, when he showers, before bed, to his pillow, his teammates, and also to every frat brother in the house. It helps him to develop a more well-rounded proposal since he gets so many types of feedback. When Mark and Haechan tell him it’s perfect, he goes to Taeyong to really get it the best it can be. What do those losers know anyway?
He’s thinking about you every second of the day and for some reason, manifesting your presence hasn’t worked like it has these last few times. He still walks around your class building, he keeps an eye out for Mark heading out for tutoring, and even walks around the library for a couple hours a few days. Nothing. Where could you have disappeared to?
He knows that you’re probably busy with his own classes and tests, but.. he just misses you. It’s not even like the two of you have had any real conversations of substance, but the way you make him feel? It’s addicting. Not in a crazy way, but in a way that makes his heart beat a whole lot faster than running a few laps around the basketball court and feels a hell of a lot better. This must be the kind of feeling he remembers his dad explaining to him when he was a kid.
Back when Johnny was a tween he’d gone to school with a bouquet of flowers to confess his crush on a girl from his science class. She had turned him down, kept the flowers, and shamelessly asked if his friend was looking for a girlfriend. Johnny had faked a stomach ache, not letting a single tear fall until he was at home and in his dad’s arms.
“The right person for you won’t make you feel like this, Son,” his dad says soothingly as he rubs a calming hand up and down Johnny’s back, “Look, when I met your mom I felt like I was going crazy. Every time I saw her my heart would beat like crazy, I thought about her all the time, and every time she so much as looked at me I felt like I was on top of the world. When you find the right person you’ll feel all these things and more and they’ll feel the same way. This is just one of life’s lessons. I know it hurts now, but when the real thing comes along, it will feel so much better.”
Johnny’s been thinking about this conversation a lot. He wonders if, once again, he’s throwing himself into the fire to be burned. He wonders if this will just be another learning lesson on the journey to finding The One, and he starts to get really insecure. This is a feeling that Johnny rarely ever experiences, but when he really thinks about it… have you even shown him any romantic interest or just basic kindness? Did your touch linger? Did you stare a little too long? Did you even actually blush the first time you both made conversation? Whatever. He pushes the thought out of his head and instead forces himself to focus on his upcoming basketball game. He can’t distract himself with these thoughts when he needs to be in his basketball mindset. There’s no room in his head to be insecure or to overthink things. He’s not usually the kind of person to think this anxiously so he takes a deep breath and moves on.
There’s just a couple minutes left of the game, Johnny’s standing at the free throw line, exhaling to calm his nerves while he spins the ball in his hands. The feel of the textured rubber, the smell of the gym, the sight of his teammates and competitors has a familiar excitement bubbling in his stomach. His eyes flicker to the crowd on the left, then the right, and back to the hoop-- but wait, did he see that right? Yeah his frat brothers are there, he sees some people from his classes, but who is that sitting next to Mark? He blinks hard, squinting as he sees Mark pointing at the court and saying something to… you!
You’re at his game, you’re watching him play, you’re here! It’s a complete shock to see you here. This is the last place he’d expect to see you, but Johnny smiles to himself and feels a whole new sense of confidence when he hears the referee blow his whistle. Johnny sinks not one, not two, but all three free throws with just a few seconds of the game to go. He’s playing better than he’s ever played and he’s already one of the best players on the team. Is it a little embarrassing to admit that it’s because you’re watching? Yeah, but he’s not going to admit it.
The game ends with a victory by a small margin, but it’s a win nonetheless. His teammates immediately go to their water bottles, coach or girlfriends, but Johnny’s heading over to you. He’s making his way through the crowds accepting congratulations and claps on the back with a grateful smile before he’s walking right up the bleachers and right over to you. His frat brothers have mischievous smiles on their faces and thankfully have the decency to disperse not too far away while Johnny stops just a foot away from you.
“You-you’re here!” Johnny smiles brightly.
You tuck your hair behind your ear, smiling as you drop your gaze to your feet, “yeah, I figured it was time to branch out of my comfort zone.”
“Well, did you have a good time? You caught me on a good day, heard coach say it was the best I’ve ever played,” Johnny tells you earnestly.
You look up and Johnny tries to keep his breathing normal at the smile on your face. You’re just so pretty up close. He finds himself distractedly counting every beauty mark on your face and each variation of color in your pupils. You’re breathtaking. He blinks hard, forcing himself to listen to your melodic voice, “I have I admit, I don’t know a whole lot about basketball so Mark had to explain a lot of it to me. He said you did a good job and I know enough to know that you scored most of the points… so congrats!”
He licks his lips, feeling his heartbeat pounding right in the base of his neck. What better moment will there be than now? “Hey, do you want to go out with me? Like on a date… please,” Johnny manages to breathe out.
Your eyes widen, jaw falling open the slightest bit, “you like me back?”
Johnny chokes, “you like me?!”
“I thought I was being obvious,” you murmur shyly, once again dropping your gaze to look at your feet.
Johnny laughs a breathy laugh. It’s not malicious or teasing but it’s a laugh of relief. He reaches out and cups your cheeks, guiding your face up to meet his gaze. “I have been pining over you since the first time I talked to you. I feel like I’ve been going crazy every day and acting like a total fool— an idiot! All my stupidity just to find out that you’ve liked me back.”
“Honestly,” you tell him quietly, “I had a feeling you liked me.”
“How?!” Johnny asks, his thumb caressing the high point of your cheek.
You laugh softly and Johnny feels his heart skip a beat, “the humanities building doesn’t have bathrooms, John.”
He feels his face blush bright red as he staggers back and plants himself in a seat. He drags his hands through his hair and down his face with an embarrassed groan, “and you didn’t tell me? I really am an idiot!”
You giggle as you sit beside him, rubbing his upper arm which really doesn't help the blush on his cheeks but is something that he very quickly learns he really likes. You sigh, bumping his shoulder with your own playfully, “if it helps, I feel like an idiot too because my flirting wasn’t enough either. Clearly. We were both somewhat clueless.”
“What flirting?” Johnny asks with his brows furrowed softly.
“I looked at you a lot, I touched your arm that one time— twice actually, I came to your basketball game…” you list off as if these are the most obvious acts to have ever been done.
“Oh, Honey,” Johnny chuckles with a shake of his head, “luckily, with me you’ll get plenty of opportunities to work on that flirting of yours.”
You hide your face behind your hands as you whine embarrassingly. He catches your wrist gently and pulls your hand away just far enough to press a kiss to your cheek, “so, was that a yes? You’ll go on a date with me?”
Your voice is quiet but it’s loud enough to have Johnny standing from his seat and cheering when you murmur, “yes I want to go on date with you.”
“Yes!” You hear the guys around you cheer. You glance behind Johnny and find Mark fist pumping. You laugh quietly and lean into Johnny so your head rests on his shoulder and your arm is pressed up against his.
“Don’t take this the wrong way at all,” Johnny tells you, “but I am not worthy to have you pressed up against me right now. I am dripping with sweat, I smell, and I don’t even look good right now.”
“I’d argue that you actually look very good right now,” you reply before clapping a hand over your mouth in embarrassment.
Johnny’s head snaps in your direction with his eyes widened in shock, “now that’s flirting! Yes!”
a/n: feedback is appreciated and I'm adding the first date fic to my to do list!
summary ↬ being soulmates with a werewolf? pretty easy. being jungkook’s soulmate? the easiest thing in the world. there’s only one teensy tiny problem. he doesn’t want to fuck you.
pairing ↬ werewolf!jungkook x reader
genre ↬ soulmate!au, abo verse, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort (this is so fucking dramatic and for what)
word count ↬ 10.4k my hand slipped
warnings ↬ swearing, angst (but with a happy ending bc im a sappy bitch), jk is stupid in love (emphasis on stupid), mentions of violence (very brief and i don’t go into too much detail but just to warn yall), slight nsfw (sex is a big topic for like half of this but not sex is had…i know im shocked too), half of this is background info/setting up the story the other half is finally addressing the summary lolol, jk is kind of an asshole but he has reasons!!!!!
authors note ↬ hello lovelies! here’s a small little thing for you all (laughs in 10k word count). this has been sitting in my drafts for fucking ever and i just needed to get it out there and out of my hands. im thinking about writing a part two where the actual ~*/sex/*~ is had but im still on the fence about that. please let me know what you think! i literally crave your interactions so pls dont be shy,,,,,okay love you bye :)
(ps i was so close to naming this Rewrite the Stars but since this has absolutely nothing to do with The Greatest Showman i didn’t. but i was close,,,,so fucking close)
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