[luv-beam]

𝐋𝐔𝐕 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐄 𝟐 𝐔!

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TAGS TO BLOCK: "TW: NSFW" & "MINORS DNI !!!"

i love writing essay-length notes in my reblogs when i'm reading a long fic ! even if it's not really long, i will be taking up space professing my love for the work. show your authors some love today ! —and tomorrow, and the day after, and—well, you get the idea.

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[minkieater]

⋙ hold it down, DARE.

⪼ quarterback!mingi x fem!reader | PART TWO [FINAL] 14.2k ⪼ this is the second half of my very huge and massive installment for @sungbeam ‘s live alive collab ⋆˙⟡ thank you beamie duckie for putting this together! genuinely so happy and grateful to be in a collab beside so many other talented writers, i've met so many wonderful mooties & friends through this whole process, and im so glad to be beside them in such a banger ass collab!!! be sure to check out everyone else's bangers fr ⪼ smut minors dni 18+ | p in v, fingering, dirty talk, you and mingi are both sluts, wooyoung lore, LOTS of cursing, insults, toxic til it's not. i don't want to spoil too much but they're in college so they drink and do college kid shit. if you made it this far thank you so, so much for reading, sorry i had to split it lol, this fic is genuinely my baby and everything i could ever want in my life. i hope you enjoy xoxo

When was the last time you cried? Like seriously, actually bent over and cried real tears into your palms? When was the last time it was at the hands of a man? Did you even have something to cry over?

It was too confusing, you didn’t have the energy to pick it apart while heaved sobs rip from your throat. Was this a release? Too much emotion built up inside, with nowhere to go? The tears began after picking an argument with a still-drunk Yeosang in the car, pointless, yet you still left him to fend for himself while you ran up the steps to your apartment, still fighting to keep the sobs inside. 

Alone in your living room, sitting hunched over on the couch, face in your palms, you cried. 

And cried, and cried, and cried. 

Your phone lights up, sitting face-up on the coffee table, multiple notifications from the square, pink icon that’s been draining your battery all fucking day. You can only imagine what they say, what vile fucking things are waiting for you, all from real accounts, real people who hate you because of Song Mingi. 

Maybe it’s masochism, or maybe you need to keep the release flowing, a devil on your shoulder tells you to unlock your phone and read. You make it through three before your shoulders shake all over again, your phone falling to the floor, you have half a mind to smash the screen so you can’t look even if you wanted to. Curling up onto the couch, you let yourself cry, you sink into the feeling, into the emotion; if you let your brain wander enough, you can still feel his covered palm on your skin, his lips on yours, you can still see his eyes, how he looked at you. So fond, affectionate, so fucking different from any man who has ever looked at you, ever.

There’s a knock at your door, rendering you quiet, sniffing up snot that dared to fall. 

“Hello?” You call out, sounding so unlike yourself you cringe.

Three presses of someone’s knuckles at your door again, you whimper as you push yourself up off the couch to open it. Hand on the knob, you close your eyes, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You hope you don’t look insane. 

Just as another knock sounds, you open it. Standing with his fist out, he wears a blank face, one that warps into confusion then concern as he looks you up and down. “Are you okay?”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Wooyoung?”

“I came to get my hoodie,” he shakes his head like that was beside the point. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“Have you gotten your eyes checked recently?” You sniff again, wiping at your nose with your bare wrist. It’s clear you’ve been crying, are crying, sounding nasally on top of your appearance, you can’t be bothered to care. “What do you want, for real? I know you’re not here for your fuckass hoodie.”

“I broke up with Winter,” he admits easily, too fucking easily. 

There’s no feeling in your gut, no excitement, no disappointment, there’s nothing. Your face reflects it, shoulders shrugging, free arm flying to say okay? You feed him an irritated laugh, “Congratulations?”

“I broke up with her because I miss you,” he tries again, “she isn’t you.”

His hair is messy, undone. Clothes dark, hanging off him, like he rolled out of bed to come here. You study his face, his mismatched eyes, the dot of espresso that sits on the apple of his cheek. There’s nothing unclear about the way he’s looking at you– there’s the hinge in his jaw, his dilated pupils, his slouched shoulders, deflated. Like he didn’t want to admit it, but here he is. 

“No shit,” you sniff again. “What was the plan? You come here, confess your bullshit to me, I take you back, and we live happily ever after?”

“I’m not going to give you a bullshit speech,” his gaze averts to the floor, “I know you have a boyfriend. I just wanted you to know, I needed to get it off my chest.”

You laugh again, and it’s accompanied by disbelief and shock, but what rings truest is understanding. You lean into your door, still wide open, “You don’t have to lie. She found out, didn’t she?”

He glances up, “You’re the only one who gets it.”

“I’m the only one who put up with it,” you correct him, “those days are over.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks, straightening again. “What happened?”

“Nothing you give a fuck about.”

He takes a step forward, hands reaching out, but he doesn’t touch you. “I care about everything that involves you. What happened?”

You hold his stare, your jaw locking. Familiarity, routine. Pattern. 

“If I asked you,” your voice comes out shaky, you clear your throat, “to fuck me, would you do it?”

“You have a boyfriend–”

“Would you fucking do it?”

His hand wraps around your jaw, searing your skin, lips smashing onto yours like he was fucking waiting for it. It’s blinding, dizzying how he pushes you backward, kicking the door shut behind him, lips rough and tongue taking, your mind shuts off in a second’s time. Muscle memory kicks in, Mingi’s jersey on the floor, mini skirt hiked up to your waist, panties pushed to the side, this is it. This is everything.

This is all you’ll ever get, and you’ve made peace with it.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” 

Inside, at the very edge of the tunnel, tucked off to the side to avoid lingering eyes, Mingi’s vibrating with excitement, he can’t believe Winter is here and wearing his fucking jersey. He was already excited because they won their game; even if he knew they’d win and it was no surprise to him, Mingi played such a perfect game he was high off adrenaline, off arrogance, like absolutely nothing could go wrong. 

“Of course,” her back is against the wall, her head tucked right under Mingi’s outstretched arm. She wears a cute, dainty smile, almost innocent, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He has to fight his instinct to not tell her about the life he’s imagined for them. “I broke up with Wooyoung, by the way.”

This might be the best day of his fucking life.

“I’m… sorry?” He eases a smile, one that turns into a full-fledged grin when he sees how Winter smiles back.

She giggles, “Don’t be sorry. That night at the bar, she was right.” Winter bites her lip and Mingi wishes he could bite it for her. “Will she be there?” She asks, “Your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Mingi’s brows furrow, then he remembers the bar, and then a picture of you in his passenger seat rushes through his mind. “Oh. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“I saw her in your jersey,” she tilts her head to the side, a manicured nail between her teeth, “unfair, she gets the real one, and I’m stuck wearing this.”

“Not for long,” it rushes out of his mouth before he can think about it. He chuckles, nervously, “I mean, like, things aren’t really that great between us right now.”

“Oh, really?” Her brows lift in soft surprise, “She seemed kinda… mad, when she saw me in this. I told her I’m a huge fan, but she didn’t seem to like that answer. Does she get jealous often?”

Mingi’s brows furrow, head cocking to the side. Jealous? Mad? 

“What do you mean?”

She giggles, a hand covering her mouth, “I don’t want to paint her in a bad light, or make you guys argue or something.”

“We won’t,” he pulls his arm back to his side, sounding assured, “tell me.”

“She asked me why I was wearing your jersey,” she looks down at her shoes, then back up to him, “she looked really mad, Mingi, like she was seconds away from ripping it off of me or something. I was kinda scared.”

“Huh,” he looks away, he isn’t sure where. You were already acting off when you came down to the field, he could feel it, he could see it on you. How you forced a smile on your face, faked laughter, looked like Lucifer had come to pull you back down to Hell before he kissed you. 

For some reason in his stupid fucking mind, he thought kissing you would make it better. That you’d laugh, call him an asshole, brush it off like it was nothing– selfishly, he wanted it to make it better, he wanted to be the reason why. He wanted to see your smile, the real one, not that fake shit you were putting on so no one would shoot you a second glance. 

You looked like he hurt you instead. He supposes it’s time to break up anyways, if the conversation he’s currently having is any indication, there’s no real reason for you to be together anymore if everything had already worked out. But fear lingered, in the way you looked at him, in how you jumped away from him like he burnt you, it stuck heavy in his mind, scared that you wouldn’t be friends after this. He’s afraid you’ll never speak again. He’s terrified you’re the first real friend he’s ever made.

“I’m okay, though,” she brushes a hand on his chest and he doesn’t like how it feels. “She left me alone after that, that’s why I waited until she left to come see you.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he’s speaking, not thinking. “And no, she doesn’t do that often, I don’t think she’s feeling well today.”

Should he not have kissed you? Did that make everything worse? Did he cross a line, for real?

“I hope she feels better,” Winter smiles, showing off the pearly white teeth hidden behind her glossy lips, “are you doing anything tonight?”

“Yeah, I– um,” he looks around again, moving backward so her hand falls from his chest. Are you mad at him? Should he apologize? “The team is going out to celebrate tonight, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you deserve the celebration for how well you played. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” it’s mindless, absent. 

He walks back to the locker room with furrowed brows and tunnel vision. Opening his locker, pulling out his phone, he doesn’t even take his jersey off before texting you. 

mingi: were having a party tomorrow at the house to celebrate mingi: if u wanted to come mingi: and im sorry for kissing u mingi: idk if i shoulda done that mingi: im sorry mingi: if u want we can break up tomorrow at the party mingi: a lot of people will be there

You stare at the pictures Yeosang sent you. Minutes go by, maybe an hour, you aren’t sure, but you’ve zoomed in on every inch of each picture, and the looming cloud of dread won’t dissipate for shit. You weren’t imagining how he looked at you, how he held you, it was eternalized in pixels on your screen. 

The more you stared, the more you hated it. 

“What’s that?”

You lock your phone, throwing it on the nightstand beside you. “Can you get the fuck out already?” 

He smacks his teeth, “We haven’t had a sleepover in so long, why so mean?” 

“I don’t like you,” you finally turn your head to see him. Eyes low with sleep, dark hair frizzy and sticking out in every which way, shirtless, littered with marks you’ve never been allowed to give him before. “I don’t want you here.” 

“Then why’d you let me stay?” 

“Because you did me a favor,” you run your hands over your face, rubbing at your swollen eyes, “but I have to prepare to break up with my boyfriend tonight, so unless you’re helping me come up with a plan, go.” 

“Just tell him you cheated,” he shrugs, and when you look at him he’s wearing the nastiest of smirks. “Worked for me.” 

“You didn’t even tell me, you fucking asshole,” reaching over, you smack him dead in his chest. “Get out of my apartment.” 

He laughs, slowly sitting up, giving you a pretty view of his spine, the tattoo that sits at the top, the muscles in his shoulders. You hum, head tilting as you stare, he really is pretty. You missed the sight. He turns his head halfway, “Have a smoke with me before I go.” 

You keep your eyes glued to him for a moment, his eyes peeking over his shoulder, he’s still shamelessly naked in your bed. So many things, Jung Wooyoung is, but most of all a complexity you don’t think you’ll ever fully understand. 

You sigh, soft, pleasant, almost. “Okay.” 

On the balcony, you’re in Mingi’s jersey you picked up from your living room floor, the first thing you saw when you realized you needed something on your body to go outside. He’s across from you, boxers on his hips, shirtless, comfortable. Always comfortable with you. 

He turns around to face you while your lips wrap around his cigarette, a Marlboro Red, he takes a second to watch you. His eyes don’t follow the smoke as it leaves your lips, they stay on you, analyzing, thinking. 

“What’s up with you?” He finally asks. “Don’t bullshit me.” 

Face going unchanged, you respond, “I think I like him for real.” 

He stares a second before breaking out in laughter. Hand clutching his stomach, his brows furrow, “So you slept with me because you like your boyfriend?” 

“I slept with you because you’re the opposite of him,” you reach out your arm, two fingers sliding the tobacco into his, “he freaked me out. He kissed— kisses me like he cares about me.”

“I don’t kiss you like I care about you?” 

“You kiss me like you’re saving the nice shit for her,” you huff, craning your neck, stretching your aching muscles. You really went too long without getting laid. 

Wooyoung’s brows wiggle, shoulders shrugging as he brings the cigarette up to his lips like he couldn’t argue with you even if he tried. “You don’t make sense.” 

You sigh, turning to face the balcony, the neighborhood below. So quiet, it was busier closer to campus; here, it was nothing but peace. Warm, not quite humid yet, a clarity in the air you haven’t felt in so long, you let the sunshine beat on your skin, the kelly-green polyester covering it. 

“You don’t need to understand,” you reach out your fingers, he places the cigarette between them. “Being with him is too much exposure, too many eyes on me. You should see my Instagram DMs.” 

“Bad?”

“Worse than bad.” Tilting your head, blowing smoke from your lips, you ask, “Wanna come with me tonight?” 

“To watch you break his heart?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I’m game,” he takes a step toward you, leaning over the balcony, shoulder touching yours. “Did you know Winter has a thing for him?”

“Yes,” you laugh a little, “you’re late to figuring that one out.” 

He stayed until the cigarette burnt down to the filter, shoving it in the ashtray you bought and kept on the small table in the corner, solely for him. You stayed on the balcony for what felt like forever after he showed himself out— sitting with yourself and your thoughts, flooded with Mingi, the inevitable end a part of you had begun to think might not actually come. 

FIFTH OUTING: THE BREAK UP, FOOTBALL HOUSE. 10:21 PM

Mingi has always been grateful for his height. It’s helped him tremendously, helping his mother much smaller than him, in football, with women. He remembers being a kid and being giddy about holding the caboose of his class’s line because he was the biggest. 

He thinks he’s never been more grateful than he is right now, facing Seungmin, looking over his brown head of hair clearly, effortlessly— you, in his living room, dancing like you didn’t give a fuck. Hair let loose behind you, your top clinging to your body like it was painted on, jeans hugging your swaying hips in a way that made him jealous of black denim. 

You greeted him like you weren’t here to break up with him, a soft hey rolling off your tongue, cheeks already flushed with liquor, shoulders already slouched. Mingi put his beer down on a table littered with empty bottles and hasn't once thought about picking it back up. 

You told him he looked good, apologized for his jersey smelling like cigarettes, which made him quirk a brow in confusion, but he forgave you in the same breath with a little laugh as you stumbled over your feet. 

Drunk. Cute. 

You didn’t mention the kiss, didn’t mention breaking up, you didn’t mention anything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. Mingi wasn’t going to remind you, not when you’re blissfully boneless, a smile permanently etched onto your cheeks, there wasn’t a line in your face to be seen. No worries, no stress, no anger, unaware like it was purposeful. You seemed like you needed it. 

“Hello? Mingi?” 

He blinks into focus, eyes back on Seungmin before him who wore furrowed brows and tilted jaw, staring at him expectantly. 

“Sorry,” he laughs a little, jutting his chin in the direction of you, making Seungmin turn his head. “Look at her.” 

“You’re sick,” Seungmin looks only for a second before turning back to Mingi whose eyes are glazed over, the younger man’s face rendered flat. “Obsessed.” 

Mingi giggles like he’s proud of it. No denial, no rebuttal, he thinks he might be, just a little, maybe infatuated was the better word. Especially since you’re not mad at him. The nerves he’s felt from last night leading up to when you walked through the door of the football house were full-bodied, eating at every vein below his skin, every organ felt like it wasn’t working right. 

You answered his texts, which should have eased him at least a fraction. 

princess: i kissed you back did i not princess: moron princess: ill be there  princess: and im breaking up with you btw

He couldn’t figure out a response, mostly because a huge part of him wanted to stall breaking up, but he couldn’t figure out why. Or he wouldn’t let himself, he should say, because the answer was staring at him in the fucking face: he likes you. He knows he does, Yeosang’s show confirmed it, forced it to the front of his mind, a life-altering observation— he’s so fucked. 

This is an arrangement. An even exchange, he gets Winter, you get whatever the fuck your plan with Wooyoung is. It dawns on him that he’s never even asked, there are so many things he wants to ask, so many things he wants to say, he doesn’t have enough time to say them. You made it clear yesterday that you wanted to break up. 

“Go get her,” Seungmin huffs, “I know you want to.” 

“I don’t dance,” Mingi looks at Seungmin like he’s crazy.

“Why else did you ask Woozi to DJ then?” 

“Fair.” 

Seungmin turns on his heel, toward the kitchen, maybe. Mingi takes one step before he stops in his tracks, eyes blowing wide, body running ice-cold. 

Like a shadow, he was at your back, hands on your hips, smiling like he was supposed to be there. Like you were allowing it. You clearly were, head tilted backward, smile wide as a laugh he couldn’t hear rolled off your lips. God, Mingi can’t even say his name— he’s a roach, a fucking rat that’s lingering around Mingi, waiting for the opportunity to give him diseases or something. 

He finds his feet moving, not aware of himself body slamming people who were minding their own damn business, certainly not aware of the anger that hung in the hinge of his jaw, in his clenched fists. He pulls you by the wrist, your name on his tongue, you barely notice. Hazy eyes finally landing on him, your smile widens, sparkles in your eyes shining brighter, your fingers tighten in the fabric hanging off his shoulders. “Mingi!” 

He eyes Wooyoung over your head, face flat, unimpressed, pissed off. Wooyoung’s smirk is cynical, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, what’s happening. Mingi feels left out and he doesn’t fucking like it. 

“Where have you been?” You’re whining, head tilted to the side, lips pouty even if your body sinks into him more than it ever has before. You’re drunk. 

Mingi eyes dance over to Riyo and Jia, two of your friends, he thinks those are their names. One red-haired and wide-eyed, body rigid with fear as she meets Mingi’s gaze, the other dark-haired and panicked like she was already searching for a distraction, a way to get you out of this situation. 

Wooyoung speaks up before Mingi can get a word out, “Did you two break up yet?” 

Yet. His jaw clenches. Riyo and Jia turn confused. 

“We’re not breaking up,” Mingi responds, “fuck are you talking about?” 

“I need another drink,” you turn around, back leaning into his chest, laying your whole weight on him as your arms reach down to his thighs, palms splayed flat over denim for purchase. “Can we go find cutie Kai? He’ll get me one.” 

He can’t even focus on your hands on him, how mindless you are, he’s so fucking irritated. He ignores you, asking Wooyoung again, “The fuck are you talking about?” 

Wooyoung’s brows raise, smirk growing like he was about to drop a bomb. “Interesting, that’s what she told me this morning,” he takes a step closer to you, “right, baby?” 

“Huh?” You ask, body swaying, Mingi uses two hands on your waist to keep you steady. 

“You’re breaking up with Mingi,” Wooyoung repeats, “that’s why we had sex last night. Right?” 

Sorry if your jersey smells like cigarettes. 

He pushes you forward like you fucking burned him, just enough for you to fall into Wooyoung’s chest instead. Jia and Riyo are side-by-side, watching everything unfold like it was a train wreck they couldn’t look away from. 

“Wait,” hands braced on Wooyoung’s chest, you turn around, eyes wide and lips trembling. “Hold on a second.” 

Wooyoung pulls you into him, arms slithering around your torso like he knows every inch of your body. It makes Mingi sick, or it would if he could feel anything, his body’s numb like it didn’t belong to him anymore. 

“You fucked him?” His voice is pitched like he didn’t believe it. “He cheated on you,” Mingi feels like the three of you are alone, like this isn’t a party full of one hundred something people. “Twice.” 

“I know—”

“Then what, you don’t give a fuck?” His voice is raised, he doesn’t care. “What the fuck was the point then, huh? What the fuck was the point if you were just gonna go back to him?” 

Wooyoung cocks his head, “The point of what?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mingi blurts, “I’m not talking to you.” 

“Mingi,” your jaw drops, “I don’t—”

“You couldn’t wait?” Mingi asks, “Couldn’t at least have the decency to break up with me first before running right back to him?”

“I’m sorry!” 

The apology off your lips makes him stand straighter. It’s pleading, like you’re just asking him to be quiet, to stop, but it seems to screw his head back on his body, his consciousness forcing itself back into his six-foot build with vengeance. 

You call after him as he turns around, walking away as quick as he can, fingers tapping at his sides just to remind himself he has them. This can’t be real, he’s gotta be dreaming, there’s no way in hell that just happened to him. 

Is he just gonna leave you with Wooyoung? Drunk as you are? Is that why you’re so fucking hammered in the first place? You seemed so comfortable in his hold, Mingi wonders if that was you or the alcohol, he could see it in your eyes, the fear of being caught. The confusion, like you didn't understand why Mingi was so angry. 

You probably didn’t. You probably thought he wouldn’t find out, because why would he? You were supposed to break up tonight, be done with each other. A chapter closed. Mingi feels like turning on his heel and pulling you away from him, just to ask you every fucking question he’ll never have the chance to. 

He feels like apologizing. 

He feels like confessing. 

But he’s so fucking pissed he bullies into the kitchen instead, eyes on alert, searching for something he can’t place, anything that will rid him of this dirty fucking feeling. 

It’s full circle, he thinks, as his eyes land on Winter. Sitting on the counter, two guys in front of her, clearly chatting her up. 

Nah. 

Forcing a smile when he gets close enough, his voice carries a warning to the two unnamed, no-faced men. “Hey, beautiful.” They scatter. 

“Should you be calling me that?” She teases, hands gripping the edge of the counter, leaned forward, feet kicking where they hung. Hair pulled up, tiny top, little shorts, she looked bare-faced, natural. Pretty. Good enough. 

“I can’t be honest?” A cocky smirk, a character he hates playing. Approaching her pinned knees, they open, letting him step between them, he takes the silent offer. 

“You can be honest,” she nods, batting her lashes. “But I would rather you be mine.”

He has to force the twinge of disgust out of the back of his throat, tasting like coke-drip and disappointment. He didn't feel this way talking to her last night, Mingi blinks at her before a slow chuckle rolls off his lips. “Smooth.”

“Vodka makes me bold,” she shrugs, winking. “Problem?”

This could work. He could make this work. He has to make this work, actually. “I’m supposed to be the bold one,” he hums, palms landing on her bare knees, so soft beneath his burning skin. Her eyes drop to where their skin meets, but she makes no move to stop him. 

“I didn’t think you were available enough to be,” her eyes flicker upward, “do you have good news for me?” 

He nods, “You won’t believe it, actually.” 

Her brows furrow, smile faltering a little. “What?” 

“Don’t worry about it, nevermind,” Mingi shakes his head, “we don’t have to talk about her, we can talk about us now, finally.” 

They talked. And talked, and talked and fucking talked, Mingi heard every other word, something about her classes and school-air fucking up her makeup. Something about Wooyoung, he thinks, he tuned out after he heard that godforsaken name. Mingi didn’t really care, he wanted to kiss her, to fuck her, he hoped you’d find out and feel as shitty as he did right now. 

The tips of Winter’s sandals toyed with his pants, his hands planted on the counter, on either side of her thighs. He was so close to scoring he could taste it, this was the right outcome, the whole purpose. This is what he should have been focused on the entire time. 

“Bro,” Jaemin snaps him into focus, a pest at his side, a hand on his shoulder. “Your girlfriend’s on a table.” 

“Not my girlfriend,” Mingi shoves his hand off, but then the words sink in. He cranes his neck, “A table?” 

“She’s dancing on a fucking table,” Jaemin confirms, laughing like it’s funny. Like you aren’t piss-drunk and surrounded by people who don’t care about you. 

Mingi doesn’t even look at Winter again before he’s moving. Rushing past bodies, physically moving them out of his way as he follows the sound of cheering into the dining room, he can see you over everyone’s heads. No, this is full-circle, he thinks for just a moment at the entryway, here you are, in his dining room where the plotting truly began, where Mingi first lost his mind over the girl he could give two fucks about right now. 

Dancing, swaying your hips to whatever song is playing, something pop with heavy bass from the early two-thousands, it’s deaf on his ears. Arms above your head, smile absent, eyes absent, you aren’t even in your fucking body and everyone surrounding you is cheering you on. Mingi’s sick and he can feel every tapered edge of it. 

Bodies are glued together, phones out, he smacks two out of the air as he forces his way past. He spots Jongho and Yeosang, the only two trying to get you down, arms reaching out in caution, faces stressed beyond what they should be at a party. 

Mingi meets the edge of the table and he catches Wooyoung out of the corner of his eye, standing up against the wall, watching, smirking. Like he was loving every second of this. Like you wouldn’t want to rip your fucking hair out when you wake up tomorrow. Somehow it pisses him off worse that he’s watching you like this was reality TV, as if you’re not a real person, someone he slept with last night. He shivers. Rage runs deep.

“Mingi!” Jongho yells across the table, “Thank god you’re here, please get her down.” 

Bare feet— where the fuck did your shoes go? Hair stuck to you, shirt splotched with wetness, probably liquor, maybe worse. There’s bottles on the table, grinders open and full of weed, puddles of water, beer, solo cups from a game of pong. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, panic, like he was responsible for you, for this. 

“Get down,” his voice stands out amongst the music, the cheers. Louder, heavy with direction, order. Like he’s on the field. 

Your head spins in every direction like you weren’t sure where the sound came from. Even now, irritated and shocked beyond belief, he softens at the sight of you. “Please, baby, get down,” his voice is layered with worry as you finally meet his gaze, eyes glossed over, smile lazy and gone. Holy shit. 

“You’re mad at me,” you drop down to your knees, pouting, fuck this table big enough to seat half the goddamn team, stopping him from pulling you away from each and every pair of eyes. 

“No I’m not,” he shakes his head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not mad at you, I just want you to come to me.” 

On all fours, you start crawling across the fucking table, a lazy grin taking over like you didn’t have any eyes on you, so unaware that Mingi’s anxious. Head tilting, a split of consciousness entering your vision, you ask, “You want me?”

He swallows, nodding, a palm reaching out for you, “Yeah, I do.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a shadow of black leaving the room. He doesn’t look, keeping his eyes on you, each agonizing second of your arms and knees pushing you forward, not a semblance of haste to your movements. 

You reach out your arm when he’s close enough to grab your hand and he pulls you the rest of the way, hearing the slick sound of black denim sliding against shiny oak, he isn’t fucking thinking as he bends at his knees and throws you over his shoulder. You yelp, body deadweight over his back before your legs bend up in front of him, bare feet covered in a layer of grime, wet and sprinkled with god knows what. He sighs. 

“Put me down!” You yell, your tiny hands flat against his back, pushing yourself up. 

He turns, one arm holding your legs down, hauling you out of that room faster than he’s ever sprinted down a field. He spots Kai across the living room, a head of blonde hair standing tall over the crowd, the only face easy to spot at his full height. 

“Huening!” He shouts. Kai’s brows furrow when he sees him, bending into bewilderment when he sees you over his shoulder. “Get me my keys.”

“You drink?”

“Get me my keys, Kai.”

He feels you smacking his back, yelling something unintelligible as he hauls you through the living room, through the front door, the air outside no fucking relief to the sweat forming at the base of his spine. Down the lawn, to his car that’s parked at the edge of the street, he puts you down on the hood with a muddled grunt from the back of his throat. 

You lay back as soon as your ass meets steel. Eyes closed, head turned to the side, your arms straight out on either side of you, you heave a breath and mumble, “I’m s’fucking drunk.”

Mingi didn’t realize he was out of breath until he leaned into the side of the car, elbows resting on the roof plate. He laughs, a small one, full of disbelief and utter shock. “No shit.”

“You called me baby again,” your eyes peek open to point at him with a weak, bent arm, “you were nervous.”

Mingi feels seen. He squints, “You were gonna fall off the table, I had to get you down, of course I was nervous.”

“You like me,” you sing, arm falling back down to the steel with a smack, dopey grin on your cheeks. “You like me for realsies.”

Mingi snorts, pulling his arms off the roof of his car to step to the side, palms landing on the hood to lean forward. Your hand sways through thick air before your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist, “I like you too, even though you’re kind of rude.”

He wills his heartbeat calm. “You think I’m rude?”

“You’re so rude,” the words slur together, his lips tighten at the sound. You open your eyes again, “Wanna fuck on the car?” 

Mingi cracks a laugh, a belly laugh he couldn’t hold back, “What the fuck?”

You laugh with him, loud and obnoxious, the arch of your back lifting off the car, head turning to the opposite side before it snaps back to look at him. “Just a question,” you sing again, “jus’wonderin’.”

“Can I ask you a question?” He waits for your slurred mhm. “Did you really fuck Wooyoung?”

You suddenly frown, “Yeah, he caught me at a real vulnerable time. Do y’know what vulnerable means?”

He shakes his head, “Yes.”

“Means exposed. He caught me crying ‘cus you kissed me and you were nice and your Instagram army was calling me crazy shit.” Your eyes open all the way, “They’re wild on there, did you know that?”

“People are messaging you about me?”

You choke on a laugh, “So many people.” 

“Let me see–”

You scoff, “Fuck no.”

“Song!” 

He hears Kai shout from the tip of the lawn, Mingi turns and Kai throws his keys across the green, landing perfectly in Mingi’s palm like he aimed for it. “Thanks,” he yells back up, and Kai nods once before turning back inside. 

“Can you get up on your own or am I putting you in the car?” He receives nothing but a groan in response, a turn of your head in the opposite direction. He sighs. “Come on, you can’t even sit up?”

You turn your head back to him, “Why’d you kiss me?” 

“Because I wanted to,” he says it like it’s obvious. 

“They’re gonna kill me for it,” you grumble, “they’re gonna kill me and it will be your fault.”

“No one’s killing you–”

“Did you like it?” You’re blinking at him, knees opening and closing like you needed to move to remind yourself you’re conscious, "Kissing me?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’re so–”

“Tell me now.”

Mingi sighs, taking his eyes off you to look at the trees across from the football house. Tall, shadows filling space between them, calm. The music inside is muffled, bass still vibrating the ground beneath his feet. The confession sits heavy on his tongue. Fuck it. 

“Yeah I did,” he says it in one breath before he looks down at you again. Your brows are upturned, a pout on your lips, watching him until you hear what he says, then you smile. 

“Yay,” the word is light, cute. Then you look as if reality snapped back into you, “Damn, I probably shouldn’t have fucked him, huh?”

Mingi snorts as he walks around the front of his car, grabbing you by your wrists one after another, pulling you upward. “No,” he says, shaking his head, but his smile stays, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, then bring your hand up to your forehead, groaning. “Fuck, ‘m dizzy.”

“I’m taking you home.” He scoops you off his hood, an arm curled under your knees and another holding your back until he’s got you next to the passenger door, letting your feet touch the grass beside the curb. Opening the door, one hand still on your waist, he says, “Get in.”

Your body is a mess of tucked angles as you quite literally fall into his passenger seat, Mingi has to fasten your seatbelt for you when he finally gets in the driver’s seat. You smell like liquor, cigarettes, sweat– he rolls the windows down and you stick your head out like a dog. 

Twenty minutes to your apartment, no music, just Mingi and his thoughts. He thinks about her, his first girlfriend after he started becoming known, how the long-term relationship ended so soon after going public. Comments, DMs on every platform, it didn’t matter what revisions she made to her social media, the words still made it to her eyes, her ears. Nasty, disgusting, vile words and not one of them was true, Mingi hasn’t spoken to her since they broke up. She hates him, down to his core because of something he had no control over. It’s what put his wall up in the first place, made of brick, of steel, a wall so thick it didn’t let any emotion in, only desire. 

He can’t imagine what’s sitting in your phone. Terror lives in his grip on the steering wheel, white-knuckled, bottom lip tight between his teeth, brows furrowed in thought, in remorse. He didn’t think you’d be affected by his status since your relationship was fake, an oversight, one he regrets already. 

“You awake?” He parks just outside of your apartment, but your head doesn’t move off the window frame. 

“No.”

He reaches over, unbuckling your seatbelt, “Come on, drunkie.”

You moan something belligerent, picking your head up slowly, the seatbelt going over your head, stuck around your arm. Mingi can’t help but laugh as he rolls the window up, turning off the car, he expects to have to haul your ass inside. You let him, deadweight in his hold, your bare feet crossing over one another with each step, all the way up to the second floor. Thank god your building has an elevator.

“Key?” He asks. You point to the mat on the floor, eyes half open. He flattens his lips. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to change that.” 

You stand on your own long enough for him to get the door open, and he’s on alert this time, taking in his surroundings. The last time he was here he didn’t walk past the threshold, but now that he’s in, he can smell you everywhere. A large mirror next to the TV surrounded by plants, a tall lamp in the corner, a cozy couch set cream-colored. A coffee table filled with books, an unlit candle and his jersey thrown over it, your apartment screamed comfort, peaceful. 

His eyes squint at the Lego sets under your TV. An open shelved media console, a polaroid camera, a record player with flowers, a starry night painting, all Legos, it’s all he could pick out until you start moaning and groaning again.

“Uh-uh,” he grabs you by the wrist when you start making for the couch, “your ass is taking a shower. Where is it?”

You gasp, staring down at your feet, wrist limp in his palm. Your toes wiggle as you ask, “Where are my shoes?” You look back up at him wide-eyed, “I had shoes on, didn’t I?”

“I’ll find them at the house tomorrow,” he pulls you closer by the wrist, “come on, drunkie. Shower time.”

“I don’t like that nickname,” your top lip lifts, “you have better ones. Why are you here?”

“To get you into bed,” he starts leading you toward the entryway to his right, a small walkway he can only pray holds a bathroom at the end. “You smell like a brewery.”

You smile, following behind him like this was his apartment and not yours. There’s movie posters, framed paintings, decor on your walls he stores for later as more questions come to mind. He notes how clean and sophisticated you decorated, minus the closet door left open with clothes strewn about like you tore it apart before going out tonight. The bathroom tucked in the back corner is worse, makeup scattered across the vanity, pairs of shorts and underwear littered the white tile, you didn’t seem to mind as you walked in right behind him.

“Do I have to?” You sit on the closed toilet, back bending over the tank, head hitting the wall with a thump. 

He opens the shower curtain, turning it on, heating it up instead of answering. You giggle, more of a single sound of amusement, legs spread out in front of you, body molded to the shape of the toilet.

“Fine,” your grumble is somehow still amused, and Mingi swears it takes five whole minutes for you to stand up, toying with your skinny studded belt as your feet stumble over tile, fingers missing the prongs like you couldn’t get a grip.

He sighs again, sitting down on the toilet instead, “C’mere.”

Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, standing between his legs, body still swaying. He steadies you with two hands on your thighs and you lean into him, his touch, voice filled with pleased confusion, “You’re being nice to me.”

“I want to be nice to you,” he glances up at you, face flushed, eyes low, hair a mess. So vulnerable, a new word in his dictionary, to see you like this, for you to act this way in front of him. He wonders how much of it has to do with the messages in your phone. 

“Nice is scary,” you whisper as he starts undoing your belt, pushing the prongs out of leather, your grip stays tight on his shoulders. “You scared me when you kissed me.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he pulls leather through the loops of denim, throwing it on the floor. “Button?”

You nod, body swaying again, he holds you upright with his fingers tucked in the hem of your jeans. “No one has ever kissed me like that before,” you’re still whispering like you’re telling him a secret. He looks up after getting your zipper down, seeing your glassy eyes, your dilated pupils. Pretty. 

“I think that’s how you should be kissed,” the answer comes quickly, easily. Honest. 

Your hands find the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, throwing it to the floor beside you. He fights to keep his eyes on yours. Your forearms sit on his shoulders this time, finding them like magnets as you flip your hair over your shoulder, out of your face. He swallows, breath catching in his throat, “You should get in the shower, don’t waste water.”

“You didn’t like me when you met me.” It’s not a question, but an observation. A memory. 

He counters, “You didn’t like me either.”

“You were an asshole.”

“You’re sober enough to get in the shower–”

“What changed?” You ask, words sounding fragile, like you were scared of the answer.

“Everything,” he smiles halfway, leaning back an inch. The room feels hotter, steam taking up space, the sound of the shower hitting the tub a small hum, his ears ring with the quiet. “Most of all, me, I think.”

You’re looking at him differently, like you’re trying to figure something out. You reach up to his hair, pushing it out of his face, your touch featherlight, so delicate a shiver shoots through him like a firework. Your fingers glide over his temple, his cheek, you press your palm flat against his cheekbone, he leans some of his weight onto it, he lets you toy with him like he’s yours to do as you please. There’s a part of him that thinks he is, even if it’s fucked up, even if the two of you are still somewhere in purgatory.

“Pretty,” you mumble, a mindless word. “I can understand why they hate me.”

His bottom lip curls, “I’m so sorry–”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not your fault.”

His lungs twist hard enough to steal his breath. His hands find your hips, pulling you forward until his forehead meets the heat of your abdomen; so soft under him, fragile in his hold, you have no idea how long he’s waited to hear those words, no idea the weight they hold. No idea the guilt that lives glued to his spine. 

Your hands find his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp, holding him against you like it’s where you wanted him, where he’s supposed to be. He thinks it’s where he’s supposed to be, too. He picks his head up only to place a kiss against your skin, a soft press of his lips over your stomach, it holds everything he can’t say to you right now. He hopes you can feel it. 

Your knees buckle a little, fingers stalling in his hair, he hears the breath you suck in, feels how you bend into him. “I’m drunk, don’t make me horny, I’ll jump you.”

He snorts, your words pulling a laugh straight from his gut, he leans back to look up at you, your fingers still in his hair. You’re smiling, lazy and stupid, but then you break away from him, thumbs tucked into your jeans like you’re about to shove them down. 

“Hold on, damn.” He stands on weak knees, quickly skipping out of the bathroom, he peeks his head back in just before closing the door. “Be careful. Shout if you need anything.”

“You’ll stay?” Your face is round with supplication. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hey.”

Your nose twitches. 

“Wake up, it’s after twelve.”

Your top lip curls. 

“Wake up, I’m getting bored.”

You peek an eye open as your whole face tightens up, hands finding your cheeks, rubbing your eyes awake. Your stomach hurts, your knees feel sore, you grumble out a curse as your body stretches itself into consciousness.

“She’s alive.”

You pause, peeking over your fingertips to Mingi sitting on the edge of your bed. Dark hair messy on his head, shirtless, a pair of your shorts painted onto his thighs. You’re too confused to laugh at the sight. 

“What the fuck?” You ask, voice laced with sleep, face scrunched up beyond recognition. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Come on,” he frowns, “you didn’t even throw up, there’s no way you blacked out. Think, smart girl.”

You blink at him, letting the memories come back one after another. Wooyoung, shots, shots, shots, table, car, bathroom, bed. Mingi’s head on your stomach. Mingi’s lips on your skin. 

“Oh, shit.” You sit up on your elbows, eyes on your bedspread, still blinking crust out of your vision, “Oh, shit.”

Mingi huffs a noise of amusement through his nose, “Still confused?”

You shake your head, heart picking up speed in your chest. Your head feels heavy, stomach nauseous, limbs tingly with leftover alcohol in your blood. You look up at him, “Why are you still here?”

“You asked me to stay,” he shrugs, like that was the most normal thing in the world. Like he’s stayed over a thousand times before. 

“So you stayed?” Your brows stay knitted together, confused, confused confused confused. 

“So I stayed,” he nods, “how do you feel?”

“Like dog shit.”

“Sounds about right,” he’s smiling but he’s trying to hide it. It makes your lips twitch upward. “You remember dancing on my dining room table?”

Your eyes close, lips flat, brows raised. “Yup,” you nod, “unfortunately, I do.”

“Remember asking to fuck on my car?”

Your eyes shoot open, tone full of disbelief, “No.”

“You’re funny,” he chuckles, laying flat on his back at the edge of your bed. “You’re always funny, but you’re an especially funny drunk. It was cute when I wasn’t terrified you were gonna die.”

“The scaries are gonna haunt me for weeks,” you push yourself up, forehead meeting your palms. “Fuck.”

“I was hoping we could talk,” he sounds coy all of the sudden, nervous. Shy. 

You nod, “Let me shower again, eat something, drink a bottle of water. I feel like a fucking zombie.”

After cursing yourself out under your breath upon entering your messy bathroom, half your shower was spent with your forehead pressed to the wall, somehow cooling down your body temperature while steaming water soaked away all your shame. You ran through the events last night over and over, a little fuzzy at the edges, but each and every damning moment was crystal clear. You dried yourself off, completed your routine all with the same thought in mind: What the hell does he want to talk about?

It’s not like he likes you for real. You’d never work– your past is too messy, your current state is too messy, actually. He needs someone with a clean record, a nice, pretty girl who dresses in dainty clothes, someone who says please and thank you– that’s his goddamn destiny, a girl like Winter. Reserved, bashful, composed, you wonder if she’s ever said a curse word out loud, she’s nothing like you. She’s someone the internet would love, his coaches would love, his family would probably love, not that you know anything about his family.

You’re getting ahead of yourself— you’re spiraling. The only outcome of this conversation is that tension ran high, he was kind enough to take care of you when you were drunk, you’d go back to normalcy in an hour. Maybe Wooyoung’s free later tonight, he’d make a snide comment about you dancing on the table, you’d laugh like it was intentional. Like there weren’t videos of you on people’s phones that’d haunt you at two in the morning for weeks to come. 

“What’s all this?” You asked upon walking into the living room, Mingi stood beside your small kitchen table, rummaging through one of two plastic bags. 

“I ordered food,” he says, pulling out containers from the bag. Setting them down on the table neatly, one on top of another, neat. 

Your brows furrow, walking into the kitchen hesitantly, “Food?”

“I can’t cook,” he looks up at you with a half-smile, “no idea how. But you need to eat, I also got juice for you, and I found ibuprofen in your cabinet–”

“Mingi,” you shake your head, trying to gather your bearings, “what are you doing?”

He holds up a hand, flat palm facing you, features straight and unimpressed. “Don’t start with me, sit down and eat. We’ll talk after there’s food in your stomach.”

You must still be drunk. Limbs feeling heavy, you trudge into the wooden seat, the one with the broken bar that supports the legs. Breakfast food, so much breakfast food, your stomach hurts at the sight of oil and grease, but you need it, you need the juice, too– you sucked that down in record time. 

Silence, other than the sound of chewing and plastic ruffling, it was comfortable. Maybe a little awkward, unless that was your nerves talking which was absolutely plausible, you still sat in fucking confusion. Feeding you, catering to you, taking care of you like he did last night– and he still only had on your shorts. Your powder blue waffle shorts that fit you loose but clung to his muscled, golden, tan-lined thighs like they’d rip at the seams if he moved the wrong way. 

You hate that it’s nice having him here. You hate that you’re letting it happen. 

Pills swallowed, enough food in your stomach to take an hour to digest, the awkwardness grew after cleaning up the table. Both aimlessly pacing the kitchen, pretending to still have something to do, avoiding the conversation that needs to happen. Might as well get it over with. 

“Mingi–”

“Can I start?”

You sigh, pointing a finger in the direction of the living room. “Couch.”

Your stomach feels uneasy like you’d throw up every bite as you sit across from him, both taking edges of the couch like you’re scared to get close. You sit on a leg like it’d give you an easy escape if you needed it, despite it being your apartment. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, voice small. Your brows furrow, ready to ask what the hell he’s sorry for, but his lips part instead. “I’m so sorry you were sent messages about me, this has happened before, my ex-girlfriend broke up with me because of them, because people didn’t leave her alone about me.”

“Mingi, it’s not your fault–”

He looks up at you and his glassy eyes kill the words on your tongue. His voice is small, layered with struggle, “We were together for a year. When I posted her, us, she broke up with me within two weeks. We never spoke again.”

Your jaw drops, “Two weeks?”

He nods, “I don’t even think we made it to the fourteenth day, I can’t believe I didn’t think that would happen to you. I guess I thought because our relationship was fake it wouldn’t, but no one knows it was fake, I just didn’t think, again. I let it happen again. I’m sorry.” 

Ah, and now everything makes sense. “You didn’t need to do all of this because you feel bad. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself, I also know when things are out of your hands, and the messages are one-hundred-percent out of your hands.”

His brows furrow after a second, “I didn’t take care of you because of the messages, or because I feel bad. I took care of you because I care about you, I like you.”

“No,” you shake your head, “no you don’t. You might think you do, but you don’t.”

“Huh?” His eyes thin, top lip lifting, “Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“I just know, I’ve seen your type, and it’s not me. Which is fine, I don’t–”

“You told me you liked me last night,” he argues.

Your lips flatten. “I was drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“What are you? Sixteen years old?” Your face twists, “I’m being realistic and logical, you’re acting on emotion.”

“Well I haven’t felt this much emotion since she broke up with me!” His hands fly up on either side of him, voice strained. “And I’ve missed it, I missed feeling this way. I want to keep feeling this way, about you.”

Your blinks are stuttered, slow. Your lips purse, he might have shocked you into silence. He runs a hand through his hair, face torn up into exasperation, he sighs, one deep and grounding. Looking at you again, he asks, “Do you really not want me? There’s not one bone in your body that wishes everything we’ve done the last few weeks was real?”

Your chest is tight. Your lips won’t move, your mind is blank.

“You don’t think you deserve it,” his voice switches to something calm, understanding. “Someone to like you, or care about you, I know. You’re used to guys like him, guys who use your feelings as ammunition. I won’t do that to you.”

You feel like stone. Stuck, still, eyes wide, unblinking. Fear simmers.

He shifts himself closer, eyes pleading. “I was sick when I found out you slept with Wooyoung, I’ve never acted like that before in my life, so jealous and angry, like he was taking you from me. I felt like you were mine, and he was trying to steal you–”

“I asked him to,” you finally speak, rushed and panicked. There’s nothing else left to argue with other than this. “I basically begged him.”

“You were upset,” Mingi shakes his head, “you told me. You said you were upset because of the messages and because I kissed you, you didn’t want to–”

“I needed to,” you try to swallow, throat squeezed tight, “I needed him to. He isn’t kind, he isn’t genuine, he doesn’t hold me like I’m breakable, he wouldn’t do all the shit you did for me last night. He isn’t you, and I needed the reminder. That’s what I deserve, not you.”

“Do you even know what you’ve done for me in the weeks we’ve known each other?” Mingi’s voice is pitched now, layered with raw emotion. “You’ve reminded me what freedom is like. That I can do whatever I want, I’m not a machine, or a puppet for someone else to use. You gave me back myself, is it so ridiculous that I don’t want to let you fucking go?”

“I’m scared,” you blurt it out, two words pulled from so deep in your psyche you can’t believe you said them out loud. “I’m scared to let myself feel anything towards you.”

“You already feel something towards me,” he argues, “a lot of something. You wouldn’t have slept with him if you didn’t.”

Stunned into silence again, your lips purse. He continues, “I’m not stupid. My vocabulary might not be as big as yours but I’m not stupid, I know you have feelings for me. You can’t hide that no matter how much you want to, how much you try to get it fucked out of you.” He shifts closer. “I’ll show you. Let me kiss you again.”

“Fuck no,” your brows furrow. 

He deadpans, “Let me fuckin’ kiss you.”

“Did you even brush your teeth?”

“Shut up,” he stands up on his knees, too big in front of you, chiseled body on display, your heart drops to your stomach. “Stop deflecting. I see through you now.”

“Mingi–”

His hands find the armrest behind you as you uncurl your leg from beneath you, trying to accumulate space, space you’re quickly losing as he leans closer. “You don’t have to be scared with me.”

Your breath is shallow and shaky, heart in your throat, eyes halfway out of your head. He keeps his face close, forehead a millimeter from yours, you feel his heat first. He’s so big, he swallows your figure, he’s too big for the fucking couch, it’s dizzying. 

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

He smiles before pressing his lips to yours, soft, so fucking delicate it takes you a moment to ease into it, to process that it’s even a kiss. Softer than it was on the field– his lips barely graze yours at first, as if he was testing the waters, like he wanted to feel your breath on his skin, wanted to feel your body say yes before your mouth said the word. Your lips part for him, soft and steady, molding to his, letting him guide, lead. 

He asks for entrance with his tongue, swiping along your bottom lip with a certain courtesy like even though you were following him, letting him show you, you still held the reins. Your insides feel molten, fingers grabbing onto your shirt like you didn’t know where else to put them, mind in a constant battle to pick every detail apart or shut off completely. It’s different– it might be everything, laying here and kissing him softly, lazily, like nothing else exists except for him, his weight, his mouth. He tastes like something new, something blue, a memory you’d come back to for a long, long time. 

He parts from you, lips swollen and red like he’d bitten them, he stares. Chocolate eyes big and round, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed a pretty rose, he looks at you like he’s just discovered you. Like even though he kissed you to prove something to you, it’s proven something deeper to himself. 

He doesn’t smile, still calculating, but in a quiet voice he asks, “Do you feel it too?”

Your fists are still tight in your shirt, you search his eyes, the way they fall to your lips, you don’t answer— you kiss him again, harder this time, faster, tongue passing through his lips like his mouth belonged to you, like you were running out of time. You shift down on the couch, pillow falling to the floor, his elbows bracket your head as your calves hook over his thighs, moving in unison like your bodies were acting without either of you thinking about it. 

Your hands find his hair when you wrap your arms around his neck, lifting yourself into him, pressing yourself against him, feeling the strength of him, it makes a tight noise leave your lips, one needy and begging. He rolls his hips into you on instinct and you moan into his mouth like you need him to do it harder.

“Fuck,” he curses into your mouth, lifting himself up on his palms, “wait— wait.” 

“What?” You follow on your elbows, bug-eyed, “Why? What happened?” 

He swallows, panting, running a hand through his hair as he sits back on his calves, your legs still thrown lazily over his thighs. The print of his length sits heavy and prominent with his legs spread in your cotton shorts, your eyes flicker back and forth to his face, mouth watering, patience already scarily thin. 

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he shakes his head, chest splotchy, tummy expanding with each aborted breath he takes. “I want this, I want you, I want to do it right.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest, it’s at war with your dampening panties, your thighs that twitch as the words leave his mouth. His eyes drop to your figure, the big tee you wore hiked up to your stomach, tiny shorts clinging to your dampened core, he squeezes his eyes shut like it’d erase the sight from his memory. 

“You want to stop because you want to take me out on a date?” You ask, brows raised. “We’ve been on, like, two already. Maybe three or four if you squint.” 

He opens his eyes to narrow them, “You’re such a smartass.”

You smile at that, head tilting, cocky, “Clearly you like it, since you wanna date my smart-ass.”

His hands fall to your hips, tugging them towards him until your back is flat against the couch again, “I wanna do more than that.” 

“Then do it,” you huff, hips bucking into him, arms lifting to reach for him, “you’re the one who stopped.” 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He asks, leaning forward enough to let you wrap your arms around his shoulders, he uses his hands at your waist to lift you up onto his lap. 

You gasp at the movement, at the fucking ease in which he maneuvers you, your knees land beside his hips before you answer. “If you want me to shut the fuck up then give me a reason to.”

“I lied, don’t want you quiet,” he’s looking up at you from this angle and the sight of him steals your breath, makes everything feel a little more real. He’s so beautiful and he wants you and fuck you want him, too. 

“Make up your mind,” you press yourself to his chest, keeping your faces close. “Y’know, you talked big game that night at the LAX house, been wondering if you could back it up.”

His hands tuck beneath your tee, fingers warm against your skin as they drag up your sides, palms landing heavy on your waist, it makes you shiver. He smirks, “Now you’re baiting me into fucking you?”

“Maybe,” your faces are so close your lips graze, “is it working?”

He kisses you again, more feverish than the last, hands squeezing your waist before they drop down to your hips, grinding you against him. You keep your arms folded around his neck, tongue slotting between his lips messily, teeth clashing together as you grind your core against his clothed length, roughly, purposely, letting him feel the arousal that’s bottled up inside. You part to empty strangled noises into each other’s mouths, eyes screwed tight, your hips move steadily in a rhythm guided by his hands. So hard, long and thick beneath you, you could feel him through your shorts, his shorts, there was no stopping. There was no pausing. 

His hands find the hem of your tee, you help him pull it over your head, his lips find your neck, your chest, your head tilts back to give him access, for small, pitched breaths to leave your lips, a song for him to hear. He groans when your hips slow into a nasty grind, his tongue pokes out to drag down your chest, over your heart where he places an open-mouthed kiss. He looks up at you to say, “This is mine now.”

Your heartbeat picks up, he smiles like he can feel it. Brows knitted together, face bent with intoxicated arousal, you respond, “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“We’re technically still dating,” his teeth catch onto the hem of the lace bralette you wore, tugging on it before placing a kiss right above, at the center of the valley between your breasts, “and we’re not breaking up.”

“Are you trying to gaslight me?” You ask, hips still moving against him, fingers knotting in his hair when your clothed clit rolls over the ledge of his tip, “ah– I think we had a very public breakup last night.”

One of his hands slithers over the curve of your hip, down between your thighs, two fingers adding pressure where you needed it. You choke on a moan, back arching, hips digging into the pressure as he grins wide, “I forgave you already. This is make-up sex.”

“More,” your fingers tighten in his hair, eyes squeezing shut, “Mingi.”

“Oh, I like that,” he circles his fingers twice over your clit, smirking, “beg a lil’ more, put that mouth to good use.”

Your eyes open wanting to scowl but your brows are knitted too deeply in pleasure, lips parted and glossy with his spit, you can’t force yourself to as his fingers circle over your clit again. “P-please,” you stutter over the word, hips rolling into his touch, “wanna feel you.”

His face contorts in pleasure like you were the one touching him, he catches your lips again, tongue slotting into your mouth as his fingers dive beneath your shorts. He groans into your mouth as he slips between your folds, feeling the wetness that seeped through your damp shorts, “So wet for me, princess.”

Your hips buck into his hand, body twitching at how thick his fingers feel at your center combined with that fucking word on his tongue. “Feels s’good, more, Mingi, inside.”

“Say please,” the words are muffled, lips still pressed to yours. 

You whisper, “Please.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, feeling you clenching around nothing as his fingers prod at your entrance. His eyes flicker upward, “You liked that? Being called my good girl?” 

You nod shamelessly, hips rolling into his fingers, beckoning him to put them inside. Slowly he inches forward and you gasp, breath catching in your throat, fingers tightening in his hair, he curves them with each inch he gives you, adding pressure on that spot as soon as he reaches it, you’re choking on your own pleasure as your hips grind to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“So greedy,” he whispers, completely in awe, “look at you, baby, fucking yourself on my fingers. You gonna be good for me and cum on ‘em?” 

“Holy shit,” you whisper, hips stuttering, his words going straight to the pit in your belly. You’ve never had someone pay this much attention to you or your pleasure, never had someone even insinuate making you cum before they’ve taken their pants off. He crooks his fingers and you whine, “You don’t h-have to, ‘hmygod.”

“Yes I do,” his fingertips massage that spot, fucking into you in small, stuttered thrusts so he can keep pressure, “need you to cum around my fingers, then around my cock, gonna do that for me?” 

“Yeah,” you roll your hips faster, harder, meeting the thrusts of his fingers, his movement trapped within your shorts, the edge of his palm kissing your clit. It’s fucking dirty, nasty the way you’re moving, so shameless, if you weren’t so consumed by pleasure you’d be mortified at how easily he cracked your composure. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum around my cock?” He asks, tone arrogant because he knows the answer, “Gonna make a mess on me with this wet lil’ pussy?”

“Mingi,” you whine, “stop.”

“You like it, I can feel you clenching,” he grins, you open your eyes just enough to see it. Cocky, but he’s backing it up and fuck you might die if he stops. “So good for me, bet you’d take anything I give you, bet you’d ask for more.”

The pit of pleasure builds steadily in your gut and you bite your lip to try to keep your mewls inside. It’s futile when he kisses you, drinking up every wrecked moan you spill into his mouth, keeping his fingers moving at the same pace, the same pressure. The rough edge of his palm hitting your clit with each movement and it’s so fucking obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to pull you to the finish line with ease. 

“Mingi,” you gasp out, limbs locking as you climb, “I’m close.”

“I know,” he presses his lips to your chin, under your jaw, “give it to me– cum for me, baby.”

Your hips stutter first before your orgasm crashes over you heavily, body twitching, rolling into him, he moves with you, keeping his hand steady as you ride out your orgasm, chanting praises into the space between you, encouragement that extends your pleasure, the feeling of euphoria that rocks through you never-ending. You keel after you finish, forehead meeting his, body deflating like he took everything out of you, he kisses your unmoving mouth, smiling into you when you don’t respond. 

“Did so good for me,” he pulls his fingers out of your shorts, bringing them up between your faces, slipping them between his lips. He moans in pleasure, “Mm, can’t wait to eat her. You’ll let me, right? You’ll ride my face if I tell you to?”

The pit in your stomach twists all over again, core clenching around nothing, he’s filthy. You love it. “Need you inside,” you mutter, voice tight with arousal but winded, “need to feel you, Min.”

His smile returns, “Can you handle it, big girl? Look at you after just two fingers.” You whine and he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, “I can’t believe you’re so easy. You’ve got such a fuckin’ attitude and now you’re whining and crying for my cock.”

“You asked me if I ever shut the fuck up,” you grind yourself against him, bleeding impatience, “do you?”

He makes a sound he keeps lodged in his throat, it makes you smirk. He answers, “Not if it makes you this wet. You soaked through your shorts, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you huff, “fuck me already, ‘m tired of hearing you run your mouth.”

His hands find your thighs, holding onto them tight as he lifts himself up, you fall backwards fast with a loud yelp, back hitting the cushions of the couch. He’s predatory as he leans over you, “This mouth can make you cum faster than my fingers did,” his fingers find the hem of your shorts, “wanna find out?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you lift your hips for him and he tugs them down to your ankles, “save your filthy fuckin’ mouth for another time.”

“There she is,” he stands on his knees, tugging at the baby blue shorts on his hips, “knew the brat was in there somewhere.”

“It only comes out when you’re a cocky motherfuck–” he tugs his shorts down and the word dies on your tongue. Bigger than he felt beneath you, thick, red, leaking, your mouth waters, back arching off the couch at the sight, “Damn.”

He’s smirking and you hate that his cockiness is starting to become sexy. “Gonna take it all like a big girl?”

You’re nodding, not even looking at him, you can’t take your eyes off his cock. Bigger than Wooyoung, than Hyunjin, he might even be bigger than Mingyu and that’s a feat. All you can muster is, “Hurry.”

He settles between your legs, your knees spread under his heavy palms, he licks his lips when he gets eyes on your center. “She’s so pretty, baby. Why didn’t you tell me? Woulda been fucking you weeks ago.”

“God, Mingi, shut up,” you buck your hips toward him, “get inside me already.”

“She’s soaked,” he wraps his fist around his cock, sliding it through your folds, rubbing circles over your clit that make you shiver, “so pretty, gonna ruin her. Can I? So you can’t fuck anyone but me?”

Impatience is a band that snaps hard, “Is that why you talk so much? You have a big dick that you don’t even know how to use–”

He wastes no time slipping back down to your entrance and pushing inside, just his tip has your body locking up, head tipping back, a tight, wilted noise slipping out of you involuntarily, it tells him everything you can’t say. He’s smirking even if he’s fighting to keep his own pleasure at bay, “Yeah? I don’t know how to use it? Say that again.”

He’s curved, carving into you like he’d make you take it even if you couldn’t, your walls suck him in like you were made for it, clenching around the width of him, mushroom tip kissing your cervix just enough that it’s pleasurable– you shake your head, biting your fucking tongue, nails clawing at the couch cushions because no one’s ever felt this good just sitting inside you. 

“Exactly,” he pulls out slowly, filling you back up just as slowly, letting you adjust to his length, his thickness, the perfection your mind couldn’t comprehend. “Lay there and take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

“Fuck, Mingi,” it’s high-pitched, filled with anticipation and slight disbelief. You watch as his abdomen flexes, how his tummy fills with air and deflates, his jaw that goes slack with each thrust, he’s so sexy it hurts. “Faster.”

He picks up speed on command, palms finding your shins, pushing them back into your chest as his cock starts bullying into you, “Like that?”

You can barely choke out a yes, hands flying to his biceps, nails marking crescents into his skin, half-curses fly from your lips drowned out by tight moans, pitched noises when his tip drags over that spot inside you, repeating, “Mingi, Mingi,” like it’s the only word you know. 

“I’m here,” he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, “I got you, know it’s big, baby, you can take it.”

You curse again as he fucks into you harder, back trying to arch but he has you pinned so deep you can’t move, “Mingi!”

He smiles, eyes half-lidded, “That all you can say? Fucked out already? Just started.”

You whimper, legs shaking beneath his palms, he lets go of your shins so he can lean down and kiss you, trading speed for a pace so deep and heavy you can’t kiss back. Moaning straight into his mouth, arms around his neck, you keep him close, legs hooked around his back, “Mingi.”

“Doing so good,” he kisses your cheek, your jaw, down your neck, “pussy so tight, baby, so perfect, gonna have to fuck you every day.”

You sound hypnotized, you might be. “Yes, yes, every day.”

“You know why?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “‘Cause you’re mine.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, and when he picks his face back up to kiss you, you kiss him back. It’s a mess of teeth and spit, too distracted and moving to be considered a kiss, but you’re lucid enough to tangle your fingers in his hair, for your hips to start fucking back. 

“Say it,” he whispers in your mouth, edged like a blade. It makes you moan. 

“Yours,” you’re chanting again, “I’m yours, Mingi, I’m yours.”

He groans, hips picking up speed all over again, he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, lips mindlessly pressing against your skin, tongue poking out just to taste the sweat that's formed. He slips an arm between your bodies to press two fingers against your clit and you twitch, a sharp moan escaping you, bucking into him at a pace unsteady and uncontrolled as the pressure builds fast. 

“Mingi!” It’s loud and pitched, “Too much, too much.”

“No ‘ts not,” his words are muffled, lips pressed against your skin, “Take it, cum around my cock. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum f’me, baby.”

Strangled noises escape you one after another, his fingers circling your clit with practiced movements like he already knew your body inside and out. He’s still talking as pleasure climbs, your fingernails clawing shapes into his back, his rhythm doesn’t change or falter for a second. His words feel mindless, babbles of praise, “C’mon, baby, cum for me. Need to feel you clenching around my cock, say my name, say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Mingi,” you don’t sound any more composed than he does, “Mingi, ‘hmygod I’m gonna cum, just for you, all for you.” 

He moans as your pleasure hits its peak, seizing beneath him, legs locking around his body, fingers raking at his back hard enough to leave marks, you’re a mess of moans and cries and whimpers, but he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t let up even a little. He’s cursing, hips jerking into you at that same fucking damning pace like his life depended on it, like he refused to give you anything but the entirety of your orgasm. 

You’re still shaking when he pushes himself up, body red and splotchy, veins swollen and prominent and everywhere. “Gonna flip you,” you think he might be saying it to himself more than to you with the way he moves you fully on his own, your front meets the couch with a squeak, body spent, head fuzzy. 

You’re flat against the couch, his legs straddle yours just below your ass, he spreads you to lean down and spit before he’s pushing inside once more. You curse sharply into the pillow, eyes rolling back, hands swatting behind you as he fills you up in one fell swoop. 

He shushes you, two hands grabbing your swatting arms by your wrists, pinning them at the base of your spine, “You can take it. Breathe, princess.” When he moves, you feel like you might never recover. Your wails are muffled by the cushion you buried your face in, the pleasure was different, more, deeper, the way his cock grinds against that spot inside you and you can’t get away– you feel the pressure build like it never stopped, steady, heavy, so euphoric you might not be in your body at all anymore.

“You’re perfect, oh my god,” you hear him behind you, “gonna let me fill you up? Let me mark what’s mine? Fuck, baby, need to fill this perfect pussy up, need to cum inside.”

You dig your fingernails into your palms, kicking at the armrest on the other side of the couch, grinding your teeth, you turn your head just to cry, “Yes, fill me up, inside,” your voice cracks, “please.”

“Clenching around me s’fuckin’ hard,” his voice is rough, “y’gonna cum again?”

You let out a noncommittal sound and he changes the angle ever so slightly, your vision blurs, breath taut in your chest, his cock drilling against that spot like he was aiming for it, you don’t know if the damp spot under your head was from tears or drool. Keeping the angle, the pace, he lets your arms go before leaning over, pressing a sloppy kiss to your shoulderblade, breath hot in your ear, “So fucking perfect, let go f’me, baby.”

The sound you let out in response was from the deepest part of your lungs, a sob, a prayer, you’re so close you can fucking taste it. He presses another kiss to the tip of your spine, leaning over your shoulder again, mouth opening, teeth grazing your skin– when you feel him clamp down in a bite you lose it, trembling, sobbing, fisting the couch cushions with his name on your tongue, “Mingi!” 

“Yes,” in awe again, his hips stutter, “there you go, fuuck– fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.” You’re spasming around his length, hips bucking, trying to escape the unending pleasure as his thrusts only get heavier, sloppier, quicker. He keeps himself close, “My perfect girl, y’gonna take every drop? Fuck– fuck, gonna cum, baby, you want it?”

“Yes, Min,” you’re grabbing for him again, nails clawing at his thighs behind you, “fill me up, make me yours. Need you inside.”

One hand snakes under your jaw, turning your head he kisses you sloppily as his hips stutter, groaning a curse into your mouth as he twitches inside you, then he slows, warmth filling you up, ropes of his release heavy, hot, nasty. His breath is short, winded, exhausted, you don’t think yours is any more even. 

“Mingi,” it comes out like a whimper, you feel him twitch inside you, he lets go of your face. A lazy grin takes over your cheeks, eyes closing, “You weren’t lying.”

He laughs, a small, easy thing, lifting himself up. “Why would I lie?”

“Dunno,” you answer absent-mindedly, “make yourself sound better.”

“Baby,” his hands smooth over the skin of your back, he leans down to press a soft kiss in the middle of your spine. Mumbling into your skin like he was too shy to say it with his chest, “I don’t need to do that.”

You hum, “Of course, how could I forget, you’re the entire package.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or if you’re fucking with me.”

“Good.”

He smacks his teeth, “I’m gonna pull out, ‘kay?”

You pop a brow at the warning, but as he starts to slip out inch by inch, you’re grateful for his thighs keeping you locked in place because the full-body twitch it gives you is lethal. You whine a little as his spent cock lays still-heavy on your ass, “How do you keep that thing hidden?”

He snorts, “Like in my pants?”

“That’s a weapon,” you’re still twitching beneath him, “and you just used it on me.”

He’s giggling as he shifts himself to be able to carefully flip you over, another movement he does with ease as if you’re some kind of toy. It still makes your stomach curl with warmth, body flushing hot as he lays himself down next to you, sliding an arm under your body, holding you close. “Smells like sex in here.”

You curl into his side, cheek pressed to his bare chest, eyes closing again. “Don’t care.”

“I really like you, you know,” his voice is low but steady, honest, “and I want to be your boyfriend.”

You pick your head up to look at him, his eyes big and round, glossed over like he was nervous to say the words. You reach a hand up, running your fingers through his chocolate locks once before cupping his cheek, guiding him down to press your lips softly against his. “You already are my boyfriend, moron.”

“I mean seriously–”

“And I mean seriously, you’re already my boyfriend,” you raise your brows in expectation, “so no more ogling girls at parties, no more calling me stupid names and no more Winter.”

“I thought you said you’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before,” there’s a stupid smile on his face, “seems like you got the gist, princess.”

“What did I literally just say–”

“What about the messages?” His question is a little sturdier. 

Your brows furrow, “What about them? I already turned my requests off.”

His brows match yours, “That’s it? It doesn’t turn you off from being with me?”

“I fucked Wooyoung like, two days ago, Mingi,” you smile when he makes a face of disgust, “if you can mentally handle that, I can mentally handle being in the spotlight, as long as its smaller than yours. But if I can’t, I’ll tell you, and we’ll figure it out. Wait, what about your coaches?”

“That is such a non-issue,” he rolls his eyes, “who gives a fuck?”

You make a face of surprised agreement, bottom lip bending over, brows raising, “Sure. Who gives a fuck?”

He smiles, “Cool, I think that’s everything.”

“Cool,” you nuzzle yourself back into his chest, pressing a short kiss to his skin, “by the way, how long until we can fuck again? I’ve been waiting three weeks for this too, y’know.”

masterlist 🏈 part one

this is my soul project. ive never loved another mingi as much as i love this one. if you read all of this, genuinely thank you from the bottom of my fucking heart. i could write about him endlessly, my muse fr. i hope you enjoyed and pls dont hesitate to tell me all your thoughts 🩷

xoxo

[luv-beam]

PART 2 HERE WE GO

i love a good crying scene, esp when theyre bawling their eyes out and i can feel the weight of their shoulders

sorry had to stop to say the word feed here is gloriously used. also YES the irritated-wtf-who-asked 'congratulations?'

OH. BABE WHAT R WE DOIN HERE. OH NONONONONONONO WHAAAAAAAAAT IS HAPPENING okay. and we're going directly to mingi and winter like this feels sus as FUCK MAN GET ME OUT 😭😭 also winter sybau oMG.

okay wait u always eat w mingi's inner monologue like:

*head in hands* *pool of my own tears* *SCREAMS* okay first off that lucifer line was great like the IMAGE it put in my head was so goddamn clear. that is the PERFECT way to get her expression across to us as a reader i canNOT gush abt this little detail EEENOUGH.

and then the yellow part where he's realizing that HE wanted to be the one to fix things, HE wanted to be your reason to smile and feel better. before, he had only ever been the reason to make u pissed off or other negative emotions, but THINGS HAVE CHANGED. HE IS TERRIFIED OF SEEING U LIKE THIS. HE HATES IT AND HE WANTS IT GONE AND HE WANTS TO BE YOUR REASON.

and the blue—OH THE BLUE—i felt that one in my bones ngl loke oh boy, it's like the yellow but one step deeper. he not only wants to be the reason u smile/return to your normal self, he wants to be A PART of your normal life. even if this whole scheme is fake, he wants a real connection out of this UGH

also that last part of his convo w winter is SO telling

fck dude the part w her and wooyoung on the balcony is so... like this feels like. A FEVER DREAM. theyre so complicated and messy and—idk dude i feel like i understand her even tho im screaming at her thru the screen. like this shit's scary and not at ALL what she wanted. she knows so much abt mingi now that its like,,, she knows both the good and the bad and yet she finds herself having fun w him, and that LOOK he gives her is fcking terrifying bc wtf is this, this wasn't part of the plan. also mingi is supposed to like winter and he was still EXCITED abt winter in his fcking jersey, so he will prob end up w her anyway, and what does that leave u with?

PRINCESS.

ALRIGHT. TAKING A SCREENSHOT SO I CAN TAKE A BREATH BC OH MY GOD. i really cannot tell if princess was apart of that plan or not bc she genuinely seemed drunk as hell and wooyoung was acting like a piece of shit as always. also she never told him that she and mingi weren't actually dating. BUT FUVK she really sounded upset and distressed by how he found out, and mingi was actually HURT 😭😭😭 OH. *hand slaps over mouth* and just MINGIS. INNER. DIALOGUE. HE WANTS TO ASK U HE DOESNT WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. HE WANTS TO CLARIFY. HE WANTS TO CONFESS AND APOLOGIZE. HE STILL WANTS U AND NOW HE'S JUST HURT AND ANGRY AND KSNDKSNDJ

also can we just talk abt how he saw winter and the last thing he thought was "good enough" . like this man at the beginning of the fic pulled out the WHITEBOARD to gameplan a way to cuff her and now she's just pretty and good enough. EEUUUUGH i love development I LOVE ANY KIND IF DEVELOPMENT

WHY DID HER SMILE FALTER *eye twitch*

omg this is like in 10 things i hate about you OMG MINGI GO GET HER (also buzzword for early two thousands song EVERYBODY PLAY LEAK IT BY FLO IT'S EARLY 2000s ENOUGH FOR ME 😝😝😝)

her split of consciousness U WANT ME. JONGHO AND YEOSANG STRESSED AND KNOWING MINGI WOULD GET THE JOB DONE. WOOYOUNG BEING A PIECE OF SHIT. oh that was stressful. i need a smoke break like girl omg pls let him carry u out like a sack of potatoes. im already feeling the bad energy when people start posting their fuckass videos girl is not gonna catch a break 😭 BABY. BABYBABHYDMFNKR

drunk princess coaxing that gentle giant out STOP and the realsies.... theyre so cute THEYRE SO CUTE 😭😭

"do u know what vulnerable means" OH IM DEAD

YAY....... oh homegirl is TOO CUTE THIS WHOLE EXCHANGE IS TOO CUTE THIS FEELS LIKE AN EARLY 2000s ROMCOM LIKE I CAN HEAR THE CRICKETS IN THE BACKGROUND AS THEYRE OUTSIDE FAWK. and their little banter back and forth too oml

"no one's kissed me like that before" "i think that's how u should be kissed" oh :(((( "everything. most of all me" OH (´Д⊂ヽDUDE THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT OH .

this feels so parallel to the other two lines i screenshot above from mingi, lile they're both wanting opposite things than they BELIEVE they should be wanting/thinking. princess's earlier inner rationalization of winter being more suitable for mingi is contrasted against the fact that he is Here. in Her apartment, not winter's. and as much as u convince urself that ur not right for him or his destiny, u like the idea of him being yours. (and its like... it kind of makes me feel bittersweet knowing that both of them share similar sentiments abt if they end up splitting, that they don't really wanna lose ech other. they enjoy the other's company far too much.)

I HAVENT FELT THIS MUCH EMOTION SINCE HER OHHHHHHH FUUUUUUCK ME (´Д⊂ヽ(´Д⊂ヽ

omg i got so wrapped up in everything happening on the party that i forgot to comment that it all came like full circle. like we started w mingi being pissed at wooyoung for stealing his dream girl, and now, we have mingi pissed again at wooyoung for stealing His Girl™ anyways back to the confession—

i cant believe this is happening and hes in your tiny blue waffle shorts

AWWWH OK WAIT THE AFTER TALK BANTER IS SO CUTE 😭😭 also u write smut so fluidly and like . masterfully how is it not repetitive, its like beautiful o_0

okay wait. ending thoughts bc WHEW. WHAT A RIDE I FEEL LIKE I JUST WATCHED THE COOLEST EXTENDED DIRECTOR'S CUT OF A ROMCOM EVER. t a c e . u write like there is a classic film grain over the lens ur WRITING EVOKES THIS NOSTALGIA IN ME im in awe dude. i looove aesthetic writing, not in the actual formatting, but the /way/ in which u set scenes, ur words flow, UR STYLE SHINES UGH MWAH. this was gorgeous wth. also just princess and mingi's characters were so true to themselves throughout the entire thing, like consistent and REAL. GOD THEY WERE SO REAL. like man i wanted to hit both of them at some point, but their flaws were so real and so raw, and that confession scene—man.

thank you SO much for writing this and sharing this with us. YOU'RE A GIFT 😭😭💖

[bluberrymuffinn]

Omg idk how to use Tumblr but I wanted to comment tat this is such a gd break down,, I agree with ur thoughts UGHH the underlying feelings and parallels rly ties the fic rgt well

I'm still thinking about this fic fr it's been days this is the best thing Ive ever read

[luv-beam]

hot take but this is exactly how tumblr should be used 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ thank you for your thoughts as well !! i agree so wholeheartedly looove this fic

[everyonewooeverywhere]

thinking about seonghwa who you meet out at a bar one night with your friends. it’s a lesbian bar, one you guys have yet to visit.

you’re only a drink and a half down when you see her on the back patio. she’s alone. smoking a cigarette while she stares out into the street.

she thinks it’s cute when you approach her. innocent. the glint in your eyes is nothing but curiosity to her. the bar is packed. it’s a friday night—the younger crowd. there’s no way you’d be more interested in her than a whole bar full of beautiful singles your own age.

you ask her name, subconsciously leaning into her. she tells you. you laugh. nothing’s funny. but the nerves keep bubbling up inside you.

she asks how old you are, and the number tumbles from your lips. she smiles. you’re so young. so much to learn. to experience.

she laughs. it’s a sound you think you’ll never forget. like sinking your face into a cold pillow. or pulling a fresh shirt on after a shower. it’s sweet, smooth. and the lips it comes from circle back around that cigarette. you eye it closely. watching how effortlessly it sits between her fingers. “i’m old enough to be your mother.” your thighs press together. she doesn’t notice.

“what are you doing later?” your voice is softer than you mean. but she hears you.

a look of confusion spreads across your face. she tells you that she’s just going to sleep when she gets home. “let me come with you.”

you’re begging at this point.

“honey,” she’s scolding you. like a teacher telling you you’ve missed the mark. “there are plenty of girls your own age that would love to go home with you tonight.”

you shake your head, eying the cigarette again. it’s sitting in front of your face this time. you wonder if she’s put it out on you if you asked. you’d let her pick the spot. right in the center of your cheek. so could see it in the mirror every morning and remember how she’d rejected you.

and maybe that’s what you needed all along.

(until you start your new job next week and realize she’s your new boss’s wife)

[luv-beam]

LIKE A TEACHER TELLING YOU YOU'VE MISSED THE MARK KSNDKDJDKFKKD NOOOOO DONT DO THIS TO ME also i love the way you describe her voice like ooooooohhhh wow.... how silky buttery velvety smooth... like sinking into a dark pool of water ...... oh the vibes are immaculate

[luv-beam]

why haven't i been highlighting my screenshots from the start 🙁🤨 i can actually get closer to annotating again LOL

[minkieater]

⋙ hold it down, DARE.

⪼ quarterback!mingi x fem!reader | PART TWO [FINAL] 14.2k ⪼ this is the second half of my very huge and massive installment for @sungbeam ‘s live alive collab ⋆˙⟡ thank you beamie duckie for putting this together! genuinely so happy and grateful to be in a collab beside so many other talented writers, i've met so many wonderful mooties & friends through this whole process, and im so glad to be beside them in such a banger ass collab!!! be sure to check out everyone else's bangers fr ⪼ smut minors dni 18+ | p in v, fingering, dirty talk, you and mingi are both sluts, wooyoung lore, LOTS of cursing, insults, toxic til it's not. i don't want to spoil too much but they're in college so they drink and do college kid shit. if you made it this far thank you so, so much for reading, sorry i had to split it lol, this fic is genuinely my baby and everything i could ever want in my life. i hope you enjoy xoxo

When was the last time you cried? Like seriously, actually bent over and cried real tears into your palms? When was the last time it was at the hands of a man? Did you even have something to cry over?

It was too confusing, you didn’t have the energy to pick it apart while heaved sobs rip from your throat. Was this a release? Too much emotion built up inside, with nowhere to go? The tears began after picking an argument with a still-drunk Yeosang in the car, pointless, yet you still left him to fend for himself while you ran up the steps to your apartment, still fighting to keep the sobs inside. 

Alone in your living room, sitting hunched over on the couch, face in your palms, you cried. 

And cried, and cried, and cried. 

Your phone lights up, sitting face-up on the coffee table, multiple notifications from the square, pink icon that’s been draining your battery all fucking day. You can only imagine what they say, what vile fucking things are waiting for you, all from real accounts, real people who hate you because of Song Mingi. 

Maybe it’s masochism, or maybe you need to keep the release flowing, a devil on your shoulder tells you to unlock your phone and read. You make it through three before your shoulders shake all over again, your phone falling to the floor, you have half a mind to smash the screen so you can’t look even if you wanted to. Curling up onto the couch, you let yourself cry, you sink into the feeling, into the emotion; if you let your brain wander enough, you can still feel his covered palm on your skin, his lips on yours, you can still see his eyes, how he looked at you. So fond, affectionate, so fucking different from any man who has ever looked at you, ever.

There’s a knock at your door, rendering you quiet, sniffing up snot that dared to fall. 

“Hello?” You call out, sounding so unlike yourself you cringe.

Three presses of someone’s knuckles at your door again, you whimper as you push yourself up off the couch to open it. Hand on the knob, you close your eyes, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You hope you don’t look insane. 

Just as another knock sounds, you open it. Standing with his fist out, he wears a blank face, one that warps into confusion then concern as he looks you up and down. “Are you okay?”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Wooyoung?”

“I came to get my hoodie,” he shakes his head like that was beside the point. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“Have you gotten your eyes checked recently?” You sniff again, wiping at your nose with your bare wrist. It’s clear you’ve been crying, are crying, sounding nasally on top of your appearance, you can’t be bothered to care. “What do you want, for real? I know you’re not here for your fuckass hoodie.”

“I broke up with Winter,” he admits easily, too fucking easily. 

There’s no feeling in your gut, no excitement, no disappointment, there’s nothing. Your face reflects it, shoulders shrugging, free arm flying to say okay? You feed him an irritated laugh, “Congratulations?”

“I broke up with her because I miss you,” he tries again, “she isn’t you.”

His hair is messy, undone. Clothes dark, hanging off him, like he rolled out of bed to come here. You study his face, his mismatched eyes, the dot of espresso that sits on the apple of his cheek. There’s nothing unclear about the way he’s looking at you– there’s the hinge in his jaw, his dilated pupils, his slouched shoulders, deflated. Like he didn’t want to admit it, but here he is. 

“No shit,” you sniff again. “What was the plan? You come here, confess your bullshit to me, I take you back, and we live happily ever after?”

“I’m not going to give you a bullshit speech,” his gaze averts to the floor, “I know you have a boyfriend. I just wanted you to know, I needed to get it off my chest.”

You laugh again, and it’s accompanied by disbelief and shock, but what rings truest is understanding. You lean into your door, still wide open, “You don’t have to lie. She found out, didn’t she?”

He glances up, “You’re the only one who gets it.”

“I’m the only one who put up with it,” you correct him, “those days are over.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks, straightening again. “What happened?”

“Nothing you give a fuck about.”

He takes a step forward, hands reaching out, but he doesn’t touch you. “I care about everything that involves you. What happened?”

You hold his stare, your jaw locking. Familiarity, routine. Pattern. 

“If I asked you,” your voice comes out shaky, you clear your throat, “to fuck me, would you do it?”

“You have a boyfriend–”

“Would you fucking do it?”

His hand wraps around your jaw, searing your skin, lips smashing onto yours like he was fucking waiting for it. It’s blinding, dizzying how he pushes you backward, kicking the door shut behind him, lips rough and tongue taking, your mind shuts off in a second’s time. Muscle memory kicks in, Mingi’s jersey on the floor, mini skirt hiked up to your waist, panties pushed to the side, this is it. This is everything.

This is all you’ll ever get, and you’ve made peace with it.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” 

Inside, at the very edge of the tunnel, tucked off to the side to avoid lingering eyes, Mingi’s vibrating with excitement, he can’t believe Winter is here and wearing his fucking jersey. He was already excited because they won their game; even if he knew they’d win and it was no surprise to him, Mingi played such a perfect game he was high off adrenaline, off arrogance, like absolutely nothing could go wrong. 

“Of course,” her back is against the wall, her head tucked right under Mingi’s outstretched arm. She wears a cute, dainty smile, almost innocent, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He has to fight his instinct to not tell her about the life he’s imagined for them. “I broke up with Wooyoung, by the way.”

This might be the best day of his fucking life.

“I’m… sorry?” He eases a smile, one that turns into a full-fledged grin when he sees how Winter smiles back.

She giggles, “Don’t be sorry. That night at the bar, she was right.” Winter bites her lip and Mingi wishes he could bite it for her. “Will she be there?” She asks, “Your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Mingi’s brows furrow, then he remembers the bar, and then a picture of you in his passenger seat rushes through his mind. “Oh. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“I saw her in your jersey,” she tilts her head to the side, a manicured nail between her teeth, “unfair, she gets the real one, and I’m stuck wearing this.”

“Not for long,” it rushes out of his mouth before he can think about it. He chuckles, nervously, “I mean, like, things aren’t really that great between us right now.”

“Oh, really?” Her brows lift in soft surprise, “She seemed kinda… mad, when she saw me in this. I told her I’m a huge fan, but she didn’t seem to like that answer. Does she get jealous often?”

Mingi’s brows furrow, head cocking to the side. Jealous? Mad? 

“What do you mean?”

She giggles, a hand covering her mouth, “I don’t want to paint her in a bad light, or make you guys argue or something.”

“We won’t,” he pulls his arm back to his side, sounding assured, “tell me.”

“She asked me why I was wearing your jersey,” she looks down at her shoes, then back up to him, “she looked really mad, Mingi, like she was seconds away from ripping it off of me or something. I was kinda scared.”

“Huh,” he looks away, he isn’t sure where. You were already acting off when you came down to the field, he could feel it, he could see it on you. How you forced a smile on your face, faked laughter, looked like Lucifer had come to pull you back down to Hell before he kissed you. 

For some reason in his stupid fucking mind, he thought kissing you would make it better. That you’d laugh, call him an asshole, brush it off like it was nothing– selfishly, he wanted it to make it better, he wanted to be the reason why. He wanted to see your smile, the real one, not that fake shit you were putting on so no one would shoot you a second glance. 

You looked like he hurt you instead. He supposes it’s time to break up anyways, if the conversation he’s currently having is any indication, there’s no real reason for you to be together anymore if everything had already worked out. But fear lingered, in the way you looked at him, in how you jumped away from him like he burnt you, it stuck heavy in his mind, scared that you wouldn’t be friends after this. He’s afraid you’ll never speak again. He’s terrified you’re the first real friend he’s ever made.

“I’m okay, though,” she brushes a hand on his chest and he doesn’t like how it feels. “She left me alone after that, that’s why I waited until she left to come see you.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he’s speaking, not thinking. “And no, she doesn’t do that often, I don’t think she’s feeling well today.”

Should he not have kissed you? Did that make everything worse? Did he cross a line, for real?

“I hope she feels better,” Winter smiles, showing off the pearly white teeth hidden behind her glossy lips, “are you doing anything tonight?”

“Yeah, I– um,” he looks around again, moving backward so her hand falls from his chest. Are you mad at him? Should he apologize? “The team is going out to celebrate tonight, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you deserve the celebration for how well you played. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” it’s mindless, absent. 

He walks back to the locker room with furrowed brows and tunnel vision. Opening his locker, pulling out his phone, he doesn’t even take his jersey off before texting you. 

mingi: were having a party tomorrow at the house to celebrate mingi: if u wanted to come mingi: and im sorry for kissing u mingi: idk if i shoulda done that mingi: im sorry mingi: if u want we can break up tomorrow at the party mingi: a lot of people will be there

You stare at the pictures Yeosang sent you. Minutes go by, maybe an hour, you aren’t sure, but you’ve zoomed in on every inch of each picture, and the looming cloud of dread won’t dissipate for shit. You weren’t imagining how he looked at you, how he held you, it was eternalized in pixels on your screen. 

The more you stared, the more you hated it. 

“What’s that?”

You lock your phone, throwing it on the nightstand beside you. “Can you get the fuck out already?” 

He smacks his teeth, “We haven’t had a sleepover in so long, why so mean?” 

“I don’t like you,” you finally turn your head to see him. Eyes low with sleep, dark hair frizzy and sticking out in every which way, shirtless, littered with marks you’ve never been allowed to give him before. “I don’t want you here.” 

“Then why’d you let me stay?” 

“Because you did me a favor,” you run your hands over your face, rubbing at your swollen eyes, “but I have to prepare to break up with my boyfriend tonight, so unless you’re helping me come up with a plan, go.” 

“Just tell him you cheated,” he shrugs, and when you look at him he’s wearing the nastiest of smirks. “Worked for me.” 

“You didn’t even tell me, you fucking asshole,” reaching over, you smack him dead in his chest. “Get out of my apartment.” 

He laughs, slowly sitting up, giving you a pretty view of his spine, the tattoo that sits at the top, the muscles in his shoulders. You hum, head tilting as you stare, he really is pretty. You missed the sight. He turns his head halfway, “Have a smoke with me before I go.” 

You keep your eyes glued to him for a moment, his eyes peeking over his shoulder, he’s still shamelessly naked in your bed. So many things, Jung Wooyoung is, but most of all a complexity you don’t think you’ll ever fully understand. 

You sigh, soft, pleasant, almost. “Okay.” 

On the balcony, you’re in Mingi’s jersey you picked up from your living room floor, the first thing you saw when you realized you needed something on your body to go outside. He’s across from you, boxers on his hips, shirtless, comfortable. Always comfortable with you. 

He turns around to face you while your lips wrap around his cigarette, a Marlboro Red, he takes a second to watch you. His eyes don’t follow the smoke as it leaves your lips, they stay on you, analyzing, thinking. 

“What’s up with you?” He finally asks. “Don’t bullshit me.” 

Face going unchanged, you respond, “I think I like him for real.” 

He stares a second before breaking out in laughter. Hand clutching his stomach, his brows furrow, “So you slept with me because you like your boyfriend?” 

“I slept with you because you’re the opposite of him,” you reach out your arm, two fingers sliding the tobacco into his, “he freaked me out. He kissed— kisses me like he cares about me.”

“I don’t kiss you like I care about you?” 

“You kiss me like you’re saving the nice shit for her,” you huff, craning your neck, stretching your aching muscles. You really went too long without getting laid. 

Wooyoung’s brows wiggle, shoulders shrugging as he brings the cigarette up to his lips like he couldn’t argue with you even if he tried. “You don’t make sense.” 

You sigh, turning to face the balcony, the neighborhood below. So quiet, it was busier closer to campus; here, it was nothing but peace. Warm, not quite humid yet, a clarity in the air you haven’t felt in so long, you let the sunshine beat on your skin, the kelly-green polyester covering it. 

“You don’t need to understand,” you reach out your fingers, he places the cigarette between them. “Being with him is too much exposure, too many eyes on me. You should see my Instagram DMs.” 

“Bad?”

“Worse than bad.” Tilting your head, blowing smoke from your lips, you ask, “Wanna come with me tonight?” 

“To watch you break his heart?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I’m game,” he takes a step toward you, leaning over the balcony, shoulder touching yours. “Did you know Winter has a thing for him?”

“Yes,” you laugh a little, “you’re late to figuring that one out.” 

He stayed until the cigarette burnt down to the filter, shoving it in the ashtray you bought and kept on the small table in the corner, solely for him. You stayed on the balcony for what felt like forever after he showed himself out— sitting with yourself and your thoughts, flooded with Mingi, the inevitable end a part of you had begun to think might not actually come. 

FIFTH OUTING: THE BREAK UP, FOOTBALL HOUSE. 10:21 PM

Mingi has always been grateful for his height. It’s helped him tremendously, helping his mother much smaller than him, in football, with women. He remembers being a kid and being giddy about holding the caboose of his class’s line because he was the biggest. 

He thinks he’s never been more grateful than he is right now, facing Seungmin, looking over his brown head of hair clearly, effortlessly— you, in his living room, dancing like you didn’t give a fuck. Hair let loose behind you, your top clinging to your body like it was painted on, jeans hugging your swaying hips in a way that made him jealous of black denim. 

You greeted him like you weren’t here to break up with him, a soft hey rolling off your tongue, cheeks already flushed with liquor, shoulders already slouched. Mingi put his beer down on a table littered with empty bottles and hasn't once thought about picking it back up. 

You told him he looked good, apologized for his jersey smelling like cigarettes, which made him quirk a brow in confusion, but he forgave you in the same breath with a little laugh as you stumbled over your feet. 

Drunk. Cute. 

You didn’t mention the kiss, didn’t mention breaking up, you didn’t mention anything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. Mingi wasn’t going to remind you, not when you’re blissfully boneless, a smile permanently etched onto your cheeks, there wasn’t a line in your face to be seen. No worries, no stress, no anger, unaware like it was purposeful. You seemed like you needed it. 

“Hello? Mingi?” 

He blinks into focus, eyes back on Seungmin before him who wore furrowed brows and tilted jaw, staring at him expectantly. 

“Sorry,” he laughs a little, jutting his chin in the direction of you, making Seungmin turn his head. “Look at her.” 

“You’re sick,” Seungmin looks only for a second before turning back to Mingi whose eyes are glazed over, the younger man’s face rendered flat. “Obsessed.” 

Mingi giggles like he’s proud of it. No denial, no rebuttal, he thinks he might be, just a little, maybe infatuated was the better word. Especially since you’re not mad at him. The nerves he’s felt from last night leading up to when you walked through the door of the football house were full-bodied, eating at every vein below his skin, every organ felt like it wasn’t working right. 

You answered his texts, which should have eased him at least a fraction. 

princess: i kissed you back did i not princess: moron princess: ill be there  princess: and im breaking up with you btw

He couldn’t figure out a response, mostly because a huge part of him wanted to stall breaking up, but he couldn’t figure out why. Or he wouldn’t let himself, he should say, because the answer was staring at him in the fucking face: he likes you. He knows he does, Yeosang’s show confirmed it, forced it to the front of his mind, a life-altering observation— he’s so fucked. 

This is an arrangement. An even exchange, he gets Winter, you get whatever the fuck your plan with Wooyoung is. It dawns on him that he’s never even asked, there are so many things he wants to ask, so many things he wants to say, he doesn’t have enough time to say them. You made it clear yesterday that you wanted to break up. 

“Go get her,” Seungmin huffs, “I know you want to.” 

“I don’t dance,” Mingi looks at Seungmin like he’s crazy.

“Why else did you ask Woozi to DJ then?” 

“Fair.” 

Seungmin turns on his heel, toward the kitchen, maybe. Mingi takes one step before he stops in his tracks, eyes blowing wide, body running ice-cold. 

Like a shadow, he was at your back, hands on your hips, smiling like he was supposed to be there. Like you were allowing it. You clearly were, head tilted backward, smile wide as a laugh he couldn’t hear rolled off your lips. God, Mingi can’t even say his name— he’s a roach, a fucking rat that’s lingering around Mingi, waiting for the opportunity to give him diseases or something. 

He finds his feet moving, not aware of himself body slamming people who were minding their own damn business, certainly not aware of the anger that hung in the hinge of his jaw, in his clenched fists. He pulls you by the wrist, your name on his tongue, you barely notice. Hazy eyes finally landing on him, your smile widens, sparkles in your eyes shining brighter, your fingers tighten in the fabric hanging off his shoulders. “Mingi!” 

He eyes Wooyoung over your head, face flat, unimpressed, pissed off. Wooyoung’s smirk is cynical, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, what’s happening. Mingi feels left out and he doesn’t fucking like it. 

“Where have you been?” You’re whining, head tilted to the side, lips pouty even if your body sinks into him more than it ever has before. You’re drunk. 

Mingi eyes dance over to Riyo and Jia, two of your friends, he thinks those are their names. One red-haired and wide-eyed, body rigid with fear as she meets Mingi’s gaze, the other dark-haired and panicked like she was already searching for a distraction, a way to get you out of this situation. 

Wooyoung speaks up before Mingi can get a word out, “Did you two break up yet?” 

Yet. His jaw clenches. Riyo and Jia turn confused. 

“We’re not breaking up,” Mingi responds, “fuck are you talking about?” 

“I need another drink,” you turn around, back leaning into his chest, laying your whole weight on him as your arms reach down to his thighs, palms splayed flat over denim for purchase. “Can we go find cutie Kai? He’ll get me one.” 

He can’t even focus on your hands on him, how mindless you are, he’s so fucking irritated. He ignores you, asking Wooyoung again, “The fuck are you talking about?” 

Wooyoung’s brows raise, smirk growing like he was about to drop a bomb. “Interesting, that’s what she told me this morning,” he takes a step closer to you, “right, baby?” 

“Huh?” You ask, body swaying, Mingi uses two hands on your waist to keep you steady. 

“You’re breaking up with Mingi,” Wooyoung repeats, “that’s why we had sex last night. Right?” 

Sorry if your jersey smells like cigarettes. 

He pushes you forward like you fucking burned him, just enough for you to fall into Wooyoung’s chest instead. Jia and Riyo are side-by-side, watching everything unfold like it was a train wreck they couldn’t look away from. 

“Wait,” hands braced on Wooyoung’s chest, you turn around, eyes wide and lips trembling. “Hold on a second.” 

Wooyoung pulls you into him, arms slithering around your torso like he knows every inch of your body. It makes Mingi sick, or it would if he could feel anything, his body’s numb like it didn’t belong to him anymore. 

“You fucked him?” His voice is pitched like he didn’t believe it. “He cheated on you,” Mingi feels like the three of you are alone, like this isn’t a party full of one hundred something people. “Twice.” 

“I know—”

“Then what, you don’t give a fuck?” His voice is raised, he doesn’t care. “What the fuck was the point then, huh? What the fuck was the point if you were just gonna go back to him?” 

Wooyoung cocks his head, “The point of what?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mingi blurts, “I’m not talking to you.” 

“Mingi,” your jaw drops, “I don’t—”

“You couldn’t wait?” Mingi asks, “Couldn’t at least have the decency to break up with me first before running right back to him?”

“I’m sorry!” 

The apology off your lips makes him stand straighter. It’s pleading, like you’re just asking him to be quiet, to stop, but it seems to screw his head back on his body, his consciousness forcing itself back into his six-foot build with vengeance. 

You call after him as he turns around, walking away as quick as he can, fingers tapping at his sides just to remind himself he has them. This can’t be real, he’s gotta be dreaming, there’s no way in hell that just happened to him. 

Is he just gonna leave you with Wooyoung? Drunk as you are? Is that why you’re so fucking hammered in the first place? You seemed so comfortable in his hold, Mingi wonders if that was you or the alcohol, he could see it in your eyes, the fear of being caught. The confusion, like you didn't understand why Mingi was so angry. 

You probably didn’t. You probably thought he wouldn’t find out, because why would he? You were supposed to break up tonight, be done with each other. A chapter closed. Mingi feels like turning on his heel and pulling you away from him, just to ask you every fucking question he’ll never have the chance to. 

He feels like apologizing. 

He feels like confessing. 

But he’s so fucking pissed he bullies into the kitchen instead, eyes on alert, searching for something he can’t place, anything that will rid him of this dirty fucking feeling. 

It’s full circle, he thinks, as his eyes land on Winter. Sitting on the counter, two guys in front of her, clearly chatting her up. 

Nah. 

Forcing a smile when he gets close enough, his voice carries a warning to the two unnamed, no-faced men. “Hey, beautiful.” They scatter. 

“Should you be calling me that?” She teases, hands gripping the edge of the counter, leaned forward, feet kicking where they hung. Hair pulled up, tiny top, little shorts, she looked bare-faced, natural. Pretty. Good enough. 

“I can’t be honest?” A cocky smirk, a character he hates playing. Approaching her pinned knees, they open, letting him step between them, he takes the silent offer. 

“You can be honest,” she nods, batting her lashes. “But I would rather you be mine.”

He has to force the twinge of disgust out of the back of his throat, tasting like coke-drip and disappointment. He didn't feel this way talking to her last night, Mingi blinks at her before a slow chuckle rolls off his lips. “Smooth.”

“Vodka makes me bold,” she shrugs, winking. “Problem?”

This could work. He could make this work. He has to make this work, actually. “I’m supposed to be the bold one,” he hums, palms landing on her bare knees, so soft beneath his burning skin. Her eyes drop to where their skin meets, but she makes no move to stop him. 

“I didn’t think you were available enough to be,” her eyes flicker upward, “do you have good news for me?” 

He nods, “You won’t believe it, actually.” 

Her brows furrow, smile faltering a little. “What?” 

“Don’t worry about it, nevermind,” Mingi shakes his head, “we don’t have to talk about her, we can talk about us now, finally.” 

They talked. And talked, and talked and fucking talked, Mingi heard every other word, something about her classes and school-air fucking up her makeup. Something about Wooyoung, he thinks, he tuned out after he heard that godforsaken name. Mingi didn’t really care, he wanted to kiss her, to fuck her, he hoped you’d find out and feel as shitty as he did right now. 

The tips of Winter’s sandals toyed with his pants, his hands planted on the counter, on either side of her thighs. He was so close to scoring he could taste it, this was the right outcome, the whole purpose. This is what he should have been focused on the entire time. 

“Bro,” Jaemin snaps him into focus, a pest at his side, a hand on his shoulder. “Your girlfriend’s on a table.” 

“Not my girlfriend,” Mingi shoves his hand off, but then the words sink in. He cranes his neck, “A table?” 

“She’s dancing on a fucking table,” Jaemin confirms, laughing like it’s funny. Like you aren’t piss-drunk and surrounded by people who don’t care about you. 

Mingi doesn’t even look at Winter again before he’s moving. Rushing past bodies, physically moving them out of his way as he follows the sound of cheering into the dining room, he can see you over everyone’s heads. No, this is full-circle, he thinks for just a moment at the entryway, here you are, in his dining room where the plotting truly began, where Mingi first lost his mind over the girl he could give two fucks about right now. 

Dancing, swaying your hips to whatever song is playing, something pop with heavy bass from the early two-thousands, it’s deaf on his ears. Arms above your head, smile absent, eyes absent, you aren’t even in your fucking body and everyone surrounding you is cheering you on. Mingi’s sick and he can feel every tapered edge of it. 

Bodies are glued together, phones out, he smacks two out of the air as he forces his way past. He spots Jongho and Yeosang, the only two trying to get you down, arms reaching out in caution, faces stressed beyond what they should be at a party. 

Mingi meets the edge of the table and he catches Wooyoung out of the corner of his eye, standing up against the wall, watching, smirking. Like he was loving every second of this. Like you wouldn’t want to rip your fucking hair out when you wake up tomorrow. Somehow it pisses him off worse that he’s watching you like this was reality TV, as if you’re not a real person, someone he slept with last night. He shivers. Rage runs deep.

“Mingi!” Jongho yells across the table, “Thank god you’re here, please get her down.” 

Bare feet— where the fuck did your shoes go? Hair stuck to you, shirt splotched with wetness, probably liquor, maybe worse. There’s bottles on the table, grinders open and full of weed, puddles of water, beer, solo cups from a game of pong. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, panic, like he was responsible for you, for this. 

“Get down,” his voice stands out amongst the music, the cheers. Louder, heavy with direction, order. Like he’s on the field. 

Your head spins in every direction like you weren’t sure where the sound came from. Even now, irritated and shocked beyond belief, he softens at the sight of you. “Please, baby, get down,” his voice is layered with worry as you finally meet his gaze, eyes glossed over, smile lazy and gone. Holy shit. 

“You’re mad at me,” you drop down to your knees, pouting, fuck this table big enough to seat half the goddamn team, stopping him from pulling you away from each and every pair of eyes. 

“No I’m not,” he shakes his head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not mad at you, I just want you to come to me.” 

On all fours, you start crawling across the fucking table, a lazy grin taking over like you didn’t have any eyes on you, so unaware that Mingi’s anxious. Head tilting, a split of consciousness entering your vision, you ask, “You want me?”

He swallows, nodding, a palm reaching out for you, “Yeah, I do.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a shadow of black leaving the room. He doesn’t look, keeping his eyes on you, each agonizing second of your arms and knees pushing you forward, not a semblance of haste to your movements. 

You reach out your arm when he’s close enough to grab your hand and he pulls you the rest of the way, hearing the slick sound of black denim sliding against shiny oak, he isn’t fucking thinking as he bends at his knees and throws you over his shoulder. You yelp, body deadweight over his back before your legs bend up in front of him, bare feet covered in a layer of grime, wet and sprinkled with god knows what. He sighs. 

“Put me down!” You yell, your tiny hands flat against his back, pushing yourself up. 

He turns, one arm holding your legs down, hauling you out of that room faster than he’s ever sprinted down a field. He spots Kai across the living room, a head of blonde hair standing tall over the crowd, the only face easy to spot at his full height. 

“Huening!” He shouts. Kai’s brows furrow when he sees him, bending into bewilderment when he sees you over his shoulder. “Get me my keys.”

“You drink?”

“Get me my keys, Kai.”

He feels you smacking his back, yelling something unintelligible as he hauls you through the living room, through the front door, the air outside no fucking relief to the sweat forming at the base of his spine. Down the lawn, to his car that’s parked at the edge of the street, he puts you down on the hood with a muddled grunt from the back of his throat. 

You lay back as soon as your ass meets steel. Eyes closed, head turned to the side, your arms straight out on either side of you, you heave a breath and mumble, “I’m s’fucking drunk.”

Mingi didn’t realize he was out of breath until he leaned into the side of the car, elbows resting on the roof plate. He laughs, a small one, full of disbelief and utter shock. “No shit.”

“You called me baby again,” your eyes peek open to point at him with a weak, bent arm, “you were nervous.”

Mingi feels seen. He squints, “You were gonna fall off the table, I had to get you down, of course I was nervous.”

“You like me,” you sing, arm falling back down to the steel with a smack, dopey grin on your cheeks. “You like me for realsies.”

Mingi snorts, pulling his arms off the roof of his car to step to the side, palms landing on the hood to lean forward. Your hand sways through thick air before your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist, “I like you too, even though you’re kind of rude.”

He wills his heartbeat calm. “You think I’m rude?”

“You’re so rude,” the words slur together, his lips tighten at the sound. You open your eyes again, “Wanna fuck on the car?” 

Mingi cracks a laugh, a belly laugh he couldn’t hold back, “What the fuck?”

You laugh with him, loud and obnoxious, the arch of your back lifting off the car, head turning to the opposite side before it snaps back to look at him. “Just a question,” you sing again, “jus’wonderin’.”

“Can I ask you a question?” He waits for your slurred mhm. “Did you really fuck Wooyoung?”

You suddenly frown, “Yeah, he caught me at a real vulnerable time. Do y’know what vulnerable means?”

He shakes his head, “Yes.”

“Means exposed. He caught me crying ‘cus you kissed me and you were nice and your Instagram army was calling me crazy shit.” Your eyes open all the way, “They’re wild on there, did you know that?”

“People are messaging you about me?”

You choke on a laugh, “So many people.” 

“Let me see–”

You scoff, “Fuck no.”

“Song!” 

He hears Kai shout from the tip of the lawn, Mingi turns and Kai throws his keys across the green, landing perfectly in Mingi’s palm like he aimed for it. “Thanks,” he yells back up, and Kai nods once before turning back inside. 

“Can you get up on your own or am I putting you in the car?” He receives nothing but a groan in response, a turn of your head in the opposite direction. He sighs. “Come on, you can’t even sit up?”

You turn your head back to him, “Why’d you kiss me?” 

“Because I wanted to,” he says it like it’s obvious. 

“They’re gonna kill me for it,” you grumble, “they’re gonna kill me and it will be your fault.”

“No one’s killing you–”

“Did you like it?” You’re blinking at him, knees opening and closing like you needed to move to remind yourself you’re conscious, "Kissing me?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’re so–”

“Tell me now.”

Mingi sighs, taking his eyes off you to look at the trees across from the football house. Tall, shadows filling space between them, calm. The music inside is muffled, bass still vibrating the ground beneath his feet. The confession sits heavy on his tongue. Fuck it. 

“Yeah I did,” he says it in one breath before he looks down at you again. Your brows are upturned, a pout on your lips, watching him until you hear what he says, then you smile. 

“Yay,” the word is light, cute. Then you look as if reality snapped back into you, “Damn, I probably shouldn’t have fucked him, huh?”

Mingi snorts as he walks around the front of his car, grabbing you by your wrists one after another, pulling you upward. “No,” he says, shaking his head, but his smile stays, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, then bring your hand up to your forehead, groaning. “Fuck, ‘m dizzy.”

“I’m taking you home.” He scoops you off his hood, an arm curled under your knees and another holding your back until he’s got you next to the passenger door, letting your feet touch the grass beside the curb. Opening the door, one hand still on your waist, he says, “Get in.”

Your body is a mess of tucked angles as you quite literally fall into his passenger seat, Mingi has to fasten your seatbelt for you when he finally gets in the driver’s seat. You smell like liquor, cigarettes, sweat– he rolls the windows down and you stick your head out like a dog. 

Twenty minutes to your apartment, no music, just Mingi and his thoughts. He thinks about her, his first girlfriend after he started becoming known, how the long-term relationship ended so soon after going public. Comments, DMs on every platform, it didn’t matter what revisions she made to her social media, the words still made it to her eyes, her ears. Nasty, disgusting, vile words and not one of them was true, Mingi hasn’t spoken to her since they broke up. She hates him, down to his core because of something he had no control over. It’s what put his wall up in the first place, made of brick, of steel, a wall so thick it didn’t let any emotion in, only desire. 

He can’t imagine what’s sitting in your phone. Terror lives in his grip on the steering wheel, white-knuckled, bottom lip tight between his teeth, brows furrowed in thought, in remorse. He didn’t think you’d be affected by his status since your relationship was fake, an oversight, one he regrets already. 

“You awake?” He parks just outside of your apartment, but your head doesn’t move off the window frame. 

“No.”

He reaches over, unbuckling your seatbelt, “Come on, drunkie.”

You moan something belligerent, picking your head up slowly, the seatbelt going over your head, stuck around your arm. Mingi can’t help but laugh as he rolls the window up, turning off the car, he expects to have to haul your ass inside. You let him, deadweight in his hold, your bare feet crossing over one another with each step, all the way up to the second floor. Thank god your building has an elevator.

“Key?” He asks. You point to the mat on the floor, eyes half open. He flattens his lips. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to change that.” 

You stand on your own long enough for him to get the door open, and he’s on alert this time, taking in his surroundings. The last time he was here he didn’t walk past the threshold, but now that he’s in, he can smell you everywhere. A large mirror next to the TV surrounded by plants, a tall lamp in the corner, a cozy couch set cream-colored. A coffee table filled with books, an unlit candle and his jersey thrown over it, your apartment screamed comfort, peaceful. 

His eyes squint at the Lego sets under your TV. An open shelved media console, a polaroid camera, a record player with flowers, a starry night painting, all Legos, it’s all he could pick out until you start moaning and groaning again.

“Uh-uh,” he grabs you by the wrist when you start making for the couch, “your ass is taking a shower. Where is it?”

You gasp, staring down at your feet, wrist limp in his palm. Your toes wiggle as you ask, “Where are my shoes?” You look back up at him wide-eyed, “I had shoes on, didn’t I?”

“I’ll find them at the house tomorrow,” he pulls you closer by the wrist, “come on, drunkie. Shower time.”

“I don’t like that nickname,” your top lip lifts, “you have better ones. Why are you here?”

“To get you into bed,” he starts leading you toward the entryway to his right, a small walkway he can only pray holds a bathroom at the end. “You smell like a brewery.”

You smile, following behind him like this was his apartment and not yours. There’s movie posters, framed paintings, decor on your walls he stores for later as more questions come to mind. He notes how clean and sophisticated you decorated, minus the closet door left open with clothes strewn about like you tore it apart before going out tonight. The bathroom tucked in the back corner is worse, makeup scattered across the vanity, pairs of shorts and underwear littered the white tile, you didn’t seem to mind as you walked in right behind him.

“Do I have to?” You sit on the closed toilet, back bending over the tank, head hitting the wall with a thump. 

He opens the shower curtain, turning it on, heating it up instead of answering. You giggle, more of a single sound of amusement, legs spread out in front of you, body molded to the shape of the toilet.

“Fine,” your grumble is somehow still amused, and Mingi swears it takes five whole minutes for you to stand up, toying with your skinny studded belt as your feet stumble over tile, fingers missing the prongs like you couldn’t get a grip.

He sighs again, sitting down on the toilet instead, “C’mere.”

Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, standing between his legs, body still swaying. He steadies you with two hands on your thighs and you lean into him, his touch, voice filled with pleased confusion, “You’re being nice to me.”

“I want to be nice to you,” he glances up at you, face flushed, eyes low, hair a mess. So vulnerable, a new word in his dictionary, to see you like this, for you to act this way in front of him. He wonders how much of it has to do with the messages in your phone. 

“Nice is scary,” you whisper as he starts undoing your belt, pushing the prongs out of leather, your grip stays tight on his shoulders. “You scared me when you kissed me.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he pulls leather through the loops of denim, throwing it on the floor. “Button?”

You nod, body swaying again, he holds you upright with his fingers tucked in the hem of your jeans. “No one has ever kissed me like that before,” you’re still whispering like you’re telling him a secret. He looks up after getting your zipper down, seeing your glassy eyes, your dilated pupils. Pretty. 

“I think that’s how you should be kissed,” the answer comes quickly, easily. Honest. 

Your hands find the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, throwing it to the floor beside you. He fights to keep his eyes on yours. Your forearms sit on his shoulders this time, finding them like magnets as you flip your hair over your shoulder, out of your face. He swallows, breath catching in his throat, “You should get in the shower, don’t waste water.”

“You didn’t like me when you met me.” It’s not a question, but an observation. A memory. 

He counters, “You didn’t like me either.”

“You were an asshole.”

“You’re sober enough to get in the shower–”

“What changed?” You ask, words sounding fragile, like you were scared of the answer.

“Everything,” he smiles halfway, leaning back an inch. The room feels hotter, steam taking up space, the sound of the shower hitting the tub a small hum, his ears ring with the quiet. “Most of all, me, I think.”

You’re looking at him differently, like you’re trying to figure something out. You reach up to his hair, pushing it out of his face, your touch featherlight, so delicate a shiver shoots through him like a firework. Your fingers glide over his temple, his cheek, you press your palm flat against his cheekbone, he leans some of his weight onto it, he lets you toy with him like he’s yours to do as you please. There’s a part of him that thinks he is, even if it’s fucked up, even if the two of you are still somewhere in purgatory.

“Pretty,” you mumble, a mindless word. “I can understand why they hate me.”

His bottom lip curls, “I’m so sorry–”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not your fault.”

His lungs twist hard enough to steal his breath. His hands find your hips, pulling you forward until his forehead meets the heat of your abdomen; so soft under him, fragile in his hold, you have no idea how long he’s waited to hear those words, no idea the weight they hold. No idea the guilt that lives glued to his spine. 

Your hands find his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp, holding him against you like it’s where you wanted him, where he’s supposed to be. He thinks it’s where he’s supposed to be, too. He picks his head up only to place a kiss against your skin, a soft press of his lips over your stomach, it holds everything he can’t say to you right now. He hopes you can feel it. 

Your knees buckle a little, fingers stalling in his hair, he hears the breath you suck in, feels how you bend into him. “I’m drunk, don’t make me horny, I’ll jump you.”

He snorts, your words pulling a laugh straight from his gut, he leans back to look up at you, your fingers still in his hair. You’re smiling, lazy and stupid, but then you break away from him, thumbs tucked into your jeans like you’re about to shove them down. 

“Hold on, damn.” He stands on weak knees, quickly skipping out of the bathroom, he peeks his head back in just before closing the door. “Be careful. Shout if you need anything.”

“You’ll stay?” Your face is round with supplication. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hey.”

Your nose twitches. 

“Wake up, it’s after twelve.”

Your top lip curls. 

“Wake up, I’m getting bored.”

You peek an eye open as your whole face tightens up, hands finding your cheeks, rubbing your eyes awake. Your stomach hurts, your knees feel sore, you grumble out a curse as your body stretches itself into consciousness.

“She’s alive.”

You pause, peeking over your fingertips to Mingi sitting on the edge of your bed. Dark hair messy on his head, shirtless, a pair of your shorts painted onto his thighs. You’re too confused to laugh at the sight. 

“What the fuck?” You ask, voice laced with sleep, face scrunched up beyond recognition. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Come on,” he frowns, “you didn’t even throw up, there’s no way you blacked out. Think, smart girl.”

You blink at him, letting the memories come back one after another. Wooyoung, shots, shots, shots, table, car, bathroom, bed. Mingi’s head on your stomach. Mingi’s lips on your skin. 

“Oh, shit.” You sit up on your elbows, eyes on your bedspread, still blinking crust out of your vision, “Oh, shit.”

Mingi huffs a noise of amusement through his nose, “Still confused?”

You shake your head, heart picking up speed in your chest. Your head feels heavy, stomach nauseous, limbs tingly with leftover alcohol in your blood. You look up at him, “Why are you still here?”

“You asked me to stay,” he shrugs, like that was the most normal thing in the world. Like he’s stayed over a thousand times before. 

“So you stayed?” Your brows stay knitted together, confused, confused confused confused. 

“So I stayed,” he nods, “how do you feel?”

“Like dog shit.”

“Sounds about right,” he’s smiling but he’s trying to hide it. It makes your lips twitch upward. “You remember dancing on my dining room table?”

Your eyes close, lips flat, brows raised. “Yup,” you nod, “unfortunately, I do.”

“Remember asking to fuck on my car?”

Your eyes shoot open, tone full of disbelief, “No.”

“You’re funny,” he chuckles, laying flat on his back at the edge of your bed. “You’re always funny, but you’re an especially funny drunk. It was cute when I wasn’t terrified you were gonna die.”

“The scaries are gonna haunt me for weeks,” you push yourself up, forehead meeting your palms. “Fuck.”

“I was hoping we could talk,” he sounds coy all of the sudden, nervous. Shy. 

You nod, “Let me shower again, eat something, drink a bottle of water. I feel like a fucking zombie.”

After cursing yourself out under your breath upon entering your messy bathroom, half your shower was spent with your forehead pressed to the wall, somehow cooling down your body temperature while steaming water soaked away all your shame. You ran through the events last night over and over, a little fuzzy at the edges, but each and every damning moment was crystal clear. You dried yourself off, completed your routine all with the same thought in mind: What the hell does he want to talk about?

It’s not like he likes you for real. You’d never work– your past is too messy, your current state is too messy, actually. He needs someone with a clean record, a nice, pretty girl who dresses in dainty clothes, someone who says please and thank you– that’s his goddamn destiny, a girl like Winter. Reserved, bashful, composed, you wonder if she’s ever said a curse word out loud, she’s nothing like you. She’s someone the internet would love, his coaches would love, his family would probably love, not that you know anything about his family.

You’re getting ahead of yourself— you’re spiraling. The only outcome of this conversation is that tension ran high, he was kind enough to take care of you when you were drunk, you’d go back to normalcy in an hour. Maybe Wooyoung’s free later tonight, he’d make a snide comment about you dancing on the table, you’d laugh like it was intentional. Like there weren’t videos of you on people’s phones that’d haunt you at two in the morning for weeks to come. 

“What’s all this?” You asked upon walking into the living room, Mingi stood beside your small kitchen table, rummaging through one of two plastic bags. 

“I ordered food,” he says, pulling out containers from the bag. Setting them down on the table neatly, one on top of another, neat. 

Your brows furrow, walking into the kitchen hesitantly, “Food?”

“I can’t cook,” he looks up at you with a half-smile, “no idea how. But you need to eat, I also got juice for you, and I found ibuprofen in your cabinet–”

“Mingi,” you shake your head, trying to gather your bearings, “what are you doing?”

He holds up a hand, flat palm facing you, features straight and unimpressed. “Don’t start with me, sit down and eat. We’ll talk after there’s food in your stomach.”

You must still be drunk. Limbs feeling heavy, you trudge into the wooden seat, the one with the broken bar that supports the legs. Breakfast food, so much breakfast food, your stomach hurts at the sight of oil and grease, but you need it, you need the juice, too– you sucked that down in record time. 

Silence, other than the sound of chewing and plastic ruffling, it was comfortable. Maybe a little awkward, unless that was your nerves talking which was absolutely plausible, you still sat in fucking confusion. Feeding you, catering to you, taking care of you like he did last night– and he still only had on your shorts. Your powder blue waffle shorts that fit you loose but clung to his muscled, golden, tan-lined thighs like they’d rip at the seams if he moved the wrong way. 

You hate that it’s nice having him here. You hate that you’re letting it happen. 

Pills swallowed, enough food in your stomach to take an hour to digest, the awkwardness grew after cleaning up the table. Both aimlessly pacing the kitchen, pretending to still have something to do, avoiding the conversation that needs to happen. Might as well get it over with. 

“Mingi–”

“Can I start?”

You sigh, pointing a finger in the direction of the living room. “Couch.”

Your stomach feels uneasy like you’d throw up every bite as you sit across from him, both taking edges of the couch like you’re scared to get close. You sit on a leg like it’d give you an easy escape if you needed it, despite it being your apartment. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, voice small. Your brows furrow, ready to ask what the hell he’s sorry for, but his lips part instead. “I’m so sorry you were sent messages about me, this has happened before, my ex-girlfriend broke up with me because of them, because people didn’t leave her alone about me.”

“Mingi, it’s not your fault–”

He looks up at you and his glassy eyes kill the words on your tongue. His voice is small, layered with struggle, “We were together for a year. When I posted her, us, she broke up with me within two weeks. We never spoke again.”

Your jaw drops, “Two weeks?”

He nods, “I don’t even think we made it to the fourteenth day, I can’t believe I didn’t think that would happen to you. I guess I thought because our relationship was fake it wouldn’t, but no one knows it was fake, I just didn’t think, again. I let it happen again. I’m sorry.” 

Ah, and now everything makes sense. “You didn’t need to do all of this because you feel bad. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself, I also know when things are out of your hands, and the messages are one-hundred-percent out of your hands.”

His brows furrow after a second, “I didn’t take care of you because of the messages, or because I feel bad. I took care of you because I care about you, I like you.”

“No,” you shake your head, “no you don’t. You might think you do, but you don’t.”

“Huh?” His eyes thin, top lip lifting, “Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“I just know, I’ve seen your type, and it’s not me. Which is fine, I don’t–”

“You told me you liked me last night,” he argues.

Your lips flatten. “I was drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“What are you? Sixteen years old?” Your face twists, “I’m being realistic and logical, you’re acting on emotion.”

“Well I haven’t felt this much emotion since she broke up with me!” His hands fly up on either side of him, voice strained. “And I’ve missed it, I missed feeling this way. I want to keep feeling this way, about you.”

Your blinks are stuttered, slow. Your lips purse, he might have shocked you into silence. He runs a hand through his hair, face torn up into exasperation, he sighs, one deep and grounding. Looking at you again, he asks, “Do you really not want me? There’s not one bone in your body that wishes everything we’ve done the last few weeks was real?”

Your chest is tight. Your lips won’t move, your mind is blank.

“You don’t think you deserve it,” his voice switches to something calm, understanding. “Someone to like you, or care about you, I know. You’re used to guys like him, guys who use your feelings as ammunition. I won’t do that to you.”

You feel like stone. Stuck, still, eyes wide, unblinking. Fear simmers.

He shifts himself closer, eyes pleading. “I was sick when I found out you slept with Wooyoung, I’ve never acted like that before in my life, so jealous and angry, like he was taking you from me. I felt like you were mine, and he was trying to steal you–”

“I asked him to,” you finally speak, rushed and panicked. There’s nothing else left to argue with other than this. “I basically begged him.”

“You were upset,” Mingi shakes his head, “you told me. You said you were upset because of the messages and because I kissed you, you didn’t want to–”

“I needed to,” you try to swallow, throat squeezed tight, “I needed him to. He isn’t kind, he isn’t genuine, he doesn’t hold me like I’m breakable, he wouldn’t do all the shit you did for me last night. He isn’t you, and I needed the reminder. That’s what I deserve, not you.”

“Do you even know what you’ve done for me in the weeks we’ve known each other?” Mingi’s voice is pitched now, layered with raw emotion. “You’ve reminded me what freedom is like. That I can do whatever I want, I’m not a machine, or a puppet for someone else to use. You gave me back myself, is it so ridiculous that I don’t want to let you fucking go?”

“I’m scared,” you blurt it out, two words pulled from so deep in your psyche you can’t believe you said them out loud. “I’m scared to let myself feel anything towards you.”

“You already feel something towards me,” he argues, “a lot of something. You wouldn’t have slept with him if you didn’t.”

Stunned into silence again, your lips purse. He continues, “I’m not stupid. My vocabulary might not be as big as yours but I’m not stupid, I know you have feelings for me. You can’t hide that no matter how much you want to, how much you try to get it fucked out of you.” He shifts closer. “I’ll show you. Let me kiss you again.”

“Fuck no,” your brows furrow. 

He deadpans, “Let me fuckin’ kiss you.”

“Did you even brush your teeth?”

“Shut up,” he stands up on his knees, too big in front of you, chiseled body on display, your heart drops to your stomach. “Stop deflecting. I see through you now.”

“Mingi–”

His hands find the armrest behind you as you uncurl your leg from beneath you, trying to accumulate space, space you’re quickly losing as he leans closer. “You don’t have to be scared with me.”

Your breath is shallow and shaky, heart in your throat, eyes halfway out of your head. He keeps his face close, forehead a millimeter from yours, you feel his heat first. He’s so big, he swallows your figure, he’s too big for the fucking couch, it’s dizzying. 

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

He smiles before pressing his lips to yours, soft, so fucking delicate it takes you a moment to ease into it, to process that it’s even a kiss. Softer than it was on the field– his lips barely graze yours at first, as if he was testing the waters, like he wanted to feel your breath on his skin, wanted to feel your body say yes before your mouth said the word. Your lips part for him, soft and steady, molding to his, letting him guide, lead. 

He asks for entrance with his tongue, swiping along your bottom lip with a certain courtesy like even though you were following him, letting him show you, you still held the reins. Your insides feel molten, fingers grabbing onto your shirt like you didn’t know where else to put them, mind in a constant battle to pick every detail apart or shut off completely. It’s different– it might be everything, laying here and kissing him softly, lazily, like nothing else exists except for him, his weight, his mouth. He tastes like something new, something blue, a memory you’d come back to for a long, long time. 

He parts from you, lips swollen and red like he’d bitten them, he stares. Chocolate eyes big and round, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed a pretty rose, he looks at you like he’s just discovered you. Like even though he kissed you to prove something to you, it’s proven something deeper to himself. 

He doesn’t smile, still calculating, but in a quiet voice he asks, “Do you feel it too?”

Your fists are still tight in your shirt, you search his eyes, the way they fall to your lips, you don’t answer— you kiss him again, harder this time, faster, tongue passing through his lips like his mouth belonged to you, like you were running out of time. You shift down on the couch, pillow falling to the floor, his elbows bracket your head as your calves hook over his thighs, moving in unison like your bodies were acting without either of you thinking about it. 

Your hands find his hair when you wrap your arms around his neck, lifting yourself into him, pressing yourself against him, feeling the strength of him, it makes a tight noise leave your lips, one needy and begging. He rolls his hips into you on instinct and you moan into his mouth like you need him to do it harder.

“Fuck,” he curses into your mouth, lifting himself up on his palms, “wait— wait.” 

“What?” You follow on your elbows, bug-eyed, “Why? What happened?” 

He swallows, panting, running a hand through his hair as he sits back on his calves, your legs still thrown lazily over his thighs. The print of his length sits heavy and prominent with his legs spread in your cotton shorts, your eyes flicker back and forth to his face, mouth watering, patience already scarily thin. 

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he shakes his head, chest splotchy, tummy expanding with each aborted breath he takes. “I want this, I want you, I want to do it right.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest, it’s at war with your dampening panties, your thighs that twitch as the words leave his mouth. His eyes drop to your figure, the big tee you wore hiked up to your stomach, tiny shorts clinging to your dampened core, he squeezes his eyes shut like it’d erase the sight from his memory. 

“You want to stop because you want to take me out on a date?” You ask, brows raised. “We’ve been on, like, two already. Maybe three or four if you squint.” 

He opens his eyes to narrow them, “You’re such a smartass.”

You smile at that, head tilting, cocky, “Clearly you like it, since you wanna date my smart-ass.”

His hands fall to your hips, tugging them towards him until your back is flat against the couch again, “I wanna do more than that.” 

“Then do it,” you huff, hips bucking into him, arms lifting to reach for him, “you’re the one who stopped.” 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He asks, leaning forward enough to let you wrap your arms around his shoulders, he uses his hands at your waist to lift you up onto his lap. 

You gasp at the movement, at the fucking ease in which he maneuvers you, your knees land beside his hips before you answer. “If you want me to shut the fuck up then give me a reason to.”

“I lied, don’t want you quiet,” he’s looking up at you from this angle and the sight of him steals your breath, makes everything feel a little more real. He’s so beautiful and he wants you and fuck you want him, too. 

“Make up your mind,” you press yourself to his chest, keeping your faces close. “Y’know, you talked big game that night at the LAX house, been wondering if you could back it up.”

His hands tuck beneath your tee, fingers warm against your skin as they drag up your sides, palms landing heavy on your waist, it makes you shiver. He smirks, “Now you’re baiting me into fucking you?”

“Maybe,” your faces are so close your lips graze, “is it working?”

He kisses you again, more feverish than the last, hands squeezing your waist before they drop down to your hips, grinding you against him. You keep your arms folded around his neck, tongue slotting between his lips messily, teeth clashing together as you grind your core against his clothed length, roughly, purposely, letting him feel the arousal that’s bottled up inside. You part to empty strangled noises into each other’s mouths, eyes screwed tight, your hips move steadily in a rhythm guided by his hands. So hard, long and thick beneath you, you could feel him through your shorts, his shorts, there was no stopping. There was no pausing. 

His hands find the hem of your tee, you help him pull it over your head, his lips find your neck, your chest, your head tilts back to give him access, for small, pitched breaths to leave your lips, a song for him to hear. He groans when your hips slow into a nasty grind, his tongue pokes out to drag down your chest, over your heart where he places an open-mouthed kiss. He looks up at you to say, “This is mine now.”

Your heartbeat picks up, he smiles like he can feel it. Brows knitted together, face bent with intoxicated arousal, you respond, “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“We’re technically still dating,” his teeth catch onto the hem of the lace bralette you wore, tugging on it before placing a kiss right above, at the center of the valley between your breasts, “and we’re not breaking up.”

“Are you trying to gaslight me?” You ask, hips still moving against him, fingers knotting in his hair when your clothed clit rolls over the ledge of his tip, “ah– I think we had a very public breakup last night.”

One of his hands slithers over the curve of your hip, down between your thighs, two fingers adding pressure where you needed it. You choke on a moan, back arching, hips digging into the pressure as he grins wide, “I forgave you already. This is make-up sex.”

“More,” your fingers tighten in his hair, eyes squeezing shut, “Mingi.”

“Oh, I like that,” he circles his fingers twice over your clit, smirking, “beg a lil’ more, put that mouth to good use.”

Your eyes open wanting to scowl but your brows are knitted too deeply in pleasure, lips parted and glossy with his spit, you can’t force yourself to as his fingers circle over your clit again. “P-please,” you stutter over the word, hips rolling into his touch, “wanna feel you.”

His face contorts in pleasure like you were the one touching him, he catches your lips again, tongue slotting into your mouth as his fingers dive beneath your shorts. He groans into your mouth as he slips between your folds, feeling the wetness that seeped through your damp shorts, “So wet for me, princess.”

Your hips buck into his hand, body twitching at how thick his fingers feel at your center combined with that fucking word on his tongue. “Feels s’good, more, Mingi, inside.”

“Say please,” the words are muffled, lips still pressed to yours. 

You whisper, “Please.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, feeling you clenching around nothing as his fingers prod at your entrance. His eyes flicker upward, “You liked that? Being called my good girl?” 

You nod shamelessly, hips rolling into his fingers, beckoning him to put them inside. Slowly he inches forward and you gasp, breath catching in your throat, fingers tightening in his hair, he curves them with each inch he gives you, adding pressure on that spot as soon as he reaches it, you’re choking on your own pleasure as your hips grind to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“So greedy,” he whispers, completely in awe, “look at you, baby, fucking yourself on my fingers. You gonna be good for me and cum on ‘em?” 

“Holy shit,” you whisper, hips stuttering, his words going straight to the pit in your belly. You’ve never had someone pay this much attention to you or your pleasure, never had someone even insinuate making you cum before they’ve taken their pants off. He crooks his fingers and you whine, “You don’t h-have to, ‘hmygod.”

“Yes I do,” his fingertips massage that spot, fucking into you in small, stuttered thrusts so he can keep pressure, “need you to cum around my fingers, then around my cock, gonna do that for me?” 

“Yeah,” you roll your hips faster, harder, meeting the thrusts of his fingers, his movement trapped within your shorts, the edge of his palm kissing your clit. It’s fucking dirty, nasty the way you’re moving, so shameless, if you weren’t so consumed by pleasure you’d be mortified at how easily he cracked your composure. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum around my cock?” He asks, tone arrogant because he knows the answer, “Gonna make a mess on me with this wet lil’ pussy?”

“Mingi,” you whine, “stop.”

“You like it, I can feel you clenching,” he grins, you open your eyes just enough to see it. Cocky, but he’s backing it up and fuck you might die if he stops. “So good for me, bet you’d take anything I give you, bet you’d ask for more.”

The pit of pleasure builds steadily in your gut and you bite your lip to try to keep your mewls inside. It’s futile when he kisses you, drinking up every wrecked moan you spill into his mouth, keeping his fingers moving at the same pace, the same pressure. The rough edge of his palm hitting your clit with each movement and it’s so fucking obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to pull you to the finish line with ease. 

“Mingi,” you gasp out, limbs locking as you climb, “I’m close.”

“I know,” he presses his lips to your chin, under your jaw, “give it to me– cum for me, baby.”

Your hips stutter first before your orgasm crashes over you heavily, body twitching, rolling into him, he moves with you, keeping his hand steady as you ride out your orgasm, chanting praises into the space between you, encouragement that extends your pleasure, the feeling of euphoria that rocks through you never-ending. You keel after you finish, forehead meeting his, body deflating like he took everything out of you, he kisses your unmoving mouth, smiling into you when you don’t respond. 

“Did so good for me,” he pulls his fingers out of your shorts, bringing them up between your faces, slipping them between his lips. He moans in pleasure, “Mm, can’t wait to eat her. You’ll let me, right? You’ll ride my face if I tell you to?”

The pit in your stomach twists all over again, core clenching around nothing, he’s filthy. You love it. “Need you inside,” you mutter, voice tight with arousal but winded, “need to feel you, Min.”

His smile returns, “Can you handle it, big girl? Look at you after just two fingers.” You whine and he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, “I can’t believe you’re so easy. You’ve got such a fuckin’ attitude and now you’re whining and crying for my cock.”

“You asked me if I ever shut the fuck up,” you grind yourself against him, bleeding impatience, “do you?”

He makes a sound he keeps lodged in his throat, it makes you smirk. He answers, “Not if it makes you this wet. You soaked through your shorts, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you huff, “fuck me already, ‘m tired of hearing you run your mouth.”

His hands find your thighs, holding onto them tight as he lifts himself up, you fall backwards fast with a loud yelp, back hitting the cushions of the couch. He’s predatory as he leans over you, “This mouth can make you cum faster than my fingers did,” his fingers find the hem of your shorts, “wanna find out?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you lift your hips for him and he tugs them down to your ankles, “save your filthy fuckin’ mouth for another time.”

“There she is,” he stands on his knees, tugging at the baby blue shorts on his hips, “knew the brat was in there somewhere.”

“It only comes out when you’re a cocky motherfuck–” he tugs his shorts down and the word dies on your tongue. Bigger than he felt beneath you, thick, red, leaking, your mouth waters, back arching off the couch at the sight, “Damn.”

He’s smirking and you hate that his cockiness is starting to become sexy. “Gonna take it all like a big girl?”

You’re nodding, not even looking at him, you can’t take your eyes off his cock. Bigger than Wooyoung, than Hyunjin, he might even be bigger than Mingyu and that’s a feat. All you can muster is, “Hurry.”

He settles between your legs, your knees spread under his heavy palms, he licks his lips when he gets eyes on your center. “She’s so pretty, baby. Why didn’t you tell me? Woulda been fucking you weeks ago.”

“God, Mingi, shut up,” you buck your hips toward him, “get inside me already.”

“She’s soaked,” he wraps his fist around his cock, sliding it through your folds, rubbing circles over your clit that make you shiver, “so pretty, gonna ruin her. Can I? So you can’t fuck anyone but me?”

Impatience is a band that snaps hard, “Is that why you talk so much? You have a big dick that you don’t even know how to use–”

He wastes no time slipping back down to your entrance and pushing inside, just his tip has your body locking up, head tipping back, a tight, wilted noise slipping out of you involuntarily, it tells him everything you can’t say. He’s smirking even if he’s fighting to keep his own pleasure at bay, “Yeah? I don’t know how to use it? Say that again.”

He’s curved, carving into you like he’d make you take it even if you couldn’t, your walls suck him in like you were made for it, clenching around the width of him, mushroom tip kissing your cervix just enough that it’s pleasurable– you shake your head, biting your fucking tongue, nails clawing at the couch cushions because no one’s ever felt this good just sitting inside you. 

“Exactly,” he pulls out slowly, filling you back up just as slowly, letting you adjust to his length, his thickness, the perfection your mind couldn’t comprehend. “Lay there and take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

“Fuck, Mingi,” it’s high-pitched, filled with anticipation and slight disbelief. You watch as his abdomen flexes, how his tummy fills with air and deflates, his jaw that goes slack with each thrust, he’s so sexy it hurts. “Faster.”

He picks up speed on command, palms finding your shins, pushing them back into your chest as his cock starts bullying into you, “Like that?”

You can barely choke out a yes, hands flying to his biceps, nails marking crescents into his skin, half-curses fly from your lips drowned out by tight moans, pitched noises when his tip drags over that spot inside you, repeating, “Mingi, Mingi,” like it’s the only word you know. 

“I’m here,” he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, “I got you, know it’s big, baby, you can take it.”

You curse again as he fucks into you harder, back trying to arch but he has you pinned so deep you can’t move, “Mingi!”

He smiles, eyes half-lidded, “That all you can say? Fucked out already? Just started.”

You whimper, legs shaking beneath his palms, he lets go of your shins so he can lean down and kiss you, trading speed for a pace so deep and heavy you can’t kiss back. Moaning straight into his mouth, arms around his neck, you keep him close, legs hooked around his back, “Mingi.”

“Doing so good,” he kisses your cheek, your jaw, down your neck, “pussy so tight, baby, so perfect, gonna have to fuck you every day.”

You sound hypnotized, you might be. “Yes, yes, every day.”

“You know why?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “‘Cause you’re mine.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, and when he picks his face back up to kiss you, you kiss him back. It’s a mess of teeth and spit, too distracted and moving to be considered a kiss, but you’re lucid enough to tangle your fingers in his hair, for your hips to start fucking back. 

“Say it,” he whispers in your mouth, edged like a blade. It makes you moan. 

“Yours,” you’re chanting again, “I’m yours, Mingi, I’m yours.”

He groans, hips picking up speed all over again, he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, lips mindlessly pressing against your skin, tongue poking out just to taste the sweat that's formed. He slips an arm between your bodies to press two fingers against your clit and you twitch, a sharp moan escaping you, bucking into him at a pace unsteady and uncontrolled as the pressure builds fast. 

“Mingi!” It’s loud and pitched, “Too much, too much.”

“No ‘ts not,” his words are muffled, lips pressed against your skin, “Take it, cum around my cock. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum f’me, baby.”

Strangled noises escape you one after another, his fingers circling your clit with practiced movements like he already knew your body inside and out. He’s still talking as pleasure climbs, your fingernails clawing shapes into his back, his rhythm doesn’t change or falter for a second. His words feel mindless, babbles of praise, “C’mon, baby, cum for me. Need to feel you clenching around my cock, say my name, say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Mingi,” you don’t sound any more composed than he does, “Mingi, ‘hmygod I’m gonna cum, just for you, all for you.” 

He moans as your pleasure hits its peak, seizing beneath him, legs locking around his body, fingers raking at his back hard enough to leave marks, you’re a mess of moans and cries and whimpers, but he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t let up even a little. He’s cursing, hips jerking into you at that same fucking damning pace like his life depended on it, like he refused to give you anything but the entirety of your orgasm. 

You’re still shaking when he pushes himself up, body red and splotchy, veins swollen and prominent and everywhere. “Gonna flip you,” you think he might be saying it to himself more than to you with the way he moves you fully on his own, your front meets the couch with a squeak, body spent, head fuzzy. 

You’re flat against the couch, his legs straddle yours just below your ass, he spreads you to lean down and spit before he’s pushing inside once more. You curse sharply into the pillow, eyes rolling back, hands swatting behind you as he fills you up in one fell swoop. 

He shushes you, two hands grabbing your swatting arms by your wrists, pinning them at the base of your spine, “You can take it. Breathe, princess.” When he moves, you feel like you might never recover. Your wails are muffled by the cushion you buried your face in, the pleasure was different, more, deeper, the way his cock grinds against that spot inside you and you can’t get away– you feel the pressure build like it never stopped, steady, heavy, so euphoric you might not be in your body at all anymore.

“You’re perfect, oh my god,” you hear him behind you, “gonna let me fill you up? Let me mark what’s mine? Fuck, baby, need to fill this perfect pussy up, need to cum inside.”

You dig your fingernails into your palms, kicking at the armrest on the other side of the couch, grinding your teeth, you turn your head just to cry, “Yes, fill me up, inside,” your voice cracks, “please.”

“Clenching around me s’fuckin’ hard,” his voice is rough, “y’gonna cum again?”

You let out a noncommittal sound and he changes the angle ever so slightly, your vision blurs, breath taut in your chest, his cock drilling against that spot like he was aiming for it, you don’t know if the damp spot under your head was from tears or drool. Keeping the angle, the pace, he lets your arms go before leaning over, pressing a sloppy kiss to your shoulderblade, breath hot in your ear, “So fucking perfect, let go f’me, baby.”

The sound you let out in response was from the deepest part of your lungs, a sob, a prayer, you’re so close you can fucking taste it. He presses another kiss to the tip of your spine, leaning over your shoulder again, mouth opening, teeth grazing your skin– when you feel him clamp down in a bite you lose it, trembling, sobbing, fisting the couch cushions with his name on your tongue, “Mingi!” 

“Yes,” in awe again, his hips stutter, “there you go, fuuck– fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.” You’re spasming around his length, hips bucking, trying to escape the unending pleasure as his thrusts only get heavier, sloppier, quicker. He keeps himself close, “My perfect girl, y’gonna take every drop? Fuck– fuck, gonna cum, baby, you want it?”

“Yes, Min,” you’re grabbing for him again, nails clawing at his thighs behind you, “fill me up, make me yours. Need you inside.”

One hand snakes under your jaw, turning your head he kisses you sloppily as his hips stutter, groaning a curse into your mouth as he twitches inside you, then he slows, warmth filling you up, ropes of his release heavy, hot, nasty. His breath is short, winded, exhausted, you don’t think yours is any more even. 

“Mingi,” it comes out like a whimper, you feel him twitch inside you, he lets go of your face. A lazy grin takes over your cheeks, eyes closing, “You weren’t lying.”

He laughs, a small, easy thing, lifting himself up. “Why would I lie?”

“Dunno,” you answer absent-mindedly, “make yourself sound better.”

“Baby,” his hands smooth over the skin of your back, he leans down to press a soft kiss in the middle of your spine. Mumbling into your skin like he was too shy to say it with his chest, “I don’t need to do that.”

You hum, “Of course, how could I forget, you’re the entire package.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or if you’re fucking with me.”

“Good.”

He smacks his teeth, “I’m gonna pull out, ‘kay?”

You pop a brow at the warning, but as he starts to slip out inch by inch, you’re grateful for his thighs keeping you locked in place because the full-body twitch it gives you is lethal. You whine a little as his spent cock lays still-heavy on your ass, “How do you keep that thing hidden?”

He snorts, “Like in my pants?”

“That’s a weapon,” you’re still twitching beneath him, “and you just used it on me.”

He’s giggling as he shifts himself to be able to carefully flip you over, another movement he does with ease as if you’re some kind of toy. It still makes your stomach curl with warmth, body flushing hot as he lays himself down next to you, sliding an arm under your body, holding you close. “Smells like sex in here.”

You curl into his side, cheek pressed to his bare chest, eyes closing again. “Don’t care.”

“I really like you, you know,” his voice is low but steady, honest, “and I want to be your boyfriend.”

You pick your head up to look at him, his eyes big and round, glossed over like he was nervous to say the words. You reach a hand up, running your fingers through his chocolate locks once before cupping his cheek, guiding him down to press your lips softly against his. “You already are my boyfriend, moron.”

“I mean seriously–”

“And I mean seriously, you’re already my boyfriend,” you raise your brows in expectation, “so no more ogling girls at parties, no more calling me stupid names and no more Winter.”

“I thought you said you’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before,” there’s a stupid smile on his face, “seems like you got the gist, princess.”

“What did I literally just say–”

“What about the messages?” His question is a little sturdier. 

Your brows furrow, “What about them? I already turned my requests off.”

His brows match yours, “That’s it? It doesn’t turn you off from being with me?”

“I fucked Wooyoung like, two days ago, Mingi,” you smile when he makes a face of disgust, “if you can mentally handle that, I can mentally handle being in the spotlight, as long as its smaller than yours. But if I can’t, I’ll tell you, and we’ll figure it out. Wait, what about your coaches?”

“That is such a non-issue,” he rolls his eyes, “who gives a fuck?”

You make a face of surprised agreement, bottom lip bending over, brows raising, “Sure. Who gives a fuck?”

He smiles, “Cool, I think that’s everything.”

“Cool,” you nuzzle yourself back into his chest, pressing a short kiss to his skin, “by the way, how long until we can fuck again? I’ve been waiting three weeks for this too, y’know.”

masterlist 🏈 part one

this is my soul project. ive never loved another mingi as much as i love this one. if you read all of this, genuinely thank you from the bottom of my fucking heart. i could write about him endlessly, my muse fr. i hope you enjoyed and pls dont hesitate to tell me all your thoughts 🩷

xoxo

[luv-beam]

PART 2 HERE WE GO

i love a good crying scene, esp when theyre bawling their eyes out and i can feel the weight of their shoulders

sorry had to stop to say the word feed here is gloriously used. also YES the irritated-wtf-who-asked 'congratulations?'

OH. BABE WHAT R WE DOIN HERE. OH NONONONONONONO WHAAAAAAAAAT IS HAPPENING okay. and we're going directly to mingi and winter like this feels sus as FUCK MAN GET ME OUT 😭😭 also winter sybau oMG.

okay wait u always eat w mingi's inner monologue like:

*head in hands* *pool of my own tears* *SCREAMS* okay first off that lucifer line was great like the IMAGE it put in my head was so goddamn clear. that is the PERFECT way to get her expression across to us as a reader i canNOT gush abt this little detail EEENOUGH.

and then the yellow part where he's realizing that HE wanted to be the one to fix things, HE wanted to be your reason to smile and feel better. before, he had only ever been the reason to make u pissed off or other negative emotions, but THINGS HAVE CHANGED. HE IS TERRIFIED OF SEEING U LIKE THIS. HE HATES IT AND HE WANTS IT GONE AND HE WANTS TO BE YOUR REASON.

and the blue—OH THE BLUE—i felt that one in my bones ngl loke oh boy, it's like the yellow but one step deeper. he not only wants to be the reason u smile/return to your normal self, he wants to be A PART of your normal life. even if this whole scheme is fake, he wants a real connection out of this UGH

also that last part of his convo w winter is SO telling

fck dude the part w her and wooyoung on the balcony is so... like this feels like. A FEVER DREAM. theyre so complicated and messy and—idk dude i feel like i understand her even tho im screaming at her thru the screen. like this shit's scary and not at ALL what she wanted. she knows so much abt mingi now that its like,,, she knows both the good and the bad and yet she finds herself having fun w him, and that LOOK he gives her is fcking terrifying bc wtf is this, this wasn't part of the plan. also mingi is supposed to like winter and he was still EXCITED abt winter in his fcking jersey, so he will prob end up w her anyway, and what does that leave u with?

PRINCESS.

ALRIGHT. TAKING A SCREENSHOT SO I CAN TAKE A BREATH BC OH MY GOD. i really cannot tell if princess was apart of that plan or not bc she genuinely seemed drunk as hell and wooyoung was acting like a piece of shit as always. also she never told him that she and mingi weren't actually dating. BUT FUVK she really sounded upset and distressed by how he found out, and mingi was actually HURT 😭😭😭 OH. *hand slaps over mouth* and just MINGIS. INNER. DIALOGUE. HE WANTS TO ASK U HE DOESNT WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. HE WANTS TO CLARIFY. HE WANTS TO CONFESS AND APOLOGIZE. HE STILL WANTS U AND NOW HE'S JUST HURT AND ANGRY AND KSNDKSNDJ

also can we just talk abt how he saw winter and the last thing he thought was "good enough" . like this man at the beginning of the fic pulled out the WHITEBOARD to gameplan a way to cuff her and now she's just pretty and good enough. EEUUUUGH i love development I LOVE ANY KIND IF DEVELOPMENT

WHY DID HER SMILE FALTER *eye twitch*

omg this is like in 10 things i hate about you OMG MINGI GO GET HER (also buzzword for early two thousands song EVERYBODY PLAY LEAK IT BY FLO IT'S EARLY 2000s ENOUGH FOR ME 😝😝😝)

her split of consciousness U WANT ME. JONGHO AND YEOSANG STRESSED AND KNOWING MINGI WOULD GET THE JOB DONE. WOOYOUNG BEING A PIECE OF SHIT. oh that was stressful. i need a smoke break like girl omg pls let him carry u out like a sack of potatoes. im already feeling the bad energy when people start posting their fuckass videos girl is not gonna catch a break 😭 BABY. BABYBABHYDMFNKR

drunk princess coaxing that gentle giant out STOP and the realsies.... theyre so cute THEYRE SO CUTE 😭😭

"do u know what vulnerable means" OH IM DEAD

YAY....... oh homegirl is TOO CUTE THIS WHOLE EXCHANGE IS TOO CUTE THIS FEELS LIKE AN EARLY 2000s ROMCOM LIKE I CAN HEAR THE CRICKETS IN THE BACKGROUND AS THEYRE OUTSIDE FAWK. and their little banter back and forth too oml

"no one's kissed me like that before" "i think that's how u should be kissed" oh :(((( "everything. most of all me" OH (´Д⊂ヽDUDE THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT OH .

this feels so parallel to the other two lines i screenshot above from mingi, lile they're both wanting opposite things than they BELIEVE they should be wanting/thinking. princess's earlier inner rationalization of winter being more suitable for mingi is contrasted against the fact that he is Here. in Her apartment, not winter's. and as much as u convince urself that ur not right for him or his destiny, u like the idea of him being yours. (and its like... it kind of makes me feel bittersweet knowing that both of them share similar sentiments abt if they end up splitting, that they don't really wanna lose ech other. they enjoy the other's company far too much.)

I HAVENT FELT THIS MUCH EMOTION SINCE HER OHHHHHHH FUUUUUUCK ME (´Д⊂ヽ(´Д⊂ヽ

omg i got so wrapped up in everything happening on the party that i forgot to comment that it all came like full circle. like we started w mingi being pissed at wooyoung for stealing his dream girl, and now, we have mingi pissed again at wooyoung for stealing His Girl™ anyways back to the confession—

i cant believe this is happening and hes in your tiny blue waffle shorts

AWWWH OK WAIT THE AFTER TALK BANTER IS SO CUTE 😭😭 also u write smut so fluidly and like . masterfully how is it not repetitive, its like beautiful o_0

okay wait. ending thoughts bc WHEW. WHAT A RIDE I FEEL LIKE I JUST WATCHED THE COOLEST EXTENDED DIRECTOR'S CUT OF A ROMCOM EVER. t a c e . u write like there is a classic film grain over the lens ur WRITING EVOKES THIS NOSTALGIA IN ME im in awe dude. i looove aesthetic writing, not in the actual formatting, but the /way/ in which u set scenes, ur words flow, UR STYLE SHINES UGH MWAH. this was gorgeous wth. also just princess and mingi's characters were so true to themselves throughout the entire thing, like consistent and REAL. GOD THEY WERE SO REAL. like man i wanted to hit both of them at some point, but their flaws were so real and so raw, and that confession scene—man.

thank you SO much for writing this and sharing this with us. YOU'RE A GIFT 😭😭💖

[minkieater]

⋙ hold it down, DARE.

⪼ quarterback!mingi x fem!reader | PART ONE ~28k ⪼ you can’t fucking stand jung wooyoung, mingi really really wants kim minjeong. when wooyoung and winter end up together, you and mingi have no choice but to figure out how to win winter’s favor, to stab wooyoung in the back. mingi needs a favor, and you want revenge... do you dare? ⪼ fake dating au, college au, slow burn, lowk enemies to lovers, this is my very huge and massive installment for @sungbeam ‘s live alive collab ⋆˙⟡ thank you beamie duckie for putting this together! so happy to be in a collab beside so many other talented writers, be sure to check out the masterlist for other banger college fics :) ⪼ eventual smut minors dni 18+ | LOTS of cursing, insults, toxic til it's not. i don't want to spoil too much but they're in college so they drink and do college kid shit. i hope u enjoy this is my pride and joy in a fic i would eat this mingi as my last meal

“Fuck you.”

Jung Wooyoung has never promised you anything. In your four months of doing whatever the fuck this was, he’s never once lead you believe you’d be anything more than his bed warmer. At least not verbally, and honestly, you had to hand it to him, he’d repeat the same monologue over and over like it was his personal gospel: We’re too young to be in a serious relationship, don’t you think? We should be enjoying our youth, our freedom, doing whatever we want… 

If you ever hear the words serious relationship, youth, or freedom ever again, you might actually fucking vomit. In the beginning, it was easy to believe him; you rarely spoke to him outside of the bedroom, yours, his, that one supply closet on campus, the bathroom of that stupid fucking dive bar he loves so much. When he began sleeping over, kissing you awake, leaving with promises of later just to do it all over again, you started feeling blasphemous. Questioning gospel, his words of wisdom, you started to think there was more than just sweat and saliva to your relationship– maybe he enjoyed spending time with you. Maybe he even likes you. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” leaning against the wall of his foyer, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle over the other, you didn’t even make it inside his apartment. The bare, beige walls seemed to laugh at you even if there were no pictures on them, no paintings, no decor. 

Too good to be true, of course, since you caught him hand-in-hand with her, Kim Minjeong, Winter, that pretty little thing you’re positive you shared a class with at some point in your three years at ATZU. Your immediate reaction was defense, denial, naturally, because why on Earth would he need anyone but you? He’s told you plenty of times you’re not like anyone he’s met before, that your personality was unique, that you’re the best he’s ever had. 

“You’re sorry?!” Your arms were flying around the space, you voice loud, harsh, angry. You didn’t care if his roommate was home, maybe you’d apologize to San if you saw him on campus somewhere. Maybe. Right now, your anger was behind the wheel, driving you to insanity, “Who’s next, Summer? Spring? Fall? You gonna fuck all four seasons, you asshole?” 

He shakes his head, black hair falling around his face, the poster board for nonchalance. You wonder how many times he’s had this conversation, how many girls he’s done this to. Maybe you were the problem for thinking you were different, that he’d alter his Ten Commandments for you. He uncurls his arms, straightens out his legs, and motions for the door, voice frustratingly monotonous, “I think you should go.”

“Yeah, I should,” you bite, already turning towards the dark brown, wooden door, “I hope I never fucking see you again.”

“Should be easy,” he says through a much too casual breath, reaching around you to grab the worn, brassy knob, forcing you to step sideways so he can open it. You take a step through the threshold and he leans his lanky body into the frame, “Make sure you return the Chrome Hearts hoodie I left at your place, though, doll. Paid good money for it.”

Face morphing into sheer disbelief, the audacity, only your head turns to look at him, eye legitimately twitching, “You’ll be lucky if I don’t fucking burn it.”

A corner of his lips tug upward in a smile, “Now that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”

“Just like the last four months?” Your brows raise, a faux smile creeping onto your lips, “Don’t text me ever again. Hope she fucks you like I do.”

He doesn’t answer– just stares as you stand there, waiting for an argument, for a rebuttal. Your jaw clenches when you realize you aren’t getting one. Turning on your heel, you stomp down his hallway, down the three fucking flights of steps you’ve climbed every other day for the past four months. 

Fuck him. Fuck him. 

Humiliation sinks in as you leave his building, anger crumbling into something small, something sad, pathetic. You should have seen this coming, you aren’t stupid, you’re definitely not naïve. You could blame his pretty smile, his cheekbones so sharp they could be considered blades, his beautiful bronzy skin you’d miss tasting, the way he filled you up so perfectly you wondered how you fucked anyone else. You could blame his touch, the grace he used with your body, how he cared for you after he split you open. 

The only person to blame here is you. And you know it, deep in your gut, in the ache in your back from carrying the entire relationship you made up in your head, you know it’s your fucking fault you’re hurt. Your friends would tell you soon, too, that they knew this was coming, that they told you he’d do this, they advised you to not get involved with him. 

Sighing, looking up at the sky, you squint at the overcast, the blue sky that was now a deep, sad grey. Great, even the fucking sun didn’t want you. 

Song Mingi didn’t care about much outside of football. He didn’t have time to. 

Almost every day, his schedule was the same: wake up at six, eat his breakfast that was the same every single morning: egg white omelet, two slices of whole-wheat toast, a cup of fresh fruit, sometimes he’ll have cranberry juice diluted by water, usually just plain water. 

He’s at the gym by seven, following his training program, by nine he’s in the meeting room in the same building as the gym, he meets his team, his coach, going over the practice schedule, reviewing any changes made for the day or the week. By ten, he’s showered and on his way to class, where he fights to keep his brain turned on until two. 

By three, he’s getting taped, at three-thirty he’s out on the field, practicing. By six, he’s back in the gym, then he’s eating dinner until seven, when he showers, fighting to stay awake for the academics squad that arrives specifically for the football team, helping them with homework, plain old studying, any projects they might be involved in. 

He’s lucky if he’s finished by eight thirty, where he can finally go back home, to the house the entire fucking team lives in. In the beginning of the season, it’s usually quiet by nine, everyone so exhausted by the day they don’t have the energy to be rowdy– but that never lasts long, once everyone is comfortable in their routines, Mingi’s convinced they have endless pits of energy. Music, laughter, conversation, video games, it’s so fucking loud Mingi has to put on noise-cancelling headphones when he reaches his bedroom. 

He doesn’t have the energy for anything outside of his schedule. His days are grid-locked, no room to pencil anything in, no time for partying, for socializing, for anything that would damage his D1-starting-quarterback reputation. He thinks he’s the only person in this whole fucking university that has a reputation, everywhere he goes, people watch. Everyone he speaks to, people listen. When he raises his hand in class, the whole fucking room turns their heads. It doesn’t help that he gets escorted to class. It’s unfortunate that his treatment comes with the gig. 

It’s nauseating, the pressure of football was enough, there’s so much added bullshit that comes with it. On his good days, when his adrenaline is pumping, when he feels restless, when he’s really fucking tired of being Mr. Perfect, he makes time. He goes to the party the LAX house is throwing, he takes shots with his teammates, he even dances a little if Woozi’s mixing– if it’s Vernon DJing, he’s probably standing on the side, bobbing his head to whatever funky shit is playing while the nth girl of the night is in his ear.

The girls, the girls, that’s a whole other issue he tackles daily. Nightly. Literally. The cheerleading team, the dance team, the girls on campus he makes eyes at that quite literally fold. Well, he folds them, on the nights he doesn’t feel like releasing his pent up energy at a party, or when he needs to release his frustrations after an especially bad practice. There’s always girls, there’s an endless supply on a college campus, even more in his DMs, he’d assume half of his forty-three-thousand Instagram followers are women, at least that’s what it seems when he clicks his requests folder. 

Mingi hasn’t really ever been denied in his life, not with women, not with his college applications, he was getting scouted by university after university in high school. Which is why he can’t wrap his mind around what happened to him last week, a typical crazy night at the LAX house, who throws weekly in their off-season, celebrating absolutely nothing but partying like it was everyone’s birthday.

Mingi was in his favorite outfit, short, dark hair slicked back, jewelry on his neck, his wrists, his fingers, he felt good. He felt lucky, even, when he eyed up the dark-haired beauty across the kitchen, standing alone, staring at her phone like she was waiting to be approached by him. He put on his pretty boy smile and crossed the room, running a hand through his hair, and approached her with every ounce of swagger he could conjure. 

Winter. Such a pretty name for such a beautiful girl, Mingi was nearly drooling, her voice sweet like honey, her outfit screamed danger, he needed her. She didn’t smile when she looked at him, didn’t ask for his name, he didn’t think twice, Mingi just assumed she didn’t need to ask, everyone on campus knew his name. 

“Do you know when Wooyoung will get here?”

He thinks his heart might have flatlined. 

Mingi isn’t like his bitchless teammates, who jump at every opportunity to fuck just because they can. Mingi fucks, but it’s with purpose, every woman he approaches, every woman he hits on, it’s because they fit the criteria. 

He coughed a little, brows furrowed, head tilted in confusion. He knew that name, he knew Wooyoung, he’s roommates with San who’s friends with Jongho, one of his teammates, on the starting offensive line. 

“Wooyoung?” He found himself asking, choking on a laugh. “Like, the guy who got some girl pregnant last semester?”

She rolled her eyes, “That was a rumour, he didn’t get anyone pregnant.”

Then her phone lit up, and so did her entire fucking face. That smile, Mingi nearly groaned, she’s perfect, she’d look so good on his arm, flaunting her to the entire campus, to his teammates, his coach. He watched as she walked away, taking all of his hopes and dreams with her. His future, the mother of his unborn children, gone in a flash, off to find that leather-jacket-wearing fucking asshole that didn’t even have a career. Is she kidding? Mingi was on the brink of getting drafted to the fucking NFL, and she wanted Wooyoung? What did he fucking have that Mingi didn’t?

He stood there for at least another two minutes, stunned into silence, fingers slowly gripping his solo cup harder until he could hear the crackling of hard plastic bending in his palm. Then and there, Mingi decided she wasn’t worth it. How could she be worth his time, when she wants him? It showed a lot about her.

Mingi spent the night burying himself into whatever girl he could find that looked closest to her. For the week that followed, his mind was clouded by a dark vignette, the picture of her at the center. Winter. He didn’t even fucking like snow, that’s why he went to school somewhere warm. 

Slowly, day after day, the rejection began to eat away at him, making him look inward, a practice he doesn’t have much experience in. What does Wooyoung have that he doesn’t? He came to the conclusion that there’s nothing. In every which way possible, Mingi’s better than Wooyoung, so why the fuck did she want him so bad when Mingi was standing right in front of her, in his favorite black party shirt, rings on his fingers, Aquaphor freshly applied on his lips?

She wouldn’t leave his mind. He replayed the rejection so many times, involuntarily and voluntarily, Mingi found himself attracted to the bored stare she gave him. Eyebrows straight, lips wet from liquor, shoulders slouched, not even a hint of a smile. She’s beautiful. She doesn’t care about him. She’s perfect for him. 

He has to do something, has to commit some kind of crime, or somehow get Wooyoung kicked out of the school. He sat his teammates down in the dining room days later, the whiteboard they kept for discussing gameplay filled with scribbles and lines in red at the head of the table, in the center was a circled photo of her. His teammates called him crazy, down bad, but Mingi considers himself the next Albert fuckin’ Einstein. 

All he has to do is prove to Winter that he’s better than Wooyoung. Easy. 

“...I’m sorry you feel that way?” Your eyes, so wide they took over the entire upper half of your face as you all but screeched, “doll?!”

Yeosang and Jongho eyed each other from across the table, then redirected their gaze back onto you. The three of you at the most popular coffee shop on campus, Lucent, you didn’t even care to have this conversation somewhere private, all the ears who might listen should take it as a warning. You considered it a service to the ATZU campus. 

Yeosang, green hair messily waved over his cheekbones, sighed, “I can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I know,” you bit back, eyes pointed, already prepared for that response. “But can you wait before saying I told you so and comfort me first?”

Yeosang’s lips thinned, voice softer now, “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you grumbled, “it’s just stupid. She’s not even prettier than me.”

Yeosang and Jongho shared another look, but it’s Jongho who spoke up this time, “I bet she’s not, probably just easy.”

“Exactly!” You screeched again, eyes wide, jumping out of your seat a little. After receiving looks from around the semi-crowded shop, you shrank in your seat again, cheeks heating up. In a quieter, but still sharp voice, you continued, “Because that’s what Wooyoung likes. He’s a no-good piece of shit who just wants to get his dick wet, it doesn’t matter who wets it.”

“I wish someone would have told you that before you jumped in bed with him,” quips Yeosang, a small grin playing on his lips. When you cursed him out with nothing but your eyes, his smile disappeared. 

“Why are we blaming me?” Your fingers curled onto the table as your eyes danced between your two best friends, probably looking insane, but you didn’t care. “I’m the victim here. He played me.”

Jongho runs a hand through his hair, still half-damp from his training this morning, or maybe he actually showered after the gym this time. He sits back in the booth, eyeing you with a bored look, “Wooyoung plays everything. All he does is play, that’s who he is.”

“Well, forgive a girl for wanting to be different.”

Yeosang snorts, and the way your eyes pierce his soul makes his laugh die on his tongue. “What are you laughing at?” You scoff, “You can’t even look your girl in the eye publicly.”

Yeosang gasps, “Do not bring up my situation because you’re pissed about your own.”

“Well?” Your head shakes, arms flailing about in front of you to say What the fuck is the difference?

“Okay!” Jongho intervenes, his arm literally laying over the black table between you to cut the two of you off. “I’m sorry you’re upset, and I’m sorry he hurt you. But he seriously isn’t worth a shred of emotion, you aren’t losing anything by cutting him off.”

You bury your face in your palms, elbows holding you up. Muffled from the edges of your hands over your mouth, you mutter, “He’s so hot, and he’s so good at sex.”

Jongho chuckles, his head shaking, you could see it even with your hands over your eyes. “Is that why all the girls on campus flock to him? Because he’s a good fuck?”

You split four fingers down the middle to peek an eye out, “Yes. And he has this, like, magnetizing aura about him, I don’t know. He’s good at talking, at making you feel special, like wanting him was your idea all along.” 

“Hm,” Yeosang’s head tilts, plopping back into the booth, arms crossed. “So he’s just… a manipulator?” 

You whine, faking an annoying, high-pitched crying noise. “Yes, he’s really good at it.”

“Damn,” Jongho mutters under his breath, “he’s giving the whole campus problems. How long until he runs through everybody, you think?” 

“Not long,” you grumble, “who else is he giving problems?”

“Mingi,” Jongho’s lips scrunch to one side, and a shiver runs down your spine. Mingi. “He wanted to bag this one girl and she dubbed him for Wooyoung. He’s torn up about it.”

“He should be torn up,” you snatch Yeosang’s coffee cup from in front of him and take a long sip. He makes a face like he’s disgusted you’re drinking from his cup, so you make the same one back, mocking him. 

Yeosang turns to Jongho, “Mingi never gets dubbed. What is Wooyoung, like a sex god?”

“He’s the bad boy trope in every shitty coming-of-age movie you’ve ever seen,” you sip again until you hear the rattle of the last bits of liquid between ice cubes. Yeosang makes the same face when you slide the coffee cup back to him. 

“Mingi is genuinely losing his fucking mind,” Jongho laughs a little, shaking his head like he didn’t even believe the words coming out of his mouth. “I don’t think the man has ever been told no in his life.” 

“I wouldn’t tell him no, that’s for sure,” you say with the smallest laugh, and Jongho gives you a long stare, like he’s putting puzzle pieces together. You look on either side of you, then down at your shirt, then back up to him, “Do I have something on my face?”

Jongho shakes his head, eyes widening like he was about to shout eureka, “This could work.”

“What could work?” You ask, and within four seconds of him not responding, you ask again, “Ho, what could work?” 

“Stop calling me Ho,” Jongho’s lip lifts in distaste, “Mingi’s trying to figure out a way to get revenge on Wooyoung, or prove that he’s better than Wooyoung, I guess, so he can steal the girl from him.”

“Just tell him to wait a month and she’ll be free again,” you shrug, “he doesn’t need an elaborate plan.”

Yeosang’s brows raise, bottom lip flipped over, shoulders slightly shrugging as if to say Yeah, true. 

Jongho holds a finger up between you, “What if I set you up with Mingi?”

Your jaw drops, a disgusting sound leaving your lips that you’d die if anyone else heard. “Me? And Mingi? Are you stupid?”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his finger back and forth, “hear me out. Wouldn’t Wooyoung be pissed off if you bounced back with the star QB mere days after he cut you off?”

You, still sitting in anxious disbelief, plant your palms against the black table, shaking your head rapidly. “Even if he is–”

“Hear me out,” Jongho says a little stronger, and your lips smack back together. “Wooyoung will be so enraged that he cuts the girl off and gets back with you, maybe he’ll even be so mad he realizes his feelings for you were stronger than he thought–”

Yeosang cuts him off, “Hold on a second–”

“–Mingi gets the girl, and then you can break Wooyoung’s heart to get back at him.”

You sit back in the booth, arms crossing, face scrunching together in thought because it actually doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea. Jongho is grinning like he’d just solved one of the seven wonders of the world, and Yeosang is looking back and forth between you like he’s never heard anything so fucking stupid. 

“There’s no way in hell you’re actually considering this,” Yeosang’s voice is shaky, drenched in disbelief, “have you ever watched To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before?” 

“This is different,” you’re quick to answer, “I’m not Lara Jean, there are no letters, there’s just an Wooyoung who needs to learn what it feels like to be on the opposite end of the knife.”

“And Mingi won’t shut up until he sinks his claws into that girl, I think it’s a pretty even exchange,” Jongho adds, both of you two peas in an optimistic pod while Yeosang just stares, dumbfounded. 

He blinks once, twice, before his lips part to speak, sucking in a breath. They close, and his face twists in confusion, “Let me get this straight, you’re suggesting fake dating Song Mingi, like, football player Song Mingi. And you think he’ll agree?” 

You turn to Jongho who just shrugs. “Why not?”

“I don’t know how to say this without insulting you, girl,” Yeosang’s bottom lip is tugged down to expose his bottom row of teeth, a nervous but apologetic look. “But his taste is… refined. Of snotty girls and like, barbie dolls. Plus, you’re opposites.” 

“Fuck you Yeosang, I’m hot!” You immediately bark out, then turn to Jongho, “I’m hot, aren’t I?” 

“Yeah Yeo, she’s hot,” Jongho nodded, saying Yeosang’s name like it was an insult, then immediately cringing because those words feel gross on his tongue, “Mingi will be into it, trust me. And if he’s not, I’ll just remind him of the bigger picture, it’s not like he has to kiss her or anything.” 

You make a face that is nowhere near pleased, lips thinning, brows flattening. “You guys have known me too long, you’re too comfortable insulting me to my face.” 

Yeosang barely gives you a glance, “She doesn’t party anymore, she doesn’t socialize with anyone outside her study group and us. They’re opposites, even if she’s–” he cringes, “–hot.”

“Her study group goes out!” Jongho argues, also not sparing you a glance, “Jia and Riyo are always at the LAX house, she can just tag along with them or with Mingi or whatever. I don’t know, once I get him to agree, it’s out of our hands.” 

Your jaw drops again. “Out of your hands? Hello? I’m right here, first of all, second, this is your idea, Ho.” 

The flex in Jongho’s jaw is his way of saying stop it with the fucking nickname. Deadpanning, he responds, “It’s just an idea, you and Mingi can figure out the details.” 

“Stop acting like he said yes already,” Yeosang argues, amusement in his voice now, “you’ll get her hopes up of fucking a football guy.” 

You can’t react to the response, because fucking Song Mingi would be a dream— not that the football part has anything to do with it. Your face reflects the thought. 

“He’ll say yes,” Jongho nods, “trust me.” 

“Fuck no. Are you stupid?” 

Maybe Jongho should have waited until they got to the gym, or at least until after Mingi had consumed four bites of his breakfast. Maybe waking him up a minute before his alarm went off at a mere six in the morning wasn’t the best idea, but his anxiety wouldn’t leave him alone. 

“Come on,” Jongho whines, legitimately whines, because if Mingi didn’t say yes he’d have to hear about it for weeks to come, and he can’t bear to hear another complaint from the older man’s mouth. “She said yes already, it’s the perfect plan. Girls are jealous like that, they want what they can’t have.” 

Dark hair, a little oily and piecey on his head, shooting out in every which way, he was shirtless under the navy blue comforter, sheets crumpled at the foot of his bed. Jongho can’t remember the last time Mingi used the washing machine in the basement of the football house. 

Mingi sits up a little, yawning, before looking up to Jongho with an uninterested look, “Is she hot?”

Jongho can’t help the face he makes. Head craning back and forth, almost touching each shoulder as a high pitched, unconvincing, “Yeah,” slides from his lips. 

Mingi smacks his lips, laying back in his bed and turning away, pulling the comforter over his shoulders as he utters, “Waking me up before my alarm for some bullshit, Jongho.”

Jongho tries defending himself, “I’ve known her since she was fourteen, she’s like a sister. If you’re talking about, like, conventionally attractive then I guess, yes—”

“I don’t even know what conventionally means,” Mingi huffs, “get out of my room.” 

“Mingi, Wooyoung just broke her heart, she wants revenge, and you want the girl. It's an even exchange, no strings. You have nothing to lose.” 

Mingi’s grumble slowly grows in volume as he turns back over, eyes still closed. “What about my pride? Making some elaborate scheme just to get a girl who I shouldn’t even care about.” 

Jongho’s lips thin— not the pity party, again. He can’t listen to it another time or else he might explode. They’ve already hidden the whiteboard. 

He bends at the knees, arms folding over the empty space at the edge of Mingi’s mattress, “Listen, bro, it’ll stay between me, you and her—” and Yeosang, “—it’s the perfect plan. You don’t even have to learn her last name, just stand next to her for a little while until your dream girl’s interest is piqued. Easy peasy.” 

One of Mingi’s eyes opened, “It’ll work?” 

Jongho nods. 

“And she’s hot?” 

Jongho’s lips thin again, but he nods. 

“Fine,” Mingi huffs, “tell her to come over or something so I can get a good look before I agree to this.” 

If it was any other circumstance, your fingertips would be buzzing at your sides, heart pounding in your chest with having a man so beautiful in front of you. Plump lips, dark hair still a little damp laying over his sculpted cheekbones, strong shoulders on display in his sleeveless tank. He sat sunken into the couch, one leg folded over the other with his ankle kissing his knee, arms crossed over his chest. Gorgeous. His skin looks so soft you want to touch it— maybe lick it. 

But he did not look pleased. On top of ruining the fantasy, you’re disappointed that men like him still exist. 

Standing before him across the living room, a hip popped with your arms crossed, the only thing Jongho said to you before walking inside the football house was that Mingi wanted to meet you. Not that you’d be put on display for him to judge your appearance before he agreed to being your fake fucking boyfriend. 

“This is misogynistic in ways my mind can’t even comprehend right now,” you huffed the words to Jongho, your best friend of nearly a decade, not even looking at Mingi. As far as you’re concerned, he’s not in the room anymore. He no longer fucking exists. 

There was an apology in his deep brown eyes, his features softened, lips tightened. But he didn’t answer. Mingi’s thick eyebrows were furrowed, top lip curled, but his eyes didn’t read distaste even if his body language portrayed it. With the rage simmering within you right now, he should thank whatever god he prayed to that you weren’t at the boiling point yet. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Mingi shakes his head a little, voice lazy, “this will do, though. I guess.” 

“You guess?” Your entire face jerks forward, “You fucking guess? I’m a human, you know. Standing right in front of you.” 

“No shit,” Mingi sighs, head leaning back into the couch cushion, chin tipped up, face reading utter boredom. “You’ll get me the girl, though? You’re sure she’ll want me if I pretend I’m… dating you?” 

He said the words like you casted a fucking curse on him. 

Your eye twitched as you glance at Jongho. Meeting his apprehensive stare you uncurled your arms from your chest, legs moving for the front door, “Fuck no, I’m not doing this. Absolutely not, plan is cancelled.” 

“Wait!” Jongho stands, eyes wide, palms pressing into your shoulders to stop you from walking straight out the front door. “He’s tired, we had a hard practice today. He’s not usually this bad, I swear, I swear.” 

“What do you mean?” Mingi sits up a little, turning halfway to see the two of you, “What do you mean ‘this bad’? I’m being normal.” 

“See?” Your arm flies in his direction, “he’s being normal. You never told me he’s a fucking asshole, Ho.” 

“An asshole!?” Mingi stands up straight, arms at his side, jaw dropped. “I have to tell every single person in my life I’m dating you, and I’m an asshole for wanting to make sure it’s fitting?” 

“What are you so worried about?” You raise your voice, “you’re twenty-one years old, it’s college, it’s not like you have a reputation to uphold, no one cares. You play football, big fuckin’ deal.” 

Mingi gasps, insulted, “Big deal? Big deal? It’s my entire future, thank you very much.” 

“You won’t have a future if you treat women like they’re your little playthings,” you snap, voice bitter, “is the NFL gonna draft a misogynist?” You smack your lips, eyes meeting the floor, regretting the words as soon as you said them. The NFL would in fact draft a misogynist. Plenty of them, actually. 

“Why do you even care? We just have to show face a few times,” Mingi responds, voice bored yet again, “you don’t have to like me, I don’t have to like you. I just want her.” 

Rage bubbles up inside you again as Wooyoung crosses your mind. It would feel really, really good to hurt him after he hurt you. And Mingi’s right, you guess, you don’t have to get to know him, or speak to him ever again after this. You could look past the flaws you were sure ran deep if it was just temporary. Situational. 

You look up, brows flat, mumbling the reiteration, “A few times.”

Jongho is nodding, smile growing as his eyes bounce between you, whispering, “Yes, friendly, this is good, this is good.”

You face Mingi from across the couch, holding up a flat hand, curling a finger into your palm with each rule, “We don’t speak to each other outside of pre-scheduled meetings, we only act like a couple when there’s people watching, and do not fucking touch me.” 

“Don’t touch you?” Mingi pops a brow, “people won’t believe we’re a couple. How am I gonna prove to her I’m boyfriend-worthy if I can’t show off my boyfriend skills?” 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, looking away, “you’re right. Wooyoung won’t be jealous if you don’t make him jealous.” 

“Exactly,” Mingi’s brows raise, pleased, dimples out to play as his lips thin in a tight smile. “I don’t want to touch you as much as you don’t want to touch me, trust.” 

Your head snaps up to shoot him another pointed stare, grumbling under your breath, “Asshole.” 

Mingi’s smile morphs into a nasty little smirk, “Your asshole now, baby.” You give him an unimpressed, blank stare and his smirk falters as what he said sinks in. Sheepishly, he mumbles, “Sounded better in my head.” 

“Like you actually think before you speak,” you snap, rolling your eyes, bringing your attention back to Jongho who looks like if he breathes wrong his entire plan will go in the shitter. “I’ll figure out where Woo will be next, you can tell Mingi and plan out when we’re meeting and where, whatever. Keeping this very much so in your hands, Ho.” 

“Don’t—” Jongho shakes his head, smile reappearing, “—okay. Sure. Got it.” 

“Good,” you nod, then glance back at Mingi, “don’t embarrass me by saying stupid shit around people, ‘kay?” 

Mingi cocks his head to the side wearing the biggest smile, “Don’t embarrass me by wearing that outfit in public again, ‘kay?” 

FIRST OUTING: SOFT LAUNCH, THE LAX HOUSE. 11:20 PM.

“How the hell did you get Song Mingi to be your boyfriend?” Riyo is on your hip, bright red hair in a single braid down her back, denim booty-shorts hugging her hips, a cropped, tight bandeau top covering her chest. You suppose for where you went to school that was the uniform, something you quickly realized weeks into your freshman year, clothes were optional here. 

You scoff, walking in-step with her, grass from the lawn of the LAX house sneaking around the edges of your flip-flop covered feet. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

She giggles, a step ahead of you as she walks up the front stairs, “It’s weird, you have no correlation to the football team. Where did you even meet him?” 

“On campus,” your voice is high-pitched, certainly not convincing. You clear your throat, “I mean, I applied to be a part of the football team’s academics unit, I just got in, like, a month ago.”

Riyo pauses at the door, a hand on her hip, eyebrows furrowed, “The fuck? And you just didn’t tell me that you,” she counts on her fingers, “applied, got accepted, and started?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug, nervously laughing to cover up the so fucking obvious lie, “I’m just helping them study, Mingi and I.. clicked.”

God, the words feel sour. So unconvincing you could vomit– and he’s inside, waiting for you, you could really fucking empty your guts on the LAX house’s porch. It’s already cluttered with lacrosse sticks, solo cups, backpacks, containers of white balls you can only assume are used in the game, your vomit would probably go unnoticed. Or washed away by beer, maybe your tears by the end of the night. 

You don’t know why you agreed to this, it was a moment of weakness. Of rage. Wanting revenge. Because behind the stained, scratched white door, was the entire lacrosse team, the entire football team, God knows who the fuck else if Riyo’s here. You could hear the music bleeding through the walls, something with heavy bass, something rap, something you might know if you opened the door. 

Jongho texted you yesterday that Mingi asked for you to make your first appearance here, he said it was the perfect spot, that Wooyoung and Winter might even be here. As much as you were regretting your decision, you hoped he was here. You want to see the look on his face when he spots you at Mingi’s side, when word spreads that you’re dating him, you want to watch his face morph into confusion, into regret, hopefully something lustful that you could use to your advantage. 

“That’s gotta go in, like, the top five most insane things to ever happen on this campus,” Riyo wears a supportive smile, yet her head still shakes in disbelief, “I’m happy for you, though. Actually, I think you kinda suit each other.”

You fight the cringe, that was an insult. You smile instead, already hating the words about to come out of your mouth, “Let’s go inside, I wanna see him.”

You’ve been here before, you frequented the LAX house plenty freshman year, a lot less sophomore year after your fling with Kim Mingyu, you haven’t been here once yet this year. It hasn’t changed, medium-sized house, open floor plan, giant kitchen, silver appliances. The furniture was dull, broken in, old, thrifted. It’s nostalgic, being here, these people, you barely see the lacrosse team on campus, you know a few of them from your times here as a freshman, mornings escaping after a night with Mingyu, you don’t know anyone well enough to be considered a friend. 

Riyo is immediately squealing upon walking inside, hugging girls you only know the first names of, you smile in greeting from behind her. Jia, another girl from your study group that you’re close with, approaches with the same squeal Riyo had unleashed on the room, her dark hair styled in waves behind her back, deep, golden-olive skin glowing beneath the barely-there lights in the room. 

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she sees you, “Hello? Shut the fuck up?”

“Hey baby,” your tongue sneaks out between your teeth and she squeals again, throwing her arms over your shoulders in a tight hug. Swaying you side to side, she’s a giggling mess, sandal-covered feet tapping against the floor. 

“I haven’t seen you here since last year!” She yells, grin spread wide, showing her dazzling white teeth you couldn’t believe shone so bright in a room this dark. 

You shrug, smiling, “I have good reason.”

“She’s seeing her boyfriend,” Riyo teases, nudging you with her shoulder, smiling like a fucking crazy person. Leaning in close to Jia, her voice is still loud, even if she was trying to be secretive, “Song Mingi.”

Jia looks like nothing in the world makes sense, and she’s been transported to another dimension. “I saw you two nights ago, babe, and there was not one mention of a boyfriend, most certainly not a word about Song Mingi.”

“We’re not being, like, super public about it,” you shake your head, cheeks burning, “it’s chill guys, seriously, don’t make a huge deal about it, he’s not a celebrity.”

“Closest we’ll ever get to one, plus, last I heard you were still fucking Wooyoung,” the look on Jia’s face hasn’t left, and God you wish you thought out a better plan with Mingi before you left the football house the other day, you’re scrambling for a story. 

“Ew, why are you talking about him?”

Speak of the fucking devil– a shiver racks down your now rigid spine, you fix your eyes that involuntarily widened. Jia and Riyo watch with dropped jaws as Mingi slides an arm over your shoulder, an easygoing smile on his face, looking at you so fucking fondly it makes your heart skip a beat. Fuck him for being so damn beautiful.

Dark shirt clinging to his torso, showing off every fucking muscle that was etched into his skin beneath it, his hair was styled, purposely messy how it hung over the sides of his head where it was shorter, faded into his skin. Baggy jeans on his legs, low enough to show the Calvins under them, he wore a skinny, silver chain around his neck, one to match on his wrist, with pretty, bulky rings on his fingers. 

This is so fucking unfortunate– he’s beautiful and he sucks, you hate him, his personality, the misogyny he so easily wields as a weapon, it makes you sick. He doesn’t deserve a perfect face and an even more perfect body. Fuck him. 

“We were talking about you,” you force a smile on your lips, turning back to Jia and Riyo as your stiff body leans into Mingi’s huge one, so stiff and broad and muscled you tried to not pay too much attention to it. “Of course you missed it.”

“Start again,” his smile is cheesy, so fucking cheesy you want to slap it off his face. “I wanna hear all the cute things my baby said about me.”

Spit lodges in your throat that constricts around nothing, you choke. Coughing, you pull away from his grip, turning around, smacking your chest with a fist, eyes tearing– he did not just call you baby unironically. 

He leans in close, feigning concern, “Are you okay?”

Your other hand flies up, back still facing him, “Fine– fuck.”

Gathering yourself, you turn back around, plastering a smile onto your face. Bidding a wave to the two girls, through gritted teeth, you ask him in a false, sweet voice, “Don’t you have people to introduce me to?” 

He quirks a brow, but nods, slinging his arm over your shoulder again as he guides you away from your group of friends. Voice low, keeping himself tight to your ear, he asks, “What the fuck was that?”

“Do not ever call me baby again,” you keep your smile, but your voice is venomous, “that was fucking disgusting.”

“You think I enjoyed it?” He whispers back, voice pitched sharply, “It’s kinda part of boyfriendism, no? Pet names and shit?” 

You’re wading through the crowd, Mingi shooting smiles and dapping up tens of people you don’t know, mainly men, all beefy and drunk and eyes dilated like they just railed lines in the kitchen. You shift your shoulders under his heavy ass arm, “Jesus, Mingi, I’m not a fucking ledge for you to put your whole weight on, big ass.”

He grins as he looks down at you, wiggling his brows, “You think my ass is big?” 

You roll your eyes, “I don’t think I’m gonna survive you.”

“You won’t believe how many times I’ve heard that line,” his grin is proud, he’s not even looking at you as he says it, eyes focused on the people in front of him, in the hallway where a large table is set up, holding a messy game of beer pong. Water beneath the table, a shallow film on top of the painted surface, swirls of brown covering your school’s logo shittily lined in black, gross.

You don’t have time to scoff– you know these guys, Jeno, Chris, Kai, Haechan, Soobin, Changbin. All on the football team, all huge, you’re already vibrating, body stiffening under Mingi’s arm that’s so casually thrown over your shoulders, heavy and thick. Suffocating.

You wish you could be meeting them under different circumstances. You’re tainted now, if they even cared about boy-code, which they might not usually, but you wondered if Mingi pulled rank with them, or if girlfriends were off limits compared to casual lays. Your answer is quickly delivered to you on a silver platter as Jeno eyes you from across the table, hip to hip with Chris who does the same, eyes sliding down your body and back up like they were sizing you up, waiting to pounce. 

Your posture changes, subtle, but your arms uncurl from in front of you, back arching slightly, eyes drooping into that pretty, low stare that did Wooyoung in when you first met him. A small smile on your lips, you tilt your head away from Mingi while he introduces you– as his girlfriend. Right. You lock back in, blinking into focus, smiling and nodding to each man that introduces himself like you didn’t already know all of their names and their positions. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Changbin has one palm planted on the painted table, clearly he didn’t care about the murky water, one of his hands palms a can of beer close to his chest, “you were crying over what’s-her-face two minutes ago.”

Mingi makes a face, head nodding towards you with his eyebrows raised like he was silently telling Changbin to shut the fuck up, like you weren’t supposed to hear that, as if you didn’t know already. He’s playing it up, smart.

“Nice to meet you,” Chris grins from the other side of the table, his voice warm, smile pretty, it makes you feel fuzzy inside. You can’t wait to fake-break-up with Mingi. “Your boyfriend didn’t get you a drink yet?” 

“Was waiting for one of you to do it for me,” Mingi juts his chin out in Kai’s direction and he nods, eyes wide as he receives the order, and he scrambles. Like, literally scrambles. Nonchalantly you nudge your elbow into Mingi’s ribs, silently telling him to stop being an asshole. 

Hiding his hiss in a forced laugh, he steals his arm back from around your shoulders, hiding his formerly exposed ribs, “You should have one hand-delivered to you, ba– sweetheart.”

God, you can feel the bile churning in your gut. You fix your face before it morphs into full disgust. 

“How did you two meet?” Haechan asks, his voice whiney– you were not expecting that from his bulky build, broad and toned, so hot. His cherry-red hair is a mess of curls atop his head, skin bronzy under the far light dimming the hallway, allowing them to see the game, you presume. 

“The library.”

“On campus.”

You and Mingi respond at the same time, then look at each other, eyes panic-stricken at the fumble. You couldn’t repeat your lie from earlier, they would know you aren't a part of their study team, all you could think was on campus, a generic answer. 

You stutter, “The– The library.”

“The one that’s on campus,” Mingi nods, assured. 

“Why the fuck were you at the library?” Soobin asks, leaned up against the wall of the hallway, dark brows furrowed, two hands around his can of beer. Valid question, your heart picks up speed in your chest, you weren’t expecting them to pry. 

“Studying,” Mingi responds nonchalantly, his voice high, shoulders shrugging. 

“Extra tutoring,” you add, “on top of what you guys have, yeah. One of the girls on your academics team told me Mingi needed extra help and volunteered me because our schedules lined up.”

“Exactly,” Mingi nods, lips pursed in an attempt to be more convincing, “love at first sight type shit.”

You tuck your lips between your teeth to hide your smile, smothering the snort that fights to climb to the surface, redirecting your gaze to the floor beneath you. You can’t wait to make fun of him for that line later.

“Right,” Changbin’s brows are tied together, dark hair sprawled across his forehead, almost hiding his skepticism. He redirects his attention to Jeno, the silver-haired hunk of a man beside him, Chris splitting the three. Tilting his chin up, he asks, “Keep playing?” 

Mingi’s lips tighten, turning to you again, “Should we go find where Kai is?”

“Sure,” you sigh, flipping your hair off your now slightly sticky shoulders, “I could use a drink.” One of his hands slides to your lower back, guiding you away, and you realize then that he doesn’t have a drink– moving in-step towards the kitchen, you ask, “You’re not drinking?”

“No, not tonight,” his voice is monotonous, he doesn’t look down, keeps his eyes ahead. “Need a clear mind if I’m gonna lie to a hundred people.” 

“It’s hot in here,” you complain, face crunching to cringe, it’s humid for November, even for where you live.

“I can tell, you’re sweating all over me, bro,” he responds, voice dripping in boredom, pressing his hand to your back a little harder instead of removing it from your body altogether. “Gross.”

“Then take your hand off me, bro,” you huff, turning the corner, the kitchen coming into view. Surprising high ceilings, white cabinets, silver appliances, marble countertops, probably the nicest room in the whole house, you wondered if there was still a hole in the back door from that one night Hoshi got a little too drunk. You sneer, “You probably smell like a wet dog after practice.”

You spot a few members of the lacrosse team in the corner, standing in front of the back door, a black mesh screen severing the house from the backyard, letting cool air from outside in. Joshua, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, a joint lit in Seungkwan’s mouth, the youngest of the three, a sophomore. Guess they really chilled out during their off-season, no worries about a drug test in their future. Good for them.  

“I smell like a beautiful woman after practice,” Mingi scoffs, guiding you in front of him with his palm, hands gliding up to sit on your shoulders, pushing you through people that parted at the sight of him. You keep a tight-lipped smile on your face, giving a small nod each time you make eye contact with someone new. He leans down into your ear, “You’d probably like it, you’re the gross one. Pheremone-lover.” 

“Keep your androstenone away from me,” you answer with disgust in your voice, without changing your face an inch, “you probably don’t even know what that is.”

“Guilty as charged, smart girl,” he catches Kai’s head of blonde hair over the crowd, the two men probably the tallest in the entire kitchen. “Huening!” Mingi yells, stealing Kai’s attention, he wears a wide, excited grin, holding two cans of beer over his head like he’d discovered the One Piece. 

“I got beer!” He yells across the kitchen, immediately wading through people to get to you and Mingi. A freshman, you think, also on the offensive line, Jongho’s told you about him– a smart kid with great instincts for football, uses his build to his advantage. Innocent, ignorant like a child, a little stupid, he’s cute. Chubby cheeks, a kind smile, your already heated skin rises in temperature as he approaches, opening your can for you. 

You introduce yourself properly, thanking him for the beer, “How’s your first year on the team?”

Mingi’s head snaps down to look at you, brows tied together in surprise. 

Kai grins, blushing immediately, running a hand through his blonde hair, “Great, thanks for asking, the guys are really cool, Coach is terrifying lowkey, but he’s cool, too.”

You giggle, head tilting, “I’ve heard that, he’s famous though, right? Coach Suh?” 

“Yeah, he’s like, renowned in the football world,” Kai babbles on, the two of you erupting into easy conversation, all while Mingi’s head bobs back and forth, watching, listening, his confusion growing with each new word that falls from your lips. 

He can’t help but interject, “Since when do you know so much about the team?”

Your giggle slows to a stop, smile faltering, “What do you mean? I’ve always known, this is a D1 school, silly.” 

Silly is synonymous with stupid fuck, he can feel it in how your pointed eyes stare into him.

“She couldn’t be your girlfriend if she didn’t know football, Song,” Kai adds, so innocent, so easygoing, oh my God you love him. 

Mingi nods like he was the one who reminded himself you were his girlfriend, not Kai, forcing a laugh out, more punched and nervous than anything. “Right, yeah, yeah.”

Your blood runs cold as you catch a head of recognizable black hair around Kai’s ridiculously huge bicep, bronzy skin, a cloud of smoke surrounding him like it was his brand, his aura. Your eyes widen, head swerving around Kai’s arm to get a better look, taking in his leather jacket, the rings on his fingers, the cigarette dangling between his teeth as he smiles, Corona in one of his hands. 

“Nice meeting you, Kai,” you don’t even look at the boy, grabbing onto Mingi’s arm, dragging him sideways, away from Kai’s earshot. “He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.”

“Who? Who?” 

“Who do you think, dumbass?” You spit, chin pointing in Wooyoung’s direction, “The only man who’s more of an asshole than you.”

“Oh my God, she’s with him,” a hand comes up to cover Mingi’s mouth, his brown eyes wide, excitement gleaming in chocolate, drawing them hazel. Beside Wooyoung is Winter, long, dark hair pinned up halfway, a short, black skirt on her hips, halter top tugging her upper half just right. He lowers his voice, “Fuck, she’s so hot.”

“Pause,” you turn to him as the realization sinks in– he wants Winter? Winter is the girl you’re helping him get? Kim Minjeong? “You want Winter?!”

“Yes,” he groans out, head tilting back, a whine to his voice like he was four years old and you just took away his favorite toy. “She’s perfect, dude. Like, perfection in a human, I love her, I think.”

“What the fuck?” Completely baffled, you shake your head in disbelief at how perfect this is lined up. You don’t know how you didn’t put it together sooner, you didn’t once think about who Mingi wants, who the girl might be. You didn’t really care. “This is good, this works in our favor, this is perfect, actually,” you’re rambling as you turn around, watching Wooyoung and Winter across the room, how Wooyoung introduces her to the lacrosse trio at the backdoor, how he pulls his cigarette from his lips to press them to her cheek in a short kiss. 

“Ew, he’s touching her, that’s my wife,” Mingi props his forearm on your shoulder, you immediately shake yourself out of his grip, eyes never leaving them, laser-focused. He whines, “Comfort me, I’m heartbroken. He’s touching her, bro.”

“They’re together, what do you expect?” You whisper-yell, twisting around to get him out of your personal space. “How can we get their attention? We need them to see us together, being coupled up and shit.”

“I’m boys with Shua and Wonwoo, we can go over there,” Mingi suggests, finally looking at you, and the excited gleam in his eye was now dulled down to desperation, a sadness only caused by yearning. If he wasn’t such an asshole, you might feel bad for him. 

You nod, “Good idea, let’s do it. Let’s go, come on, football boy.”

With his hands on your shoulders again, you guzzle the beer in your hands as you cross the kitchen, eyes screwing shut as the spicy carbonation burns your throat. Beer is so fucking gross, at least it’s cold, it gets the job done– you burp before you approach them, a closed fist covering your mouth in an attempt to hide the noise. 

“Ew!” Mingi gasps from behind you, “Did you just burp? You’re disgusting, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Shut up,” you spit, “I couldn’t help it, and they’ll hear you, go back to boyfriendism and make it believable.”

“You want me to put on a show?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, the wiggle of his stupid thick brows. 

“I do, actually,” you answer with a defeated sigh, “do your worst.”

Approaching the lacrosse trio, Wooyoung and Winter, Mingi throws his arms fully around your front, tucking your back into his chest, his chin sitting on the top of your head. In an obnoxious yell, he makes his presence known, “Hey guys, how we doin’ tonight?”

Ew. One of your hands wraps around his forearm glued to your chest, a wide grin on your cheeks, your head leaned up against one of his biceps that boxes you into his hold, “Hey guys.”

“Song!” Joshua yells, smile widening, lighting up his whole face, “I was hoping you’d show tonight.”

Wooyoung’s smile drops when he sees you, you meet his eyes immediately, your fake grin turning real. Yes, be mad, be so angry you flip the fuck out.

“Of course I’d show,” there’s so much confidence in Mingi’s voice it’s nauseating, “had to introduce my girl to all my people, do you guys know her?” 

With a coy smile, you introduce yourself as Mingi’s girlfriend, head leaning into his chest impossibly further, forcing a stupid, lovestruck look on your face, you prayed it was believable. 

Joshua nods, as does Wonwoo, both recognizing you from all the times you’ve been here, probably also your fling with Mingyu. The two lacrosse boys greet you kindly, where Seungkwan introduces himself, newer to the team, to those who party in their house. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Wonwoo’s brows furrowed, “the campus isn’t burned down, I’m confused.”

You and Mingi both laugh, but Mingi says, “I don’t think word has spread yet, don’t worry, expect the heat soon.”

“It’s hot enough,” you add, rolling your eyes, “your fangirls will be just fine, there won’t be a fire.”

“You have no idea,” Joshua snorts, “I remember one girl having to deactivate her Instagram account because word got out you were sleeping with her, remember that, Min?”

“Let’s not talk about the past in front of my girlfriend,” Mingi’s voice slips into something strict, “it’s disrespectful, Shua.”

You stiffen in his arms, that’s oddly kind, it makes your situation more believable. You briefly wonder how Mingi is with his girlfriends, if there’s any form of chivalry in his cold, chauvinist heart. 

Joshua snorts, shaking his head, “‘m sorry, you’re right, my bad.” His pretty brown eyes fall to meet yours and you melt into Mingi all over again, “Blame the weed, sweetheart, my social awareness has depleted to zero.”

“It’s okay,” you smile softly, liking the word as it falls from Joshua’s plump, wet lips, eyes wandering back over to Wooyoung who’s still staring, lips slightly parted, the cherry on his cigarette so long it’d fall soon. You avert your eyes to it, cocky amusement in your tone, “Planning to start the fire yourself?” 

His eyes find his cigarette and he jumps into action, twisting around to flick it in the ashtray behind him, sitting full on the corner of the kitchen island. Your eyes find Winter who’s eyes are staring up at Mingi, looking at him the same way Wooyoung was looking at you. 

Your smile turns devious– it’s fucking working. You knew it would, but it’s still surprising, how stupid could these two be? Maybe they deserve each other. You remind yourself that Mingi’s stupid, too– maybe they could explore polyamory together. 

“Preseason start yet?” Mingi asks, either unaware of Winter’s eyes or he’s playing his cards right, the three lacrosse boys erupt into conversation, complaining about their coach, their training, the program they go through in the fall season to ensure they’re in shape come Spring. 

Wooyoung leans into Winter, a hand around her waist, pulling her into him to whisper something in her ear. It’s like she’s forced back into reality, how her hand lays over his chest, giggling at whatever he said. Gross. You could probably bet money on what nasty shit he just whispered in her ear, dirty talk so smooth it used to make you go weak in the knees, clinging to him like a moth to a flame, how she arched into him you assumed he probably asked to pull her into the bathroom. A move you’d fallen victim to plenty of times yourself.

Jealousy stems in your gut, anger pushing blood through your veins, you look up to Mingi, batting your lashes. You could do it, too. His eyes meet yours and blink into focus, into realization, you watch as his brows ever so slightly knit together, so slight it could go unnoticed, you’re sure you wouldn’t have if you weren’t so close.

A smirk creeps onto his cheeks, voice velvety and smooth, “I know what you want.” Thank God. “Excuse us,” Mingi winks at the lacrosse boys who start snickering upon the words leaving his mouth, “what the princess wants, she gets.”

You catch Wooyoung’s eye, his head whipping around Winter’s, a flicker of surprise. Winter turns too, eyes on Mingi’s biceps around your head, sinking down his build, you hope she’s thinking about fucking him. You hope Wooyoung’s thinking about all the things you’re about to fake-do to Mingi.

You wave as Mingi turns you around, voice light, “Nice to meet you, Seungkwan.”

A few steps away, his biceps flex around your head to get your attention, “Nice move, smart girl.”

You giggle to yourself in victory, bringing your beer up to your lips, “I do have to pee, though, we have to actually go to the bathroom.”

“There’s one at the end of the hallway,” he pulls his arms from around your head to sink down to your hips, his fingers curling through the loops of your denim shorts, guiding you where to go like you’ve never been here before.

Does he think you’re a LAX house newb? You run a hand through your hair, “And there’s two upstairs, one connected to Mingyu and Cheol’s room, another between Dino and Hoshi’s rooms.”

“Look at you, flexing how many bathrooms you’ve gotten laid in.”

“Only the one connected to Mingyu’s room, he’s huge, you can’t blame me.”

“Disrespectful,” he snickers, smacking his teeth, winking at his teammates he passes by in the hallway, you give them all a feigned, bashful smile. “Telling your boyfriend who you’ve slept with.”

“You don’t want to know who I’ve slept with,” you stop in front of the bathroom door, twisting the knob carefully, and thankfully, it opens. You rush inside and Mingi follows, closing the door behind him, locking it. You stare at him with furrowed brows, “What the hell are you doing?”

“We’re supposed to be fucking, remember?” His brows raise, hands landing on his hips, his face falling into the usual disgust. You didn’t have to pretend in here. 

You groan, head tipping back, “I have to pee.”

“Then pee!” A hand flies out from his side, five fingers pointing to the toilet, “I’m not stopping you, there’s a toilet right there.”

“What are you gonna do, watch?”

“Are you offering?”

“Fuck you, you’re disgusting,” you spit, a revolted chill making you shiver, he laughs like it’s funny. The weight in your bladder is clear, you whine, shoving your beer into his chest, “I can’t pee if you’re in here, I’m pee-shy.”

“Do you want me to sing? Do a little dance for you?” 

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, “Actually, yeah.”

His amused smile drops, “Deadass?”

“You offered,” you shrug, “turn around, do a lil’ dance for me, football boy.”

His face morphs into regret, but he turns around, facing the shower, he takes a sip of your beer before he clears his throat, spreading his legs for comfort, his other hand finding his front pocket. 

“...Seventeen-thirty-eight… Ay… I’m like hey, whatsup, hello…”

You burst out laughing, hand covering your mouth, the weight in your bladder growing excruciatingly heavy, “Fuck, I’m gonna piss my pants.”

Flipping the lid, you shove your shorts down, squatting over the gross toilet, Mingi keeps fucking singing. You’re laughing as you pee, snorting, holding onto the bathroom counter for dear life until tears cloud your vision, he’s purposely singing badly, sounding insane, he has no shame. You suppose neither do you, peeing in the same room as Song Mingi, for a second you forget who he is. 

Starting quarterback for your university’s football team, he’s a known figure, important. The face of sports for your school, everyone knows his name, everyone wants him– and he’s with you, singing fucking Trap Queen in the LAX house bathroom so you can successfully empty your bladder. 

Wiping, flushing, he turns around as you finish buttoning your shorts again, his voice filled with amusement. “How was that? Should I switch careers, or what?”

“Stick to football,” you mutter, then snort again as you side-step to the sink, turning the water on to wash your hands. “Also, love at first sight? We need to work on your lying skills, and your vocabulary.”

“I thought it was cute!” He defends himself, setting your beer down beside you on the countertop, “People ask too many questions, I wasn’t expecting to make up a full-fledged story every time I opened my mouth tonight.”

“You forget who you are,” you eye him through the mirror, “I wasn’t prepared, either. But enough people know now, word will spread on its own. When can we stop? Like, break up?”

“Damn, one night with me and you already want to break up?” He clutches his heart in hurt, then grins, the tip of his back leaning up against the wall, hips blocking the pole that holds the hand-towels. “Soon, though. Did you see how she was looking at me?”

You turn around, shaking your hands out on either side of you to air-dry since he’s unknowingly hiding the damn towels, clutching the countertop to haul your ass onto it, beside the sink. “Of course I saw, I also saw how you didn’t even spare her a glance.”

He smirks, wiggling his brows, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever the fuck.”

Your face morphs into confusion, “I don’t think you can use that saying here.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs, “you know what I mean. Jongho told me girls want what they can’t have, so I’m trying to make myself look very unavailable. It seemed to be working, right?”

“Yeah, she seemed into it,” you shrug, “you think Wooyoung looked pissed?”

“I don’t think he puffed that disgusting cigarette once,” Mingi gives you an impressed look, “his jaw was too busy mopping the floor.”

You giggle at that, legs swaying back and forth where they hung off the counter. Tilting your head, you wonder out loud, “I think three-ish weeks max should be enough, what do you think? If they’re showing interest now, it shouldn’t take much longer.”

He groans, “I have to endure you for three more weeks?”

“Don’t act like you aren’t having fun,” you bite back, “I’m the one who has to endure you.”

“You weren’t complaining when I was holding onto you, smushing your cheeks with my arms, girls would fight to be in your position. Your back was probably getting my shirt wet, you know, sweaty ass.”

Your jaw drops, offended, “It’s fucking hot!” Throwing yourself off the counter, feet hitting the floor with a smack, your hand flies for the doorknob, “I’ve had enough of you, actually. We’ve done plenty of damage for one night, the rest should fall in place.”

“I got it,” he turns off the bathroom light, closing the door behind him, his hand immediately going for your lower back. 

“There’s no one in the hallway,” you reach back to shove his hand off you, “don’t touch me, pervert.”

“I just fucked you, and now I can’t put my hand on your sweaty ass back?”

“You didn’t even make me cum, so no.”

He laughs, a genuine belly laugh, straight from his gut, “Don’t talk shit when you have no fucking idea the things I can do.”

Under other circumstances, in another life, if he wasn’t Song Mingi, you’d love to find out. You don’t answer, cheeks flaming, ears tipping with heat, you’re forgetting yourself, a few days without consistent sex and now your stomach is dropping from words said by him? Out of all people?

You walk a little faster, aiming for your escape. At the end of the hallway, you turn your head halfway, “I’m leaving.”

He pauses in the archway, brows furrowed, voice clearly disappointed, “So soon?”

Swallowing, you nod, “I have class early tomorrow, I’ll let Jongho know what the next outing is, kay?”

SECOND OUTING: LUCENT, TWO DAYS LATER. 12:24 PM

xxx-xxx-xxxx: come to lucent xxx-xxx-xxxx: they’re here

you: the fuck you: who is this

xxx-xxx-xxxx: arent u the smart one bro xxx-xxx-xxxx: its mingi

you: lose my number

xxx-xxx-xxxx: bruh xxx-xxx-xxxx: wooyoung and winter are here can u come

you: oh you: i get out of class in 15

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i cant be here long xxx-xxx-xxxx: theyll start to ask questions

you: mad ominous. who is they you: ill leave early tho

The air is thick, humidity wrapping around your body like a blanket, so hot you tug your sweatshirt off your body upon leaving the lecture hall, leaving you in a thin-strapped tank, shorts on your legs, backpack slung over one shoulder. Headphones in your ears, the trek to Lucent is quick even if by the time you make it to the glass double-doors you’re sweating like a whore in church. 

It’s air-conditioned, at least, battling the floor to ceiling windows that begged to let the heat inside, bright, white light invading the room, a perpetrator. It helped you find Mingi easy enough, not that you had to search, eight men squished into one booth had you snorting at the entrance. 

Approaching the table, you put on your best girlfriend-smile before you even spotted Mingi. At the edge of the booth, dressed casually, much like how he looked the day you met him, he wore sweatpants and a cut-off tee, dark hair messy and sprawled across his face like he didn’t bother styling it. Heaving a breath from rushing over, you tucked your hair behind your ear, “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

He looked you up and down before meeting your eye, a smile spreading across his cheeks, “Hey, princess.”

Your nostrils flared, lips tightening in a fight to not morph into disgust, you guess that was the nickname that stuck. Searching the rest of the table, you find seven men smiling back at you, Jaemin, Taehyun, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Seungmin, Beomgyu and… Jongho. Your eyes widen, smile dropping, hands falling to your sides, words rushing from your lips, “I didn’t know you were here.”

The others turn to Jongho, who looks scared, eyes wide and lips pursed like he didn’t know what the fuck to do. He forces a smile, a nervous chuckle, “I didn’t know I’d be coming here.” His eyes cross the room, leading you to the back corner of the establishment, where Wooyoung sat on one of the comfy chairs, legs stretched out to rest on the small table in front of him, Winter perched on his lap. 

You swallow, ice prickling at your scalp. You never went anywhere public with him, even at fucking Eonian, his favorite stupid dive bar, the only time you interacted was either in the bathroom, or if he was drunk enough to address you in front of other people. Your jaw clenches for a split second, fists forming at your sides before you remember where you are, who’s watching. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” It’s Mingi who pulls you back up to earth, half your body already in the depths of hell from what you were mentally planning to do to Jung Wooyoung. 

Plastering that same, stupid fake-smile back on your lips, you realize you’re still standing, and the booth is clearly full. The boys are nearly on top of each other, large bodies pressed together by their shoulders and thighs, you refuse his question, instead asking, “Should I pull up a chair?”

Mingi’s lips warp into a small smirk as he leans back in the booth, two hands sliding down his thighs before he slaps them twice, “Here’s your chair.”

Your smile tightens, lips flat, eyes scrunched to hide the twitch. “Of course,” there’s nothing but sarcasm in your tone, enough for Mingi to notice, more than enough for Jongho to notice, but hopefully not the others. 

Pulling your backpack from your shoulder, you set it on the floor beside the booth, resting your headphones and hoodie on top. Carefully, slowly, hesitantly, you slide a leg between Mingi’s body and the table splitting the seats, trying not to cringe as you sit on the edge of his thigh. In the back of his throat he makes a strained, tight noise, one low enough for only you to hear, it makes your head snap to look at him, eyes pointed and lips thinned. 

He’s just smiling, fully amused by your reaction. You wish you could speak telepathically, call him a fucking asshole for pretending you’re heavy when he lifts six days a fucking week. 

His arms wrap around you, settling on your thighs, you’re too aware of the silence at the table as he shifts you farther back, in a more comfortable position– if a comfortable position actually exists on Song Mingi’s lap. 

“Are you guys between classes?” You turn to the table, smile back on your cheeks, hands in your lap, “I never see you here.”

“Why are we here?” Taehyun leaned forward, dark brows that matched his hair furrowed, plump lips scrunched in question. He’s a DB, if your memory serves, on the smaller side but fucking strong.

Heeseung, from across the table, replies simply, “Mingi wanted to come.”

The table’s eyes lead to the six-foot moron behind you. You can feel him shrug, voice casual like he didn’t care that this is clearly weird, “Was feeling coffee.”

“We’ve never been here before,” Jaemin comments, or argues, you think. He sips his water bottle, no coffee on the table before him, lean build with a wide upper body, he’s fucking gorgeous. He catches your eye, flashing you a smile held in his eyes, you have to look down at the table to stop yourself from asking for his number. 

“We come here all the time,” Jongho adds, your head picks up to see something playful in his eyes, lips upcurved slightly, “probably wanted to see your girlfriend’s hangout spot, right, Min?”

It’s then that you realize Jongho arranged this, Jongho knew Wooyoung was here, but why wasn’t Jongho the one to text you? Your eye twitches remembering Mingi now has your number.

He’s having too much fun chuckling from behind you, knees bouncing, making your whole body shift. His voice is coated in rock-hard candy, “Of course I wanted to see the coffee shop my girlfriend loves so much.” 

Your lips tighten again, embarrassed. You’re embarrassed. He’s embarrassing you right now, and it’s on purpose. 

“You’re so sweet,” you turn your head halfway, shoulders lifted into your cheeks, forcing a cheeriness to your voice that makes Jongho snort from across the table, “I’m so lucky.”

It renders Mingi’s face flat, unimpressed, he reaches forward and grabs the half-filled plastic cup filled with what looks like watered down shit, bringing it up to take a sip. Your brow pops, “Are you drinking espresso water?”

The table erupts in laughter and your head turns, brows fully furrowing at the commotion, “What?”

“Have you ever heard of an americano, du–” Mingi stops himself mid-insult, lips snapping shut. 

Your top lip curls, but instead of reacting your head turns to the table again, seven fucking football players staring at you like you’re an alien, “What the fuck is an americano?”

They all laugh again, slapping each other’s chests like it was the funniest thing they’ve ever heard and unfortunately it makes you laugh with them, a nervous-confused combination of a breathy giggle, their laughter too contagious for you to not join. 

Mingi holds the cup up to your mouth, making you flinch as the straw approaches your lips. He smacks his teeth, “It’s espresso diluted by water, try it, it’s good.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, and he’s not laughing, not smiling. His brows are lifted with the offer, lips slightly pouted, he looks genuine. Reluctantly you lean forward, lips wrapping around the straw, taking a sip– and it tastes exactly how it looks. 

Face scrunching up in disgust, you shake your head twice, “This is why god created cream and sugar.”

That makes him laugh, a smile curving his lips, he takes another sip right after you. An indirect kiss, the immature part of your brain realizes, you wonder how many women on your campus would kill to have exactly that with Song Mingi. How many women would die to sit exactly where you sat; to feel the sheer strength of his thighs beneath them, arms brushing his chest with each movement, his biceps stretched out on either side of them. 

The thought is fleeting as you hear the table laugh again, this time it startles you, jumping slightly on Mingi’s lap out of surprise. His other arm wraps around you a little tighter, your movement startling him, you quickly mumble, “My bad.”

“You’re funny,” Seungmin notes from across the booth, as you look at him you realize he’s talking to you. He’s cute, mousy face, maybe more like a hamster, or a puppy– his eyes are soft and his smile is kind, it takes the edge off his attention on you. His eyes slide to Mingi behind you, “How did you guys meet again?”

“We met here,” Mingi responds casually and your lips tighten again, the lie spins once more. He keeps going, completely theatric, “She bought me coffee because she tripped me outside the cafe.”

You gasp, brows furrowing, head twisting behind you to scold him, “That did not happen!”

His eyes are playful, smile menacing, “Oh, yes it did, we cannot have this argument again, princess.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, following now. Fine, let’s play. Straightening your back, you respond, “It’s not my fault you tripped over your feet, I just happened to be there. You blamed it on me and threatened to call campus security if I didn’t buy you a coffee.”

Mingi shrugs, “It got me a free coffee and a girlfriend, didn’t it? Well-played, if you ask me.”

 Your smile grows, shaking your head in disbelief, at the story he created, how smooth he’s playing it. Fuck him. “You’re such an asshole,” you mutter with a small laugh, “I guess it did.”

Turning to the table, they all seem so locked in you almost forget you told five or six of his other teammates a completely different story. You suppose D1 football players won’t be gossiping about where you and Mingi met. 

Catching Jongho’s eye in your scan, he looks surprised, almost. Maybe disbelief, how he was blinking at the two of you, his jaw dropped, lips slightly curved. You thin your eyes at him, “You know this story Ho, don’t look so surprised.”

His face quickly morphs to irritation as the table sings a chorus of laughter once more, all six of them adding the nickname to their arsenals upon it gracing their ears. You smile, proud of the work you’ve done, Jongho can do nothing but scowl. 

“If any of you call me Ho I’m putting dog shit in the vents of your bedrooms,” he looks around the table, voice threatening, eyes cold. 

The laughter dies down but humor dances in the air, Beomgyu is the only one still verbally giggling with his whole chest, “I don’t even care, that is so fucking funny, I’m calling you that forever.”

Jongho redirects his scowl to you, exasperated, “Look at what you did.”

“And I’d do it again,” you’re giggling too, cocky, feeling big-dicked that Jongho’s teammates find you so funny. 

The feeling of being watched strikes alarm bells in your head, you turn your head to scan the room, landing on where Wooyoung sits, his lap now empty. He eyes you from across the room and you can’t read his expression, mostly boredom, but the more you look, the more the clench in jaw is visible. Elbow on the armrest, forearm bent upward, fist clenching and unclenching, he’s analyzing. 

You sink further into Mingi which he accepts easily, hand lazily thrown over your thigh, you looked like a real, proper couple getting coffee between classes. The smell of cedar beckons your attention, warm and woodsy, a little spicy, it makes it easier to forget who’s beneath you, who’s body you’re so easily and openly and publicly attached to.

Two taps to your thigh grabs your attention, you pull your gaze back to the table, to the dark-headed fuck behind you, “Hm?”

“Park asked you a question, princess,” Mingi tips his chin in Sunghoon’s direction, his voice light but direct, it has your head turning to follow his motion in an instant. 

“Is this your first time dating a D1 athlete?” He asks the question with innocence, expression curious, “It has to be different than dating someone who isn’t an athlete.”

You resist the urge to say first time dating, because you’ve certainly slept with a few. Instead you nod politely, humming your answer, “Definitely my first time dating someone as high-profile as Mingi.”

Sunghoon snorts, body leaning back in the booth, his build leaner than the others, strong all the same. Pretty face, structured, timeless features, you briefly wonder what he’s doing on the football team and not on a stage somewhere. 

“Not gonna lie, we never thought Song would date,” Heeseung leans forward again, eyeing you from the other side of the booth, a smile playing on his lips, but there’s more truth to his words than humor. 

“Not again,” Taehyun quips, “we always assumed he was too focused on his diet and his training program to actually put effort into another human.”

Mingi stiffens beneath you– a slight movement, one you can feel too easily while perched on his lap. There’s still laughter in the air, the comments read light-hearted, but you wonder if it feels that way to Mingi. 

Jaemin cackles, “What the hell do you guys mean? He’s never alone.”

“Did you have him tested before you fucked him?” Seungmin wears a smirk, brows raised in your direction, “Because if you haven’t, I think you both probably should at this point.”

Mingi’s chest leans into your back, his chin popping over your shoulder, “Alright, enough.”

You can feel every single muscle pressed to your back, the plush of his broad pecs against your shoulderblades, his fucking washboard of an abdomen against your spine, you can’t even register the tension consuming the table, how everyone quiets down on Mingi’s command, holy shit. You need to get laid. 

Your eyes find Wooyoung, too aware of his presence, his eyes that are still fucking on you. Dark clothes, boots crossed over one another, he held up his caseless phone like he wanted you to check yours. Blinking into focus, you reach between you and Mingi to your back pocket, pulling out your phone, clicking it on to look at your home screen.

wooyo: can we talk wooyo: outside 

You pick your head up to look at Jongho, heart picking up speed in your chest, drowning out the sounds of the men around you in another conversation. He meets your eye, furrowing his brows for a split second and fuck you wish you could speak out loud.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you say quietly to Mingi, barely turning your head to see his face. 

His hand lifts from your thigh, “I have to leave soon.”

“That’s fine,” your voice is low, “wait until I get back so I can say goodbye.”

Don’t catch me outside talking to Wooyoung with half of your team in tow.

The restrooms are beside the exit, your escape is easy. On the far side of the building, you ignore how foul your heart feels in your chest, the pounding bass feeling like nerves instead of excitement. 

It’s still putrid, hot, humid, disgusting outside, it only adds to the feeling of wrongness. It feels like an eternity before you hear the scrape of his boots against concrete, the smell of cigarette smoke circling where you stood. 

“Hey,” his voice is low, casual, rough around the edges like that was his umpteenth cigarette of the day. His black tee is fitted, jeans baggy, one of his pantlegs tucked into a boot. He looked like danger personified but his skin still gleamed summer, bronzy and sparkling, pink dusting his cheeks. 

“Why did you want to talk?” Your voice is sharp, no room for it to be taken any other way than rude. 

Wooyoung chuckles a little, lips scrunching to blow smoke up into the air, above your bodies. He leaves room between you, enough for you to feel comfortable, but you’re sure there was a purpose. With him, there’s always a purpose. 

He flicks the butt, ashing on the concrete below, eyes trained on his own movements before they slowly trail up your body to meet your gaze, making a show of checking you out, it makes you sick. Kind of.

“You’re really dating him?” It’s between a statement and a question, two of his fingers bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. 

Your brows furrow, arms crossing tighter over your chest, “Yes?”

“We broke up a week ago, baby,” he chuckles, smoke escaping his mouth with each burst of breath, “that’s a little quick, don’t you think?”

“You’re one to talk,” your jaw clenches, standing straighter, “where’s your arm candy? Or did you cheat on her already?”

“She’s in there,” his voice is too light, so unbothered it genuinely pisses you off how fast your heart is beating. You wished you had a fraction of his nonchalance. “And I didn’t cheat on you, doll, we were never together in the first place.”

“Right,” you blow disbelief through your nose, rolling your eyes, body turning away from him, facing the parking lot that looked deserted even if it was packed with college kids inside. Turning your head only, you ask, “Why are you out here, Wooyoung? What do you want?”

“I still haven’t gotten my hoodie back,” his eyes are low, catching a honey bronze color in the sunlight, you hate how they steal your attention. 

You crack a nasty grin, “I burned that ugly fucking hoodie.”

Inside the cafe, Mingi has caught on easily. He watched Wooyoung stand about forty-five seconds after you left for the bathroom, he doesn’t need to look to understand what’s going on, where you are. For such a shitty plan, he can’t believe it’s working so well, it’s as if Wooyoung and Winter were falling into Mingi’s palms without him having to lift a finger.

He doesn’t mind having you around, it doesn’t feel like work. You’re funny, quick-witted and smart, so smart he wonders what your major is. He wonders a lot about you, your relationship with Jongho, what you do in your free time, what the hell you were doing sleeping with Wooyoung, of all people. In the small amount of time he’s spent with you, he already knows you deserve better than a fucking asshole like him, you deserve someone who will meet you on your level. 

Mingi wonders if there’s anyone on the team he can set you up with after the two of you break up. Looking around the table, there doesn’t seem to be any winners, maybe Seungmin could keep up with your banter, but Mingi thinks you might destroy him. Jaemin’s funny, but he’s stupid, he can't keep up with your smarts, he thinks Jaemin will irritate you before he entertains you. Maybe Chris, he’s smart, he’s a lot like Mingi, but he’s not one to date. 

You don’t need another fuckboy asshole taking advantage of you. 

It doesn’t matter, anyhow, maybe after your talk with Wooyoung the scheme will be cut short and everything will go back to normal. He won’t have to see you ever again, he’ll have Winter at his side and he can forget this ever happened, forget about you fully. Training, academics, practice, games. Playoffs are coming up– he hopes he’ll have Winter by then, cheering for him in the stands, wearing his jersey. 

“Hi.”

Eyes flickering upward to a voice he recognizes, he sits a little straighter when he sees the dark-haired beauty standing at the head of the table, holding two coffee cups, wearing the prettiest, shy smile. 

Winter. He could see his future like it was his past. 

“Hey,” Mingi keeps his voice steady, only letting his lips curve ever so slightly. “You need something?”

She shakes her head, pink kissing her round cheeks, she looks down at her shoes, toes knocking together. “Just wanted to wish you luck with playoffs. I know your conference game is next weekend, you must be stressed.”

Mingi swallows down his giddiness, she knows who he is? She’s standing here, at the table, in front of a quarter of his team, talking to him? Wishing him luck?

“Thanks,” Mingi nods, smile growing, “no stress, we’ve got it in the bag. You’ll be there?”

She nods, “Definitely, wouldn’t miss it.” Finally looking at the rest of the table, her eyes land on each one of his teammates, and he’s loving the way each man looks like they want to devour her. Little do they know, she’s his. Her voice coy and soft, she says, “Good luck to you guys, too.”

She made it clear she was only here for Mingi. 

He’d kiss her right now if he could. 

She winks at Mingi as she walks away, long lashes fluttering as she makes her way back toward where she was sitting with Wooyoung before, setting the plastic coffee cups down on the table. Straight posture, dainty fingers, hair shiny and long, cascading down her back, fuck, she’s perfect. 

“Your luck is crazy, Mingi,” Jaemin comments when she’s out of ear-shot, “Winter approaching when your girl goes to the bathroom? You’re one of God’s favorites.”

“Huh?” Mingi pops a brow before you pop into his mind again. “Oh, yeah,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “I really lucked out.”

“What are you gonna do?” Taehyun asks, “She wants you.”

Mingi scrunches his lips to one side, catching Jongho’s eye from across the table. Playing with the coffee cup on the table, spinning it in a circle between his fingers, he’s reminded who you are to Jongho. He can’t be openly disrespectful. 

Mingi answers plainly, “Nothing, I have a girlfriend.”

They all snort, table erupting in laughter like that was the most stupid thing that could have left his mouth. And Mingi guesses it is, Jongho knows who he is, that this is all a plan, a ploy, for the sole purpose of Mingi dating Winter. It doesn’t matter how it all unfolds. 

You startle him by barreling back to the table, barely sparing Mingi a glance as you grab your hoodie, your backpack, your headphones. Your eyes find Jongho across the table, flaring something panicked before looking back at Mingi, “I have to go.”

You don’t sound happy. Your jaw is clenched, your chest is flushed, your eyes seem glossy, Mingi finds himself concerned, internally questioning what the fuck happened outside.

“You okay?” He asks, body turning sideways, knees poking out from below the table. 

Wooyoung walks by behind you, not even looking as he leisurely strolls past, the smell of cigarette smoke following him like he was purposely leaving a trail behind.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, chest rising and falling in quick succession, “but I gotta go.”

Mingi, apparently out of his fucking mind, stands abruptly, stepping toward you with furrowed brows, “I’ll come.”

“No,” you answer harshly, then lick your lips, mouth tightening like you wished you could reel the word back in. “I’m sorry, I– I’ll text you, ‘kay?”

Your eyes find the table behind Mingi, everyone staring up at you, some with furrowed brows, some acting like they didn’t hear anything at all. You reach up to put your hands on Mingi’s shoulders, standing on your tippy toes to plant a small kiss on his cheek, then whisper, “Bye.”

Mingi’s dumbfounded as you haul ass out of Lucent. Backpack bouncing behind you, you rip the door open and leave the place like an intruder had just told everyone to put their hands up. His fingers find his cheek, though, confused as he is, he turns back to the table, all of his boys already staring up at him. 

“You’re fucked,” Seungmin says plainly, “she definitely saw Winter at the table, she’s pissed.”

Mingi sits back in the booth, eyes sliding to where Winter sits, meeting Wooyoung’s already-there stare. He’s smirking, eyes trained on Mingi while Winter is speaking to him, a hand on his shoulder, it makes Mingi’s top lip lift in distaste, he’s such a fucking asshole it makes him sick.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: next sunday xxx-xxx-xxxx: four highest ranked teams get a first round bye for playoffs

you: so youre planning to be top 4 i assume

xxx-xxx-xxxx: im planning to be top 1 fym

you: hmmmm

xxx-xxx-xxxx: idk how much time ill have between now and then tho xxx-xxx-xxxx: we might not be able to flex our fake relationship as hard

you: absence makes the heart grow fonder you: winter will be at the game tho you: think shell kiss you if you win???

xxx-xxx-xxxx: stop dont make me delusional bro xxx-xxx-xxxx: and dont steal my line

you: acting like you made it up is crazy you: saying been around for decades and here you go you: claiming it as your own

You’re smiling at your phone, not realizing you’re giggling while Jongho and Yeosang stare at you with pointed eyes from across the living room, the two sitting comfortably on Yeosang’s couch, laptops on their laps. You came over to catch up on schoolwork after Jongho left practice, not wanting to do it at your own apartment, plus, you had to catch them up on the newest development in the Wooyoung saga. 

Since you ended things, you haven’t really had time to process what happened. Quickly shoved into the fake dating scheme, you were focused on something shiny and new, you forgot to pay attention to the small part inside you that ached. Four months is a solid chunk of time, especially when most of it was over the summer where most of the campus wasn’t in attendance, the only thing on your agenda was your part-time job and Wooyoung. 

Despite having something shiny and new to focus on, the loss of him still hurts. Sleeping alone, not having anyone to touch, to kiss, to tell your work drama and have them fuck it better, despite being an avoidant asshole, Wooyoung filled a gap for you the entire four months you were ‘together’.

He spoke to you the other day like you meant nothing to him. Which you knew, but to have further confirmation in such a setting, standing outside your favorite coffee shop where the other woman sat just inside, it hurt. By the end of the conversation all your pent-up, repressed feelings rose to the surface, you needed to get the fuck out of there before you sobbed all over Mingi’s americano. 

Mingi. Fuck him, his pretty hair and strong body, fuck him for looking at you like he cared about your feelings. It’s all bullshit and it’s not what you need right now, you should be focused on doubling your pain and passing it straight back to Wooyoung. School should really be top priority, your weekly study group, your shifts on the weekend, your top priority should be your degree and making sure you’re stable. You didn’t think this plan would come with so much added shit. 

“Who are you texting?” Yeosang asks, green and black hair straight, tucked behind his ears, showing his piercings. He wore a dark sweater, ripped at the collar bone, jeans painted onto his legs, his pink bunny socks tucked beneath his body completely ruining the bad boy vibe. 

Yeosang’s never been a bad boy, he doesn’t have it in him. A soft lover boy, one that cares, one that sees what others don’t see, that’s who Yeosang is. 

Mindlessly, eyes still glued to your screen, you mumble, “Mingi.”

Jongho and Yeosang share a look. Jongho, face flat, looks over his laptop screen to you, “I still can’t get over seeing you two together.”

You look up, popping a brow, “Why?”

“You look too comfortable,” a very physical shiver runs through Jongho, ruffling his fitted white tee, gray sweats a contrast to the black couch, “it’s weird.”

“Are they friendly?” Yeosang asks Jongho, the two once again acting like you’re not in the room. You roll your eyes. 

“Very,” Jongho nods, then turns to look at you, “what’d I miss at that party?”

“What do you mean?” Your face morphs into confusion, small shakes of your head enforcing your bewilderment, “It’s weird because we aren’t ripping each other’s faces off? Can’t really do that in front of people who think we’re dating.”

Jongho’s face stays flat, eyes knowing, “How about the fake ass story of where you met? That was bullshit, you were bickering like you’ve known him as long as you’ve known us.”

You giggle again upon remembering, “Wait, that was funny because half his team thinks we met at the library, it’s like an ongoing bit–”

Jongho cuts you off, looking at Yeosang, “Do you see what I mean?”

Yeosang narrows his eyes, “Are you into him?”

“Do you think I’m a moron?”

“Yes,” they answer simultaneously. 

You scoff, “I don’t know why I hang out with you just to get verbally degraded.”

Looking down at your phone, you notice three more messages from the number you still refuse to save. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx: shut up who even are u xxx-xxx-xxxx: are u coming to the game? if shes there wooyoung will be too xxx-xxx-xxxx: ill give u my jersey to wear lmfao

“Do football players do this?” You ask, brows furrowing, showing Jongho and Yeosang your phone screen. Holding it over the coffee table splitting where you sat on the floor and the couch they occupied, you sat up on your knees as they bent over their laptop screens, squinting to read. 

“Give their jerseys out?” Jongho asks, still mid-read. 

You snatch your phone away when he starts to scroll, “Yes, fucker, is that normal?”

“Girl,” Yeosang makes a disappointed face, sitting back on the couch, “that’s standard.”

Your repulsion is physical, “Do you think he washes it?”

“It gets washed for him,” Jongho responds, “I’m surprised the staff doesn’t do all his laundry for him. If it weren’t for them, it wouldn’t get washed.”

“Do the staff really do that much?”

“He doesn’t really have to think,” Jongho continues, “he’s the star, the prized possession, vital to the football team, to the school’s popularity and income. They’d do anything he asked.”

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, processing each word out of his mouth, “there’s really a whole world out there I don’t know shit about.”

The two men laugh, Jongo harder than Yeosang, the younger man’s giggles high-pitched and shameless, “Have you not paid attention my entire football career?”

“No,” your answer is short, plain, “why would I?”

“Because there was a time we both played football and you were glued to us,” Yeosang answers, “there are some things you should probably know already.”

“Neither of you have had a girlfriend during the season!” Your voice is high-pitched, defensive, you bring your attention back to your phone. “You’re riding me for what right now, all of this will be over in like, two weeks, anyway.”

you: whatever football boy you: ya im coming

xxx-xxx-xxxx: cool xxx-xxx-xxxx: are u actually gonna wear my jersey

you: do i have to

xxx-xxx-xxxx: kinda

you: man you: whatever

xxx-xxx-xxxx: wow xxx-xxx-xxxx: i can feel ur excitement through the phone

“Are you bringing him to my gig?” You look up from your phone to see Yeosang already looking at you, “It’s at Eonian, so Wooyoung will definitely be there.”

You groan, throwing your phone to the side, stretching your body out as you lay down on the rug, whining. “Your shows are our time, Yeo.”

Bass player for his band, Yeosang playing shows on and off campus was a frequent event. Always somewhere lowkey, somewhere fun, you always went with Jongho, Jia or Riyo. Bringing a man, especially Mingi, would debase the entire meaning of Yeosang’s shows. You go to support him, not to keep tabs on Wooyoung all night or feel uncomfortable with Mingi attached to your hip.

“All that shit just happened with Wooyoung, though,” Jongho says matter-of-factly, “it’s smart to show up with Mingi on your arm. Where Wooyoung goes, Winter follows.”

You pick only your head up, squinting at him over the table, “Yeosang’s shows are off limits. I need to be able to scream my excitement freely, Mingi’s presence will hinder my enjoyment.”

“Whatever,” Yeosang sings, “it’s just one show, but okay.”

You whine, head banging against the floor beneath the rug as you lay it back down, “He’s busy, anyways. He just told me he won’t have time to hang before the conference game.”

“Yet here I am,” Jongho argues, “and at that show, I will be.”

You mumble a curse, “Whatever.”

Picking up your phone again, a notification from Instagram sticks out on your home screen, a message request. 

blondenbeautiful: Heard you’re dating Song Mingi? blondenbeautiful: Biggest joke i’ve ever heard LMFAO blondenbeautiful: Lying for attention is pathetic, I hope he sues you for defamation 

You sit up abruptly, eyes wide as you stare at the screen, “What the fuck?!”  

Seeing the fear in your eyes, hearing the shock in your voice, Jongho and Yeosang hop up from their spots, throwing their laptops to the side, racing around the coffee table to look at your phone screen. 

“Ew,” Yeosang huffs, “no way this is happening already.”

“What do you mean already?” You look at your green haired friend, shocked and confused.

“Turn off your DM requests,” Jongho adds, “fuck that, dude, fuck no.”

“I’m not turning them off,” you scoff, “that’s pussy shit. Her username is blonde n’ beautiful, Ho.”

You click on her profile, scroll through her feed, watch her story, she lives across the fucking country. You think this is what Yeosang meant when he said Mingi had refined taste; barbie dolls, rich bitch attitude, this was his typical. 

“Who cares about pussy shit?” Jongho’s brows are tied together, his eyes pleading, “That’s not the point. He has a fanbase of Warrior Barbies, have you even looked at his Instagram?”

Scrolling out of your requests and opening up the search bar, your eyes widen upon seeing his profile. You followed him already, probably from your freshman year, but he definitely didn’t have near fifty thousand followers back then, or so many posts professionally photographed. 

For some reason it’s this that opens your eyes, a chill racking down your spine. You knew how detrimental he was to the university, his level of popularity, but you didn’t think it was outside of your campus, too. He was popular, known, and it spread wider than you ever thought was possible for a guy who sings Trap Queen in sports house bathrooms.

Voice shaky, you whisper, “I feel like I’m in a who the fuck did I marry subreddit.”

Yeosang can’t help the laugh that escapes him, head dipping down with an amused breath, he snaps back to deadpanning in a second’s time. “You should turn off your requests before it gets worse.”

“I’m not even dating him for realsies,” you argue, “the insults are empty. None of them are true, so they don’t count.”

Jongho sits beside you, flopping down on the rug from where he was crouched, “I just don’t want them to get to you. The whole Wooyoung thing upset you enough, you don’t need social media harassment to put the cherry on top.”

“I’ll be fine,” you lock your phone, tossing it to the floor beside you, “that shit won’t bother me. I’m strong.”

“Yeah, alright,” sarcasm swims in Yeosang’s voice, “is it a crime to listen to us every once in a while?”

You sneer, “Yes.”

you: btw yeosang is playing a show friday at 10 you: at eonian on 4th ave you: woo and winter will be there

xxx-xxx-xxxx: just told u i dont have time

you: why are you acting like i want you there 

xxx-xxx-xxxx: ill be there

THIRD OUTING: EONIAN, FRIDAY. 9:42 PM

“Did you hire a personal stylist or something?”

You scoff, standing in your doorway, looking down at your own outfit. You supposed it was different for you, more stylish than you’d normally shoot for when going anywhere, let alone the dinky dive bar you’ve gone to a thousand times. The doormen have seen you in sweatpants, chain-smoking cigarettes because you had too much to drink, the bartenders have seen you in stained overalls, making out with a random person in the corner because you had too much to drink, you don’t know why you chose today, of all days, to put in an effort when everyone there has seen you at your worst. 

Looking at Mingi, he seemed to have the same idea. Although he always looked put together in a way, even if he was in sweats and a cutoff tank, it never looked necessarily bad. All black, leather jacket, boots, his hair styled away from his face, messily but purposeful, he looked good. Really good. It pissed you off. 

“Did your staff pick out that outfit for you?” You sneer, “I’m not used to seeing you without sweatpants on.”

“Insulting the man who came all the way here to pick you up,” he nods, bottom lip folded over in the most attitude-stricken look he’s ever given you, “smart.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, heels clicking against the floor as you step through the threshold of your apartment. “Let’s just go.”

Mingi’s car is ridiculous. Ever since seeing his stupid Instagram page, there seems to be a constant reminder everywhere of who he is, what he has. It still smelled new inside, black leather interior, red detail, gear shift looking untouched, pristine. Not a spec of dust on the dash or in the backseat that held only one black duffel bag unzipped, your instincts told you it could hold a lot more. 

“Have you been to Eonian?” You ask, turning your head to face him after he pulled out of your complex’s parking lot. 

Pressure forces you back into your seat as he picks up speed, knees shifting below the steering wheel, palm wrapped around the gearstick, his face goes unchanged. He leans his head toward you but doesn’t turn it, “Maybe once, why?”

“Just wondering,” your voice is pitched, shaky, eyes widened while you swallow down your heart that shot up so high you could taste it. Your fingers curl into your jeans, thanking god seatbelts exist in your head, you turn your head to the window so you could close your eyes in peace without being caught as a wimp. 

You hear him laugh after a second, a small, snarky giggle. The car slows and you can feel it in your chest, body sinking into leather, free to move as you please, your fingers uncurl from your pantlegs, shoulders slouching in relief. 

“My bad, should have warned you.”

“I want to survive,” you don’t let him hear the shakiness in your voice, keeping it laced with clear irritation, “if I died beside you I’d have to resurrect myself just to walk ten feet away and die there instead.”

“You’re really sweet, y’know that?” Sarcasm evident, he continues, “I can’t understand why Wooyoung would cheat on such a nice, kind girl.”

Your neck twists to eye him, gaze harsh enough to cut. What the fuck? “We weren’t even together, he didn’t cheat.” 

“Oh!” His laughter is punched, eyes condescending, lips half surprised and half amused, “Excuse me, he didn’t cheat, right. He didn’t want to date you at all.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you mumble, head turning to face the window again. It rained earlier, there’s still droplets of water sprinkled on the glass, the gloomy evening looking like the pit in your gut, soggy, heavy, dark. “That’s why Winter rejected you.”

“Well she wants me now,” he adds and you can hear the stupid smirk in his voice.

You snap your head toward him again, “Where did that even come from?” 

“Did I strike a nerve?” 

Your jaw clenches, facing the window again, mumbling, “This isn’t even worth it anymore.”

He turns the music up, letting it fill the cabin of the car, you can barely feel the road beneath you, his car drives so smoothly. You can hear him switch gears, the roar of the engine picking up, the feel of force in your chest as his speed increases, your hair moving when he slows again, it’s torture.

It’s worse when you step out to go inside the bar, the ground bendy beneath you, feet unsteady on pavement. Your stomach feels icky, your chest heavy and weird, and to top it off, the cigarette-smoking-stupid-fucking-asshole is standing right outside the front door, talking to the bouncer, doused in leather and silver. You suck in a deep breath, straightening your back, part of you forgetting Mingi’s there as you start for the door. Maybe you just wish he wasn’t with you at all. 

Mingi calls your name, you don’t stop. A little firmer, a little louder, “Hey.” Jaw clenched, you stop in your tracks, the fur on your jacket whipping as you turn around. Lazily he strolls toward you, holding out a hand, to which you don’t grab. 

“Hold my hand,” he wiggles his palm a little, voice edged with annoyance, “come on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Is it what I said in the car?” He lowers his palm, head tilting, “I’m sorry if I went too far, I won’t do it again. Now please hold my hand so we can go inside together, they’ll be watching.”

Shooting daggers at him, your hand peeks out from your sleeve, reluctantly reaching forward; he spreads out his fingers with a satisfied grin, tangling them with yours, palms pressed together. There’s a certain intimacy to holding someone’s hand, not something you do often, not something you’ve done in a very long time; yet there’s no warmth that spreads through you at the contact, no electricity that stems in the tip of your spine. Strictly business. 

Taking a step forward, he comments, “Your hand is clammy.”

“Wonder why,” you roll your eyes, “you have calluses, it’s gross, like sandpaper. Or cat tongue.”

Mingi smacks his lips together, walking in-step with you now, his head dipping down to hide how your words made him laugh. “You’re seriously deranged.”

It makes a smile claw at your lips, turning your head away so he can’t see the grin that fights its way to the surface. He squeezes your hand once like he can see through your wall of hair, snickering from beside you, by the time you get to the front door you’re both fighting to crack a smile like a pair of stubborn idiots. 

Tall and buff, a head of light brown, curly hair hidden beneath a snapback, the bouncer eyes you over your ID, then looks at Mingi, deadpanning, “Make sure she doesn’t get near a pack of Marlboro Reds tonight.”

Wooyoung is behind him now, smiling as smoke pours from the corner of his mouth, losing its opacity as it melts into the humid air around him. He’s quiet, but he watches as your face falls, then makes it clear he’s inspecting every article of clothing on your body.

“I’m not even a smoker, Minho.”

“Minho?” Mingi questions, head bobbing in surprise and confusion. He looks at you with a dumbfounded face, “Marlboro Reds?”

“Can we just go inside?” You tug on Mingi’s hand, he takes your ID back from Minho before following you inside Eonian, his brows still furrowed.

“I thought you said you don’t really come here,” Mingi sounds lost as you pull him inside the door, the smell of humid air and alcohol meeting your nose upon entrance.

You do a quick scan of the bar, mindlessly answering, “I’ve been here a few times with Wooyoung.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with the bouncer,” he hisses his argument, standing close to you now, leaning down just enough to whisper-yell it into your ear. 

Spotting Jongho in the far corner, just beside the stage at a table, your grin is finally real and takes over your entire face. “Yeah, well, he fucked my friend,” you pull him in Jongho’s direction, “I found Ho, come on.”

It takes longer than you thought it would to get across the crowded bar, you stopped three different times for Mingi to dap up strangers you’ve maybe seen before, all people who tucked Mingi into a quick hug with grins so bright it was as if they were meeting God. Antagonizing, remembering how many people love him, not that you showed your distaste as Mingi introduced you to every single person as his girlfriend, in which they all drank up your figure and complimented Mingi on how well he did scoring you. 

It almost made up for what happened in the car. Almost. 

Dick two inches bigger, you had more swag in your step as you dragged him to Jongho’s table, where he stood around the high-top wooden surface with two others beside him. Lee Minho, Lee Felix, tight-end, kicker. Felix, bright, blonde and bushy-tailed, stood a little shorter than Minho, who was everything dark and brooding, at least on the outside. Light seemed to return to his eyes when you approached the table, a small smile on your face, already in-character. 

Jongho looked less wary as you approached this time, a pink hue to his cheeks, shoulders slightly slouched, a tall beer on the table before him. It looks appealing, even for a beer, at this point you think you’d take a swig of whiskey just to ease the lingering weight in your chest. 

He notices your eyes lingering on his beer, he tugs it toward him, eyes pointed, “No.”

It makes a small laugh pass through your lips before you greet the table. Felix’s warm brown eyes seem brighter after Mingi introduces you, his freckled cheeks pink at the apples, “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“Me?” You’re still smiling, one brow popped, “Why?”

“The girl who tamed Song Mingi,” Minho is quick to answer as if that was now a title of sorts. 

Your head tilts, confusion spreading, Mingi’s hand slides to the small of your back, his pinky lining the hem of your jeans. The girl who tamed Song Mingi, your initial reaction is to laugh through the confusion, it comes out staggered, airy, uneasy. 

Felix is beaming, grin spread wide like excitement was oozing from his pores, “The whole team has been talking about you, they say you’re funny, and hot, which is clearly true.”

Now heat is spreading through you, smile shifting to something of a smirk, he’s pretty. Like a girl, in a way, blonde hair straight past his shoulders, you can tell there’s a lean, disciplined body beneath the oversized clothes on his body. Backwards hat, lips plump and rosy like he’d been kissing someone for hours, you wonder how hot he thinks you are. 

“Is your jacket from Anthro? I’ve been looking at it online, waiting for it to go on sale,” his eyes are on the faux fur on your shoulders, the jacket you thrifted ages ago for ten bucks, you have no idea what brand is on the tag. 

Gaydar going off, you ask, “No idea, wanna check?”

His eyes flare brighter, you don’t wait for his answer as you break away from Mingi’s heavy hand, walking around the table. You feel soft fingers moving your hair out of the way as your eyes lead to Jongho, “When does Yeo go on?”

“I think in twenty minutes or so,” he shrugs, bringing his beer up to his lips. 

You shiver when you feel the warmth of Felix’s fingertips at the base of your neck, “They’re late?”

Head down to allow Felix access to your tag, your eyes slide to look at the stage, lights on and empty. You got here right before ten, he should be going on any minute now. 

“Technical difficulties,” Minho comments in a sing-song tone, reminding you he’s also at the table. Taller than you, beefier than Felix, his elbows sit on the table, biceps straining the sleeves of his fitted tee. Dark hair, eyes feline, lips small and pouty, shit, he’s hot, too. 

You hum, storing the info for later, “I hope they play soon.”

“This is Anthro,” Felix gasps, “so cute, I want one.”

“I thrifted it a long time ago, if you ever want to borrow it, ask Mingi for my number,” you offer as you turn around, hands grabbing the hem of it to pull it forward, fixing where it sank backward.

Felix’s head turns to Mingi across the table, feigning a pout, “I like this one, can I keep her?”

In-character, Mingi shakes his head, a smooth, proud chuckle tumbling from his lips. “Sorry to break it to you, Lix, but that one’s mine.”

Mine. 

Hand holding didn’t get a reaction out of you, but a singular word makes your stomach curl. You barely remember the last time you were considered someone’s partner, significant other, girlfriend, you don’t know if you ever have been; you’ve been a fuck-buddy, a situationship, a friends with benefits, everything under the fucking sun besides owned. At least five, maybe six years it’s been since someone used the word mine to describe what you are to them, and back then it was purely adolescent, puppy-love at fifteen that made you feel lovesick instead of violently nauseous. 

“I need a drink,” you blurt, “from the bar.”

Mingi’s brows furrow, “Where else would you get one, princess?”

That fucking nickname. Your nose crinkles with disgust, you don’t even care about forcing a smile on your face or putting on a show, your irritation returns tenfold. Giving him a long, blank stare, you turn and beeline for the bar. 

Deep, shiny oak littered with splotches of wetness, signed receipts soaked, smudged and clinging to the surface, loose, skinny black straws thrown about the bar like some drunk idiot threw a handful in the air, it was a typical Friday night here. Elbows on the bar, you push yourself up by the ledge attached to the base, you keep your chest pressed above your folded arms so the sexy bartender would help you first. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You smack your lips again, but you don’t turn around. Just his voice is getting on your last nerve.

“Tell me what’s wrong, you’re acting bitchier than usual.”

You can feel the words in your spine. You snap your neck to the side, “Is that why it’s so understandable for me to get cheated on? Because I’m bitchy?”

“You’re still mad about that?” Mingi asks, sounding genuine. You hear him sigh before he forces himself between you and the guy standing beside you at the bar, someone shorter than him, smaller. “Do you want me to apologize again?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you say quietly, voice laced with venom, keeping your eyes on the tall bartender juggling bottles like they’re toys, his movements fluid. You attempt to telepathize with him, maybe he’ll hear your calls of his name in his mind.

“I thought we moved past that already,” he sighs, “you’re not even gonna look at me? I’m trying–”

“Why do you give a fuck?” You finally look at him and his brows are upturned, lips pouty, but that arrogance that’s embedded in him is so fucking clear you regret looking. “You don’t like me, I don’t like you. I’m here for Yeosang, you’re here to impress Winter, wherever the fuck she is. You should go find her.”

“Hey, baby,” you turn to find the bartender finally answering your calls, “he bothering you?”

“Yes,” you smile back, giddiness forming in the pit of your stomach. Slit through his eyebrow, buzz-cut bleached a sandy blonde color, he wears a mesh tank that sits loose on his skin, flowing with each movement. “But he’s paying, so I can’t escape him just yet. Wanna do a shot with me on his tab?”

You lean in closer, eyes low, smile playful. He chuckles, eyes sliding to Mingi and then back to you, “A shot with my favorite girl? Of course. Is he doing one too?”

You shrug, “Ask him, not me.”

You both look at Mingi whose brows are in his hairline, lips parted and slightly curled in a small sneer. It takes him a second to process Hyunjin’s staring at him with a question, he shakes his head slightly before reaching into his pocket, muttering, “Nah, I’m good.”

Hyunjin pours you your favorite drink before placing two plastic shot-cups on the bar, messily pouring liquor that spills onto the grated surface below, “Cheers, to Yeosangie.”

“To Yeosangie,” your grin spreads wide, clinking plastic before smacking them on the bar and shooting them back. “Thanks, Jinnie.”

“Anything for my favorite girl,” his voice is warm, almost as warm as his pretty brown eyes when he looks at you, it makes your insides feel fuzzy. He turns to Mingi who passes him his credit card with that same confused-annoyed look, but he stays quiet. Good. 

When Hyunjin walks away, he speaks, and you groan upon the first word leaving his lips. “You’re such a liar, you lied to me.”

“Whatever,” you huff, bringing the straw up to your lips. Fruity, bitter, strong, necessary. “You don’t need to know the truth all the time.”

Mingi’s shaking his head, an annoyed chuckle falling past his lips, “Is there anyone else here you’ve slept with that your boyfriend should know about?”

You shrug as he gets his card back, signing the receipt. You eye it to make sure he left Hyunjin a nice tip, which he does without a word from you. “I’ll let you know if any more show up, if you’re really that curious.”

“I’m sorry for what I said in the car,” he tries again, voice sounding strained, “I’m exhausted, the coaches are working me to the fucking bone with playoffs so close, and I’m here for you.”

Mine.

“You are not here for me,” you bite back, “you meant what you said in the car, don’t go back on it now because it pissed me off. You’re here for Winter and that’s it, Mingi. Like I said earlier, go find her.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No!”

“Fine!” You huff, “Then leave! I didn’t want you here to begin with.”

“You invited me!” He argues back, eyes blowing wide, “I came because you invited me. I picked you up after a three-hour practice. I skipped the second half of studying with exams soon to be here.”

Mine. Your chest constricts.

“You shouldn’t skip studying,” you mutter, “you can’t afford to, moron.”

“Yet I did,” his arms raising on either side of him, defeated. You look at him, really look at him, and you don’t know how you didn’t notice the bags beneath his eyes earlier, he hasn’t had that energetic, snarky-spark since he picked you up. 

The lights dim around the stage, music playing through the speakers silencing, the TouchTunes turned off. Mingi sighs, “Can we just watch the show? Wooyoung saw us, which means Winter's here somewhere. They’ll see us at some point.”

“Sorry for being a bitch,” you mumble, voice small, cheeks burning. 

A smile tugs at his lips, “I’m sorry for being a bitch, too.” He throws an arm around your shoulders, “Come on, it’s time to pretend you like me again.”

There’s a smile on your face when you groan, body falling beneath his arm, he walks you up towards the table again, through the crowd that parts for him as if he’s a celebrity, standing beside Jongho like he knows it’s where you’d be most comfortable. 

He pushes you in front of him as people start closing in, hands sliding down, hooking into your belt loops as Yeosang’s band walks out onstage. Excitement blooming, a grin breaks out across your face, head tipping back with a hand curled around your mouth to release a sharp, pitched whistle. 

Mingi echoes the noise, leaning forward to cheer for Yeosang, the back of your head touching his chest. Your head follows his body as he stands straight again, leaning on him with a smile etched into your skin, holding the plastic cup between your hands as the band takes their positions. 

Yeosang’s eyes scan the crowd, you follow where his gaze gets stuck, in the back corner, sitting at one of the high-top tables. She’s here, your eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight, warmth filling your chest, a semblance of pride. Good. 

“Who’s that?” Mingi leans down to ask in your ear. 

“Yeosang’s kind-of girlfriend,” you tear your eyes away from her to tilt your head up, looking at him. “Their relationship is weird.”

“Hm,” Mingi’s head tilts, “doesn’t look like Yeo’s type.”

“She’s exactly his type,” you giggle, “you should know that.”

A smile forms as he looks down at you, “I guess you’re right, don’t know why I assumed everything changed after he quit playing football.”

“Running-back-gone-stoner still likes his cheerleaders,” you sing, bringing your attention back to the stage, taking a sip from your drink. “He seems happier now that he doesn’t play anymore.”

“This is the most confident I’ve ever seen him and he hasn’t played a single chord yet,” Mingi adds, nodding his agreement. 

“He’s good,” there’s pride in your voice, “you’ll like their music.”

As if they could hear you, Jay strums his guitar, a striking chord that pulls the attention of the entire room. You squeal, turning your head to see Jongho who’s looking at the stage with the same amount of fondness and pride in his eyes that you wore, the same feeling you have every time you see Yeosang on stage. 

Their opening song is one original out of three, the rest covers. You know every word, singing along with Jay, their lead singer and guitarist, head bopping to the beat. 

Mingi doesn’t know where to look. Yeosang, who was once his good friend, onstage, or you, smiling, giggling and dancing between his arms. It’s only the third time you’ve been out in public together, but with all the texting, the updates you send each other throughout the day, the constant banter, there’s a feeling in Mingi’s chest he can’t really explain. 

He’s not into you. But there’s an urge in his consciousness somewhere, to keep you close, to protect you, it makes him fucking cringe every time the thoughts cross his mind. You’re not friends, you won’t stay in contact after your alignment fulfills its purpose, it’s something he reminds himself after he thinks about you for just a little too long.

He’s tired. His bones ache, his eyes feel heavy, there’s a slouch in his shoulders he doesn’t have the strength to straighten. Your energy bleeds into him, he’s found himself going along with you the entire time you’ve been associated, as if he’s a horse you’re leading to water. So he keeps his mindless grin, a hand steady on your hip since you jumped his fingers out of your belt loops, he holds your drink with the other, keeping his palm blanketed over the open top. 

He’s never seen you so happy. 

He’s seen you angry, irritated, maybe he’s made you laugh once or twice now, but it’s nothing compared to the joy on your face now, how your body moves out of excitement. It’s not the liquor, it’s Yeosang onstage, who plays so well and looks so fucking cool Mingi finds himself a little jealous, a feeling he pretends isn’t there as soon as he recognizes it. The way you care for him, for Jongho, it adds to the list of things he keeps learning about you, like layers of a fucking onion. 

You come to Eonian. Often. You know the bouncer, the bartender, Mingi can’t figure out why you lied. He wonders what else you’ve lied about– what more he can learn about you just by sharing space. He wonders about Wooyoung, what he said to you outside of Lucent, what made you so nervous and eager to leave. He wonders why you wanted to fake-date in the first place, if Wooyoung has done worse than cheat, if that’s why you want revenge so deeply. 

The way your eyes wander across the room, finding Wooyoung and Winter, his arms thrown over her shoulders, keeping her close. How they sway together, Winter’s fingers holding onto his forearms, a small smile on her face, cheeks pink. It makes your movements smaller, the bubble of excitement surrounding your being dwindles to a flicker, you turn around and ask Mingi for your drink. 

“No,” Mingi shakes his head.

Your face contorts, “What do you mean, ‘No’?”

“You don’t need to drink because you’re upset,” he keeps his voice low, “liquor isn’t going to help.”

“I’m not upset,” you sound defensive, which only confirms what Mingi’s thinking is true. “I’m at a bar watching my best friend kill it onstage, why would I be upset?”

Your brows are furrowed, lips pouty, the gloss you wore faded by now, leaving a pinkish stain behind. There’s heat in your cheeks, a pretty flush, he hates the realization that determination in your features is kind of cute.

“Come here,” Mingi offers, placing your drink on the table behind him before twisting you back around by your hips, throwing his own arms over your shoulders, tucking you into him. 

You squirm, making a whiney noise, shifting your shoulders and looking down to untuck your hair where it got trapped against Mingi’s body. “You’re fucking huge,” you mumble, soft fingers coming up to hook around his forearms, Mingi can’t tell if it’s a compliment, but it’s definitely not an insult. 

“You have no idea,” he smirks to himself. 

You groan, “Stop saying shit like that to me.”

“Why?” Smiling, his tone comes out playful, “Curious?”

Your head tilts back to look up at him, eyes pointed, lips bent in a frown. “No.”

“Liar,” Mingi smacks his teeth, “all you’ve done tonight is lie.”

“Like I said,” you bring your attention back to the stage, “you don’t always need to know the truth.”

“So you admit you’re curious.”

“No!”

Mingi chuckles, squeezing you with his arms clamped around your front. You stay there for the rest of the show, in Mingi’s hold, head pressed to his chest, your eyes don’t wander again. They stay locked on Yeosang onstage, singing along to each song. At one point you and Mingi started swaying together when he recognized one of the covers they performed, singing along with you. 

“You two are so fucking cute,” Felix comments when Yeosang’s band runs off the stage after bowing to the crowd. Mingi finally let you go at that point, where you attached to your iced-down drink like a moth to a flame. 

“Yeah?” Mingi smiles at Felix before jumping into action when you bring the straw to your lips. “Don’t drink that, I didn’t have eyes on it. I’ll get you another.”

You pout, but you let him pull the straw away from your lips, “Boo.”

“What’d you think of the show?” Jongho asks, a little drunk now, Mingi thinks, as he smacks a hand on his shoulder. 

Mingi’s grinning again, nodding his head, “They’re good, Yeosang is really talented.”

You squeal again, stealing his attention, “Isn’t he? He’s so fucking talented, he makes me so jealous. I wish I could play an instrument.”

Cute. He doesn’t think before reaching up to ruffle your hair, “You’re talented at lots of stuff, princess.” He doesn’t know why he said it, he doesn’t even know what you do in your free time. He blames it on it feeling right. He’s tired. 

You quickly fix your hair, mumbling, “Motherfucker.”

It makes Mingi’s grin spread wider. Weird, how your insults are starting to feel like compliments. 

“Are you coming to the conference game?” Minho asks, and your brows perk up at the attention, that smooth smile appearing on your cheeks, the one you use when you look at any one of his teammates. Anyone you find attractive, actually, he’s noticed. 

You nod, “I’ll be there, supporting Jongho.”

“Not your boyfriend?” Minho asks, popping a brow.

“Oh shit, yeah, Mingi too,” you nod, “duh.”

He has to fight his laugh, lips tying together. You meet his eye, the look of him biting back his laugh, and crack a stupid smile at the sight. “You ready to go?” You ask, brows lifted.

Mingi’s neck cranes in confusion, “You don’t wanna wait for Yeo?”

“He has people to see,” you say casually, but Mingi knows who. “Plus, you’re tired, and you need to study before bed.”

Hesitantly, seeing the honesty in your eyes, no disappointment evident, Mingi nods. “You’re right.”

“The girl who tamed Song Mingi,” Minho sing-songs, and Mingi’s neck snaps to glare. He hates that nickname, the way they use it in the house, in practice, how it rolls off his teammates tongues with a sneer. Minho’s smile is devilish, daring; he’s one of Mingi’s only teammates that doesn’t suck-up to him completely. It’s not the right time or place to berate him for it.

You say your goodbyes politely and grab Mingi by his hand, pulling him towards the crowd, in the direction of the exit. Mingi ignores everyone who tries to steal him for a chat, giving small smiles, nods, waves of acknowledgement, but he lets you drag him all the way to the exit, where you give the bouncer, Minho, a small wave goodbye. 

A little colder now, enough to rack a chill down Mingi’s spine, you stop in your tracks when you open the exit door. Winter is pressed against the wall of the building, Wooyoung’s hand over her head, forehead touching hers. He plants his lips against hers once before realizing he has company. 

“Leaving so soon?” He’s smirking as he tucks his arm back into himself, standing straight, turning to face the two of you. “Yeosang played a good show.”

Winter’s eyes locked on Mingi, widened, pupils dilated like she didn’t want to be caught where Mingi had indeed caught her. She swallows, licking her lips, fixing the baggy denim on her legs as she stands straighter, moving slightly behind Wooyoung as if it’d put her out of Mingi’s eyesight. 

“He always does,” your voice is cold, venomous. No warmth at all. 

Wooyoung’s eyes find Mingi, taking a second to look him up and down. “Nice outfit, different for you.”

Mingi pops a brow, “Because I’m not in a jersey?”

“Sure,” Wooyoung nods, then moves his eyes to you. “Same goes for you, doll. Find my hoodie yet?” 

Your fingers flex at your side, fist clenching, “I told you I burned it.” 

Wooyoung chuckles, arm lifting for Winter to tuck herself into his side, it makes Mingi grimace. Gross. He’s slimey, the energy he gives off, Mingi can’t understand what the fuck girls see in him in the first place. 

“Did you see Hyunjin inside?” Wooyoung asks, “He asked me about you, said your little plaything was bothering you.” Wooyoung looks at Mingi again, “I take it that’s you? But you’re her boyfriend, right?” 

Mingi’s brows furrow, but you speak up before he can open his mouth. “Don’t speak to Hyunjin about me or Mingi. The only plaything you have to worry about is the one under your arm.”

Winter straightens, brows furrowing, “I’m the plaything? Me?”

“What do you think he’s gonna do with you when he’s bored?” You laugh a little, eyes so piercing it renders Mingi silent, all he can do is stare. “Toss you to the side, just like he did with me. There’s another one, you know, it’s never just you.” 

Wooyoung tucks her closer, his features devoid of all amusement, back going rigid. “Lying, huh? Just ‘cus you’re butthurt? Always leads to lies, you haven’t changed one bit.” 

“You’ll never change,” you whisper, but the chilly air is quiet enough that it hits its mark. “When she calls, you’ll run back to her, it doesn’t matter who’s occupying your boredom at the time.” Your eyes find Winter, “You’ll see. I feel bad for you.” 

Mingi, confused, watches Winter’s face fall, the slow realization that there’s not a lick of jealousy in your voice, just sheer honesty. His head bobs back and forth between the two of you, but he grabs your wrist when steam starts pouring from your ears. “Time to go, baby. Come on.” 

You pull your wrist away from him, tucking it into your chest, keeping your eyes steady on Wooyoung who doesn’t falter for a moment. A staring contest of sorts, it makes Mingi feel nervous, uncomfortable at the least.

“Time to go,” Mingi reiterates, voice heavier, hands on your waist now. “It’s not worth it. I’ll take you home, c’mon.” 

It takes you a second to turn your head away from Wooyoung as Mingi starts pulling you away, but once you’re out of eyesight, in front of Mingi’s build that engulfs you whole, the shakes begin. Your fingertips, your shoulders, your teeth chatter in your fucking skull. 

“In the car,” he’s whispering, encouraging, ushering you into his passenger seat. “There you go,” he closes it behind you, making sure you’re tucked inside. 

When he’s behind the wheel, engine roaring to life, he takes a second to gather his bearings. He turns to you slowly, only his head, and you’re staring into nothing, body still shaking. It makes him swallow, nerves etching into his vision. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, because it’s the only thing he can think of. He doesn’t know how to comfort you. You hum an agreement, a slight nod of your head, it does nothing to ease the discomfort in his chest. His lips tighten, teeth grazing his bottom lip, “What just happened?”

You shake your head, still staring into space. Voice small, battered and broken, you whisper, “I don’t know.”

Mingi feels something swirling in his gut, something foul. Like before a big game, when he isn’t positive he’s going to win. Voice low, he asks, “What actually happened between you?”

“He didn’t just cheat on me with Winter,” you finally look down at your lap, “there’s another girl. I don’t know who she is, what she looks like, I just know she exists. She’s like, the girl version of him, she made him like that.”

Mingi’s brows furrow, but you keep talking after a deep, shaky breath. “He called me a liar, I am a liar.” You shake your head, staring at your lap. “I lied to everyone when I was with him. I lied to him, I lied to myself, not to mention Jongho and Yeosang.”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier that way,” you finally look at Mingi, eyes glassy, pupils dilated, “if I told the truth, I couldn’t be held accountable for my own actions.” When you notice his confusion, you laugh, a short, disbelieving chuckle. “I knew about her the whole fucking time, the nature of their relationship, I even tried competing with her at one point.”

When Mingi asks why again, you sigh. “I think because I knew I’d never win. Him and I would never be real no matter how hard I tried, and that was safety to me, in a way.”

“I don’t understand,” Mingi sinks into his seat, carefully peeling back another layer. 

You shake your head again, silent for a moment. “Have you ever wanted something so bad that it terrifies you?”

“All the time.”

“This is gonna sound self-deprecating, don’t make fun of me or else I’ll fucking kill you,” you start, and Mingi’s lips curve at the corners, but he nods. “That’s how I feel about relationships, or being loved, I guess. I want it, but do I deserve it?”

Mingi’s brows furrow again, “Do you deserve it?” You blink at him, and he shakes his head in confusion, “Who cares? You want it, don’t you?”

Mingi swears your eyes get rounder, your lips plumper. He’s never seen you look so… delicate. Small, vulnerable, like your walls have crumbled away and left what’s at your core bare for him to see. 

“I do,” you whisper, staring at him, into him, he feels just as bare as you. He feels the moonlight pouring into the cabin, he hears the light hum of his idling car, and he realizes he hasn’t been in this position in a long, long time. 

His relationship with women has been strict since… her. Transactional, never more, never less. Give and take. He doesn’t make friends, he doesn’t form bonds, he does nothing more than fuck– when’s the last time he had a real fucking conversation with a woman? When’s the last time his chest has felt so twisted from emotion?

He stares back, eyes dropping to your lips for a millisecond. Glossy, from the spit you swiped over them with your tongue moments prior, plump and opaque with color. This is the longest you’ve gone without arguing since the moment you met. This is the first time he’s looking at you so clearly, seeing you as more than a means to an end. He swears he can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“Take what you want,” Mingi whispers back, “who gives a fuck about being worthy of it?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips, “That’s easy for you to say, you get whatever you want.”

“Not everything,” he shifts in his seat, sinking down, stretching out his legs as much as he can. “Not even a lot, actually.”

When your brows furrow, he makes a face like he doesn’t want to keep going, but he does anyway. “I don’t have control over anything in my life. What I eat, how I train, how much I sleep, what I do in my free time, that’s all coordinated by someone else. Dating you is the most freedom I’ve had in years.”

“They don’t do whatever you say?”

“I do whatever they say,” he corrects you, lips flattening. “I don’t have to think if I don’t want to, and I fucking hate it. I’m a twenty-one year old man that doesn’t do anything for myself, it’s suffocating. Like I’m a puppet.”

Your lips are tucked between your teeth, swept to the side, head tilted. “I thought it was the other way around. Are they mad you’re… dating me?”

Mingi laughs a little, “More than mad. Consequences-mad.” 

You gasp, leaning forward, palm planted on the center console. “Then why are you still doing it?”

“Because I want to,” he’s looking at you now, “for once, I’m doing something I want, and I’m having fun.”

“You’re having fun with me?” Your smile makes Mingi feel like he’s just handed you a thousand dollars. “For realsies?”

Chuckling, nodding, Mingi nods, “For realsies, princess.”

You sit back in the passenger seat, body deflating dramatically, head sinking to the side, silly smile still on your lips. Looking up at him through your brows, you say, “I’m having fun with you, too.”

Mingi doesn’t understand why the sentence fills his stomach with… butterflies, like you’d just said the words he’s been waiting the whole night to hear. He pushes the feeling down, shifting himself upward, finally plugging his phone into the car’s speaker system. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you nod, sitting up, pulling the seatbelt over your torso. “Drive nicely though, please, or else I might throw up.”

FOURTH OUTING: CONFERENCE GAME, SUNDAY. 7:02 PM.

Bass pumps through the stadium, so deep and booming you can feel it in your heels that touch the concrete beneath you, it vibrates through the navy blue, plastic chair you sat on. Only in a mini-skirt, your thighs sat bare against the cool, hard chair, a relief in contrast to the humid air that rudely asks you to put your hair up. 

In the tenth row, just above the fifty-yard line, your view was immaculate. Just above where the players stood on the field, you could see the field, the players clearer than you ever have, Jongho always gifted you and Yeosang nosebleeds. A routine, up in the stands, guzzling beers because what else was there to do if you couldn’t see? You’d trust the commentator with a tall-boy of Miller and pretend you were enjoying it until you got drunk enough to not care, and to you, that was the true college football experience. 

But here, almost eye-level with Mingi who lines up directly under center to take the snap, this was different. Dark hair covered by his kelly-green helmet, the only reason you knew it was him was because of his last name and the number eighty-eight on his back. 

It mirrored the one on your back, the kelly-green jersey that offset his white one, it hung more than oversized in your body, off one shoulder, tucked into your skirt. You haven’t seen Mingi in a week, and when Yeosang delivered it to you this morning the pang of disappointment in your chest was so uncomfortable you pretended you didn’t feel it.

“Mingi gave it to Jongho who gave it to me to give to you.” 

Yeosang threw the jersey onto your couch, oversized and… green. So green you looked down at the jersey then back up to Yeosang’s head of hair, a smirk crawled onto your cheeks. Yeosang squinted, “Don’t.”

“Oh, you can make fun of me, but I can’t make fun of you?” A hand on your hip, one knee bent, you exuded nothing but attitude. You took a step forward to pick the jersey off your couch, held it up in the air in front of you by the shoulders, “Can dish it out but can’t take it, huh?”

The mini-skirt in your closet you haven’t been able to face since sometime last year popped into your brain, a tall pair of boots you already started mentally picturing with the outfit. It looked good enough in the mirror, his jersey hung off your shoulder, you did a little twirl in the mirror to see how it swayed with your movement. 

A smile was stamped onto your cheeks when you glanced at your back in the mirror, reading a very clear Song written above the number 88. After noticing the grin, you forced your lips flat, arms straightening at your sides. You turned back around, lips tucked in as you ran your palms over the jersey, blowing a sharp breath through curved lips, then left your bedroom once more. 

You kind of missed him, which was a strange pit-in-your-stomach feeling you didn’t let yourself think too much about. You haven’t seen him in a week, not since your explosion on Wooyoung at Eonian, he’s been too busy with this game approaching, strategizing, practicing, training. Not seeing him after sharing something vulnerable with him, something you haven’t even shared with the green-headed-motherfucker in the room just to get something vulnerable in return, you felt strangely closer to him. Like maybe you two could actually be friends. 

Silly thought. Silly you.

He stands crouched on the field, your chest still heaves from cheering when his name was announced throughout the stadium, excitement vibrating through you as much as when bass bled through your skin. The stadium looks bigger from down here, more open, yet there was less air to fill your lungs, to ease the discomfort in your chest. 

There were messages in your DMs, more messages now than when you entered the parking lot to tailgate. You read the first ones upon your first step through the wired, silver gates, not telling Yeosang who was already slurring his words because it didn’t matter. The messages have never grown too personal, nowhere close to a threat, until today. 

Don’t go to the game today. 

His minions, the army assembled of Mingi-lovers who haunted your requests folder, you wonder what they’d think if they knew you weren’t really together. If they knew Mingi only looked at you affectionately in public. You wondered what they’d think if they looked at your text thread, if they saw the slew of insults you threw at each other on a daily basis, between the updates with time stamps because Mingi said it’s proof he’s busy. 

Now, there were more.

Thought we told you not to go We saw you tailgating. Should we expose you for cheating on him? In his jersey too, you must be fucking stupid Drinking beer, so trashy Don’t you think you eat enough?

A tall-boy in the cupholder across from you, a cup of cheese fries split between you and Yeosang, a fucking hotdog in your hand. This was normal, this is what you always did, what you always fucking ate when you came to these games. You looked behind you, the crowd was busy talking to each other, laughing, drinking, eating, there were no eyes on you. You couldn’t figure out who was looking at you. Who was waiting. 

Unsettling isn’t the word for how uncomfortable being seen was, when you didn’t want to be.

The game begins and you attempt to force yourself into focusing. Yeosang, drunk and belligerent beside you, luckily didn’t notice your discomfort, you don’t think he’d notice if you dropped a fucking brick on his head right now. You pull out your phone when focusing proves impossible, rereading your last text thread with Mingi again, the only thing keeping you from grabbing Yeosang by the scruff and dragging him out of the stadium. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx: come down to the field when games over xxx-xxx-xxxx: go down the stairs inside, tell security ur name. they should let u through

you: okay you: play good or else ill cheer for jongho

xxx-xxx-xxxx: come on now xxx-xxx-xxxx: whos name is on ur back

you: some guy you: streets are calling me mrs. song

xxx-xxx-xxxx: wait that has a nice ring to it xxx-xxx-xxxx: if u see winter let her know what her future looks like

you: i hate you you: break a leg

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i dont think u say that for football

you: no like i hope you break your leg

xxx-xxx-xxxx: oh bro fuck u xxx-xxx-xxxx: dont say that before a game xxx-xxx-xxxx: asshole

you: go stretch or something stop texting me

You haven’t seen Winter, you haven’t seen Wooyoung. You didn’t see them in the parking lot, either, where you tailgated with not only Jia and Riyo, but Mingyu, Seokmin, Hoshi, Dino and Seungkwan. Nine of you taking up two parking spots, drinking beside Mingyu’s ninety-six Ford pickup, playing pong with the table he brought in the truck bed, sitting in folding chairs, watching from the roof panel. 

Riyo claims they’re the only people she could convince to tailgate. You think they’re the first and only people she tried convincing, especially since she’s hooking up with Seokmin on the DL, but you’d believe there’s some truth to it just because Mingyu’s the easiest person to convince of anything on the planet. You can remember convincing him chocolate milk comes from brown cows and strawberry milk comes from pink cows– he was elated to find out photoshop-generated pink cows exist in real life. 

Tall, buff, bronzy and handsome, he was the first one to refer to you as Mrs. Song with a slippery smirk and a wiggle of his brows. For the entire two hours you tailgated, you don’t think you heard your name once; like parrots, once one of them says something, the rest follow. 

It was nice to be friendly with him, even if you eyed him up with a smirk of your own two or twenty times, advances only understood by him, and each time you remembered whose name and number was painted on your back and forced your face to fall. 

Boring. 

“That pass was,” Yeosang hiccups, “disgusting.”

You lock your phone, picking your head up, “I missed it, what happened? Disgusting good, or disgusting bad?”

“Good,” Yeosang nods, watching the game with a different, analytical eye, “Mingi’s so fucking good.”

“Do you ever miss playing?” You ask, tucking your phone into your pocket, picking up your beer to take a sip. Cringing, you wish you’d drank more at the tailgate.

“Of course,” he says like that’s the stupidest question you’ve ever asked, “but I don’t regret quitting. Everything is better now.”

You can hear the liquor in his voice, it makes you crack a smile. Taking advantage of the situation, you lean in a little closer, “Do you miss her cheering you on?”

With his feet propped up on the empty chair in front of him, body lazily strewn in his own chair like it was deadweight, it might be, the way he only turns his head to look at you. “You don’t think she cheers for me anywhere else?”

Your top lip curls, leaning backward, putting space between you. “I don’t know if I should take that in a sexual way or not.”

Yeosang snorts loudly, head dipping back like he didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore, “You saw her at my show last week. She was cheering me on like she didn’t give a fuck who saw, it was awesome.”

“Good,” you nod, turning back to the field, eyes closing in on the pretty cheerleader dressed in little to nothing, green and white pompoms in her hands. Whispering, watching her, you nod again, “Good.”

Checking your phone again, you see more DMs, but you don’t open them. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself as you sit rigid up until halftime, where the cheers and boos from the crowd went right over your head the entire time. Twenty minutes to pee, buy another beer and more cheese fries because you should’ve eaten before you fucking came and you didn’t.

On edge, speed-walking through the crowds in the concourse, your eyes worked a mile-a-minute to scan every face you saw, to analyze if anyone was looking at you a certain way. It’s terrifying, knowing someone is watching, not knowing who, or from where. You stared above you, through the cracks in the stall doors while you peed, you kept an eye on your surroundings while you bought another beer, more cheese fries. 

Maybe you should turn off your requests, you think as you sit back down in your seat, Yeosang leaned sideways with his head in his fist, eyes half-open.

“Are you alive?” You ask with a laugh as you sit down, handing him another tall-boy can, “Here, got you another beer.”

He resurrects like the second coming of Jesus, eyes wide and brows lifted like you’d woken him from hibernation. Back straightening, he grabs the can from your hand, sucking in a breath, “You’re my best friend.”

You laugh as you sit back in your seat, tucking your skirt beneath your thighs, the game had already begun again while you were up in the concourse. Peeking up at the scoreboard, seeing nine-zero clear as day, your head snaps to Yeosang, “When the fuck did that happen?”

“Mostly in the first quarter,” his voice is heavy with carbonation, he closes a fist over his mouth in an attempt to silently burp into it, a failed attempt. 

You snicker at the sound, giggling through your words, “Who?”

“Haechan, Jaemin.”

“Jaemin’s a kicker?”

“Him and Felix.”

“Ah,” you nod, taking a sip of your own beer. Turning to him again, you ask, “Haechan’s the whiney one with the red hair?”

“Wide receiver,” Yeosang nods, “and a good one. Mingi’s passes are perfect, though, can’t give Hyuck all the credit.”

“Hyuck?”

“Haechan.”

“Oh,” you mumble, searching the field again. Mingi looks so much bigger with all the padding on, bulkier, you can see his chest heaving despite the layers, his run turning to a slowed drag of his legs as he walks towards the edge of the field. 

Arms flexing as he pulls his helmet off his head, he shakes his hair back, running a gloved hand through the sweaty strands, away from his face. It’s like slow motion, his shoulders pushed back, lips parted, jaw clean and angular, teeth poking out from beneath his top lip. 

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, he looks hot. Fuck him. 

That clean smirk lifting his lips on one side as he shakes hands with another one of his teammates, you don’t care to figure out which one, you can’t take your eyes off him. He tilts his chin up, keeping that same cocky smirk as he says something too far for your ears to catch, his eyebrows twitching upward. Shit. 

Your stomach rumbles something unwelcome, a feeling of interest, sweat prickling at the back of your neck that isn’t from the humidity in the air. You know he’s hot, you knew he was hot before you started fake-dating him, you quickly remind yourself who he is. A narcissistic asshole, a misogynist, a lonely twenty-one year old that doesn’t have the freedom to make decisions for himself. One that likes spending his free time with you, one that laughs at your jokes, one that throws his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side like there’s no other place he’d want you. 

Mine. 

You shake your head, turning to Yeosang again, “You know how I said I got those DMs the other day?”

Yeosang blinks in half-focus, “Kinda, why?”

“Nevermind,” you shake your head, sighing. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Can I have a fry?” He asks, giving you puppy eyes, you hand him the cup of cheese fries without looking at him. 

By the grace of God, as if you fucking summoned her with damning thoughts, walking into the row before yours, sitting in the seat directly in front of Yeosang, is Winter.

Where the fuck is Wooyoung?

Yeosang stiffens, a cheese fry halfway in his mouth, he pulls his feet back down to the concrete, mumbling apologies through his already-full mouth. Winter is everything polite, she gives him a warm smile, tucking her skirt beneath her as she sits into the seat. Slowly she drags her hair to one side as she relaxes in the plastic, body not hitting the backrest, giving you a full, front-seat view of Song and 88 on her back. 

Your lips part, eyes widening as you read it, you blink once, twice, six fucking times and the name and number doesn’t change. It’s a jersey bought from the school store, not official like the one on your back, but she’s fucking here, in front of you, with your boyfriend’s name and number on her fucking back. 

“Excuse me,” you lean forward, heart beating out of your chest, brain spewing words onto your tongue and not one of them is nice. 

She turns like she’s surprised, brows lifted, “Hm?”

“Your jersey?” You tilt your chin, what the fuck else would you be asking about?

“Oh,” she grins, cheeks pink, a hand coming up to cover her mouth like she’s fucking bashful. “I’m just a huge fan.”

“Right,” you say slowly, eyes thinned to shoot daggers, nodding like this shit does not add up. 

Yeosang rests a heavy hand on your back, you turn your head to look at him still shooting missiles from your eyes and his face is twisted up to say what the fuck are you doing?!

Your face snaps back into reality, quickly straightening in your seat, pupils shaking beneath your lids and lips pursed hard enough to bruise, an embarrassing heat turns your body to lava. You see nothing, you hear nothing, you feel nothing but the mortifying pulse of your own heartbeat, what are you doing? What the fuck was that? This is the whole point. 

You’re going insane, that’s the only answer, the only reason for what you just did. The DMs, sitting in seats he got you because they’re the best view, having eyes on you somewhere in the crowd, remembering how he looked at you from the driver’s seat of his car, telling you to go get what you want just because you fucking want it. It's all going to your head. 

You need to break up. Now. 

You don’t see the rest of the game. You don’t hear the music, the sirens of triumph, the roars of the crowd, you don’t even process that they won until you’re standing up, clapping, staring out at the field with your face utterly blank. This is fear. This is real, genuine, raw fucking fear. 

“Let’s go,” Yeosang is tugging on your arm and your gaze is elsewhere, confused, your mind somewhere along with it. 

You tug your arm back, “Go where?”

“Down to the field?” Yeosang furrows his brows, “Are you okay?”

“Oh,” you give him a weak smile, “yeah, ‘m fine.”

You’re gliding up the stairs into the concourse, fuzzy finding the staircase to lead you back down, you’re shaking your head, trying to snap yourself out of it before you reach the bottom platform. There’s a man shuffling around like he was waiting for bodies to approach, earpiece connecting to a small black box clipped onto his slacks, a black polo to match, his face reading focus, professionalism. You mumble yours and Yeosang’s names and he lets you through with a stretch of his arm, you heave another breath when the LED lights come into view at the end of the tunnel. 

The field is vast, it’s warmer down here, the air is wet. Bodies seem to cover every inch of sideline, cameras, lights, people with clipboards and hats on their head with your university’s logo, you’re too aware of your fingers at your sides. 

You spot him and he’s smiling, laughing as he talks to an interviewer, already standing before a camera, it makes your heart drop to your asshole. You shuffle closer to Yeosang who’s already on the hunt for Jongho, you’re sure he doesn’t want to be caught down here by his old coach or any of the staff, if they’d even recognize his bright green hair. 

“You’re down here?” Jongho finds you before you find him, brows furrowed, hair sweaty and chest heaving, he wears confused brows and a winded smile. 

Chest puffed from padding, sweat dribbling down his forearms that aren’t covered by nylon, you actually feel a semblance of relief when you see him. “Mingi invited me, I wasn’t coming without Yeo.” 

“Oh,” his smile spreads, “how was it?”

Yeosang claps his hand, throwing another on his shoulder, “You’re a fucking boulder, wish I was down here with you.” 

Jongho looks confused, “Are you drunk?”

Your eyes travel, landing on Mingi, who catches you just as you look over. You see him brighten, smile widening, a sparkle in his eyes that makes your stomach do flips. Fuck. 

You watch him mouth the words excuse me, nodding his head before escaping the press, running over to you with that stupid fucking smile you might have seen in your dream last night. 

“You came!” He yells when he gets close enough to pull you into his chest, acting as if his sweat didn’t soak through his padding. Huge, massive, he swallows you, it makes your knees weak. 

You verbally cringe, muttering a noise of disgust before pulling away, “I was right, you smell like wet dog.” 

“Beautiful woman,” he corrects, face reading amusement, “like you in my jersey, green looks good on you, princess.” 

Your eyes meet the turf beneath your boots, “You don’t have to say that, no one can hear you, Mingi.” 

“Damn, no insulting rebuttal?” The more he looks at you the more his smile falters. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You look up at him through your brows, surprise written on your face as you take in the concern on his. He can tell? You shake your head, plastering a fake smile on your cheeks, “I’m great, I’m fine, I’m good. Did you hear me cheering?” 

“For me?” He’s cheesing, excited like a little kid. 

You laugh a little, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Duh, you told me I had to since I’m wearing your jersey.”

“Let me see,” he pulls his arm from where it laid over your shoulder back to his side, “do a little twirl for me, smart girl.” 

The heat on your cheeks is molten, you roll your eyes as you make a ponytail in your fist, twirling to give him full access of him on your back. 

He cheers, woo-ing loud and shameless, his smile takes over his entire face. “Wow, look at you, like a real-life WAG.” 

“What’s a WAG?” 

He shakes his head, “Means you’re mine.” 

Mine. 

You panic, words spilling from your lips, “Guess who else is in your jersey.” 

His smile falls, body going still with knowing disbelief, “No.” 

You force a tight-lipped smile, nodding, “Yup.” 

“Oh my god!” Yeosang cuts you off, loud and obnoxious. Now he chooses to get rowdy? “I almost forgot, you guys should take pictures.” 

In boyfriend mode again, Mingi’s gloved palm finds the small of your back, coming to your side when you twist around to look at Yeosang, face screaming no. Yeosang giggles, a nasty little smirk on his lips that tells you he’s playing the game, too, maybe better than you are at this point. 

He pulls his phone from his back pocket, “Come on, pose.” 

You look at Mingi, uneasy. He shrugs, unbothered. Hand tighter around your waist, he leans into you, smiling. You try to force light into your eyes, doing your best to grin like a proud girlfriend, not that these pictures would ever see the light of day. 

“Cute,” Yeosang crouches, “move over, the lighting is weird.” 

You huff, but move in the direction Yeosang’s pointed palm is ushering you in, Mingi following, the both of you quiet. Too aware of where you are, eyes, cameras, lights— it’s overstimulating just having his fucking hand on you, his body pressed to yours. 

Yeosang eyes you over the top of his phone screen, flashing something mischievous, “Now kiss.” 

“What?” There’s barely a moment between his order and your reaction. Mingi stiffens beside you, you think you’ve gone cold, you think you might drop dead on the turf. 

“Kiss!” Yeosang nearly whines, “Come on, what are you, children? One kiss for a picture, you’ll thank me for it later.”

Your jaw drops. Blinking at him, stuttering a rebuttal, head shaking and a hand moving to wave in front of you out of denial, Mingi speaks before you do.

“Okay.” 

“Huh?!” You look at him like he’s insane. 

He shoots daggers, eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Yeosang as if to say don’t blow our cover. Little does he know, Yeosang was present when the plan was fucking formed. 

“No,” the shake of your head is final, “absolutely not.” 

“One kiss,” Mingi argues, “it would be a cute picture.” 

You whisper, “Why are you encouraging this?” 

He shrugs, his smile effortlessly stupid, “It’s just one kiss.” 

Your eyes lower to his lips for a split second. Round, plump, pink, wet with spit from his tongue that glides over them seamlessly, there’s an anxious pit in your stomach, your fight or flight kicks in. 

He uses the angle in which you turned, one hand sliding to your waist, the other on your jaw, tilting your head upward. Warm, his touch delicate, you feel your heart in your throat as he leans in, kissing you with a softness no one has ever kissed you with. 

You’ve been someone’s situationship, friends with benefits, fuckbuddy— all things that require a disconnection to function, a wall you were far too good at putting up, keeping stable. You’ve been kissed with haste, with fervor, just to add a touch of romanticism because the rest that followed lacked respect in its purest form. 

This was different. It wasn’t a peck, your lips parted for him, your body melted into him, his hand on your jaw was guiding, grounding, his gloved thumb swiped along your skin like he fucking meant it. He tasted clean, like he just drank a gallon of water, still fresh on his plump lips that tucked yours in like they belonged there. It's not right, it’s not right but it’s working and you’re fucking terrified. 

He pulls away just as softly as he leaned in, a dopey smile stretching his lips wide. Keeping himself close, he hums, “See? Just a kiss.” 

You don’t realize your fingers wrapped around his forearm, or that your spine bent towards him. Breath shaky, grip iron, your eyes flicker upward and even the way he’s looking at you is different. 

You swallow down your discombobulation just enough to utter, “We need to break up. Now.” 

masterlist 🏈 part two

[luv-beam]

TACE !!!!! IM SO EXCITED TO FINALLY BE HERE. I HAVE NOISE CANCELLING HEADPHONES ON, A BIG JUG OF WATER, MY FUCKASS GLASSES AND IM IN BED AND READY TO PARTAY

STRONG OPENING. LITERALLY. AHSHSJBF okay but in all seriousness we do need to talk about this paragraph in particular:

^ because i LOVE this paragraph like the sequence and the cadence of the wording oh em gee. have i ever talked abt how glorious the word blasphemous is? blasphemy to questioning gospel and "there was more to your relationship than just sweat and saliva" — sorry an itch is being scratched for me like it feels so good

FUCK I DID LAUGH AT THE FUCKING THE SEASONS LINE 😭😭😭 but its so telling the way his words and actions were INTENDED to make u stick around,,,, only, his walls are bare. beige. like he's ready to leave at a moment's notice

i was just gonna say that she should BURN THE FCKN HOODIE AT THE STAKE GRRRAAAAHG

"great, even the fucking sun didn't want you" this omg 😭 i love when weather reflects the situation

okok wait i was in the zone for a handful of paragraphs which was crazy bc they passed by so FLUIDLY. i shit u not, like ik so much was happening in those paragraphs, but u narrated it in a way that they actually went into?? my brain?? like the way you told it was so good (for context: i have a goldfish brain and i read really slow and i usually have to read over things more than once 😭😭) AND THEN. ANDTHENANDTHENANDTHEN i see *eye twitch* winter's name . zone has been disintegrated; why am i mad already

omg im fucking GRINNING at my screen from mingi's inner monologue as he bitches abt how winter wants wooyoung instead of him

THE AMOUNT OF LINES CORRESPONDING TO WINTER AND THE SEASON WINTER IS FRYING ME BAHAHAHAH

DONT MAKE ME LAUGH AGAIN I NEED TO BE SERIOUS 😭😭😭😭

ALRIGHT. now wait a min i SAW that shared look btwn jongsang when she said "she's not even prettier than me" WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT

"stop calling me ho" NO ACTUALLY. (i laughed. ashamedly) also jongho scheming...... lovelovelove. also love that i can clearly picture everybody's facial expressions and reactions and how they sound and look (like all those little details,, mwah)

im genuinely shaking my damn head WHY DID HE WAKE HIM UP BEFORE HIS ALARM TO ASK HIM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 all boys are dumb, even choi jongho ig. (THE WAY JONGSANG TALK ABT HER LIKE BEING PHYSICALLY ATTRACTIVE MAKES ME FUCKING CACKLE EVERY TIME ISTG 😭 GUUUUYS)

"i dont know what that means" Oh . no so we have to Leave—

OKAY i see this fake dating low-key high-key hates each other dynamic...... the character arc that this is going to produce is gonna be so yummy omfg 😩😩 but like thank god she is actively talking abt the misogyny in the room (and that thing abt the nfl drafting misogynists KSNDKDNFKFN self aware fmc 🤝 self aware narrator fr)

oh fml this banter FML THIS BANTER so yummy im literally slapping my hand against my mouth for each quip

oh god. my worst fear has been realized. im so californian that my brain saw LAX and thought of the airport, and then i went that doesnt make sense and was like,,, maybe its just ,, a house name for funsies cuz L isn't in the greek alphabet, AND THEN I REALIZED JUST NOW ITS FOR LACROSSE im so......

the first highlight made me laugh aloud haha and then the second was just another FANTABULOUS use of repetition,,, i am a sucker for rules of three, ESPECIALLY when its something specific + something specific + something that doesn't quite fit with the first two, if that makes sense. like ur saying it could be this or that or just Suck It Up And Find Out

oh okay so mingi slid into boyfriend mode TOO EASILY

YES BEATING HIS PREJUDICE OF HER BY ACTUALLY KNOWING THINGS ABT FOOTBALL AND THE TEAM LIKE bruh. one of her friends is literally on ur offensive line, OFC she knows stuff.

sorry mingi u Are Not allowed to say ew when homegirl burps try again. OKAY BUT ALSO the excited thrill im getting as they're bantering and finally agreeing on something (albeit reluctantly) while actively making their way over to crash woowinter's chat kdnfkdnfk

waiwaiwait i do have to say that thank god mingi knows how to play the game in front of other people. i mean, i was thinking abt it and YEAH DUH HE KNOWS HOW TO BALL he knows the strat, he knows how to lock in when he wants something. and the way they seamlessly executed that first soft launch,, mwah go team (its so hot when he tugs her by the belt loops FUCK 😭😭)

STOP i burst out laughing AGAIN WHEN THEY WERE IN THE BATHROOM I READ THE GODDAMN 17 38 AND I WAS GONE i was gonna run here and type something but then i changed my mind and read the rest of that part to have a good giggle 🚬 shits and giggles fr

im so sus of wooyoung and winter btw like that moment at lax where he said something to her and she giggled like Naw. also the fact that they're also playing it up and being seen in public w pda too? like wtf

OH OKAY NOW IM SO SUSPICIOUS 🤨🤨🤨 reader and wooyoung are outside and winter just showed up at the table TALKING ABT A FKN CONFERENCE GAME. LIKE HMMMMMMMMM WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOR RN WHY ARE U SMILING LIKE THAT WHY— i dont like this. side note but can we talk abt mingi's inner monologue abt u shifting slightly after getting to know u, and how he wants to set u up and do smth for u after all this, but he also still knows that no one he has in mind will actually deserve u? now THAT is the start of a flame if ive ever heard one

OOOOOOOO U WANT EACH OTHER SO BAD 😮‍💨

CAT TONGUE

can i just say also that the progression from when mingi picks her up to go to eonian til the banter as they walk into the bar is so mwah?? like man even i felt that strike a nerve when mingi was talking abt wooyoung 'cheating' on her, and then just her simmering anger through the screen..... UGH AND THEM WALKING UP TO EONIAN AND thank god he was self aware like nah he shouldn't have said it in the first place but yeah wtvs its just like this push and pull of trying to figure out how far they can go with each other

them both fighting mutual smiles... like cmon guys u can get along if u really wanted to

SAW BUZZCUT AND I KNEW EXACTLY WHO THE BARTENDER WAS 😝😝😝😝

okokokokokok everybody calm down (im not calm. the exchange where she tells him to go find winter and he presses w a firm no and he reinforces it by telling u that he's here for YOU he came after a three hour practice for YOU he's skipping a needed study sesh FOR YOUUUUU UGGGHEHEJFJJDJDJD INTERCHANGED W THE REMINDER OF MINE MINE MINE . YOUR CHEST CONSTRICTS. MINE.)

YEOSANG RUNNING-BACK-GONE-STONER FML

"dont drink that i didnt have eyes on it i'll get u another" OKAY

dude i was so into this whole scene. like im up to the part where felix says that theyre cute together, and the way i INHALED mingi's inner monologue (´Д⊂ヽ LIKE EUGH im ugly crying rn. mingi has no idea who she really is until like this moment. he underestimates her and doesnt really care in the beginning; it's all for the game, FOR A COMPLETE OTHER GIRL IN FACT. and then its like thru even the little interactions, he actually sees mc as a human and seeing her let loose in a place that she is clearly apart of her world and her life,,, i feel like when she looks over at woowinter and he blocks her view and wraps his arms around her, its not just to comfort her, but he's fully sinking into this idea of being apart of her world even if he doesnt realize it consciously yet

"who cares? you want it, don't you?" fuck me UP ALREADY 😭😭😭 that confrontation btwn them and woowinter was so tense dude, i was just sitting there holding my gd breath (winter RUN)

FOR REALSIES? FOR REALSIES. OKAY. OKOKOKOK IMNOK

drunk yeosang at a football game who knows ball and has a thing w a cheerleader on the squad is so... oh im all over him i mean this.... also dude im so scared ive been reading thru the conference game section and i feel like ive reached that point in top gun maverick where everybody LEANS IN like i am SCARED

MINE (im still scared)

GO AWAY WINTER.

MINE MINE MINEEJEBDJDND THE SOUND HAS DULLED IN MY EARS MY HEART IS POUNDING FAWK.

FUCK MY LIIIIIIIFE FUCIDBFJDJD FUCKDJDJEJS OKAY. LOOK. LISTEN. HE JUST GOT OFF THE FIELD (HE'S STILL ON THE FIELD) AFTER WINNING A GAME, THERE IS LEFTOVER ADRENALINE PUMPING THRU HIS VEINS, HE DEF HAS FEELINGS TOO SO HE'S RIDING THAT HIGH AS WELL. AND HE HAS THE CONTROL TO KISS HER SOFTLY. DO WE ALL UNDERSTAND THIS. DO WE ALL UNDERSTAND WHERE THIS MAN STANDS RN BECAUSE OH . MY GOD. OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

and the ending. oh THE ENDING

alright . *presses fingertips together* that was a lot and my brain is finally catching up to my eyeballs KSNFKDNDKD BUT IT WAS INSANE IN THE BEST WAY i feel like i just watched the first part to an extended director's cut of a romcom. but if a romcom actually delved into the nuances of character yk. your narration and the pacing and the FEELINGS I FELT OHHHH DID I EMOTE WHILE READING THIS. i was on edge i was giggling i was slapping hands to my face; this was such a joy to read tace o.mg. i will be back tmrw for the second part cuz i need to know what TF is up w woowinter, and also i need to see these two losers (mingi and mc) ACTUALLY FESS FEELINGS

THANK U FOR WRITING THIS I LOVE U UR AMAZING GOOD NIGHT 💖

[maho6any]

rock the boat

he posted this pic on his story and i dropped my pants in preparation

bsf!seonghwa x f!reader

content: teaching you how to ride, slow and wet, eye contact, choking

wc: 2.3k

thinking about seonghwa...

“never?” he murmurs, nibbling on his inner cheek as he gives you a once-over. not in disbelief, but something else. something dangerous.

you shake your head. “nope.” you shrug and pick up your phone again and start to scroll through your settings apps. “but it’s not a big deal, really, it’s just another thing to cross off the bucket list.”

seonghwa snorts and peeks over to snoop at your phone, to which you angle it away from him with an annoyed scowl. “i think it may be a little more serious than that.”

you type gibberish into the search bar. "why does it have to be serious, hwa? it's just sex."

its seonghwa's turn to scoff this time, and he pinches the skin of your calf, you swat at him with your free hand. but he does it again, and you bite out an irritated "quit it" as he starts to speak again.

"thats a bad mindset to have, y'know that right?" he lowers his voice to that annoying, mothering tone he uses with you when he thinks you're being stupid. "it should never be "just sex."

"okay yeah, but you can't be so picky and choosy all the time. i'm sure ill get with some guy and when he figures it out, he'll work with me or whatever. teach me or something." you speak of it fleetingly, like it was nothing more than a pesky errand.

seonghwa snatches your phone from you and shoves it into the couch cushions, and you sigh loudly.

"some guy?" he questions with a raise of his eyebrow. you move to fish your phone out of the couch, but he reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, encasing it in his slender fingers and rubbing his thumb over your thrumming pulse point.

"why not me?" he speaks lowly, and you snap your eyes up to his. he stares back at you with an intensity that settles low in your gut. his thumb stroked over your inner wrist slowly, and his other hand twitched at his side on the couch.

the air went thick, the quiet of his living room felt encased in a bubble, and the warmth of his skin suddenly burned.

he sees it. your thighs clenching beneath your body, the conflict flashing over your eyes, your free hand digging its nails into the cushion.

when you don't respond, he lets his eyes fall to where his hand held your wrist, watching with illustrated intent as he traces patterns against the fragile skin.

"i could show you, i've always been told i'm a good teacher." seonghwa tickles the skin of your palm with gentle scratches of his nails.

"thats what friends are for, yeah?" he lifts his pretty eyes back up to you, and something else has shadowed over them, and you feel something inside of you crack. you're aware of the way veins in his hands flow prettily under his skin.

the way his collarbones peak through the thin fabric of his shirt. the slick shine on his bottom lip where he licked to wet it. his tongue poked against his inner cheek and his eyebrows raised again to urge an answer out of you.

"c'mon pretty, don't leave me hanging." his voice is softer than usual, a new tone lacing it you've never heard from your best friend, something heated, something needy.

if deciding to have your best friend teach you how to ride dick was a bad idea, then you could mull on it later. because it wasn't long until he was sitting under you on the couch, legs spread nice and wide, his hands pressing into your hips where he held your body above him.

you straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his, your knees pressed into the rough fabric of the couch cushions. your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the flesh of the blades.

he looks up at you through his lashes, as if you were a gift from god himself, his eyebrows knit together so prettily. "its fun up there, huh?" he smiles, dragging his warm hands up your thighs, holding you like you might melt and slip through his fingers.

you could barely keep yourself together; he was so deep inside of you. your thighs shook around him, his tip nudging against that spot so sweet and so dirty. his fingers kneaded the flesh of your hips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth with a quiet moan when he felt your cunt clench around him.

"it helps that you're, ah… so wet…" his voice cracks lightly, his cock twitching inside of you and sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

you shiver and grip his shoulders a little harder, and you begin to lift your hips, but his grip on them tightens, and he pushes you right back down until your ass hits his thighs again, and you groan nice and low as he fills you all the way up again.

"no-no-no-no-no, baby, stop. don't lift." he presses his lips to your collarbone and kisses you there softly, running his tongue over the skin warmly. one hand leaves your hip and runs over your waist before he presses his palm flat against your lower back and pushes until you arch a little.

just enough that he somehow slips deeper into you, and you let out a weak whine when his fat tip presses ever harder against that spot.

"grind." he instructs in a gravelly, soft moan. "rock your hips, back and forth. it'll help me hit that spot for you."

you shake and whimper under your breath, but you obey. you gently move your hips forward, and the feeling is immediate, his cock drags against your soft walls just enough that it feels like pure heaven.

you move your hands and card them through the hair at the back of his head, cradling his skull in your arms as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly against his skin as you rock your hips, nice and slow.

it helps that he's so big, each roll of your lower body has him slipping in and out of you just enough to stimulate you, but not enough to where you can consider him fucking you. his tip dragging against that spot like a constant button, your legs shaking uncontrollaby and your whine brushing past his ear like a song.

your clit lightly brushes against his abs, where his shirt has ridden up over his lower stomach. he keeps his hand on your lower back, keeping you arched all the while his other hand stays glued to your hips, pushing and pulling on your lower body, helping you grind his cock into your body.

"there, how's that feel, baby? good?" he whispers in your ear, kissing just below your earlobe as he helps you rock your body around his cock.

you nod against his neck, gripping his soft, dark hair harder and choking out a moan when he teases you with a heavy lift of his hips. then you feel as he encases your hips with both his hands again, and gently he lifts your body ever so slightly.

you squeeze his head even harder, seonghwa's soft moans shaking in his throat as he lifts and pushes your cunt back down on his cock in slow, deep intervals. "don't stop rocking those hips, keep fucking me like you want. grind, deep, slow…"

he guides you perfectly, each time he lifts your hips himself it makes you clench around him harder. you start to feel a little desperate, and your hips start to move a little faster, rocking with a little more rhythm, but seonghwa didn't like that.

one hand finds the back of your neck and grabs it firmly, pulling your head away from his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his. suddenly all you can see is his eyes, and it overwhelms you to the point of tears. you whine pathetically when he thrusts his cock up into your pussy so sharply that a drop of drool falls from your lips onto his chest.

"easy…" he grumbles against your lips, his breath fanning over your face in low, heavy pants. "slow down pretty, no need to rush." his nails dig into the back of your neck, and you shiver when he starts to grind his own hips up into you, so deep it has your stomach caving.

"if i wanted you pounded into the floor i would've put you on your back, but i'm teaching you sweetness. listen to me." his eyes fall low-lidded as you resume your slow grinding, and his mouth falls open in a pretty moan when you tighten around him, the sound of your slickness loud in your ears.

"it's your dick right now, baby, use it. do what feels good, but don't lose your head." he keeps up the torturous movement of his hips, a choreographed grind that makes his stomach roll prettily.

he doesn't let you look away, forcing you to lock in on his needy gaze while he keeps you filled up with him, nudging every deep spot, every nook and cranny of your pussy. there wasn't a single space inside of you that remained untouched.

"s, t-too, mm-" you tried to talk, try to tell him how good you were feeling but it came out in slurred babbles, and he laughed at you. his warm breath shudders over your parted lip,s and he nudges his head up, melding his soft lips with yours and kissing you deep and nasty.

his tongue fills your mouth with a purr, curling and essentially fucking your mouth with it. "it's a lot i know…" he whispers into your mouth, interrupting the kiss with a low moan when you clench so hard around him it makes his entire body fuzzy.

he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, letting go with a wet pop and pressing your hips down so hard onto his cock you thought if you looked down you'd see his tip poking through the flesh of your stomach.

"wouldn't have felt like this with anyone else, baby." seonghwa nips at the corner of your mouth, dropping his head to run his warm tongue flat up the front of your throat. "feel how wet you are? no other man will be able to make you feel this good."

his eyes lift as he sucks marks of possession into the skin of your neck, and when he sees a tear slipping down your cheek, he growls low in his throat and jerks his cock up into you rough and deep, and you yelp as the bliss shoots through you.

"oh no, don't cry. it makes me wanna be mean to you, makes me wanna fuck you til it feels wrong when i'm not inside you."

now he wraps his hands around your throat, pressing his thumbs against those soft spots that melt your brain, his eyes darting all over your pretty little blissed out face, his lips brushing against your in a ghost of a kiss.

"now lift, drop, and roll. fuck me, bunny. its yours, use this cock until you're satisfied. make yourself cum for me."

you coudln't disobey if you tried, working your body and focusing on that rapidly tightening knot in your stomach as you fuck yourself on seonghwa's dick, every delicious drag inside of you forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

he doesn't bother to chastise you for breaking eye contact; he knows you're too lost in it to control yourself. he squeezes your throat tighter, your moans coming choked and broken. seonghwa helps push you over that edge, groaning and purring prettily for you, lifting his hips to match your desperate movements.

"i feel you baby, pussy feels so good around me. so warm, so tight." he lifts his head to press his lips to the shell of your hot ears, moaning and sighing as you ride him to high heaven. your head feels fuzzy with the lack of air, seonghwa making sure that the only thing you could think about was his dick working you out.

“cum as much as you need,” he coos in your ear his voice low and breathless, sinking his teeth into the soft lobe. “ride me, bunny, ride me.”

you absolutely lose it, slamming your hips down onto his dick and shattering, dribbling drool in rivers as you cum. he squeezed your throat in pulsing intervals, giving you air, then snatching it from you, rolling his hips up into your cunt and dragging every drop of your orgasm out of your body.

"oh god…fuck." he grumbles in his throat, overwhelmed by how pretty you looked on top of him, blissed out over your warm, gummy pussy squeezing him so tight he almost came inside of you. "such a quick learner, baby."

he drags his hands away from your throat, cradling your head, smearing your drool all over your cheeks with his thumbs, your face hazy and drunk while he rocks his hips into you in painfully slow, high off the way you shake and whimper, your slick sticking to his thighs and his lower stomach, a messy proof of his effect on you.

"did so good beautiful, yes you did." he praises, and yet his hips never stop moving. rolling, grinding, upwards strokes that make you feel helpless, regardless of the fact that he was beneath you.

"think you can give me another one? lesson's not over yet." he bites out, grabbing your arms and dragging your body down so your forehead rests over his shoulder. then he grips your hips, lifts your body up, and shimmies his hips down just enough so he can plant his feet flat on the floor, before he starts to fuck.

hard, deep, powerful thrusts up into your overstimulated cunt that has your moans coming out in staccato chokes.

"you did your w-work, now let me use this pussy." he groans through gritted teeth, and you feel your body erupt into flames the more he moves. making you feel every inch of him, each thrust touching your brain. making you feel so good.

is that not what friends are for?

[luv-beam]

oh brother....... that dirty talk was enough to drive me up the walls but the sweet and effortless dominance in the way he's teaching u... HOOOOLYYY SHIT. dude i can feel the phantom sensation of his dick all the way up in my fkn throat that's HOW INSANE I FEEL RN i had to go back and read it AGAIN just to feel everything another time. im like dazed 😭😭

[everyonewooeverywhere]

“why does it feel like you have everything together?” you lean against her, cheek pressing against her bare shoulder. her skin is soft, and she smells like warm vanilla and cashmere. you’ve thought about asking her what perfume she uses, but you know that, if she ever told you, you’d have already purchased it. just to have. to keep a piece of her with you everywhere you go.

you feel a small chuckle vibrate through her, “you know i don’t have everything together. it just looks like it sometimes.”

lies. it was all a lie. seonghwa works a full time corporate job that she loves—makes six figures a year doing some nonsense you don’t understand. she lives alone in a nice apartment downtown. it’s fully furnished with pieces she’s found from her countless international travels.

looking up at her is almost painful. seeing the way she doesn’t even spare you a glance. just texting away to whoever her new boy-toy-of-the-week is.

she’s beautiful, you’d thought about it every since you met her. her cheekbones are high and defined, her eyelashes are the perfect length and they lay beautifully on her cheek every time she blinks, and her lips. oh her lips. it hurt to imagine them against someone else’s—some man she met two weeks ago.

she’s kissed you before, too. a few times. all when she was drunk at boring parties and hoping it would spice things up. it never did. not for her.

but for you.

for you it drove you absolutely mad. her kisses were dizzying. they sucked the life right out of you and into her. like she was swallowing every bit of your soul you were willing to give—which was every ounce.

“hwa,” you curl further into her side, desperately trying to look her in the eyes.

but she never looks back down at you, “yeah?” she keeps typing, a small smile on her face.

“are you..are you free this weekend?”

“no probably not.” she doesn’t skip a beat. probably. “i might be seeing this guy this weekend, so i wanna leave my options open.”

she doesn’t ask why. not because she doesn’t care. she cares. she loves you. of course she does. she wouldn’t be letting you hang out on her couch with her if she didn’t.

“oh,” it’s all you can muster, falling numbly from your lips, “ok.”

“we can hang out next weekend.”

right. of course. next weekend. you can wait until then.

you’ll tell her soon. you really will.

you’re just waiting for the right time. the perfect moment.

the girl you’ve been in love with since you were sixteen.

[luv-beam]

i only threw this party 4 u (´Д⊂ヽ FOR U FOR U

some uhm quick question does hwa know that we love her i saw that small smile KSNFKDNFKF IT WONT MATTER I'LL LOVE HER STILL BUT . i felt yn's yearning, the way she clings to her both physically and emotionally,,, also hwa can we talk abt how u don't have everything together pls mean that ur facing the internal conflict of ur feelings for me—

[sannie-young]

⊹₊⟡⋆Spoiled K.HJ. and P.SH.

Ateez fake texts

Pairing: bf!matz x reader (poly)

Warnings: arguing

About: Matz loves their gf and argues over who spoils her the most

Masterlist

Taglist: @lizal1cious @pineapple-burgah @karlee10261990 @galaxygurlll @landsharkfandomtrash

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Desire

prince!yunho x princess!reader, prince!hongjoong x princess!reader

royal au

genres and warning: established relationship with yunho, strict restrictions regarding pre-marital relationships, slow burnnn, lots of angst and lots of fluff, cheating (kind of? i call it testing the waters (don't do this irl pls)), suggestive, mentions of violence and blood, etc.

word count: 30.8k

synopsis: you did not know that your heart could be split equally in two until you find yourself in a push-and-pull game with prince yunho of utopia-- your best friend, and prince hongjoong of utopia. you risk breaking the sacred tradition that prohibits pre-marital relationships and driving the princes apart who are closer than brothers. could you chose one of them over the other?

a/n: we are so (kinda) back! special thanks to @eightmakesonebraincell and @sungbeam for supporting me all the way through :')) no taglist this time bc the current one was old and had too many accounts to tag, i'll prob release a new one or ditch the idea entirely.

The Kingdom of Wonderland always gets festive towards the end of the year.

The castle gets adorned with colours– in the flowers that line the walls, in the banners that wrap around the towers, and definitely in the ornaments made specifically in the celebration of the New Year’s approaching. 

Then there is the food. The chefs and the bakers level up for the holidays. They bring out the most exquisite-looking desserts and spice up the savoury dishes. The aroma of the food seems to linger in the air permanently, providing a sense of warmth and comfort in the otherwise cold weather.

But the real festivity begins when one of the kingdoms in the continent hosts a year-end ball. It is not just a night for dance and games. It is a weeks-long celebration that involves welcoming the neighbours, making connections and sometimes, making matches. It is a time when everyone lets loose a little and takes great joy in the celebrations.

It is your favourite time of the year. This year, it feels special because your kingdom is hosting the year-end ball. As the princess of Wonderland, you are in top shape to welcome the guests.

This year, you did not mind when your attendings dragged you to the adornment chamber and worked on your skin until it was smooth as butter. They took great care of your hair, making it look luscious and healthy. They made you soak in warm water filled with petals that seemed to have flushed your skin permanently. Your cheeks were full of life and you were glowing.

You were ready to welcome Prince Yunho of Eden. Your best friend. Your greatest ally, and… the person you imagined a future with.

The creak of the gates opening and the distinct chimes of the bells reserved for Eden pleased your ears infinitely. You rushed to greet the guests, laughing when your handmaids held you back so they could fuss over your appearance one last time, making sure everything was in shape– your freshly curled hair tucked perfectly in a half bun, your deep purple gown unstained and flowy, your lips and cheeks dyed just right. After earning their approval, they accompanied you to the Great Hall.

Your parents, the King and the Queen, and your younger brother Prince Jeongin were already present. Your mother was a perfectionist and was still commanding the servants from her seat. Your father was currently chuckling at something Jeongin said. Your brother spotted you and muttered something like ‘finally!’ and made his way towards where you stood by the door. 

“Excited?” 

“Nervous,” you admitted. “I’m just glad the first guests are our friends and not one of those royalties that seem to have something stuck in their–”

“Language,” your younger brother reminded you. That was his way of letting you know that you need not finish the sentence. “Remember to stay proper, like mother always says, and not involve yourself in impropriety– like, mother! I’m only seventeen. I’m currently more invested in perfecting my horse-riding than catching someone’s eye. Odd, I know, from someone my age, but what can I even do if I like someone? Respect your traditions. Do you wonder if the other kingdoms think that we are the ones with something stuck in our–”

“Jeongin!” You laughed. “You’re rambling. Mother is right. We must respect our traditions and make sure we do not engage in improper behaviour– oh, here they come!”

Forget traditions. You were going to greet your best friend with the hug that he deserved. Since it was only your parents and your court in the room, you did not care for any judgement or criticism. As soon as you spotted your tall friend, you clutched the edges of your gown and made your way towards him.

When the prince spotted you, his lips spread in a wide grin and he basically hopped the rest of the way, laughing as he scooped you up. You could hear the laughter of your father and the stern voice of your mother scolding you, but you knew that they would dismiss it just this once. Yunho twirled you once before settling you down, and then he decided to greet you properly with a kiss on your knuckles.

“You look beautiful, Princess,” he said, kissing your hand again before letting it go. “And I missed you, dear friend.”

“I missed you too!” you sighed, scanning him. “You’ve changed.”

Yunho smiled in agreement. Oh, he had changed a great deal. His shoulders were much broader now and he seemed to have grown even taller since you last saw him some five months ago. His hair was also longer– a warm shade of deep brown tucked loosely back, threatening to cover his beautifully carved face.

“Let me greet the rest,” he said, a silent promise to be right back. You watched him hug Jeongin next and ask about his progress with horse-riding, but your attention went to the older prince– Prince Hongjoong. 

If Yunho was the sun personified, Hongjoong was the moon. He was shorter, colder but with an incredible personality. Even though he was much more relaxed in his demeanour than the perfectionist that Yunho was, Hongjoong was sharper and had a natural talent for leadership and wit. He was not related to Yunho, but they were closer than brothers. 

“Princess,” he greeted with a restrained smirk. “Miss me?”

“Hmm… not really,” you said and when he narrowed your eyes, you grinned. He relaxed instantly, ignoring your outstretched hand and instead kissing you on your temple as a greeting, followed by a forehead flick that had you scowling. 

“Do you have to do this?” You complained as you rubbed the pain away. He ignored that, moving towards the end of the hall where your mother and father were seated. Yunho was still deep in discussion with Jeongin so you decided to let them be, following the older prince.

“You’ve grown even more handsome,” your mother complimented. Hongjoong humbly thanked her, asking about her health. He had always been closer to your mother, while Yunho was your father’s favourite. They claimed that they did not have favourites but to you, it was painfully obvious. It was also painfully confusing because naturewise, Yunho and your mother were much more similar, and Hongjoong and your father were. 

You looked towards Hongjoong. He had definitely gotten more handsome. His kind of beauty was a deadly one– pulling you in, threatening to never let go. He was all sharp angles, carved with great detail. His hair was a lighter shade of brown than Yunho’s and also longer than it had ever been. 

Hongjoong caught you staring and raised a brow. You shook your head and asked him to take a seat. Jeongin went to greet the older prince, apologising for not doing that earlier while Yunho went to greet your parents. Hongjoong only ruffled Jeongin’s hair and soon, they were deep in conversation.

Yunho took a seat towards your left shortly after, excited to hear about what he had missed since the last time that you met. You started to brief him– a little something that you always do with him. At some point, Hongjoong started to listen and comment too, and Jeongin would add little bits of his life. 

Then the bells for the Kingdom of Mist rang and you all got up again to welcome Prince Wooyoung, another close friend of yours.

Just like that, the day got busy welcoming guests from all over the continent– princes and princesses that had grown up with you. You saw them all at least once a year, so you were all close to a certain degree. The princes were tightly knit and so were the princesses, though fewer in number as most of them had now been married off and had duties to perform in their new homes. 

This year, you only had Princess Sieun of the Kingdom of Hala and Princess Minjeong of Ascella, and the two were fast friends being younger than you. There were the Choi brothers, the princes from The Kingdom of Kiji, and they were close to Wooyoung. 

You did not mind. You had Yunho.

You and Yunho had always been attached by the hip. The Kingdoms of Wonderland and Eden were very close. Your father was good friends with Yunho’s father and Hongjoong’s father as well. Oftentimes, you ended up accompanying your father whenever he made trips to the kingdom next to yours. 

You and Yunho became friends naturally. He was a great listener and he made you laugh. As children, you played a lot but at some point, you both became aware that you had grown up. Your friendship shifted, monitored by the adults, but you still remained close. After some time, the adult grew tired of monitoring too closely.

It was Yunho. He could win over anyone, and he was the most respectable and responsible person you knew.

“You look like you need a drink,” a voice called. You turned to find Hongjoong with a pair of whiskey glasses in his hands and you gladly took one, almost slumping in relief. “I saw you slowly crawling away from the princesses. Are you feeling left out?”

“Not left out,” you shook your head. “But… They're very different from me. I don’t get along as well as I do with you and Yunho, or Wooyoung, or the princesses that are no longer here.”

Hongjoong nodded in understanding, probably overwhelmed by the crowd too. If there was one department you both had common footing on, it was your social energy– or lack thereof. Or maybe, you both were the normal ones because Yunho hardly ever seemed to run out of energy. He was always the life in the room, surrounded by people. You liked it that way. You did not intend to dim his light.

You had Hongjoong to keep you company in the dark.

Hongjoong has always been a part of your life. Where there was Yunho, there was Hongjoong– sometimes near, sometimes at a distance, but an unwavering presence. He did not try to get between you and Yunho, but his presence was much appreciated by you both so he always kept close. He knew things about you that Yunho did not, just like Yunho knew parts of you that Hongjoong did not.

“You may not be here much longer as well,” Hongjoong reminded you. “Your mother seems to have decided that your time has come.”

“Well…” you took a sip of the whiskey, suddenly conscious of yourself. “I am of age. I intend to settle soon.”

“How lovely,” Hongjoong’s comment didn’t match his tone. “Got eyes on someone?”

You looked at Hongjoong. “Are you pretending that you do not know that Yunho and I are interested in each other?”

“I mean…” Hongjoong shrugged. “You two are awfully uptight about your traditions. To me, you still look like friends.”

“Those traditions are sacred, Joong,” you reminded the prince. “They are meant to preserve sanctity and reverence–”

“Yeah, yeah. No need to quote lines from school,” Hongjoong dismissed. “I’m just saying that maybe you both need to stop tiptoeing around those manmade rules and think for once.”

“What’s it to you?” You scoffed, grabbing a scone from the table and offering one to Hongjoong. He denied. “I’ll take my sweet time. I intend to respect and uphold these traditions. You know that very well.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “You haven’t changed one bit, dear.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you smiled, taking a big bite. “That’s delicious.”

While you were busy observing the scone, Hongjoong was fixated on the little crumb near your lips. Almost casually, he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. 

“Hongjoong!”

He rolled his eyes. “No one is going to hang me for making sure you don’t make a mess of yourself. Stop making a big deal out of it.”

“Whatever,” you tried to ignore how your heart rate casually went up. “I’m going to find Yunho. Come along– Wooyoung probably needs to eat someone’s ears off. He’s been at it with the Choi brothers. I’ll offer you as his next target before it’s my turn.”

Hongjoong looked appalled at the idea but he followed anyway. That was Wooyoung’s charm– he could talk for hours and you would enjoy it all the same. You, however, intended to find Yunho and free him from the hoards of guests.

The ghost of Hongjoong’s finger still remained on your lips, though. You caught your mother’s eye– had she seen that? Even if she had not, you would probably receive a reminder of what was at stake anyway. 

Honour. A woman’s honour, specifically, which was more fragile than a man’s, but almost equally as reverent. 

There were many names for the said tradition– never written in the books as the law, but regarded with the same importance. The Doctrine of Chaste Union. The Covenant of Purity. It sounded too complicated, but it was simple enough to understand.

A man and woman must not engage in improper, intimate or dishonourable behaviour. For a man and woman intending to marry, they must still uphold these etiquettes to protect the sanctity of the royal bloodline and dignity of the crown. 

It was not just a tradition. The royal bloodline served as role models to its subjects. The people of the kingdom looked up to you, the princess. You were always under observation, and your behaviour and appearance was a reflection of your values and morals. Young girls strived to be like you. You could not let your subjects down. You had to be perfect and show them how to live as a proper woman and as a moral human being in this society.

The same rules applied to the princes. Yunho was perhaps the one doing justice to this tradition. He was a natural– he had the best etiquettes and he had perfected the balance between being friendly and open to being reserved and chaste. He respected the tradition as much as you.

He promised to pursue you the right way when he made his intentions clear at the year-end festivities last year. Since then, it had been a dream. He sends butterflies in your stomach with a mere look, makes your skin tingle with a mere touch and melts your heart with his words alone. 

“Yunho!” You whispered when you got close and he lit up at the sight of you. Pardoning himself from the crowd, he squeezed your hand and you led him away from the crowd.

“Tired yet?” You asked.

“Fancy a retreat?”

“You read my mind,” you grinned and you both made way to the abandoned balcony attached to the old music room which was your hideout. Your handmaids were already stationed there, knowing that you liked to spend time there with Yunho. They were wholly aware of how Yunho would never compromise your honour so they let you both be alone on the condition that you keep the door slightly open to avoid a scandal. 

Scandals spread like wildfire here. You understood their concerns. 

Yunho traced his fingers across the dusty piano, creating music in the process. You fixed the lapels of his navy blue royal uniform. 

“Did I ever tell you blue is your colour?”

“You told me white was the last time we met, but okay. I’ll pretend I forgot,” he grinned. 

“You look good in everything. It’s unfair,” you pouted. Yunho pinched your cheeks, making you giggle. 

“How come you get more adorable every time I see you? That’s unfair.”

“Me? Adorable?” You curled a strand of your hair deviously between your fingers. “Don’t toot my horn, Yunho. I’ll be insufferable.”

Yunho leaned down, suddenly close to your face. “You know I love that side of you.”

You were positive your cheeks flushed. Yunho remained that way, scanning your face while you fixated on the freckles littering his face, illuminated by the moonlight and the candles. Oh, how you wished to trace them and draw constellations. His lips parted slightly, his gaze heavy.

“God, y/n. You’re beautiful.”

“Stop,” your pout deepened and he couldn’t resist to run the pad of his thumb along your lower lip, patting your cheek before straightening. You could tell he wished to do something about the pout but he had immense restraint, though his eyes held such raw yearning that it made you weak.

“We must stay proper,” you teased and he laughed, agreeing. He held your hands and kissed the back of your right hand.

“This much I can do,” he said.

“You can do more…”

Yunho broke into a smile. Giving in, he cupped your face and kissed your forehead– a tender, lingering kiss. Then a kiss on your temple, and a final innocent peck to the corner of your lips. You gasped, looking towards the door but you were unmonitored. “Jeong Yunho!”

“It’s been 5 months since I did that,” his voice was low. “I’m human too, love.”

“I know, but…” you bit your lips. “Step away from me before I compromise your honour.”

Yunho could barely keep from bursting into loud laughter. You joined and he reminded you of the time you made a similar threat. You continued to tease each other while recalling the memories, soft intimate touches passed between you two. A knock on the door alerted you to come out– it had been too long since you had disappeared inside.

You spent the rest of the night conversing with the other guests, but your eyes kept finding Yunho. Yet… you were wholly aware of Hongjoong the whole time as well. 

Hongjoong was still a problem, it seemed. One that you could not put a name to, one that you could not ignore. One that occupied your last thoughts before sleep, even though your heart sang out to someone else.

The ball– the main event of the year-end festivities– was to take place two days after the arrival of the guests, allowing them a period of rest. However, for most of the princes and princesses, time was short and they intended to make the most of it.

That meant that you spent basically every waking moment together. From breakfast in the Great Hall, unsupervised by the king and the queen so that you could all let loose a little, to lounging in the studies or music rooms, snacking endlessly while stressing about staying in shape for the dance, to the best part.

The late night chit chats.

“So I told Soojin that she needs to do something about that husband of hers,” Wooyoung announced as a matter-of-factly. “That man is too controlling, and while a wife is supposed to respect her husband, she is still a human first and foremost, and she has needs. The husband needs to respect his wife too.”

“Thank you,” you sighed in agreement, horrified to hear about how your best friend, Princess Soojin of Utopia, was already having trouble in her marriage. You had attended her wedding about 7 months ago. She had been married to a duke’s son in Mist so Wooyoung was well-aware of her relationship status. You were glad that Soojin had someone like Wooyoung at her side, at a time like this. You wished you could be there for her too.

“I warned her that her man is an arse, but she was charmed, and I don’t blame her,” Minjeong said. “That man is known for his talent in wooing ladies. He doesn’t care about the traditions much.”

“Why would Soojin marry someone like him?” Sieun wondered. As the youngest, she probably found the situation ridiculous.

“These relations are usually decided upon by the elders,” Yunho reminded gently. “As a princess, it would have been Soojin’s duty to obey an order from her parents.”

“She could have said no,” Hongjoong commented casually, eyes fixated on the book that he had picked up. He sat in the corner by the fire, slightly away from where the rest of you were crowded at the sofas. “But like Minjeong said, she must have fallen prey to his wooing. If she can bend the traditions, she could have certainly done a little more by saying no.”

“I suppose it’s tough for girls,” San, the elder prince of the Choi brothers, added. “I know how tough it was for our sister when it was her time.”

“I agree,” you said. “If you grow up learning how important it is to respect your customs and traditions, it’s hard to do anything otherwise,” you intentionally stared at Hongjoong. He looked up from his book and matched your stare. “Wonder how you can say these things so easily.”

“It’s because these traditions are not law. They are manmade in the end, made by senile old men,” Jongho concluded and Hongjoong sent him a grateful smile. Even though Jongho was the most reserved person you knew, he was like Hongjoong in the sense that no tradition or law would hold him back from doing what he thought was right. “Some practices should change with time. You’re telling me that us sitting and conversing like this might be considered improper just because the sun has set? What’s the sun got to do with anything?”

“Real men sin in the daylight!” San said loudly and jokingly and Wooyoung clapped, unable to contain his laugh. Soon, the conversation took a humorous turn, almost becoming a finger-pointing session.

One by one, the princes and princesses said their farewell for the night. The ball was tomorrow night and some needed to catch up on sleep while the others still had to worry about matching this year’s theme of masquerade. It must have been around 10 when you were left with Yunho and Hongjoong. 

You were discussing your mask designs with Yunho, but you could see from the corner of your eye that Hongjoong had stopped reading and was watching the two of you. Yunho was perhaps unaware of his gaze and he continued to tell you about the last masquerade ball that he attended in some other kingdom. While he recalled his adventures there, you mustered up courage to look at Hongjoong questioningly.

Except he wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. He acted as if you were the one making him uncomfortable, refusing to look away.

“Ah, there you both go again,” Yunho commented, looking between you two. He shook his head in amusement. “What’s wrong this time?”

“He’s staring,” you pointed.

“She’s staring. I didn’t start it.”

“Hongjoong, you were literally looking at me like this–” you mimicked his facial expressions and Yunho curled inwards as he laughed silently. “What was I supposed to do when you looked like I killed your cat?”

“I must have zoned out!” Hongjoong’s voice raised slightly. “So technically, I didn’t start it. You did. You could have waved at me and I would have broken out of my trance and went to my book. Instead, you had to–”

This time, Hongjoong mimicked you and Yunho stifled his laugh only because you looked at him in warning, daring him to make a sound. Yunho pretended to zip his lips, thoroughly enjoying the banter. As usual.

While Hongjoong complained to Yunho about your behaviour, you smiled to yourself as you recalled a memory from a couple of years ago.

“You tend to stare into the distance a lot,” You commented when you found Hongjoong’s eyes fixed at the reflection of the moon in his garden’s pond. “Why do you do that?”

“Sometimes, I find something beautiful. I look at it and get lost thinking about it,” Hongjoong admitted. Yunho, who was sitting nearby, tossed a pebble into the pond, making the moon’s reflection ripple. “See? Still beautiful.”

“You do that to people too, though,” you had noticed. “Sometimes, I catch you staring at me, but you’re not staring– you just zone out.”

“I must find you beautiful then,” Hongjoong thought, and instantly pretended to choke on his words, making Yunho laugh. You folded your arms in horror. 

“Kim Hongjoong! That is very rude!”

“I jest, my dear,” Hongjoong grinned. “You are a beautiful little thing, but only when you shut that mouth.”

“Oh,” Yunho gasped scandalously. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“I can’t tell,” you were devastated. 

“I’ll let you ponder over it,” Hongjoong said.

“Look at her!” Hongjoong’s loud voice pulled you out of your trance. “Now she’s zoning out, smiling like that. It looks weird!” 

“That’s exactly how it felt to me,” you cried out, sinking further down into the sofa. 

Did Hongjoong really find you beautiful? 

You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thought and asked, “What are your plans for the masquerade, Joong?”

“Well…” the elder prince folded his arms. “The usual, I suppose. Stick to the corner and hover like a bat, praying no one notices me.”

“But you’re an incredible dancer– not better than Yunho, of course,” you said and Yunho straightened proudly. “But you have a way with your dances. I just know that the girls would love to have a dance with you. Are you planning to let them down?”

“Of course I am,” Hongjoong looked appalled at the idea. “You know how much I despise it.”

It wasn’t dancing or the girls he despised. It was the watchful eyes of the adults that irked him to death. Slightly wrong hand placement would earn him an earful, so he would rather not dance at all.

“Well, good thing that this ball is a masquerade. I hope your mask does well hiding your identity.”

“Ah… I forgot…” Hongjoong relaxed, his scheming face on. “I suppose I could have a little fun then. I’m going to make sure the elders have enough gossip to last them the entire year.”

“Hongjoong!” This time, Yunho was the one calling his friend out. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

“Stupid? Me?” Hongjoong looked at you deviously. “Never.”

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” you declared and Yunho agreed. “What do you plan to do, Yunho? Monitor Joong like the elders? Or are you gonna let loose?”

“One of us letting loose is enough,” Yunho sighed. “I’ll do the monitoring.”

“Don’t let it take the fun out of the night, though. I expect to be exhausted to death dancing tomorrow night, and I expect that I will be able to blame you for that.”

“Ah, of course,” Yunho gleamed. “You bet.”

That was a challenge, and Yunho was a man of his word. You knew this was coming, so you had prepared your best heels for the night– black to match the gems on your emerald gown, comfortable enough to give the entire tour of the premises in them. 

Your mask covered everything except the area around your lips and your chin. Your lashes peeked through the black net borders of the mask and paired with the earthy tones of your lips, it left a deep impression. You did not want to be recognised tonight. You simply wanted to have fun.

Your guards accompanied you to the ballroom before the guests arrived. You made sure that everything was in place– the tables lining the walls of the ballroom decorated with refreshments and drinks, the musicians at the corner of the room ready, and guards at the entrance to confirm everyone’s identity. Since this was a masquerade, there was a chance of an intruder sneaking in. It wouldn’t be new, for the year-end parties were susceptible to attacks. It was the perfect opportunity to strike multiple birds with one stone.

The guests were starting to arrive, filling the ballroom slowly. They stuck to their partners or if they recognised each other, they formed groups, admiring each other’s outfits for the night. You did not greet anyone just yet– you would surprise them later.

The King and the Queen arrived next, taking their place at the second level of the ballroom so that they could peer down. From their spot, the entire ballroom was in their vision and they could monitor anyone they wanted to. You hoped that instead of watching you, they would simply gossip and have fun. Coming up with an idea, you found the court members and asked them to keep your mother and father entertained. That translated to sending the dukes and marquesses and anyone of importance in their direction. Hopefully they would keep them busy enough for you to disappear out of their sight.

For a second, you paused. Why did you wish to remain unmonitored tonight? All that was happening tonight was dances and good conversation. You would be dancing with Yunho mostly, and he was the most gentlemanly. Even if your mother would be watching you, she wouldn’t find any reason to reprimand you. Yunho wouldn’t let that happen.

Was it just because your mother was too watchful? You knew your limits. She was wholly aware that you respected the sacred tradition very much and you never engaged in improper behaviour. You did not wish to cross any boundaries with Yunho– he was someone who deeply respected this tradition too. He liked you, and he would wait for you. You could do the same.

At that moment, your attention was caught by a man in all-black outfit. Hongjoong. It had to be him. You would recognise that relaxed gait anywhere. Besides, his mask hardly concealed his elfish features. 

Hongjoong’s eyes found you in a matter of seconds and he started to walk towards you. You looked behind you and with a startle, you realised that he had recognised you. From so far away.

“Planning to hide for the entirety of the event?” Hongjoong asked, grabbing a cherry from the waiter that zoomed past you. 

“Am I very recognisable despite the mask?” You drew it lower on your face. 

“Not sure. Tell me who to avoid tonight.”

“Hmm…” you folded your arms and stood next to him, eyes scanning the crowd. “The duke’s niece– the one in orange next to the tall man. She’s aiming to score a prince and while that is not a bad thing, I’m sure you’ll only break her heart before she even gets to try. Then there’s the count’s daughter, next to the piano in that pink dress. Oh, that dress is so pretty… anyways, she is talkative and I know you don’t really like that.”

“You’re the most talkative person I know,” Hongjoong commented.

“Yes, but I’m me. You’ve known me since we were kids, so it doesn’t count. Besides, we’re not pursuing each other romantically, so even if you tell me that I’m talkative, I wouldn’t care.”

“And if Yunho tells you that you talk too much?”

“He would never,” you gasped at his audacity. “Where is he anyway?”

“Stressing about one thing or another, I suppose. I think it was his shoes this time…”

“Isn’t that usually your job? You arrived earlier than usual tonight.”

“Fashionably late only when I’m not hiding behind a mask,” Hongjoong winked. “No one cares tonight.”

“I do,” you said and he looked at you. “I mean… you’re talking too much. You should have taken some more time fixing your hair or whatever keeps you in your room for so long.”

“I’m talking too much?” Hongjoong shook his head. “There comes your prince.”

“Ah, how handsome,” you said dreamily at the sight of your tall prince dressed in all white with accents of gold. “Did you both do black and white on purpose?” 

“Purely coincidental.”

“It suits you,” you said and Hongjoong could tell that you meant it. You ran your gaze over him slowly. “The black… it suits you very much, Joong.”

Hongjoong’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He opened his mouth to thank you, but decided against it. 

You only smiled, waiting for Yunho to spot you. However, his eyes ran past you and he continued to look around as if waiting for you to spot him. For a second, you found it funny that he missed you until you recalled that Hongjoong had spotted you from even further.

Naturally, you turned to Hongjoong. Unbelievable, you thought, that he had pinned you from so far away while Yunho was still struggling to find you. As if Hongjoong had read your mind, his eyes grew just a little wide. 

You looked away, waiting, praying for Yunho to recognise you. It wasn’t until he walked a few steps in your direction that he almost looked past you and did a double-take. Did he recognise you, or did he recognise Hongjoong first? You would not dare to ask.

“Princess!” He sprinted towards you, grinning in apology. “Apologies for my tardiness.”

“Forget that. You were having trouble finding me,” you decided to address the elephant between you and Hongjoong.

“Apologies for that too, I was still in panic mode. I was stopped three times for chit-chat before I made it here, and I thought that you would be mad that I’m late…” Yunho extended his hand and you placed your hand in his, rolling your eyes. He kissed your knuckles softly.

“Apologies accepted.”

Yunho grinned, turning towards Hongjoong. “Looking for a partner tonight?”

“No thanks,” he muttered. “My partner is cherries and whiskey.”

“Come, now,” Yunho said. “At least participate in the main dance.”

“You must, or else mother will be cross,” you pointed at the Queen, finding her already looking at you. She waved at the three of you and the princes bowed in respect. “She’s going to be watching us all night.”

“And I can’t disappoint her,” Hongjoong groaned. “Fine. Just the main dance, and then you both let me hover in a corner. Don’t stop having fun on my account.”

“Deal,” Yunho said. “Now… shall we dance?”

You grinned and took his hand, letting him steer you to the dance floor. The music playing right now was a playful beat, meant to make the participants let loose and do their warm-ups before the highlight. 

The highlight was a circular formation dance. Initially, everyone is paired with their partner for the night, but the dance lasts almost half an hour, sometimes more. The duration depends on the number of pairs so that every pairing gets equal time. Each person takes turns switching their partners. 

You and Yunho practised for the highlight just like everyone else. The dance seemed to be ingrained into Yunho and it came very naturally to him. He reminded you of how to manage your steps if paired with someone as tall as him, or with someone shorter. A slight difference in your movements could make your dance appear more graceful.

“You look stunning tonight, by the way,” Yunho told you. “The emerald dress…”

“Do you remember?” You asked. He nodded, his eyes glazed with fondness.

It was a memory from the last time you met. You and Yunho sneaked out with just your handmaid and a guard and took to the markets under a disguise. You went to a fabrics shop and tested so many colours that you lost count. However, it was the emerald that had Yunho look like a lovesick puppy. 

“It makes me want to confess again,” Yunho referred to that memory. “Remind you that I can’t take my eyes off you, no matter where we are or what we are doing. I adore you, y/n. You’re my best friend and I’m absolutely honoured that you are giving me a chance.”

Similar to the confession he made that time. His words were molten honey and they sent warmth coursing throughout your entire body. 

“I could say the same,” you said. “I… I really can’t imagine a life without you, Yunho. Don’t you ever leave me.”

“Never,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss on top of your head. “Even if you decide, for some reason, that you cannot take me as yours… I’ll always be your friend.”

“That won’t happen. Whatever reason would I ever have to reject you? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Thank you,” Yunho sounded genuine. “I wish I could sink to my knees and propose to you right now, but you know why I have to wait. My intentions are sincere, though.”

“Yunho!” You scolded, smacking his chest. “I have only one complaint and it is that you talk as if your words don’t have an effect on me!”

Yunho laughed almost sadistically. He leaned in to whisper in your ear. “I do enjoy it when you get riled up.”

“Mother’s watching,” you warned. He grinned in response. “But to address your reasons, I’m aware. Neither you nor Hongjoong can announce an engagement before the matter of the crown is sorted.” 

“Our fathers are working it out. It’s not everyday you have a kingdom where two kings have ruled and produced heirs to the throne.”

“And it’s certainly not everyday that they share such deep love and respect for each other that they are willing to give up the crown to the other,” you sighed happily. “People go as far as killing blood, yet here you are.”

“Here we are,” Yunho’s eyes scanned the crowd, finding Hongjoong and sharing a nod. “The elder prince willing to give up the crown to the younger if he proves himself worthy, and the younger prince refusing to take it.”

“Even though he is worthy,” you added. “You’re both equally worthy of the crown. I pray every night that your love for each other never wavers.”

Yunho nodded. He prayed the same.

The music started to change to a deeper, more melodic tune, signalling the young royals and everyone of importance to move and take formation. Yunho led you to your position and you stood by his side, waiting for the rest to join you. 

From here, it was easy to spot each other. Wooyoung was dashing in red, paired with the talkative daughter of the count that you had mentioned to Hongjoong earlier. Jongho and Sieun seemed to have picked each other for the dance. Minjeong was paired with the duke’s youngest son. San was with someone you couldn't recognise. You scanned the pairs one by one until you found Hongjoong and almost sighed in relief. 

He stood right across you, paired with the duke’s daughter, his hand holding hers. A wave of something hot struck you in the chest, threatening to suffocate you, but before you could deal with it, the music changed and Yunho squeezed your hand. “It’s time.”

You nodded and rested your hand on Yunho’s shoulder, the other clasped in his. His hand rested on your waist, steady and warm. You decided to address your feelings later and simply enjoy the dance. 

And how could you not, when Yunho’s eyes dripped with love? He did not need to look around to make sure that he did not bump into anyone else– he was effortless with his moves, his attention solely devoted to you.

Your smile widened and you returned his gaze. From Yunho, you did not shy away. Not when his love was so innocent. Not when it came so naturally.

You continued to twirl in his hold, rotate and dip slightly, a performance worthy of the grandiose in which it was taking place. The masks must make the performance even better to the audience– the push and pull between the pairs, the moves when your faces were so close that they almost touched. The masks added a layer of excitement and curiosity. 

And when Yunho drew close, although he was taller, he leaned down. He leaned just a bit so that his lips would brush against your ears, sending shivers down your spine. You giggled and he joined, letting you know that it was intentional. 

He was sweet like that, only daring to tease occasionally, but when he did tease, oh, he could be a menace. The next brush of his lips was more than that. It was a kiss. You gasped and Yunho winked. “Act normal, love.”

“What’s got you all playful tonight?” You questioned. “In front of all these eyes!”

“Just a token of my love before I part with you,” Yunho said and before you could respond, he let go of your hand and you got pulled in by your next partner.

“Ah, here you are,” Wooyoung gleamed. “You look pretty tonight.”

“Thank you, I love your outfit!” You said while matching his steps. “Red is a daring choice.”

“And no one but me would take it,” he looked proud. “What do you think about my eyes?”

“Oh!” You laughed when you realised that he was wearing makeup and it was not just a shadow casted on his eyelids. “That is a brave choice and a very sensible one.”

Wooyoung agreed. He continued to tell you about his process regarding his costume and you shared yours. Just like that, you got shifted to the next partner who was a stranger. You exchanged pleasantries and danced silently. San had much to share and you both talked the whole time– gossip, or intel that he had gathered during his recent stay in Mist.

It took another partner before you got sent into Hongjoong’s arms. He moved with a fluidity that you were eager to match and once you both synced, you relaxed. 

“Enjoying the night?” He asked. 

“Very much,” you admitted. “How about you?”

“It’s not bad,” he admitted. You nodded– that was certainly acknowledgement from him. He twirled you once and smoothly had you in his arms again, making you smile.

“How do you and Yunho both dance so incredibly well?” You asked. 

“That’s what happens when you are bored and decide to partner with each other,” Hongjoong said and you held back a laugh. His gaze shifted to your right and you hummed in confusion.

“You’ve got a loose curl,” Hongjoong said. “Mind if I fix that?”

“Can you?” You asked. 

You had to pay attention to the dance to make sure you made no mistake, but to Hongjoong, dance was something he could do with his eyes closed. He didn’t answer you. He simply inserted the curl inside one of the pins with deft fingers and then tucked some hair behind your ear. 

Then his eyes found yours, and he rested his hand on your shoulder. Slowly, painfully slow so that perhaps, it would go unnoticed, he slid his hand down your bare arm. When his hand found purchase back on the dip of your waist, you could not decide if you wished to complain about the lack of touch on your bare skin or thank him for bringing his hand back to your waist, the absence of which had left your skin feeling hollow despite the lack of touch.

“Comfortable?” Hongjoong asked. You nodded.

His hand slid upwards just a fraction. His thumb caressed the fabric of the dress, sending a hot trail of fire in its wake until it paused dangerously close to the curve of your breast. 

“Now?” He asked, voice lower than before.

“I… I’m good,” you assured him.

You were comfortable, yes, but you were not good. Yunho’s hands were big enough to assume the same position and that had sent butterflies in your stomach. However, Hongjoong’s intentional placement set your skin on fire. Whenever you pulled away from each other, his hands would find their place back exactly there, never missing. His gaze was heavy as if he had too much to drink. When he moved closer to assume the intimate dance position, his lips parted and face dipped as if he wanted to capture something between his lips, yet…

Yet he refused to let his lips touch you. Somehow, that vexed you, and then you were wondering again of the reasons behind such feelings.

When he pulled you close, his hand  squeezed the skin on your waist. Your breath hitched and his nose brushed with yours in the slightest. Before any of you could make another move or address the ones already made, you were changing partners.

It wasn’t until you were back to Yunho for the final bit that you stopped thinking about the way your heads had tilted to accommodate each other for something more, something dangerous, right before you had to switch partners. 

Though Yunho kept you thoroughly entertained throughout the rest of the event, one thing was clear.

There was something between you and Hongjoong. Something electric, dangerous but real. 

You could not stay away from each other. You had never been able to. Hongjoong always found you, and you always found him. You could not stop testing boundaries– touching each other casually until it was not very casual, just like he had tonight at the dance. Just like you let him kiss you on the cheek or on your temple whenever he wanted without complaining. 

The thing was that what you and Yunho had was just as real, if not more. You were positive that your love for Yunho was a romantic one. You yearned to hold him, touch him without any watchful eyes, and kiss him stupid. You wished to spend the rest of your life in his arms– that is the idea that you fell asleep to every night. Your restraint and his was simply out of respect for each other, but that did not mean that you did not love each other. You loved him. 

So then what was it that you felt for Hongjoong? You loved him as a friend, just like you loved the rest of your friends– no, you definitely loved him more than the rest of your friends. However… did your love change shape at some point? When did that happen?

Was it the time he found you crying alone and wiped your tears? Was it because he always found you when Yunho got stolen away so that you were never alone? Was it when he told you that you were beautiful, as if he had every right to use that word for you? 

So many memories that you had made with him, yet you were unable to pinpoint a single one that could hint at the beginning of this shift. 

Did Hongjoong feel as restless as you, or was this all in your head?

Since the main event of the year-end festivities was over, you were back to prioritising your royal duties before any recreational activities, though you still made time for horse-riding yesterday and archery in the morning. The guests would be here for another two weeks so you supposed you could spare some time later.

For now, you needed to address the security concerns arising because of the trade-conflict between Wonderland and Neverland. There was also the matter of Neverland’s refusal to join this year’s celebrations– was it because they were hosted at Wonderland? Were they trying to make an enemy out of your kingdom?

The trade-conflict has been going on for about 6 months now. Since the only way to reach Neverland was a sea route and the storms had been deadly this season, the sailors from Wonderland were being cautious or refusing to make this journey. The King allowed reprieve but Neverland sent a message, clearly angry about the delay and refusing to understand your reasons. 

Not joining this year was a clear message, but they were also refusing to break the trade contract since it was the easiest to get their cotton from Wonderland. For Wonderland, they could make a land route to Kiji to make up for their machinery that they otherwise got from Neverland,, even though it would be of a lower quality, but Neverland seemed to have no other choice.

You wouldn’t be surprised if Neverland took a big, wrong step. This morning, the guards had arrested bandits trying to enter the grounds. The bandits were claiming to be from Neverland. It would only be a matter of time before a more deadly group made an attack.

Was it wise for Wonderland to send the guests back at a time like this? They were safer inside. What if they got compromised during their journey? Wonderland would not be able to recover from such a damage.

However, if someone got attacked inside the castle, that would be equally as worse, if not more. You were getting exhausted but you had to share your input tonight.

A knock sounded and Yunho entered the study, dressed in a casual outfit of black slacks and white shirt. He waved and you straightened, failing to stifle a yawn. You stretched your arms and Yunho laughed, coming behind your chair and massaging your shoulders.

“You’ve been holed up here all afternoon,” Yunho said. “Anything I can help with?”

“Hmmm… security concerns, mainly,” you offered, wondering if it would be wise to share with him. Yunho was one of the best strategists of your time. 

“Neverland?” Yunho guessed. You looked up at him but he shrugged. “They didn’t attend. I think it’s obvious why.”

“Take a seat,” you said and he brought his chair near you so that you could show him the map. “We wish to be prepared in case of an attack. Bandits were arrested this morning, claiming to be trade workers from Neverland who were running low on money. We’ve stationed more guards here,” you pointed at the wall nearest to the guest chambers, “and strengthened security near the forest.”

Yunho nodded. “I suppose you could station more guards inside too, near the chambers.”

“It might worry the guests.”

“Better safe than sorry. You can make up an excuse about being careful, but it’s better not to compromise their security.”

“Do you think it’s better if the guests leave?” You relaxed back in your chair and asked. “I’m worried about the guests exiting Wonderland safely, but I’m also worried about an attack inside the grounds. What if they wish to leave but we cannot let them go? The conflict will blow up.”

Yunho folded his arms, thinking for a few moments. “Do you suppose you could arrange more recreational activities? Something to keep the guests engaged until a clear, safe route is arranged for their departure?”

“I reckon we could,” you agreed. “We just have to make sure the guests are not bored, right?”

“Yes,” Yunho said. “In case someone has to leave early, have the royal guards create a distraction. They could pretend to accompany someone of importance while the actual guest leaves casually through a busy route. A busy, slightly unsafe route is better than a safe but empty route.”

“True,” you clapped. “Jeong Yunho. You’re brilliant.”

Yunho’s lips drooped in a shy smile. “Come on. I’m sure you would have come up with it too.”

“Yeah, after another all-nighter,” you laughed. “What are the rest up to?”

“Hongjoong is holed up in his room too. I think he came up with a few designs and he really wanted to note them down,” Yunho said. “The rest are in the garden having tea and playing ball.”

“It’s been a while since I heard of his hobby,” you referred to Hongjoong. “Does he still do that?”

“Not very often, but when he does, it’s great work. He must have been inspired after seeing all the fancy gowns and suits at the ball.”

You nodded. “And you? Missing me?”

“Very much so,” Yunho leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and looking at you lovingly. “I wanted to… talk.”

“Go ahead,” you said, mirroring his position. 

“You’re aware that I wish to marry you,” he began and you nodded. “And that I’m only delaying because I cannot bring you into the current political mess at my place. You should not have to deal with it.”

“Yunho,” you placed your hand on his arm. “I can deal with anything as long as I am with you.”

“I wish to make you my wife,” Yunho’s voice was low and sweet, his eyes dripping with love. “But I also want it to be clear if you would be just a princess for the rest of your life or a queen in the future. You deserve to make our choice after factoring that.”

“I do not care if you are a prince, a king or exiled,” you said and Yunho narrowed his eyes, the two of you sharing a laugh. “I only need you by my side. My status doesn’t matter. Being a princess… it’s not all that. Being a queen of a nation… it’s a job that demands the utmost perfection and I’m scared of that title.”

“But you would be so perfect, my love,” Yunho squeezed your hand. “You deserve to be a queen more than anyone else.”

“Thank you,” you meant it. “I don’t mind waiting. My parents are not pressuring me about marriage right now. They know that we wish to be together, and they would also rather wait until the situation is clear, so stop apologising for making me wait. Every moment that I wait makes our time together even more beautiful.”

Yunho smiled warmly at that, kissing your palm and lingering there. “You’re perfect. My family, and Hongjoong’s… we can’t wait to have you with us.”

Your smile must have fallen just a bit, but Yunho was a very sensitive person. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” you said but Yunho shook his head.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?” Yunho scanned your face. “I would never judge you.”

“I know,” you assured. “I guess it’s just overwhelming. Hongjoong… has he ever addressed our relationship?”

“Well… he knows that we intend to marry,” Yunho took a deep breath. “We haven’t talked about you like that, though. He knows that I’m waiting for the situation to solve before I officially propose. He adores you, you know.”

“He does?”

“Of course he does,” Yunho said. “I thought it was clear?”

“I mean…” the weight of Yunho’s hand on yours was starting to feel heavy. “We usually just argue about this and that. Unserious arguments.”

“He’s always looking out for you,” Yunho smiled. “I know because I’ve seen him. His eyes always find you. I think he is very fond of you, y/n.”

“That’s… a relief, I suppose,” you laughed nervously. “How’s your mother? Is she okay with us?”

“More than okay,” Yunho grinned. “She’s your biggest fan.”

“That’s lovely,” you grinned and Yunho kissed your hand again, his gaze honey with a hint of darkness that you hadn’t seen before.

“What are you thinking?” You whispered.

“That I can’t wait to make you mine,” Yunho said in a low voice, sparing a glance at the slightly open door. “That I can’t wait to kiss those soft lips of yours.”

“Yunho!” 

“Stop pouting,” he warned, “I’m just a man.”

“Well…” you cleared your throat, attempting to pull your hand away but he held on, his eyes stuck on your lips. “Jeong Yunho. Respect your traditions and stop looking at me as if you want to eat me alive.”

Yunho chuckled deeply. “Ah… the things I wish I could do to you. It’s a shame that I have to wait,” he said and got up, cupping your face and kissing your forehead. “Join us for dinner. Don’t skip your meals.”

“I’m too tired to socialise,” you pouted again and Yunho swiped his thumb over your lower lip, raising his brow in a warning. You immediately straightened, but a part of you was tempted to find if he would cross the line. 

“Join me and Hongjoong then,” Yunho offered. “We’ll be in our chamber.”

“That… I can do,” you agreed. Yunho nodded, taking one final look at you, almost struggling to part from you but he did eventually, and you were left breathless from his mere gaze, wishing he could have done more.

Damn the traditions, a voice in your head said. You shook those thoughts away.

~

Accompanied by your guard and handmaid, you arrived at the guest chambers, hoping you would not run into anyone else. You really were tired tonight, but you could not reject Yunho’s offer to dine with him.

And Hongjoong. To dine with them both.

You could convince yourself that it was just because you wanted some time alone with your boys– it had been so long since the three of you had spent time together, and time together was always well-spent and memorable. You could convince yourself that it was for old times’ sake, but you could not deny that you wanted to see Hongjoong and really feel him out.

What Yunho had said about Hongjoong stuck with you. He adores you. His eyes always find you. You had not noticed that, no. Perhaps, you had been too busy looking at Yunho all this time to care for someone else.

But he is Hongjoong, your heart sang.

You still do not need to care about anyone else, your head retorted.

The guard knocked on their door and Yunho opened, welcoming you inside. Your handmaid entered with you, acting as your chaperone but she let you be, opting to rest in the study while the three of you dined in private. She would have company there with Yunho and Hongjoong’s maids and they would dine together. 

“Let me call Hongjoong– he refuses to come out of his room,” Yunho said apologetically and you shook your head. The table was set so you took a seat, waiting. 

It looked like it took some convincing for Hongjoong to finally come out. Your eyes slightly widened at his appearance– buttons of his shirt undone revealing his finely toned chest, hair a mess and sticking in every direction and eyes tired.

“How many meals have you missed?” You asked, filling a plate for him and making sure it was without vegetables– he really wasn’t a fan of them.

“Just… lunch. And breakfast. I did eat an apple, though… I think?”

Yunho looked at you helplessly and you motioned for him to take a seat too. You passed Hongjoong his plate and ordered him to eat. He shot you a glare.

“I’m working on something, and it is imperative that I finish before I lose my thought train,” Hongjoong said, the fork in his hand hovering mid-air. “I don’t have the luxury to dine and chat right now.”

“Then eat and leave,” you simply said. “I won’t disturb you.”

Yunho chuckled at the interaction, realising that you were right– you both really did argue a lot. He served you some more baked potatoes and started coming up with recreational activities for the next week. You left Hongjoong to eat in silence but it was clear that he didn’t mind the company while he ate, even though he wasn’t contributing.

His presence was enough for you both.

Yunho had almost finished his meal when a guard knocked on the door and let him know that the King wished to discuss some matter regarding his father. Yunho looked at you, apologising for leaving when he himself had invited you.

“It’s okay, you should go. I know father has been wanting to talk,” you said. “I’ll finish and leave.”

“Make sure Hongjoong stops playing with his food too, please,” Yunho said and Hongjoong scowled at the younger prince, making him chuckle as he left.

Then it was just the two of you. Unchaperoned. You could feel heat rush to your cheeks but you managed to finish the rest of your meal in silence. Hongjoong was slower, though, deep in thought.

“Hongjoong,” you called softly. “I think you should rest. You look tired.”

“No, I’m fine,” he insisted, speeding up a little. “Just visualising some details so I don’t lose them.”

“Can I ask what you’re working on?” 

Hongjoong looked at you. There you were– the same curious little child that used to sneak up on him and watch him draw in silence, sometimes so silent that you would scare him. He smiled. 

“Just some gowns,” he said, wondering what to say next. “Playing with colours and fabric.”

“Can I see?” 

Could Hongjoong say no when you asked so sweetly? “I suppose you could… but only what I allow you to,” he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare try to get sneaky.”

“Won’t promise,” you grinned. “You know how curious I can get. Come on, since when do you hide your designs from me?”

“I can do whatever I want,” Hongjoong finished his meal. “Gotta teach you that curiosity can kill the cat.”

“But satisfaction brings it back,” you grinned, following him to his room. 

“Good lord,” you looked around. There was fabric and pages everywhere, no place to step without crushing something. “Can I at least sort this mess?”

“Do not touch anything,” Hongjoong scolded, almost tripping as he hopped towards the desk. “I know where everything is.”

“But Joong,” you cried out. “If I organise it, it will be easier and less time consuming for you to reach for a fabric or for the stones. You know I’m good at it.”

“I know, but I can manage–”

“Shut up and get to work,” you folded your arms. “I’ll take care of this.”

Hongjoong immediately straightened, internally scared of your raging need for organisation. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good.”

Hongjoong watched you for a bit but eventually decided to resume working on his designs. You were as silent as you could be, occasionally calling to tell him your organisation method and where to reach to grab something. The fabrics were stacked in rows, the pages all spread on his bed and finally, it was time to collect the pearls and beads that were scattered across the room.

When you were done collecting them in little boxes, you set them on his desk. He didn’t look up, currently bent over his diary and drawing something. You perched yourself on his desk, trying to sneak a peek.

When he was done, he relaxed back, almost jumping in his chair when he spotted you. “Goodness. Can’t you make some noise?”

“I was breathing,” you said. “I assumed that would be loud enough for you… hey, that looks like the gown I wore to the ball.”

“It is,” he admitted. “I’m altering it. I thought that a different shade of green would compliment your skin tone more, and if we added some pearls and net details…”

Hongjoong continued to ramble, going about how he also took inspiration from Minjeong’s dress. While he talked, you grabbed his diary and started to go through it.

Sketches upon sketches of the most beautifully designed dresses, often with fabrics and beads glued or sewn into the thick pages for reference. However, the model or the muse seemed to be the same, no matter what. It always featured the same curls that you often wore, or the little scar on your back–

Hongjoong stopped talking. “I told you not to go through it.”

You looked at him. “You still remember this scar?”

Hongjoong remained silent. You were both thinking about the same memory from about two years ago in Eden when you had all gone hunting and you had gotten lost when you couldn’t find your way back to the rest due to heavy rain. Hongjoong had managed to find you, but the storm got worse so you both took refuge inside a cave.

Since it was incredibly cold and you were drenched and shivering, Hongjoong could only offer his arms as a relief. You sat wedged between his legs, embraced by him. He rested his head on top of yours, murmuring about how relieved he was that you were safe. You clung to his arms, both scared and relieved.

Your dress was torn a little at your upper back when a branch got stuck in your clothes. Hongjoong spotted the fresh wound then, the shape of a bow. He asked you about it and through chattering teeth you told him that you must have received this when you fell tumbling down a path a few moments before he found you. You thought you felt Hongjoong’s fingertip trace the wound but you didn’t say anything. You only shut your eyes, waiting for the storm to subside so you could go back.

A part of you had wished that the storm did not subside so soon, so that you could feel his strong arms embrace you for a little longer, so that he could continue to touch your skin with his fingers, so that he would continue to murmur sweet nothings into your ear. 

It seemed like he had not forgotten that memory. Whenever he sketched your back in his diary, the scar made a feature too. 

“Am I your muse, Kim Hongjoong?” You tilted your head. He looked up at you, the moonlight casting shadows under his cheekbones.

“Maybe you are,” he said almost casually. “Do you mind?”

“I don’t think so…” you admitted, taking a deep breath. “As long as I get to wear one of your designs someday.”

“A wedding dress… can I design your wedding gown, my dear?”

You frowned. While the thought of him designing your wedding dress was extremely enticing, some other thoughts were plaguing your mind. “Do you wish to see me as a bride that badly?”

“I… I wish to see you as a bride, yes,” Hongjoong leaned forward. “I imagine you as a bride, dressed in the softest shade of white that you can get in the highest quality of silk that we have in Eden– one that glimmers under the sun.”

Hongjoong stood up, scanning your body. You suddenly felt exposed but you didn’t move. 

“I imagine pearls as your complementary choice of jewellery. The pearls from Neverland– they have this distinct shade of blue to them that would go very well with your undertones. I imagine the pearls to be a part of the dress– here,” he pressed his thumb against your collarbone without hesitation, a designer and not a prince right now. “A neckline that exposes your collarbones and shoulders, since you have a beautiful shoulder cut. The dress would hug your bodice but I suppose we could make the back deeper. Would you mind exposing your scar?”

“I– I don’t know,” you admitted, too distracted by his fingertips against your sternum right now.

“I suppose we could adjust the back depending on that. A dip of your neckline here, and then…” he traced his hands against your thighs. “The fabric would hug your curves beautifully and modestly, just like you prefer. I suppose it could be more flowy towards the knees,” he continued to trace his hand down all the way to your ankles and you gasped when his hands made contact with your bare ankles. “I think a pearl outline to the first layer of the dress would look heavenly. Paired with your pearl jewellery and the pearl-embedded crown of Eden, a net veil with zircons scattered over it… 

“Y/n, you would make the most beautiful bride,” Hongjoong finished, breathing and finally realising that he was holding your ankles. With you perched on the desk, he was almost eye-level and you could see his pupils dilate.

“You would design such a beautiful gown for my wedding? I’m not your bride,” you reminded him. 

“It would both be the greatest honour,” he whispered, tracing your cheekbone, looking as if he was drugged. “And the cruelest punishment for me.”

“Cruelest punishment?” You echoed. “Do you hate me?”

“Hate?” Hongjoong’s brows furrowed. “Do you think that I could ever hate you?” 

“Then what is this, Hongjoong?” You clasped his hand, gulping but letting it remain there so he could cradle your jaw. “What are you doing when you clearly know that I’m basically betrothed to Yunho?”

“You’re right,” Hongjoong sighed, trying to bring himself out of this trance. “I respect Yunho a lot. I would never do something to disappoint him and risk our friendship. I respect you too, y/n. I…” he pulled his hand away from your face but you held on, making sure not to let him go. You wanted him to finish saying whatever he was thinking. “I respect the fact that you both value your traditions but good heavens, dear. If it were up to me, I would…”

“Say it,” you commanded after a few moments of silence. You simply could not take the look in his eyes anymore.

Hongjoong shook his head, attempting to pull his hand but you grabbed his other hand too, pulling him towards you. Closer. So close that you could feel his breath caress your face.

“I’m not so innocent even though I practise restraint, so say whatever you are thinking. Forget about Yunho for a moment.”

Hongjoong’s gaze darkened. “Do you even realise what you’re asking for?”

“Your heart,” you nodded. “I wish to learn what you think about me, however… unfiltered that may be. You… you’re confusing me, occupying my thoughts and my heart and I need to make sense of it before I make a mistake, Joong. I love Yunho, don’t get me wrong, but I… I need to hear what you think of me, or else it will kill me.”

“Y/n,” Hongjoong squeezed your hands. “Go back. You need to leave.”

“No.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath. “If you learn what I would do to you if you were mine, if I… if I speak my mind about what I wish I could do to you right now…” Hongjoong looked away for  a moment, collecting the last shreds of his sanity. “They would crucify me, love. So leave. What I think about you does not matter. You are Yunho’s.”

This time, you didn’t fight back when he pulled away from you. He went to the window, staring outside, the muscles in his face taut from tension. 

“I’ve spent most of my life with Yunho,” you said, standing up and getting ready to leave. “It was easy to fall in love with him. He’s everything that I have ever wanted, and he has always been there, but Hongjoong… so have you. You have always been present with me and Yunho, watching and waiting, sometimes offering solace while other times, offering silence. If you had asked me to be yours before Yunho did, I would have said yes to you because no matter how much I think, I feel like my heart has always been split into two.”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong looked at you, distraught.

“Make of that what you will,” you said, tired. “I’m done for the night, and I’m done explaining myself.” You left his room and made your way outside, your handmaid scurrying to accompany you. 

Outside Hongjoong’s room hidden in a corner, a tall shadow stood for a few moments before disappearing elsewhere.

If there was one thing that the prince and princesses of your generation enjoyed, it was a good debate. Hence, the idea to have a few sessions where everyone would represent a kingdom that was not theirs was proposed by you. You could all shuffle the kingdoms or choose the one that you would like to represent. Since Neverland was not attending, Hongjoong decided to represent Neverland.

Yunho was representing your kingdom, Wonderland, and you were representing Eden since you were very familiar with the way they ran their kingdom. Wooyoung, San and Sieun switched among themselves. Jongho decided to act as a moderator since he was incredibly skilled at that. 

Minjeong was opting to watch instead of participate– she was from a big family and not very involved in running the kingdom. Minjeong was going to score everyone based on how good their argument was and deduct points if someone crossed the line. Lastly, Jeongin was acting as the law– representing the crime courts of the land and navy. 

A few days were spent with everyone gathering at the library to study about their assigned kingdoms and catch up with their latest trends directly with the actual nationals of those kingdoms. Jongho would join a group and make sure that the discussion would be unbiased since he was very well-versed with the current political climate. 

It was only Hongjoong who had no one to discuss Neverland with. You and Yunho were spending most of the time together, exchanging information and debate points but though Hongjoong claimed to be okay, you knew that he was not aware of the recent trouble between your kingdom and Neverland.

You wondered if this was a good opportunity to let Hongjoong know. If he could raise the points about the trade-conflict in his discussion, you could observe and see if another kingdom was aware of this conflict and pretending otherwise. Perhaps, a kingdom could step up and offer an alliance. You discussed it with Yunho and he thought that it was wise to let Hongjoong know too.

However, he was busy coaching Jeongin tonight. The debates were starting tomorrow and you had no choice but to talk about this matter to Hongjoong directly. How would you face him now after basically confessing to each other that night in his room?

You were treading on such dangerous waters. This situation– the shift in the relationship between you two was so fragile. One wrong move and you could lose your title.

“Can’t you catch up with Hongjoong later tonight?” You begged Yunho one last time. He watched you with mild amusement. 

“I told you that he has been going to bed early. I don’t know how long my session with Jeongin will take, but I have to help him out. It’s important for tomorrow,” Yunho patted your cheek. “Go talk to Hongjoong in private. It’ll be okay.”

“But…”

“Is there a reason you’re so queasy about meeting him?” Yunho raised a brow. 

“Not really…” you faltered. “I’m just tired, I guess?”

Yunho scanned your eyes. “I’ll let Hongjoong know that you wish to talk to him. I feel like he has been giving you the cold shoulder lately. Did something happen between you two?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “Just teased him about his designs. Bet he’s salty about that.”

Yunho chuckled. “He’ll forgive you. He always does. I’ll be right back.”

You remained sitting at the desk in the library, palms growing sweaty with each passing moment while Yunho let Hongjoong know that you needed to discuss something important before tomorrow’s debate. You accidentally met eyes with Hongjoong and looked away in a flash, stifling a groan. How embarrassing.

Yunho came back and let you know that Hongjoong would be spending some time in the abandoned music room tonight. You could join him there.

You intended to. However, you intended to join him unsupervised. You could not risk guards or handmaids monitoring you.

And why not? Were you planning to do something that no one could see? 

You were not. You simply wished to talk, however, you wanted to talk without eyes and ears around you. The matter of Neverland was sensitive. But… there was another matter just as sensitive. 

Creating a distraction for the guards was easy enough. You asked them to accompany you to the adornment chamber, claiming that you would be spending quite a while there receiving massages and a long bath. However, you had ordered the handmaids there to clear the room earlier, claiming that you wished to bathe in private. 

There was a secret passage in that room that connected to a few different rooms but eventually served as safe exits in case of a raid. You used that to access the music room. All you had to do was knock and wait.

Hongjoong opened the door behind the tapestry after a few moments, his sword pointed at you. He instantly relaxed when he realised that you were the intruder and he tossed the sword away. It was clearly not his and he must have searched for a weapon and found the decoratory sword.

“Whyever would you access the music room through this passage, Princess, and not that door over there?” Hongjoong stood with his hands on his hips, unrelenting. 

“Privacy reasons,” you shrugged and moved past him.

“Privacy?” Hongjoong echoed, shocked. “Why would you want privacy here? We’re only discussing Neverland, not planning a coup. Besides, what would your mother say about coming here unchaperoned?”

“She is probably in her bed, reading a book and getting ready to sleep,” you twirled around to further tease the very pissed prince. “Relaxing. Maybe you should take a seat and relax too before we talk.”

“Y/n,” Hongjoong warned. “I’ll ask the guard to station himself inside–”

“Joong,” you called softly. “Just… sit. Relax. I know what I risk being here, but I trust you.”

“You trust me when I don’t trust myself around you,” Hongjoong said. You perched yourself on top of the piano, patting the space next to you. He ignored it. You ignored his statement.

“Neverland might attack Wonderland in the coming days,” you began. “I need you to learn about the conflict between us before our debate tomorrow and help me find if another kingdom is making alliances with Neverland to push against us.”

That immediately had Hongjoong’s attention. While you briefed him, he sat on the piano chair, occasionally playing some notes to let the guards know outside that he was still present and breathing. Hongjoong absorbed all information, his eyes narrowing as he schemed.

“I suppose I should poke everyone in the room. Especially those with strong ties to Neverland. They are all our friends, though. If they’re hiding an alliance with Neverland and scheming against Wonderland, it would be quite surprising.”

“Friendships change,” you reminded him. “Do you remember Junho? He was such a good friend until your kingdom had a conflict with theirs, and then he started to act like a solid ten years of friendship means nothing in the face of a petty conflict that can be solved through words.”

Hongjoong agreed. He straightened his legs and stretched his arms. “Friendships… do change. I just don’t like it when it happens. It leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth even years later.”

You patted the space next to you again. This time, Hongjoong did sit next to you, though maintaining a distance and opting to stare at his boots. 

“Our friendship… it has changed, hasn’t it?” You asked. “Does it leave a bad aftertaste too?”

“Not at all,” Hongjoong replied immediately. “It’s just… suffocating.”

Your heart hurt to hear those words. “Is there anything I can offer to make it better?”

“I don’t think so,” Hongjoong smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t demand anything from you.”

“Then can you tell me how to deal with this suffocation?” You asked and Hongjoong looked at you. “Because every time I look at you, I wish to never look away. Every time we touch, I wish we never part. How do I deal with the suffocation of performing restraint?”

“Do you feel the same with Yunho?” Hongjoong asked. 

“I do,” you admitted. “A couple of nights ago, he told me that he wanted to kiss me. It took every cell in my body to not make his wish come true, because we promised to respect the traditions.”

Hongjoong was silent for a few moments before he spoke. “You love Yunho and you want to be with him as soon as possible. I’m sorry that our political climate is delaying your wedding, but… what if you’re confused because you cannot be with Yunho right now? What if your feelings for me are just a product of your anger and exhaustion?”

His words struck like a whip at you. Your breath quickened and you clenched your jaw. Hongjoong noticed and he tried to take your hand in his but you pulled away as if his touch had burned you, aware of the hurt flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare tell me how I feel about you, Joong,” you said in a low, warning tone. “When I have spent all my life searching for you in crowded rooms just as you have. When my eyes always find yours, just like yours find mine. Don’t you dare tell me when you do not know how much my heart yearns for you.”

“I… I’m so sorry,” Hongjoong’s voice was wet and he took your hand in both of his, peppering kisses. “I’m sorry to make assumptions, my love, but you have to be clear about what exactly you want. You can’t keep pulling me towards you when you don’t intend to keep me. I get hurt too.”

Your eyes immediately softened. “What are we going to do, Joong?”

“We can’t do this to Yunho. You know that… right?” Hongjoong slid closer, caressing your cheekbone. “As much as I love you, I can’t compromise my relationship with Yunho just because I was a coward who didn’t take my chance. I can’t compromise your honour just because I wish to learn what your lips… what you taste like before you leave me forever.”

Your heart swooped dangerously but you leaned closer, pausing.

This was not why you came here unchaperoned… right?

It didn’t matter. The traditions that you had respected all your life, you were willing to break. The sacred, silent vows to protect your chastity. Your mother’s warning to not engage in improper behaviour, your father’s gentle reminders… all down the drain, just to grant Hongjoong’s innocent wish.

“Are we really doomed?” You whispered. “If I… if I touch you now, are we dooming ourselves?”

“Probably,” Hongjoong breathed, his forehead joining with yours. As soon as the tip of his nose brushed with yours, you became molten in his touch, your mouth parting, waiting for more. Hongjoong parted gently, brows furrowed as if he was in physical pain. The corners of his lips drooped as he observed you. 

The desire in your eyes for him… how could he have missed that?

Your hands went to clutch at his shirt near his collar and he groaned internally, unable to resist. He joined your foreheads again, only to plant a sweet kiss near your mouth, one that had you shivering uncontrollably in both anticipation and nervousness. He trailed his lips along your jaw, occasionally stopping to kiss or suck at your skin and your back arched against him, breathing becoming heavier with each passing second. 

Hongjoong buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his lips planting a soft kiss on your collarbone too. He remained there for a long, long time, weighing the odds of his decision and gathering strength in his body to finally part from you.

“Hongjoong,” you called when he pulled away. He only shook his head.

“We can’t do this to Yunho,” he reminded you. His words slashed like a knife at your heart. “We owe him that much.”

He was right. Yunho had never questioned your and Hongjoong’s relationship because he trusted you both. You could not betray his trust like this. 

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, Hongjoong was not going to wipe them. He backed away slowly though every step hurt him. 

“We are going to pretend that these intimate moments never happened between us,” Hongjoong steeled himself. “It’s best that you forget about me, love. I will continue to be your friend, or if you wish for me to give you space, I will do that, but let’s not betray our closest friend like this.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Tears streamed down your face. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Hongjoong shook his head, assuring you gently. “These feelings will fade. You have a life with Yunho ahead, and my biggest mission in life is to protect Yunho from any threat. I cannot be a threat to him. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” you nodded.

“Then go back to your room,” Hongjoong smiled, his own eyes glazed. “Tomorrow, when we meet, we will be just two friends who love to bicker. I will continue to be your shadow.”

“And I will continue to be your secretkeeper,” you completed and he nodded. 

“I’m proud of you, my dear,” he smiled again. “I hope you know that.”

With that, he left the room, leaving you alone with the mess of your feelings. You struggled to breathe, wiping your tears away hastily.

You needed to find Yunho. 

Oh, you had been the most awful to him, even though he did not know what the two of you had been up to in the shadows. You needed to touch him because he was what was real. 

Hongjoong would not be going up to his room. He would probably take to the gardens to get some fresh air. Yunho might be back in his chambers. You decided to go to his chambers, not minding if anyone saw you.

Damned be the traditions. Whoever decided that these manmade traditions were as sacred as the law itself? 

The guards let you inside and the servants inside offered to call Yunho, but you asked them to give you some privacy, saying there was an urgent political matter you needed to discuss with him. You would only take a few moments, you assured. Since they trusted you and Yunho, they went back to rest.

You knocked at Yunho’s room and he opened the door, surprised to find you. It looked like he was in the process of changing– the buttons of his shirt were undone and he wasn’t wearing his jacket that he had been earlier.

“Y/n? What are you doing here–”

You entered and shut the door behind you, throwing yourself at him in an embrace. Surprised, he hugged you back, rubbing your back. “Is something the matter?” He asked, worry lacing his tone.

“I…” you breathed, inhaling his scent. He smelled like the ocean and fresh flowers. It was your favourite scent in the world– even better than Hongjoong’s musk and vanilla scent. “Please, let me stay like this for a moment. I need to feel that you are real.”

“I am real, love,” Yunho laughed anxiously, rubbing your back. “Take your time.”

You did. Feeling his heartbeat synchronise with yours was satisfying enough but nowhere near enough after what Hongjoong had done. You needed more.

“Yunho,” you drew back, cradling his face and struggling to look up at the tall prince. “I need you to kiss me.”

“What?”

“I need you to kiss me,” you repeated, gaze stuck on his lips. 

“Y/n,” Yunho called gently. “I cannot compromise your honour. We made a promise to respect the traditions, didn’t we?”

“Forget about the traditions for once, forget about stupid manmade concepts of honour and reverence of the throne,” you almost spat. “I need you to kiss me and remind me that you love me–”

“If you say it like this,” Yunho’s brows furrowed. He looked as if he was fighting an internal battle. “I’ll have no choice but to obey, but y/n, my love…” Yunho squeezed your sides. “Are you sure about this?”

“Did I ask for too much?” You sighed, looking for any signs of disappointment in his eyes but finding only curiosity. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, I’m sorry. I–”

To your surprise, Yunho didn’t let you finish. He leaned in and captured your lips in an experimental kiss, moving his lips along yours. 

It was your first kiss. It was his first too. He moved his lips, alternating between soft pecks and deep, open-mouthed kisses. As soon as he got the hang of it, he groaned and picked you up, a surprised sound escaping your mouth. He steered you both to the bed where he sat with you in his lap, one hand resting on the dip of your waist while the other tangled in your hair.

“You need to tell me when to stop,” his eyes were laden with the desire that you had only ever read about in books. “I’m going to kiss you until you stop me. God help me, love, ” he sighed, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. “I can’t stop.”

Almost immediately, you were kissing again, this time deep and passionate. Your heart and your head all belonged to Yunho, your body responding to his touch and moving accordingly. You cupped his face, tangled your fingers through the soft strands of his hair and ran your hands across the smooth panels of his chest, all the while his lips refused to leave yours. He nipped at your lips, teased them with his tongue and explored the cavity of your mouth, swallowing all your moans. When you finally drew back for breath, he seemed to come back to his senses, his eyes widening slightly.

“I…” he began, still refusing to let you go. “We should not have done that, but good heavens.”

You laughed, caressing his face affectionately. “I’m sorry for demanding something so unreasonable.”

“No, I’ve wanted to do this since forever, but… I really thought we were going to wait until marriage,” he stifled a grin. 

“I thought so too, but apparently, I’m desperate,” you pouted. “I came begging for a kiss. It should have been the other way round.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yunho pecked your lips. “As long as we both get what we want.”

You nodded, smoothening his hair away from his face. “I’m still sorry, though. I… I just wanted to– I,”

“You don’t have to explain your reasons,” Yunho held your hands in his. “But we should definitely stop here.”

“I agree,” you said. “But do you think other people sneak in kisses or something more before their weddings too?”

Yunho laughed heartily and your heart warmed. This really was the man that you loved and wished to spend the rest of your life with. “I suppose they do. Should we ask your father?”

“Shut up,” you scowled, pulling away from his lap. You stood on your feet but he didn’t let go of your hands. “A goodnight kiss?”

“Stop testing my limits, Princess,” Yunho warned but pulled you in for one last kiss, forehead joined and noses brushing. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you confessed. “More than you can imagine.”

Yunho smiled. “How did your meeting with Hongjoong go?”

You did your best to keep your smile from falling. “He understands. He is probably scheming somewhere right now.”

“That’s good,” Yunho watched you. “Don’t let him learn that we broke the tradition. He’ll be insufferable about it.”

“Of course,” you shook your head. “We are the most chaste people in the entire kingdom. Let’s not forget that.”

Yunho smirked darkly, getting up and fixing your hair. You went back to your room, convincing yourself that what had happened with Hongjoong was just your anger and exhaustion, like he had said. 

You could definitely try to forget it and move on. For Yunho, you could do that. You owed him that much. 

You didn’t think the debates would be so serious until you found Wooyoung, Sieun and Hongjoong in a heated argument, with Jongho snacking on peanuts and letting the chaos unfold before him, and Jeongin over the clouds because everyone was addressing him as ‘Your Honour’. 

You folded your arms and scoffed at your little brother. He was gloating. Apparently, being called Your Highness wasn’t enough for him. He liked the other title more. 

“Your Honour,” Wooyoung called and Jeongin straightened, his eyes curved in a foxy grin. “The Kingdom of Hala has a known reputation of violating treaties. Year 1941 when the kingdom broke a treaty with Eden over baseless speculations, and year 1962 when the kingdom almost broke the treaty again but then the matter was sorted by amending the treaty. But…”

Wooyoung looked towards Sieun with a smirk growing on his face. As Hala’s princess, Sieun was fuming but also awaiting how Wooyoung would defend his representative kingdom. 

“It’s understandable if the neighbouring kingdoms see the Kingdom of Hala as a nation governed by people who cannot keep their word, but in this specific instance of whether Hala has violated international land laws, I confirm that Hala has not. Just because we don’t respect our treaties does not mean we don’t respect international law.”

Sieun settled down in defeat, though she was still slightly confused if her own kingdom had been represented correctly. She lightly shrugged and Wooyoung took it as a sign of approval.

“Very well,” Jeongin cleared his throat. “The Kingdom of Neverland may now argue whether creating alliances when there is a clear sign of conflict between any two kingdoms is disrespecting the international law, especially when some of the war routes fall in the territory of geographical points protected by the international law.”

“Remember,” Jongho reminded everyone, “To stay respectful during the arguments since this is a made-up debate.”

Hongjoong nodded and stood up, meeting eyes with you and Yunho. You both passed subtle nods. The plan was to bait the people present into admitting whether they were aware of the current navy conflict between Neverland and Wonderland.

“I would begin by providing the past instances of similar events where Neverland either decided not to participate in conflicts because of the fear of violating international laws and being held accountable. Years 1864, 1875 and 1925 when Neverland abstained from any such conflicts,” Hongjoong scanned his notes and then looked at Jeongin. “Year 1951 when a conflict with The Kingdom of Hala had us sailing our ships and almost violating the international navy law.”

“I wonder why you weren’t held accountable,” Wooyoung pointed out.

“Maybe because Hala was hell-bent on escalating the war?” Hongjoong answered smoothly. “Neverland had a duty to protect its people. If we just stood by, we would watch Hala violate the international navy law and sail to us with the sole purpose to fight–”

“Hala would never do that!” Sieun stood up, slamming her hands on the desk. “Neverland has been breaking navy laws even in the present time and no one holds them accountable!”

While Jongho rebuked Sieun for breaking character and Minjeong deducted her score, you and Yunho straightened. 

“Let’s relax,” Yunho whispered after a moment. “Hongjoong will figure it out. Let’s pretend we don’t know what just happened.”

You nodded. Hongjoong was trying hard to contain his smirk.

“The Kingdom of Hala,” Hongjoong raised his brow at Sieun but then shifted his eyes to Wooyoung who was supposed to answer in Sieun’s stead, “is known for violating treaties, like you said, Wooyoung. What’s to say that it wouldn’t violate the navy law? After all, the navy law is trickier, isn’t it?”

“That’s not the topic of today’s debate,” Wooyoung said before Jongho could.

“Your Honour,” Hongjoong looked at Jeongin. “I would still like further explanation from Hala’s representatives about their baseless accusation of Neverland violating navy laws in the present time, if you would allow.”

Jeongin discussed it with Jongho. You were sure that Jeongin would decide against it– that was a real time conflict and this was supposed to be a recreational activity, not a debate on current events.

That is exactly what Jongho and Jeongin decided. The topic steered back to the original made-up conflict and the tension in the room slowly dissipated. The debate ended on a good note with Yunho emerging as the winner with leading points.

Hongjoong found you both when you were on the way to the hall for refreshments. “I guess the young princess is not as politically unaware as she pretends to be.”

“Right?” Your eyes subconsciously darted towards Sieun. She appeared very relaxed, sitting in a corner with Minjeong and probably discussing the debate. “If she is aware about Neverland and Wonderland’s conflict, she’s doing a damned good job at pretending otherwise.”

“Which makes me wonder if the other kingdoms are aware as well,” Yunho added. “I gauged everyone’s reactions earlier and I’m sure Jongho knows something.”

“What should we do?” You turned towards the princes. “Interrogate Sieun or feel out Jongho?”

“What do you mean interrogate?” Hongjoong let out a short laugh. “You’re gonna tie her up and play prosecution?”

You glared at Hongjoong while Yunho stifled his smile. “I think it’s wiser to ask Jongho. He’s a close friend and if he knows something, he’ll be honest.”

“You never know, though,” you shrugged. 

“If he’s lying, I’ll know,” Yunho assured you. “So don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to him. Meanwhile, let’s relax… love?”

You let out a huff but obeyed. Yunho smiled in response and got you both drinks. When he noticed Jongho hanging out alone in a corner, he said that he would be right back.

Leaving you and Hongjoong alone at your table.

You silently ate your croissant while you watched Yunho. You caught Hongjoong staring moments later.

“Good job today at the debate,” you acknowledged. “You handled it very well.”

“It was nothing,” Hongjoong dismissed. “You did well too. Second place is basically the first when Yunho is the permanent first place.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Yunho really doesn’t know how to lose.”

“He has always been a winner,” Hongjoong said with a deep sigh. Something in his voice told you that his words held a deeper meaning. The ache in your heart told you that you knew exactly what he meant, but you ignored it. 

You were just friends now. Nothing more.

Yunho joined you with news that he had fixed a meeting with Jongho to discuss the Neverland conflict with Wonderland, you all cheered silently. When Yunho offered to take you to your room, Hongjoong excused himself smoothly and disappeared from the hall.

Just like he always did. You watched him until he was out of your sight before you said yes to Yunho, catching him looking at you with a strange expression– one that you hadn’t seen in his eyes before. “What?”

“Nothing,” Yunho smiled knowingly. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course I am,” you felt your cheeks flush. “What’s there to not feel alright about?”

“Just making sure,” Yunho took your hand and started to walk.

“Is something funny, Yunho?”

“Not at all,” he assured. “Just thinking about last night.”

“Jeong Yunho!” You scolded, looking around you. Of course, there was no one in the empty corridors and no guards nearby. Yunho wasn’t foolish enough to say something suspicious like this in the open.

However, he was a fool in love, and fools in love did things like steal an innocent peck before taking the turn towards your chambers where the security started to tighten. You smacked his chest repeatedly until he couldn’t breathe from laughing so much and warned him not to do that again, even though your own cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

“Can I come inside?” Yunho asked when you reached the door. “I wanted to discuss a few things about… our lives.”

“Sure,” you welcomed him inside and you took a seat near the fireplace. Your maids sat at the far end of the room, watching but unable to hear your conversation, giving you a certain level of privacy to talk freely.

“I’ve been thinking about our… future,” Yunho looked at you with expectant eyes and you met his gaze when he seated himself across from you. With the fire illuminating one half of his face while casting shadows on the other, he looked every bit the man and the prince that he had become. 

Your future husband. 

“I have been thinking,” Yunho inhaled deeply. “And… I know that we planned to talk about marriage to your parents on this visit, but I think that we should delay it.”

Your heart sank. “Why? Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” he assured. “I would like to ask for your hand officially after I secure a title as the second prince or the crown prince. That gives us all enough time to… sort out whatever needs sorting.”

“If you’re doing this because you are unsure of whether my parents would approve, Yunho,” you looked at him fondly. “They adore you. They love you and you’re everything they could have ever wished for, for me. They understand your circumstances– I mean, they are aware that we’re interested in each other, but they would accept you no matter your future title.” 

“I know, love,” Yunho smiled. “It’s not that.”

Your smile fell. “Are you… sure about us? Do you need time to think about things–”

“Y/n,” Yunho looked like he wanted to hold you but his eyes darted towards the maid. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life but you. You are the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with, and… now that we’re talking about it, I want you to reconsider everything before you agree to my proposal. Do you wish to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Of course I do,” you said without a doubt in your voice or your heart. “Do you think that I played with fire because I wasn’t sure?”

“Not at all,” Yunho confirmed. He was sure that you didn’t ask him to kiss you just to make sure that he really was the one. Your friendship and your love wasn’t that shallow. “Just needed to make sure. If you ever… if there is ever someone else in your life, someone else in your heart… I want you to know that you can still trust me and confide in me.”

“What does that mean?” You straightened, heart pounding right between your ears this time.

“It means,” Yunho said lightheartedly, grinning. “That I’m your best friend first. If there is ever someone else that you would like to marry, I’ll understand. I only wish the best for you and I wouldn’t want you to bind yourself to me out of compulsion.”

“Does that mean that you would not fight for me?” You narrowed your eyes and folded your arms. “Didn’t peg you as the loser sort.”

“Of course I would fight for you,” Yunho shook his head. “But I wouldn’t hurt you, ever. I would rather watch you happy with someone else than unhappy with me.”

“Yunho,” you whispered, fighting back tears. “That’s… very honourable of you to offer, but you are unfortunately still the person that I wish to marry. And… I would like to offer you the same. That’s the least I can do, but don’t expect me to be as understanding as you.”

Yunho nodded and you wished that your eyes conveyed what your heart felt in that moment– that you loved him infinitely, even though you couldn’t say it out loud right now.

The next few days were a breeze. 

You found out that Jongho was aware of Wonderland’s conflict with Neverland and was willing to offer help in any way that he could– the Kingdom of Kiji and its two Choi princes would always side with Wonderland. That left preparing strategies for departure of the guests to their homelands and tightening security. 

However, you noticed how Sieun appeared distant and disconnected from the rest of your group. You all had been spending a lot of time together playing games, studying, strategising and whatnot. Even Hongjoong was back to normal with his near-constant teasing and jabs that gave Wooyoung a run for his game. 

You wondered if you were only noticing Sieun’s unusual behaviour now that she gave herself away during that debate, or if something fishy was going on. 

Which was why when you saw her alone in the corridors near the guest chambers, you secretly started to follow her. You hid behind a wall when she stopped and started to converse with an unknown person. 

You tried to strain your hearing. If you could get just a whisper of their conversation–

“Love… what do you think you’re doing?”

Your bones nearly jumped out of your skin. You glared at the perpetrator– Hongjoong– and motioned for him to seal his mouth.

Hongjoong was not amused. He found you hiding your figure behind a wall on his way to his room and decided to inspect. Hongjoong pressed your head down to make you tuck your knees further and allow him some space to crane his head over your crouched figure so that he could take a peek himself. 

“Sieun… and?” Hongjoong asked in the lightest whisper. “Who is she exchanging the letter with?”

“I don’t know,” you answered. “Does he look familiar?”

“Do you think it’s a romantic scandal or a political one?” Hongjoong asked, not recognising the figure. Maybe one of the prince or princess’ guards?

“Everything feels political to me these days,” you answered, straightening when the two disappeared. “I’m not very interested in Sieun’s romantic escapades.”

“I thought you were a strict person when it came to traditions,” Hongjoong straightened the fabric at the waist of your gown. 

“Do you think I would be the kind to turn someone in just because I disagree with their take on ‘manmade’ traditions?” You asked with a scoff, reminding Hongjoong of his own words. Manmade traditions.

“I suppose not,” Hongjoong shrugged, looking you in the eyes. “Considering… everything.”

“I’ll pretend I don’t know what that means,” you muttered. “I’m going to follow Sieun. Shall we split? You go follow the man.”

“It could be dangerous,” Hongjoong shook his head. “Sieun is probably going to her room. Let’s follow the man. I don’t want to leave you behind.”

You agreed– splitting was probably a bad idea, especially if this took a wrong turn. While you both walked a good distance behind the figure, sticking close to the walls, Hongjoong asked what you were doing in this part of the castle. This was near the guest chambers and the library and he had just been in the library taking a nap.

“I was going to see Yunho,” you admitted. 

“Unchaperoned?” Hongjoong was almost teasing. “Where are your guards or handmaids?”

“I asked them to stay back.”

“Are they always this obedient? I should speak to your mother about enforcing security measures–”

You grabbed Hongjoong by the arm and pulled him instinctively in a wedge between the walls when the figure turned, probably alarmed by the noise. Hongjoong was tense, eyes wide and figure unmoving.

“We’re dead if we get found out now,” Hongjoong reminded you of every way that this could go wrong– the figure could be someone dangerous. If it was someone you both knew…

You were suddenly very aware of the lack of distance between you two. It was almost as if you were about to hug. You could see the twinkle in his eyes despite the low candle lights casting a shadow over his face. Your hand still gripped his arm out of fear and he held yours out of protection. 

You could hear the footsteps getting closer. The wedge was small and Hongjoong almost lost his footing and tripped but you held him steady and allowed him to brace himself against the wall that you rested your back to. You were enveloped in his scent– deep, earthy and manly. It felt like home.

Home. The same jab in your heart at the thought because Yunho’s scent of freshness and ocean felt the same to you. 

You could not do this. You could not spend another minute so close to Hongjoong and not lose your entire sense of self and crumble to the ground in ashes–

Hongjoong probably noticed your breathing getting quicker. He tucked your head in his chest and you clutched at his side. He must think that you were doing this out of fear, but fear was the last thing on your mind right now. It was… the lack of it that was making you tremble right now. That despite being moments away from being discovered and possibly held responsible for ‘breaking the traditions and engaging in improper behaviour’, you did not care.

All that mattered was Hongjoong and his fingers tangling in your hair, his protective embrace, his breath caressing your temple, him and only him–

“Hey!” An unfamiliar distant voice sounded. “Report to the station! Time to change shifts!”

The footsteps stopped. The man said something in response and then the footsteps started to fade away until they were no longer, and the only sound around you was the one of two beating hearts.

Hongjoong did not dare move. He did not move a muscle. He didn’t dare breathe in relief. He was slowly realising why you were holding on to him like this. 

At some point, your breaths synchronised. Your chests rose and fell in rhythm. It was intimate like nothing else– the feeling of being one. One time, you had hugged Yunho long enough to experience that too. That time, you felt as giddy as a child.

This time… it was different. 

It was always different with Hongjoong. 

You soaked up every bit of his warmth and then mustered every bit of your courage to let him go. You could not face him now– not after making all those promises about being friends and nothing more, not after he had dismissed your feelings as anger and exhaustion. You let him go and in a flash, you started to walk away.

Except this time, Hongjoong was following.

“Princess,” he called, pain lacing his voice. “Please, look at me–”

“Leave me alone,” you declared, taking a sharp turn to the right to the abandoned part of the castle. You needed to be alone with your thoughts right now, away from all prying eyes.

“Just… wait–” Hongjoong grabbed your hand right when you were about to turn and you let out a shriek, a stinging sensation growing in your arm–

“Oh, saints,” Hongjoong cried out when you finally stopped. He looked at the wall. There was a nail sticking out and him pulling you so rashly resulted in a long gash across your wrist. 

You hissed in pain when you drew the fabric of your sleeve away, revealing the damage. It didn’t look deep, but it was still painful and bleeding. Hongjoong drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and started to tie it around your wrist.

With trembling hands.

“I– I’m so sorry,” he whispered, dabbing at your arm with the edge of his sleeve to wipe the blood around your wound. With both shaking hands, he cradled your wrist with worry in his eyes. “Princess… your wrist– this could leave a scar–”

“Hongjoong,” you shook your head. “It’s okay. It will heal. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It is,” he almost looked offended to hear that. “You shouldn’t have so many scars on your body. You are the princess and the future queen–”

“I’m just a human, like you,” you corrected. “We bleed all the same.”

Hongjoong wasn’t having any of it. He was almost shaking. He looked at you and you thought that there were tears in his eyes.

“You always get hurt because of me,” his voice was also trembling now. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Hongjoong,” you sighed, pulling him towards the nearest room. All the rooms in this part of the castle were empty and if you were lucky, unsupervised, at least for a few minutes since the shift change was happening. You scanned the room– it appeared to be a study room with chairs scattered everywhere.

Now that you had better light, Hongjoong finished tying the handkerchief around your wrist properly, his hands shaking awfully.

“When you got that scar on your back… that was my fault too,” Hongjoong admitted in a small voice. “I was the one who challenged you to hunt at new grounds, even though I knew the storm was coming.”

“You were also the one who found me,” you reminded him. “I might have died of the cold otherwise,” you said with a laugh.

“Don’t say that,” Hongjoong’s gaze was fierce but his eyes… 

Oh, he looked heartbroken. 

“That was not your fault,” you said softly, your hand shaking slightly now, more from the heartache than the pain. Hongjoong inspected your hand closely. “This isn’t either–”

With his still shaking hands, he brought your hand to his lips and started to kiss your fingers one by one, muttering apologies. You could do nothing but watch. He gently seated you on a chair nearby and sank to the ground, kissing your palm and resting his head on your knees.

This was the strongest man you knew, reduced to this. On his knees, apologising for the things he had no control over and kissing your hands as if that could make things better, as if that could patch you right up. 

“Joong,” you called, overwhelmed. “Joong, look at me.”

He did and your resolve crumbled. You cupped his face with your free hand and lowered yourself to meet his lips, a sigh of relief escaping the both of you as soon as your lips brushed. 

Hongjoong remained unmoving. He let you kiss his lips for a few moments before he almost whimpered and answered with everything in him. He craned his neck up and met your lips and your tongue in a frenzy as if he couldn’t believe that this was happening.

You couldn’t either. This couldn’t be real– the butterflies in your stomach, the heat coursing throughout your body begging you to never let him go. You pulled him up, tired, and spread your legs so he could wedge his left knee between them to balance himself. Now that he was towering over you, you saw the darkness in his eyes before he devoured your lips.

This was nothing like the kiss with Yunho. That had been experimental, restrained yet loving, but this?

This was pure, raw desire. The need to be with one another, the need to be one, to mold yourself with the other. Hongjoong’s hands shifted from your neck to your shoulders, pushing the sleeves away and swiftly unbuttoning the top few buttons so that he could run his hands along the expanse of your collarbones. He explored the cavity of your mouth and you sank lower, giving yourself entirely to him and gasping when his knee made contact with your core.

Hongjoong didn’t stop. He let you catch your breath while he kissed and licked at your skin, pecked along your collarbone and then crouched to inspect the scar on your back that was now visible.

He traced it with his fingertips and you bent slightly to give him a better view. To your surprise, he kissed it tenderly. Before you could respond, he was back and kissing your earlobe, tracing his lips along your jaw and you gladly met his lips again, slow and meaningful, your hands clutching at his collar.

This time when he drew away, he found your eyes wet with tears and his own blurry. Oh, you both had made a big, big mistake. Hongjoong bent down and kissed both your eyelids and tasted your tears on his lips. He wiped your cheeks and looked at you, utterly broken.

“You own my mind and my soul,” Hongjoong confessed, planting a sweet kiss on your lips. “How will I ever recover from this?”

“How will I?” You asked, almost pleading. 

“You have Yunho,” he reminded you.

“But…” you cradled his jaw, drinking in his features. “He’s not you. He’s different.”

“He’s meant for you,” Hongjoong gently reminded you. “As you are meant for him.”

“If we’re not meant for each other, then why does it feel like parting from you would kill me?” You asked, tilting your head, your noses brushing. “Don’t you feel the same?” 

Your lips brushed. None of you pulled away yet none of you dared to take another step.

“Maybe in another life,” Hongjoong mused with a sad smile. “Maybe in another world, we are together. In this one, I’m just grateful that I got to taste your lips and feel your love, Princess. I cannot be selfish. You’re not mine to keep.”

He drew back with immense struggle and you held his wrist. He didn’t pull away. He helped you stand up and after deliberation, decided to hug you one last time.

“I think we need some distance and some time… away. From each other,” Hongjoong said, his hands tangling in your hair and his body molding into yours. 

You knew that his words made sense, but you couldn’t help the sobs that wracked throughout your body. “Hush, now. I…”

His voice trembled and he cleared his throat, drawing away and wiping your tears again. This time, he affectionately kissed your forehead. “Let’s go get your hand treated, love. There are already enough scars on your body.”

“Just the one,” you laughed through tears. “And now a big, big one–”

“I’m sorry–”

“On my heart,” you corrected and he sighed. “How are we going to treat that?”

Hongjoong smiled sadly. He didn’t have an answer. As soon as you were ready to step out, he held your unhurt hand and led you out.

The two of you walked in silence towards the medical wing but on your way, it was Yunho who encountered you, confused for a moment before he spotted your bleeding wrist.

“Good heavens, are you alright?” Yunho asked and inspected your hand. You and Hongjoong shared a look before Hongjoong straightened.  

“Caught her sneaking around in dark corridors. Unguarded,” he sent his trademark glare in your direction. You were surprised that he could act right now. You were tired enough to not respond at all. “I was taking her to the medical wing. Can you take over?”

Yunho observed Hongjoong for a moment too long. He didn't miss the wetness in his eyes. Hongjoong was a great actor but some emotions, even he could not hide.

Yunho nodded sombrely and Hongjoong said something about being late for a meeting with Wooyoung. Yunho took your hand and led you silently to the medical wing. 

The nurse treated your hand, letting you know that the wound wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. She gave you a pill for pain after finding you holding back tears and when she went, Yunho smiled and pressed the pout on your lips with his thumb.

“Does it hurt that much?” He asked. “I thought you were a strong girl, Princess.”

“I was,” you cried. “But… it hurts so, so much.”

Yunho brought you in for a hug and let you cry your heart out. You were unable to control the tears and you were too tired to think of an explanation to give to Yunho right now. You simply sobbed until you got tired and shut your eyes.

Yunho caressed your hair and let you be, occupied with his own thoughts. 

He was sure now– there was something between you and Hongjoong. He had hardly ever seen Hongjoong with tear-stained eyes, and both occasions had to do something with you. The last time he saw Hongjoong like that was when he found you in the storm after you got lost hunting. At that time, he figured that Hongjoong had been overwhelmed with the idea of something happening to you, which was understandable– Yunho himself had felt the same.

But this time… it was undeniable. He was aware that your tears tonight were not because of the wound on your hand but the one in your heart. 

You looked up at Yunho after resting a bit and found him watching you with a faint smile. He asked if you felt better and you thanked him for tolerating the mess that you had become. He only smiled and accompanied you to your chamber, making sure your maids gave you something warm to drink before leaving with an affectionate kiss to your forehead.

You settled down in your bed and played every moment you had spent with Yunho just now. Even after everything with Hongjoong, you still viewed Yunho just the same– your love, a piece of your heart. Your soulmate, you used to call him. You stood by it now too. Your feelings for the young prince had not changed one bit.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, kissing Hongjoong only made you more sure that your heart was equally divided for both the princes. Choosing one over the other would break something in you that would never heal. You could not live the rest of your life with Yunho while watching Hongjoong from the sidelines, or spend the rest of your life with Hongjoong after breaking Yunho’s heart. It would be the cruelest punishment to one or the other.

If you could not have them both… you would prefer to have none of them. That would be your punishment for being so selfish and letting your heart yearn for both the sun and the moon when there should only be a place for one.

Hongjoong had decided to leave early for his home, claiming that there were some ‘urgent matters’ that he needed to address. 

However, Yunho was aware that there were no such matters. As Hongjoong checked to see if he had all of his belongings, Yunho stood by his door with folded arms, watching.

“Are you really going to give me the silent treatment?” Yunho asked. Hongjoong had been avoiding eye contact since Yunho found him accompanying you to the hospital wing two days ago. “Both of you?”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong asked, still not looking at the younger prince.

“Our princess is pretending to be too busy with ‘work’,” Yunho scoffed. “Care to share what transpired between the two of you that night?”

Hongjoong finally looked at Yunho. “Nothing happened. She was spying at Sieun and I saved her from what could have been a dangerous incident, and she got hurt in the process.”

“Is that why she cried in my arms the whole night?” Yunho looked hurt now, and it broke Hongjoong’s heart. “Come on. Talk to me, Joong. You know that you are my best friend and I trust you.”

Trust. Hongjoong wanted to laugh. He had played with Yunho’s trust. He had compromised your chastity. How would Yunho react if he learned that Hongjoong had touched you in places that he hadn’t either? 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Hongjoong’s voice was thick with tension. “There is no explanation that I can offer you right now. Ask the princess about her emotions– I’m not answerable for what she feels.”

“But you are answerable for your own feelings,” Yunho stressed. “So tell me what you feel about y/n.”

Hongjoong stopped in his tracks. He was glad that his back was facing Yunho right now. Composing himself, he turned around. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

Yunho was smiling knowingly now. “You can pretend that you are not in love with her, but I am no stranger to that look in your eyes when you see her. You, my friend, are bewitched by her. Your eyes… they always search for her. The way you look at her makes me wonder if I love her as much as you do.”

Hongjoong appeared stricken. “That is not true.”

“I would believe you,” Yunho sighed deeply, his expressions turning to stone, “if y/n did not look at you the same way.”

For a few moments, the princes watched each other. For Hongjoong, he was recalling every moment that he had spent with Yunho– never had they disagreed on something. They hardly ever argued and even though they did not always see eye to eye, they wished the best for each other. They loved and respected the other more than their own self.

For Yunho… he was trying to gauge Hongjoong’s reactions. Hongjoong was good at hiding his emotions, but he could not hide his feelings. Yunho was confused about many things, and he thought that he could certainly begin by confirming Hongjoong’s feelings for you.

“She does not look at me like you think she does,” Hongjoong shook his head. “She loves you. She wants to marry you. I’m nothing to her–”

“That’s a lie,” Yunho said calmly. “Just… just tell me what you feel about her, Hongjoong. I need to hear it from your mouth– I promise that it wouldn’t affect my relationship with the princess. I know that she loves me very much and wishes to marry me, but I am not a fool and I also know that she has some feelings for you too. I would never hurt her, so just… tell me. Please.”

“And what good would learning about my feelings do any of us?” Hongjoong scoffed. “Except break your heart and break my resolve?”

Yunho took a deep breath. He took a step towards Hongjoong but the elder prince retracted. Yunho paused, unsure how to convince him.

“If I tell you that I love her… with all of my heart and my soul,” Hongjoong began, voice guarded. “If I tell you that every moment I spend away from her, knowing that she will never be mine, kills me… if I tell you that now that I–”

Yunho urged Hongjoong to carry on. Perhaps, it was the accepting eyes or the fact that Yunho was Yunho, Hongjoong’s other half, that made Hongjoong surrender and give the truth away. 

“If I tell you that now that I have had a taste of her lips and her skin… would that be enough for you to give her up?”

Yunho’s eyes flashed for a second. His jaw clenched and unclenched but he quickly guarded himself.

You, the princess, were not an object. You were not Yunho’s, or Hongjoong’s. Yunho had no right to get angry at what you both did when he himself had done the same. He had no right to reprimand Hongjoong, except for the fact that he did it knowing that you and Yunho intended to marry, but… could he blame him?

“I would not give her up,” Yunho announced. “Because if I did, that would mean that I never loved her enough in the first place.”

Hongjoong smiled. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear. You’re a lucky man, Yunho. The princess… she’ll forget about me one day. I will try not to interfere between you two anymore and stay in the background after you get married. The less she sees me, the better it is.”

With that, Hongjoong picked his bag. He stood in front of Yunho and met his eyes, a fallen soldier. “Take care of her, Yunho. And… I’m sorry for my actions. I really am.”

Hongjoong patted Yunho’s arm and was about to leave the room when Yunho finally found the right words.

“So I guess you do not love her enough to fight for her.”

Hongjoong froze in his tracks. He turned, expecting to see Yunho angry but he had a deadly calm look on his face and it irked him very much. “What did you say?”

“That is your philosophy, right?” Yunho challenged. “If you give up, that means that you never loved her enough in the first place. So I take it that you never really loved y/n that much, huh? Did you get inside her head just to mess with her?”

Hongjoong was a raging animal– he dropped his bag and was at Yunho’s throat in a second.

“Do not make light of my feelings,” Hongjoong growled, fisting Yunho’s collar. “I’m giving up out of respect for you, for our bond, because I do not wish to break your heart and take your love away from you.”

“Does that make you a bigger person?” Yunho questioned and Hongjoong let him go, catching his breath.

“What… what exactly do you want to hear, Yunho?” Hongjoong asked, confused. “Are you looking for a fight?”

“I’m looking for a solution,” Yunho cried out, taking a deep breath. “You think I care about manmade traditions of chastity anymore? You think that confessing that you kissed the princess would make us fight? Did you think that you could go home bloody and battered and it would solve everything?”

Yunho sighed deeply, taking a seat and calming himself. Hongjoong waited for him to continue and when he finally looked at him, Hongjoong braced himself.

“For all these talks about us respecting the traditions,” Yunho said with a light laugh. “We broke it too, Joong. We kissed too. You’re not special.”

“Ouch,” Hongjoong retorted, sitting at the edge of the bed near Yunho. “Didn’t peg you as the rebellious type, Yunho.”

“I didn’t either,” Yunho smiled. “Just tell me that you love her as much as I do.”

“I do,” Hongjoong confessed. “Just as much, if not more.”

“Then we can leave the decision to the princess,” Yunho mused. 

“She will choose you. She has to,” Hongjoong looked pained. “You’re the future king. I will not snatch that away from her just because of my selfishness.”

“I don’t have to be the future king–”

“You will take no such steps,” this time, Hongjoong took the reins. “I am going back to solve the matter of our hierarchy once and for all. As soon as you earn the title of the Crown Prince, I will send a proposal to y/n’s parents on your behalf. You will get married to her and live happily ever after.”

“Then what about you?” Yunho looked equally as hurt. “You love her. You always have.”

“And I will continue to do so, silently,” Hongjoong confirmed. “But I will not be selfish. That’s not me. As long as you two are happy, that would mean the world to me.”

“But–”

“Stop looking for solutions when they don’t exist,” Hongjoong got up. “You and y/n will get married. That’s final.”

Hongjoong didn’t wait to hear what Yunho had to offer. He left the room, feeling considerably content. Now that he did not have to hide anything from Yunho, he felt as light as a feather. He hadn’t realised how much betraying Yunho and hiding his feelings from him had weighed him down. 

But in his carriage, on his way to exit the Kingdom of Wonderland, he kept thinking about what Yunho had said. How Yunho had acted. He had to be imagining things, but why was Yunho not mad at him for what he had done? Why was he still worried about Hongjoong and how he would cope with the heartbreak? 

Yunho could have beaten him to a pulp just for touching you. Yunho was far stronger. Hongjoong would have let him– he had no right to fight back. Instead, Yunho was looking for a solution. Did Yunho think that all three of you could have a happily ever after? That was not possible.

Hongjoong decided that he had to move on– for you, and more importantly, for Yunho. He would have you both marry each other– it would genuinely make him the happiest. If you were marrying someone else, he would have fought for you valiantly, but because this was Yunho, he would lay down his arms with a smile, for it didn’t hurt very much to imagine you and him together. It only hurt because he could no longer be with you.

Hongjoong was about to shut his eyes and take a nap when his carriage came to a halt abruptly and he heard the sound of his guards yell and load their guns and unsheathe their swords. His heart sank in his feet but he quickly bent to retract his own gun from under his seat, awaiting his bodyguard’s orders.

“An ambush?” Hongjoong asked in a low voice. “We dispatched a decoy too, didn’t we?”

“There must be someone on the inside who betrayed us,” the guard said. How ironic. “Your Highness, please wait inside while I inspect the matter–”

Except his bodyguard got shot right in the head, the bullet barely escaping Hongjoong. Hongjoong was surprised for a few moments but he quickly gathered himself, saying a silent prayer and straightening his shoulders.

Then he exited the carriage with a deadly look in his eyes.

“If you soldiers value your lives, we will talk and negotiate,” Hongjoong announced. “Otherwise, I cannot promise that we will make it out alive.”

You and Yunho were in the dining hall, chatting after everyone had left, when Jeongin came running, out of breath, with news that Hongjoong’s carriage– not the decoy, but the actual carriage– was found empty and bloodstained, all the soldiers and guards accompanying him dead with more bodies of the enemy found but no signs of the prince.

For a moment, your vision blackened and you couldn’t hear anything. You could tell that someone was calling your name and someone was shaking you and tapping your cheek but you could only think of one thing–

Hongjoong. How he had left– without saying goodbye. How the last things he had said to you were about his love for you and his regret for leaving you. 

“I– I’m okay,” you managed after a few moments, Yunho and Jeongin crowding over you with concern in their eyes. You took a few sips of water, reminding yourself that this was not about you and that you had to think.

You took Yunho’s hand and squeezed it, letting him be vulnerable for a few moments too. You looked at Jeongin. “Who else knows?”

“Father and mother, and their advisors,” Jeongin said. “The three of us.”

“Good,” you pursed your lips. “How are we proceeding?”

“A search party is being arranged and sent right away. I think we have to wait and look for a trail– if there is not a body, that means he must be alive and either taken hostage or on the run. Father said that we will wait until we have a lead.”

“Can we trust our soldiers?” You asked out loud. Yunho was probably thinking the same considering how he nodded. “The decoy is safe while the actual carriage was attacked. Someone inside the castle has betrayed us, I… I’m so sorry, Yunho.”

“It’s not your fault,” he insisted. “Can I suggest something?” 

“Of course,” you and Jeongin said simultaneously. 

“I would like to personally go and search for Hongjoong,” Yunho said and you and Jeongin looked at each other, conflicted. You were both aware that even though it was very dangerous for Yunho to step out, especially from a political point of view, Yunho would not stop on anyone’s orders. “The enemy is probably the rebel groups from Neverland who might use Hongjoong as a means to negotiate. There isn’t anyone else who would do this, right?”

“Not in our knowledge,” Jeongin said and you confirmed. “Anyone that might have ill feelings for your kingdom or Hongjoong personally?”

“Not that I know of,” Yunho thought about it, the tension apparent on his face. “I have a suggestion that we make this public. If this really is Neverland’s doing, the public backlash– especially because the other royals need to go home soon– will pressurise the enemy to reveal themselves. I think this is our best bet right now.”

“And once they learn that most of the kingdoms are siding with yours in search of Hongjoong,” you continued. “If we play this right…”

Yunho nodded. “While I search for Hongjoong, will you look into who the insider could be?”

“Let me come with you. I can fight–”

“Princess,” Yunho said softly, clasping your hands. “No.”

You looked at Yunho helplessly. He did not need to explain himself. His tone was final. He simply was not going to risk your life while searching for Hongjoong.

“I will go in your stead–” 

“You’re too young, Jeongin,” Yunho smiled gently at him. “Instead, I have another task for you. I need you to look into the insider with y/n and prepare to confront anyone who dares to become an obstacle. Use your authority as the crown prince if your sister’s message does not get across. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Jeongin nodded, sure.

“And in case… In case things go wrong…”

“Yunho,” you called but he shook his head, taking a moment to brace himself. 

“Take care in case things go wrong.”

You were both about to respond but Wooyoung, San and Jongho came rushing inside, looking stricken with worry.

“We just heard,” Wooyoung started, out of breath. “Let us know how we can help.”

~

It was going to do you no good to simply sit and wait to hear back from the princes. Each one of them had split up with their own search teams despite your father warning them about how this could go very, very wrong. Each of them had also sent a letter to their home– that in case they got hurt, it would be their own fault and no one else’s, for they could not leave a friend behind. 

You supposed the princes were very tightly knit. Meeting each other annually and living together for weeks, or sometimes even months did that. They were all out there risking their lives for Hongjoong, and you were not going to be idle. You decided to confront Sieun.

“It’s just a crazy coincidence to me,” you said in a deadly calm voice while Sieun sat by the fire in her room, growing paler by each second. “Hongjoong and I witness you exchanging a letter with some stranger after you admit that you know about Neverland’s conflict with us. We follow the stranger and almost get caught. Next thing we know, Hongjoong is on his way home and gets attacked.”

“I– I would never do something like that,” Sieun said weakly. “I respect Prince Hongjoong very much. He’s like a big brother to me, just like you are a big sister to me.”

“That’s why I am here asking you, Sieun,” you pleaded, this time softly. “This doesn’t have to end badly with secrets and lies. I promise that I will keep your privacy and not hurt you in any way. I… I thought it could be a letter between lovers–”

“No, I– the traditions–”

“Just hear me out,” you sat closer to her this time and took her hands. “If I suspected something like that, I would have let it go. It’s not my place to hold you accountable, though as a big sister, I could maybe offer you advice to be careful. But I suspected that this was political, which is why I invaded your privacy and followed that stranger. Hongjoong just happened to be there– he was not involved.. So can you help me? Help us?”

Sieun sniffed and wiped her tears. She thought about it for a few moments and straightened. “How can I do that?”

“You can start by letting me know if that man is involved with Neverland in any way,” you said. “If he is not, our discussion ends right here. I will pretend that we never had this chat.”

Sieun sighed deeply. She was younger than you yet right now, she looked much older– as if she had seen or heard too much. Her eyes appeared sunken and her hair unkempt. 

“That man is just one of the guards here,” Sieun finally admitted. “He is friends with a man in the Neverland embassy who sends letters to Neverland on my behalf.”

So Sieun was involved, and there was an insider. This was getting complicated. “Can I ask what business you have with Neverland? If it involves Wonderland or Eden in any way? And… can I ask who the recipient of the letter is?”

“Wonderland and Eden are not involved, but I can see in hindsight now that I may have made some errors and talked too much,” Sieun was fidgeting anxiously now. “The recipient is Prince Jiwoong. We… we grew close during his last visit to my kingdom and we have been exchanging letters since.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” you smiled. “I will keep your secret, but you have to tell me if the prince ever mentions Wonderland or Eden.”

“Not Eden,” Sieun admitted. “He asked about who was attending. You know a few ships do depart to Neverland on regular intervals despite the weather conditions so that is how I get my correspondences to happen quickly. The reason your sailors refuse to take trade material in this weather is because they aren’t as good of sailors as Neverland ones. For the people of Neverland, sailing is a necessity.”

“Right,” you agreed. “And?”

“I thought it was strange, but over the course of our… correspondences, Prince Jiwoong has been asking for updates on Wonderland. I thought he was interested in you first but it became clear that he was fishing for some information. I didn’t give much to him, but I think my error is that not long ago, I told him that Wonderland was concerned about an attack on the guests during their stay here. I’m so sorry, Princess. I did not know that it would turn out to be this bad and dangerous–”

“It’s okay,” you assured, caressing Sieun’s head. “Jiwoong could have guessed that either way. I think he just needed a target, and I’m sure there was not enough time for you or someone else to report to Jiwoong that Hongjoong was the first to leave, and for Jiwoong to arrange this attack. At least not this one– Hongjoong decided to leave only two days ago, so.”

“Does that mean that I’ll be safe?” Sieun asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “You need extra security now. I’m worried Jiwoong or the Neverland soldiers will take it out on you. I’ll make sure you'll be safe, just… try not to correspond right now?”

“I can do that,” Sieun agreed.

“Thank you for trusting me, Sieun,” you smiled affectionately. “It means a lot.”

“I can’t believe Jiwoong would do something like this…” Sieun bit her lips. “Will Hongjoong be okay?” 

You looked at the young princess. She was as worried as everyone else, and perhaps the fact that she might have endangered Hongjoong would bother her until Hongjoong came back safely. 

If he came back safely.

“Let’s all pray that he is,” you muttered, shaking your head and clenching your fists. “I’m going to make sure that he is. Don’t go out alone anymore, okay? You have to stay safe too.”

Sieun nodded and you left her room, accompanied by your guards to your own room. 

Sleep did not come that night. With the princes out, you did not even bother getting into bed. You stayed on the couch, tossing and turning, waiting to hear back.

The first message you received was that they had found a trail of sorts. It appeared like Hongjoong had either gone somewhere or was taken by force– he had left something of his in the entire course of his path. Buttons from his dress, his ring, his jewellery– small, unnoticeable belongings. Yunho had followed it until it came to a stop at a certain location. The princes were going to search in the vicinity of that last spot now.

Either Hongjoong had run out of things to leave behind, or he had been unable to. You prayed that the former was the case.

Later that evening, you finally received a message. Hongjoong was being held hostage by a rebel group that Neverland was claiming to have no knowledge of. However, it was Sieun’s admission that had you thinking differently. Neverland– at least the embassy members here and not the royalty itself, in this case– definitely had everything to do with it.

Your parents were going to play safe because they were not aware. However, you were not going to sit still anymore.

“Princess,” your mother scolded. “It is dangerous for you to step outside. Hongjoong is Yunho’s responsibility now– I am sure that he will take care of it.”

“We are equally as responsible, if not more, mother,” you argued. Your father grunted in agreement or disapproval, you did not know. “I have information that the person who leaked the news of Hongjoong’s departure is a guard right here, in this castle. My source can recognise them. Do you understand the gravity of the situation now?”

“Then we pin it on the guard,” your father said. “If we shift the blame to Neverland, it is going to end badly, dear.”

“But Neverland is at fault, father,” you cried out. “The guard reported to the embassy. The embassy is Neverland’s representative here.”

“Royal involvement,” your father clarified. “There is no direct royal involvement.”

“But there is a political motive,” you reminded him. “Father… we have to threaten Neverland if we wish to get Hongjoong out of this alive. I… I cannot bear the thought of something happening to him. Please.”

Your mother inspected you closely while you fought back tears. By this point, your head hurt and your heart felt numb after aching for so long. 

“I thought you liked Yunho,” she commented. “Was I wrong?”

“You were not,” you sighed. “This is not about who I like. This is a life, mother. The prince of Eden. Yunho’s closest friend. My best friend. He… he is my everything, please. Let me save him. Let me perform my duties.”

“If this goes wrong…”

“Then I will take responsibility,” you straightened, meeting eyes with the King. “I promise.”

“Go,” your mother said first, to your surprise. “But don’t do anything stupid, and keep Yunho by your side.”

“Okay, thank you– oh, goodness,” you cried out in relief. “Thank you.”

~

The Neverland embassy was situated not far from the castle, towards the east near the sea. It was an ideal location– close to the port to correspond with the Neverland natives who travelled back and forth regularly, to monitor trade and to conduct business with the royals and politicians of Wonderland.

You had visited here a few times, accompanying your father and your brother for meetings. Never did you think you would march here with soldiers and Yunho by your side, a black flag raised to indicate the severity of the matter.

The embassy members did not seem surprised. The foreign affairs minister of Neverland, Mr. Lee, welcomed you and Yunho with a restrained smile. You thought there was a knowing glint behind his eyes. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one involved– he was notorious for being a manipulative dealer, always extorting something beneficial even from the worst exchanges on the cost of anything but his own compromise or sacrifice.

“Tea?” He offered as he led you inside. You motioned the soldiers to stand by the door and you and Yunho did not take seats. You were to remain standing.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” you started. “Prince Kim Hongjoong of Eden is being held hostage by your embassy members.”

“A bold statement, Your Highness,” Mr. Lee commented. “Careful of your words– you never know when they will be used against you.”

“I have a message for Prince Jiwoong,” you ignored him and continued. This time, he paused while in the middle of pouring himself tea. It was just for a second, but enough for Yunho to notice and look at you in approval. “Tell the prince that if Prince Hongjoong is not returned to us unhurt within three days, there will be consequences.”

“Please, take a seat,” Mr. Lee said politely this time. Yunho urged you to accept his offer and you both sat yourselves across from him. 

“You speak of consequences,” Mr. Lee commented.

“Well… The princes from Mist and Kiji are searching for their friend right now. The princess of the Kingdom of Hala is in my custody, safe. We have allies. I’m not sure Neverland has those right now.”

“From my understanding,” Mr. Lee began, “Prince Hongjoong left the castle two days ago, with a decoy. Is it not one of your guards then, that should be held accountable? Why would you assume that Neverland has something to do with it?”

“Come on, Mr. Lee,” Yunho smiled dangerously. “Let’s not pretend that Neverland is not antsy because of the recent trade conflict, and let’s not act like one of the royal guards was not a messenger delivering letters to someone here, who delivered those letters to Prince Jiwoong.”

Mr. Lee clenched his jaw, thinking. “It takes our sailors three days to make a one-way trip to Neverland. That’s too short a time frame that you demand.”

“We know that you have the best sailors,” you smirked. “From your words, if memory serves me right, your sailors can cross the waters in the worst conditions within a day and a half, right?” 

By now, Mr. Lee was flushed heavily. He sipped his tea, unable to meet eyes. 

“Then I suppose three days sounds about right. I’ll let the time touch the fourth day, if need be, as long as the prince is safe, but I swear that if I see a scratch on him–”

Yunho rested his hand over yours and you shut your mouth, seething. “He better be safe and sound, Mr. Lee. If I was you, I would be running to make sure nobody touches a hair on his body.”

With that, you and Yunho got up and left. You did not relax until you were back at the castle. The others had returned too– there was no point of a search party anymore. All you had to do was wait for Mr. Lee to arrange Hongjoong’s safe return.

You sat in Yunho’s arms, finally in privacy. Your maids and guards all left you alone tonight. They knew you needed each other, and they were not going to interfere. 

“I have to do something,” Yunho sighed, caressing your arm. “I can’t just rely on Mr. Lee.”

“You have searched everywhere,” you reminded him. “Get some sleep tonight. You can leave early in the morning– make sure you eat something.”

“I don’t know,” Yunho sighed, tired. “I… do you know why Hongjoong was going back all of a sudden?”

Your heart sank but Yunho continued, his arms embracing you just a fraction tighter. “He was going to solve the matter of our hierarchy. He insisted that he would pass the crown to me. He said… he said that you deserved to be a queen and not just a princess.”

“Why does he think that I care about that?” You sniffed. “I just need you both alive and happy, like you always have been. It doesn’t matter who the king is.”

“That’s what I said, but he wouldn’t take a no for an answer,” Yunho said with a laugh. “He can be stubborn like that. He believes that I will make a great king, but he does not know how incredible of a leader he is. How selfless he is. I was going to pass the crown to him, but he decided to rush and beat me to it.”

“He should take this situation as a sign,” you joked. Yunho chuckled, agreeing. 

You drew back, looking at Yunho properly. There were circles under his eyes and a scratch on his neck, perhaps from his search in the forest. You caressed his jaw lightly and moved to kiss his lips slowly, to offer some relief to him. He took it, his grip around you loose and undemanding.

“Hongjoong will return safely,” you assured after parting. “I believe it. You have to as well.”

“I believe it,” Yunho nodded. You smiled and kissed him some more before resting back in his arms.

At some point, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, drained. You were woken up by sharp knocks and your guard came rushing inside.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Prince, Princess,” he bowed. You shook your head, assuring him that he didn’t interrupt anything. “Mr. Lee has sent a message. They are releasing Prince Hongjoong. He asked you both to come to the embassy to retrieve the prince. He’s alive and well, Mr. Lee claims.”

You and Yunho looked at each other in surprise, sighing in relief and hugging each other, shedding tears of happiness. The guard watched you both fondly with a smile before dismissing himself.

“That was quicker than I expected,” Yunho kissed your forehead. “You certainly know how to play the game, Princess. Your threats worked.”

You sighed happily, getting up and reminding him that he should get ready as soon as possible. Within a matter of minutes, you both were on the way to the embassy, bracing yourselves for every possible situation. Things could still go wrong. You would not let your guard down until Hongjoong would return back to the castle.

Mr. Lee welcomed you both sombrely this time– none of his attitude in sight. You both marched inside and as soon as Yunho spotted Hongjoong, he was crushing him in a hug. You kept your emotions in check and stood watching with a mere hint of a smile on your face, your attention focused on Mr. Lee and alert for any suspicious activity from the guards.

“What about the people who attacked the prince?” You inquired.

“On the way to the court,” Mr. Lee assured. “I am sorry for the trouble, Princess. It appears that I should have kept my men in check, but I assure you that the royal family is not involved.”

You stifled a scoff. Like hell they weren’t. 

“Ask your prince to clear his schedule and come for a meeting so that we can solve our conflicts once and for all,” you looked at Mr. Lee. “Prince Jiwoong is a friend. If he really is not involved in any of this, I will expect his presence soon.”

“Noted, Your Highness.”

You turned to look at the duo. Yunho was inspecting Hongjoong carefully while Hongjoong assured him that he was fine. He met eyes with you and you passed only a nod.

This was not the place for anything else.

Your way back was silent. Hongjoong rode with Yunho in one carriage, you with your guards in another. As soon as you entered the castle walls, he was bombarded with hugs and kisses and everything in between from the princes and princesses. You smiled at their interaction and excused yourself to report to your parents after which you went to your room.

You excused all your servants and stood by the window with tears in your eyes. Tears of relief, of happiness, everything. Hongjoong was safe. 

He was okay. You saved him– you all did.

A knock sounded and you opened the door, surprised to find Yunho there. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked. “Is Hongjoong okay? Did he get a medical checkup–”

“He’s fine,” Yunho assured you with a laugh. “I’m here to make sure that you are okay.”

“I… I am,” you said, sniffing. Your nose was still runny from all the crying earlier. Yunho raised a brow.

“Are you going to lie to my face now?”

“No… okay, I may have cried tears of happiness because Hongjoong made it back safely. A girl can cry, right?” You laughed lightly. Yunho wasn’t having any of it, though.

“Then how come you haven’t even said hello to him?”

You pursed your lips guiltily while Yunho folded his arms. 

“How long are you going to avoid him?” Yunho asked. “How long are you going to pretend that you don’t love him?”

Someone must have snatched the ground from under your feet because you almost stumbled. “Yunho–”

“I’m not asking for an explanation,” Yunho shook his head. “Just… he’s here. Let him inside, my love. Stop creating walls around yourself– I don’t like you like this.”

Yunho did not wait for an answer. He motioned to who you assumed was Hongjoong. You turned before you could see him because you were sure that your eyes would give you away. Did Yunho know everything? 

“I’m going to be in the study,” Yunho said after you heard the door close. “Take your time, and please… for the love of god, stop avoiding each other and stop avoiding your feelings.”

You heard Hongjoong grunt uncomfortably but Yunho left with a wink thrown in your direction. You were thoroughly confused.

“Hongjoong?” You whispered.

“I’m here,” he confirmed, moving closer behind you. “I’m sorry for making you so worried, my dear.”

“Don’t be,” you said, placing your hand over your mouth to stifle a sob. The tears were enough. You stood with your arms folded, unable to face the prince, unable to say anything. You had to get a grip, but it was too much–

Except that when you felt Hongjoong’s arms wrap around your waist, it was suddenly all okay. Your mind cleared and you sighed in relief, letting him embrace you. He rested his cheek against your head, his lips ghosting over your temple. 

“I’m still sorry for parting like that,” Hongjoong said, nudging your cheek with the tip of his nose. Your back arched and you shut your eyes, drinking in every moment of this proximity. “It was reckless of me. That could have been our last conversation.”

“Don’t say that,” your voice was laced with pain. “Don’t you ever leave me like that, Joong.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, rocking you both back and forth for a few moments. “Won’t you look at me, love?”

It took immense effort to part. You turned in his embrace to face him and Hongjoong caressed your face lovingly. “You look like you were the hostage,” he teased. “I seem to be in a better condition than you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered. Hongjoong grinned, kissing your forehead affectionately. “Did they… did they hurt you?”

“It was a bloody mess at first,” Hongjoong told you. “But just a couple of bruises. They only meant to strike a deal using me but that clearly didn’t work because the princess decided to play smart.”

You observed Hongjoong closely. He did appear just fine– a bruise peeking on his chest, one on his wrist, probably some more covered by his clothes but he was fine. He was alive, safe, back in your arms.

You belonged here.

“You have no idea how scared I was,” you muttered. Now it was the anger speaking and Hongjoong’s smile fell. Your voice started to grow louder. “Don’t you ever, ever scare me like that, Kim Hongjoong. I swear to god that I will never speak to you if you leave me like this again– I… I could not sleep a wink! The thought of something happening to you– it would have been my fault, did you know that?”

“Princess–”

“Don’t you princess me!” You scolded him. From your peripheral, you could make out the distant figure of Yunho, probably stepping out to see if everything was alright. Hongjoong gripped you tighter while you tried to struggle away.

“You,” you smacked Hongjoong’s chest. “If something happened to you, I would have blamed myself for the rest of my life. Did you have to leave so soon? Was sharing the same space with me that difficult?”

“Of course not,” Hongjoong looked hurt. “I was being selfish.”

“Yes!” You smacked his chest again, hard, the corners of your lips drooping. “You’re a selfish, stupid man, Kim Hongjoong. Going to your kingdom to crown Yunho the king and make me the queen at what cost? At the cost of your life? At the cost of my love? I don’t need that title, Joong. I’m fine being stripped of all luxuries if that means you are alive and happy, did you realise that?” 

“My dear–”

“How would I… how would I have lived with myself?” You finally sobbed and Hongjoong held back his own tears. “I gave my heart to you and Yunho, split perfectly in two. How would I have lived with only half of my heart? If you can’t love me back, you should have never made me miserable like this. I feel like a sinner everyday,” you sobbed, Yunho closer now, also overwhelmed by your confession. “I feel like a sinner. I’m undeserving and selfish because I decided that if I can’t have you both, I… I would have none of you. It will kill me.”

You sobbed violently now, tired. There seemed to be no end to this pain, to the steps your heart had taken. Hongjoong looked at Yunho, helpless. Yunho smiled sadly, urging Hongjoong to hold you so he did. He wrapped you in his embrace and sank to the ground, letting you cry your heart out until you passed out in his arms from exhaustion, showered by kisses and pecks from both the princes who had huddled close to you.

“I did not realise how painful this was for her,” Hongjoong spoke in a low volume, caressing your hair. You were sound asleep now– apparently, you had not slept this whole time save for the few hours with Yunho this morning. “I am a foolish man, it seems.”

“Now you see why I search for a solution,” Yunho was warming your hands. He kissed your fingertips softly. “I can’t let her go. I know you can’t either. I know that she will not let either of us go.”

“There is no solution,” Hongjoong looked at Yunho. “You both marry each other, while I watch from the sidelines.”

“But… what if we change that?”

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “I know that look in your eyes. Scheming.”

“Listen,” Yunho shook his head. “I read probably every book and record in the library, searching for an instance like this. The only recorded ones are of kings with their several mistresses. If there was an instance of a queen or a princess having more than one partner, it is never mentioned.”

“For good reasons,” Hongjoong reminded the younger prince. “The world is cruel enough to women as it is.”

Yunho nodded. “If y/n is willing and if you are… I am open to a relationship like this, Joong.”

“Like what?”

“This,” Yunho motioned between them. The princes’ legs were almost tangled while you nested between them. “I really don’t mind such a relationship since it’s you.”

Hongjoong’s cheeks flushed at the possibility. He watched you and Yunho for a long time– how you held his hands subconsciously even in your sleep. 

“This is… surprising, to say the least,” Hongjoong started. “I’ve known you as a relatively reserved person, Yunho. Someone who respected the traditions of chastity and whatnot. Do you understand the implications of your offer? If word gets out, we might be stripped of our titles. All of us.”

“I understand,” Yunho assured. “I think it’s high time we put an end to this stupid tradition. When you become the king, you can do that.”

“I will not become the king–”

“You will,” Yunho shook his head. “Everything aside, there is no better leader for the Kingdom of Eden. It has to be you.”

“They will ask me to marry,” Hongjoong reminded him. “They will ask for offsprings.”

“She can decide who she would like to marry, and if she would ever like to have children,” Yunho kissed your hands again. “But I will let her know that I’m open to this kind of a relationship for the rest of my life. If she accepts… we will work out the technicals later.”

“I don’t know if you’re being gracious or being stupid,” Hongjoong scoffed. “This… this is reckless.”

“Neither,” Yunho almost smirked. “You know I hate to lose.”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “This is not funny.”

Yunho took a deep breath. “I would hate to lose either of you, okay?” He admitted. “I don’t want to part from her. I know she won’t part from me either. If this was anyone else, I would have fought back, but it’s you. I can’t lose you either. I know that if we decide to marry, you will create a wall and I will finally lose when I fail to break it or climb past it. I…”

Yunho took Hongjoong’s hand this time. Hongjoong looked at him in surprise.

“You are my best friend, and I love you dearly,” Yunho confessed. “You are my soulmate. You get me like no one else. You accept me for who I am. I cannot live without you, and I cannot live with the idea of you being so close yet so far away. I will give you anything you ask me to. If you asked me to give y/n up, I would have genuinely considered it. The decision is still hers– if she decides to leave me for you, I will accept it wholly, but if she decides to be with both of us, then there’s nothing better for me. I trust you with my heart and my soul, Joong.”

Hongjoong was overwhelmed. He squeezed Yunho’s hand after a moment, conveying everything that he could not with his eyes. Yunho smiled and shifted so that he was on the floor, his head resting on Hongjoong’s lap with you in his arms between them.

“Isn’t this nice?” Yunho asked. Hongjoong rested his back against the couch, finally chuckling. “We could spend the rest of our lives like this, the three of us. Think about it while I sleep. I haven’t really slept either.”

While Yunho closed his eyes and immediately passed out, Hongjoong watched him for a long time, caressing his hair now. His other half. That is who Yunho was.

Could this be possible? For the three of you to spend the rest of your lives in each other's arms?

At some point, Yunho and Hongjoong left the room. It would have been unwise to stay. However, the two had a talk with you the very next day and Yunho offered you something almost unbelievable. 

The two were going to leave soon, with the rest of the guests. Now that Neverland had accepted Wonderland’s demands to put a temporary halt on trade out of pure fear, things had finally calmed down. Hongjoong personally thanked Sieun for helping him out and you could tell that the weight was off her shoulders now. There was a celebration party and for the first time in a while, you had fun without worrying about anyone else.

It was a memory you would remember forever. Hongjoong and Yunho dancing with each other in the most silly manner, Wooyoung and you in a tango laughing your heads off, San and Minjeong making fun of Jongho’s charade while Jeongin and Sieun gave more ideas. Drinks circulated around and music filled everyone’s hearts. The adults let you all be, though you were sure that after tonight, they would be keeping an eye on San and Minjeong. There was certainly something going on there.

The farewell was a happy one. They all left within the same day at different times. You were appreciated for your hospitality and for your courage. You were invited everywhere and you promised everyone that you would definitely visit soon. They had offered their assistance  while searching for Hongjoong and you would be forever grateful for that. You decided to personally visit everyone with gifts and thank them over the course of the next few months.

Yunho and Hongjoong gave you 4 months time to think. One of them would become the crown prince within 2 months, though they would not descend the throne until the current King gave away his crown or passed away. None of them were in a rush, but the crown prince had to be decided. They allowed you to choose your partner after that.

Partner. Or partners. 

You had a choice to choose them both without judgement. 

It was daunting. Yunho and Hongjoong explained to you in depth what it would entail. The discussion took place in a good few sittings so that everyone would be clear of the dynamics if you decided to accept them both.

If Hongjoong was the next king, which he seemed to finally come to terms with– you suspected Yunho had threatened him with something but really, Hongjoong was the one for the role– he would be required to have children, but there were exceptions. Hongjoong could pass the crown to Yunho at any point in his life, or one of Yunho’s children, if any.

Yunho and Hongjoong were both adamant that they would not marry or have more partners in case that you decided to have them both as partners. You argued that they could change their mind but the look in their eyes, the sincerity… it made you think otherwise. 

In any case, you would have to marry one of them. If you marry Hongjoong, you would be obligated to have his child. If you married Yunho, you would not be obligated to have children. You told them that you did intend to have a family in future. You did not intend to let the royal bloodline of Eden die like this– this was risking a lot. If the people of Eden saw that there were no heirs anymore, it could get bad. 

So you made them promise that in case you were not able to bear children, the unmarried one would get married for the sake of a family. They would look for love, marry and have children. Though they hated the idea of it right now, you told them that if they could accept you with two partners, you could certainly do the same– for the sake of their kingdom. For the sake of a peaceful life.

Now, it was time for you to decide who to marry. 

It took a lot of thinking to get to a decision. If you married Hongjoong, Yunho would be left with neither the title nor a wife. That seemed unfair to Yunho, especially after all your promises to marry him. Hongjoong had talked to you in private and urged you to marry Yunho if you really did not care for the title of the queen after all. 

So when you made the decision, you sent two letters. One addressed to Yunho, and one addressed to Hongjoong, both containing just two words.

I do. 

It was a chaotic start to the big day of Hongjoong’s coronation as the next king of the Kingdom of Eden.

The three of you could hardly get any sleep. Hongjoong’s restlessness was valid but Yunho and you both were perhaps as nervous as him, and heaps more excited. Yunho was extremely happy to see Hongjoong become the king. He insisted that Hongjoong was a natural leader and that he would make a far better ruler than Yunho ever could. Hongjoong insisted otherwise. You agreed with both– the two had full potential to become great kings, but even to you, Hongjoong’s coronation felt very natural.

The three of you spent the night in each other’s arms. Hongjoong shared his worries and anxieties about the future and how the weight of the crown felt heavy already. Yunho promised to share his burden, create a bond like their fathers who had shared the crown as well. You spent hours caressing Hongjoong’s hair to comfort him.

This was becoming a routine– spending the night together, the three of you. After your marriage to Yunho, this was your new home, right between the two of them. Your chamber was designed by Hongjoong to be between his and Yunho’s, with a door in your bedroom opening to your husband’s for convenience. 

A door in your study opened to Hongjoong’s study. As his personal advisor, this was also for convenience, though it served another purpose– Hongjoong sharing your bed.

It took you a while to get used to these new dynamics. After spending your whole life believing that being reserved and suppressing your desires was the acceptable way to live, especially as a royal figure, breaking the old tradition was not an easy feat. Simply kissing Yunho and being with Hongjoong had felt like a sin earlier. It took you a while to learn that being with the both of them was okay. 

Sure, you had to be careful. For the public, Yunho was your husband and it was going to stay that way. You had no desire to explain yourself to anyone. Yunho and Hongjoong both wanted you. You all wanted each other. That was enough to last you a lifetime.

Anyone who thought that there was something between you and Hongjoong would easily dismiss their thoughts since Yunho was so obviously in love with you. His eyes dripped with unfiltered affection whenever he looked at you, especially now that you were his wife. He was proud of you and flaunted you publicly. And he loved Hongjoong dearly too. The public may have been curious about the relationship between the three of you at first but now, they just believed what you made them see– that the three of you were tightly knit and loved and respected each other. 

It was out of that respect and love that Yunho urged Hongjoong to take the crown. Even after your deal of marrying Yunho so that Hongjoong could be the king, Hongjoong was unsure. He insisted that he did not need the crown and that he would spend a happy life as the second prince to Yunho. Yunho, however, was not going to rest until Hongjoong became king. It was possible that he felt obligated to give Hongjoong something– after all, he had taken you as his wife. He would not be selfish and take the crown too. 

Hongjoong joked that if he never had children, the crown would be going back to Yunho’s bloodline, but that was a later problem. Right now, Hongjoong needed to become the next king of Eden. His parents wanted to crown him in their lifetime, and Yunho’s parents wished to see a coronation in their lifetime too.

It was no wonder that Yunho and Hongjoong were the way they were– so full of love. Their parents were very close. It was rare to have such a bond when rivalry arose even among siblings. You vowed to yourself that if Hongjoong ever married someone, especially with the intention of having his own children, that you would love and accept them as the princes accepted you despite your unusual desire to have them both. 

This was the first step towards crowning Hongjoong. He would become king– was he not a king already, you wondered? His thoughts and words were meticulous, his steps grand and his demeanour composed. He called you ‘my queen’. In your heart, he had always been the king. 

You smiled at the thought and then realised that you were zoning out again. Yeosang, Yunho’s Right Hand, waited for a moment before calling your name.

“I think you need to find Prince Hongjoong,” he started, looking around. “He needs to wait in the next room– the event is about to start.”

“He’s probably hiding in one of his spots again,” Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s Right Hand, said with a sigh. “I need to welcome the foreign guests. Do you mind searching for him, Princess? Or should I send one of the guards?”

“No, I’ll go,” you assured him. You and Seonghwa both knew that Hongjoong did not like to be interrupted when he went into ‘hiding’. Sending a guard might spoil his mood, especially when he was so sensitive these days. “I just need to find Mingi, greet the guests that have arrived, make sure the king and the queen are seated, find Yunho’s parents–”

“Relax,” Mingi interrupted with a laugh and you sighed happily.

“That’s one thing off my list.”

“You can greet the guests later– get Hongjoong. And maybe find Yunho too,” Mingi sighed. “What am I the advisor for when he never takes my advice?”

“Never is an overstatement,” you winked at Mingi. “I’ll give him an earful.”

Mingi bowed sarcastically and you took off, gathering the fabric of your burgundy velvet gown in your hands and speed-walking towards his private library. That is probably where Hongjoong would be–

Except the library was empty. The roof, maybe? You thought and sent one of the guards ahead to ask the guards stationed at the roof’s entrance and confirm if the crown prince was there. A no came for an answer and you stood thinking.

These were two of his favourite spots to be alone at. The third was in a corner of the garden but you reckoned that he wouldn’t be there today. 

Was he in his room then?

With unsure steps, you walked towards the section of the castle where all three of you had your chambers, next to each other. Hongjoong had contributed to many architectural changes over the course of the years but this one was probably his most thoughtful work. He had corresponded with you a lot to make sure you had everything you needed. 

You told him that you simply needed the two of them by your sides, and he made that happen.

You went to your chamber. It was empty save for the guards outside. You decided to access Hongjoong’s chamber through the door that connected your studies, but a shadow in the corner of your eye caught your attention–

Someone was in your room.

You walked with guarded steps this time, relaxing instantly when you saw that it was Hongjoong. He was standing in front of your mirror, fixing his clothes and attempting to straighten his collar but struggling.

“Here,” you called gently, moving to fix it for him. He was caught by surprise but allowed you to smoothen his clothes. You ran your hands over the expanse of his chest when you were done, looking him in the eyes.

“Everyone’s trying to find you,” you said. “Yet you’re here in my room. I looked for you in your usual spots.”

“They didn’t feel comfortable today,” Hongjoong admitted, looking at himself in the mirror again. “This room… it’s warm. It is like a cocoon. I feel like I can hide here and be myself.”

Your heart melted at his words. For your room to feel like his safe space… you sighed happily. 

“Are you very nervous?” You asked the obvious and a small smile tugged at his lips. “What’s taking you so long this time? I thought you would steel your nerves and be present beforehand.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath. “I just keep wondering if I’m really fit to be the king. I… I am not like anyone of my predecessors, y/n. I will make changes to the kingdom, its laws and its traditions that my subjects might not like. What if I… what if I let everyone down?”

You cradled Hongjoong’s jaw and kissed his lips gently. 

“I am sure of one thing, and that is that you strive to make this kingdom feel like a safe space for all of your subjects,” you said. “That makes you the most empathetic king in history already.”

Hongjoong chuckled. You heard shuffling and soon, Yunho joined the two of you, leaning against the doorframe and watching you both with adoration.

“Tell him that he is going to be a great king,” you urged Yunho.

“He knows it, and that is what scares him,” Yunho commented and Hongjoong gave him a look. You supposed that Yunho got that right. “To achieve great things, you must be prepared for some amount of pushback. Isn’t that what you always said to me?”

Hongjoong nodded. You watched him struggle with his internal conflict for a few moments, his hands in yours clenching and unclenching as he caught his breath.

“I guess I’m just overwhelmed…” Hongjoong admitted, looking between you two. “I’m afraid to disappoint the two of you the most.”

“Oh, Hongjoong,” you sighed, looking helplessly at Yunho. Yunho appeared surprised to hear that too.

“You’ve never disappointed me, Hongjoong. Not even once, you hear me?” Yunho assured, a fire in his eyes. “I don’t like that you think that. You know that I am with you every step of the way. You really aren’t alone in this, Joong.”

“The title is heavy,” you agreed with Hongjoong, “but we are both with you to share the burden. You won’t be alone. You will always, always have us. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

“Always?” Hongjoong looked at you, the most vulnerable you had seen him. 

You nodded. He looked at Yunho and he nodded as well, stepping closer.

Hongjoong sank to one knee in front of you, taking your hands and kissing both of them.

“You will forever be my queen,” Hongjoong reminded you. “Just because I wear the crown does not mean that there will be distance between us.”

“Of course,” your heart fluttered at his words. He looked up at you with a smile and then looked at Yunho.

“And you…” Hongjoong took a deep breath, reaching out for him. Yunho sat down in front of him, now at eye-level. “You will always be my king, Yunho. I may be everyone else’s king but you… you will be mine.”

Yunho was awestruck. He shook his head in disbelief and Hongjoong set his hands on his shoulders firmly. You patted Yunho’s back, letting your hand rest there in comfort.

“It’s that simple, Yunho,” Hongjoong smiled. “I’m grateful to you for a lot of things–”

“Please,” Yunho’s voice was thick with emotions. “You need to stop using such words as grateful.”

“You know that I’ll always be, because the two of you didn’t leave me alone,” Hongjoong confessed and you felt an ache in your heart. You wished to comfort him and tell him that it wasn’t something he needed to be grateful for. You both loved him, it was just that. “I always imagined watching you both from the sidelines. Allow me some time to come to terms with the fact that you both wanted me in your life as much as I wanted you both in mine.”

Yunho nodded. Time… he could give him that, if only it meant that Hongjoong would stop acting like he owed him his life. 

“If I was alone and became the next king, it would have crushed me,” Hongjoong admitted. “But now… I can go and walk with my shoulders straight, knowing that you two have my back.”

“That’s enough,” Yunho chuckled uncomfortably, not used to such compliments from Hongjoong even after all this time. “I get it. You love us.”

The three of you laughed and Hongjoong shook his head. “Yeah, I suppose that it sums everything up. I love you both.”

Yunho smiled. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hongjoong’s in a long, meaningful kiss. They joined foreheads and remained like that for a few moments, each of them holding your hands as you settled next to them.

“Are you ready to bear the crown, Hongjoong?” You asked. 

Seeing the switch in his eyes when he confirmed that he was ready was one thing, but watching him walk in the coronation hall with his posture straight and head held high was something else entirely. You and Yunho waited for him at the front. The current king, Hongjoong’s father, recited the vows as Hongjoong walked. Once he was at the front, he turned and bowed to everyone.

“Are you ready to bear the crown, Kim Hongjoong?” His father asked.

“I am ready,” Hongjoong responded, voice unwavering.

“Then step up and receive the crown.”

Hongjoong bowed deeply to his father. He stepped on the podium and walked to the two of you. Yunho went first, putting his father’s ring on Hongjoong’s index finger– a family heirloom. You went next, putting on the king’s cloak on his shoulder, Yunho helping with the lapels. 

Once you were done, you met his eyes. You shared a nod and he went to the queen next, receiving a motherly kiss before going to his father.

The audience seemed to hold their breath as the king took off his crown and put it on Hongjoong’s head. Unsurprisingly, it fit perfectly. 

“Kneel to your subjects, King Kim Hongjoong of the Kingdom of Eden. This is the first and the last time you will ever kneel to your subjects.”

Hongjoong took to the centre and bent down, kneeling on the ground and bowing with his head. Just like that, the coronation was complete. The audience cheered enthusiastically– long live the king.

Hongjoong stood up and found the two of you again, going into the middle and taking your hands and squeezing. You both smiled at him and Hongjoong was finally able to breathe.

Soon, you were joined by the princes and princesses from all over the continent. All of your friends were present– Wooyoung, San and Jongho, Minjeong and Sieun, even Jiwoong from Neverland. Jeongin and your family, as well as the royals that left their kingdoms in pursuit of love. Surrounded by your people, you felt at ease. Hongjoong felt the same, loosening up once the boys started to joke around about him being the first friend to be crowned king. 

The night ended on a festive note, but it wasn’t truly complete until the three of you got comfortable in your true home– in each other’s arms.

a/n: there is a deleted smut scene this time but due to lack of space in this post, i couldn't post it and i did not want to split this into two parts. if you want to read it, you'll have to lmk ;) it's ft. both yunho and hongjoong so um best of both worlds ig jkfgdg

[luv-beam]

HI IM HERE I JUST DECIDED ON A WHIM TO DIVE RIGHT IN

I LOVE MY DESIRE!!!

alrighty starting off strong w a festive royal setting 😌 my mom was watching bridgerton when i came home and the opening scene def reminded me of the show hehe i can feel the excitement in the air as everyone hustles around to prepare for the festivities!!

PRINCE JEONGIN O_O hey jeongin hehehehe he's such a mood though LIKE MOTHER he's only seventeen, CORRECT

the hug and spin from yunho and the hand kiss... im draping my hand over my forehead like a damsel... prince yunho save me (AND HE GREW HIS HAIR OUT?!?!*$&3&)

THE SHORTER FOR HONGJOONG THIS IS FRYING MEEEEE 🤧🤧 and a very cheeky greeting ofc i see.......

wait the sun/moon metaphor has already entered the chat, don't tell me this is a recurring motif bc i WILL be drooling over this 🙂‍↕️

"You had Hongjoong to keep you company in the dark" WHILE HE'S THE MOON TO YUNHO'S SUN???? YOU DON'T INTEND TO DIM HIS LIGHT AND U WATCH FROM SIDES OF THE ROOM AS HE BOUNCES FROM PERSON TO PERSON LIKE RAYS OF SUN yumi u wound me (´Д⊂ヽlike the swift contrast throughout this opener has me getting whiplash

i love also how you've established a clear contrast in the brothers' values through their actions as well, like how joong literally kissed ur forehead and then flicked it when he first saw u, followed by casually brushing the crumb from your lip. and then yunho allowed himself one little twirling hug before kissing ur hand like a proper lady 😔 le sigh

ALRIGHT jeong yunho i know what u are 🤥 those kisses were so telling PROPOSE ALREADY!!

"What's the sun got to do with anything?" UR SO RIGHT JONGHO, MY KING!! also still in the bridgerton mindset lowkey, like while these guys and girls are having their evening chat away from the grown-ups, i can already imagine them all having their own side plots and pairings skfnkdnf i ennoy that they all seem to have their own thoughts, as always 🙂‍↕️

REAL MEN SIN IN THE DAYLIGHT?? CHOI SAN IM FCKN HOWLINGGG 😭🤡😭🤡😭🤡 AHHHHAHHAHAHA

oooookay yumi this isn't funny "sometimes i find something beautiful" "i must find you beautiful then" WHAT. WHAAAAAAAT. a man CAN appreciate the art but is he gonna.... he can take the art home yk....

are we... foreshadowing w the line abt how the year end balls are susceptible to attacks... yumi r u telling me something from the great beyond

OF COURSE hongjoong, the moon who belongs in the night sky, is in black 🙂‍↕️ also, loved this line from him: “Not sure. Tell me who to avoid tonight.” it was so funny to me for some reason, like hmmmm idk i'll tell u im not sure even tho i literally walked right up to u with only a single glance, now tell me something useful 💀💀

OOP white-gold for the sun-incarnate i know thats right ! also,,, yunho honey you're in the doghouse for that one how do u not recognize ur beau immediately 😭 YOU'VE KISSED HER FACE ?! also hongjoong ur not getting out of this either my guy

molten honey yes... w those sweet, sweet nothings yunho 🤤

okay but the dual-reigning kings is certainly a novel concept hmmmm i'd love to know the history abd logistics behind that bc thats very cool (even tho my cynicism from the real world wanta to doubt it very much 🙂‍↕️)

yesyes the masks DO add a level of excitement in intrigue mwahaha LOOK at this little (big) menace, jeong yunho !!! the masks are a shield, protection almost. they give one confidence to act truly as they are, and jeong yunho is taking full advantage, i see

WAIT i was literally gonna say that yunjoong must be good dancers bc they danced with each other LOLOL

GAAAASPING RN the dance sequence w hongjoong was so delicious omg like the scene as it played in my mind LIIITERALLY went in slow motion w the close-up camera angles, and the music fading to the background, the others becoming blurry as if it all senses were magnified and it was only them two and the tension between them... and then it all comes rushing back as he hands her off to her next partner EEEEK SJFNDKNFKFNFN YUMYUM YUUUUM also the way u also addressed how yunhos hands are bigger so they naturally rest closer to her upper chest, but hongjoongs are slightly smaller SO HE HAS TO DO IT ON PURPOSE

awwwwg yn and yunho acting like a true, married royal couple by strategizing 🥰

damn the traditions indeed NO ONE'S IN THE ROOM JUST KISS ALREADY AAAAAAAAAAAA WDYMMMM THE THINGS U WANNA DO TO HER YUNHO ELABORATE

yumi ur testing my patience this isnt FAIR why did u let joong have his shirt unbuttoned (´Д⊂ヽ

NOT THE SCAR ON HER BACK HONGJOONG NOW UR JUST MAKING IT WORSE FOR URSELF U LITTLE MASOCHIST

this discussion abt seeing her as a bride sounds less like he wants to see her as someone else's bride methinks 🙂‍↕️ also THEY WERE STRANDED IN THE RAIN TOGETHER??? WITHOUT A CHAPERONE yn i think youve crossed more lines w hj than u have w yunho, my girl, im sorry to say 🙂‍↔️ also i agree hj w the pearls I LOVE PEARLS — alright. cruelest punishment. masochist confirmed. got it.

YUNHO???????????? TALL SHADOW?????????? RIFHT AT THE GOOD PART?????????? yn drank truth serum tonight i wont lie. its funny how hongjoong had the most restraint out of the two of them tonight lol

i love a bunch of nerds lol and that they actually discuss politics and the states of their kingdoms bc thats ultimately their jobs ✨

yn matching hongjoongs freak by scaring him coming in thru the passageway, and then also being OKAY without a chaperone (like HE was the one who was concerned abt it for once like alright his self control is a little toooo strong for me.... u can want me bestie i promise) also the way he answered "suffocating" IM GONNA CRY DONT SAY THAT SHE'LL BE LIVING IN UR KINGDOM IN THE FUTURE 😞😞 how will ur heart survive

ugh.... royal aus with the kissing but never touching feeling... THESE FEELINGS WILL PASS (no they wont) (yn, pls make up ur mind bestie i know its hard but we gotta stay strong. u can give hongjoong to me—) tho joong brings up an excellent point that she could just feel super tense that her feelings have become jumbled/amplified. though, her interest in joong was always there, it could also be a sign of cold feet right before the point of no return (marrying yunho); and since she's only ever known she would be w yunho in the end, perhaps.... hmmmm she craves something... different. to experience something different (im yapping again arent i.)

THE RUNNING TO YUNHOS ROOM TO DEMAND A KISS AND ONLY TO MAKEOUT W HIM LIKE THAT IS CRAZY I HAVE WHIPLASH YN GIRL MAKE UP UR MIND BEFORE I THROW SOMETHING GRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

OH SHIT . SIEUN. wait.... dont do this to me yumi jongho cannot......

"he has always been a winner" 😭😭😭😭😭😭

okay ik yunho went into that convo w good intentions (CHEEKY SNEAKY INTENTIONS CUZ I KNOOW HE KNOWS) but the way he said he wanted to delay the wedding discussion right after they crossed their chastity lines is so poorly timed, yunho 💀 ur gonna give the poor girl a heart attack

waittttt a damn 🤨🤨 the unknown person who was going toward them was just told to return to their station... 📸🤨

I WOKE UP. by woke up, i mean that i broke out of the trance i was in from them following sieun to WHEN THEY STARTED KISSING??????? KISSING????????? AND HE WAS KNEELING W HIS HEAD ON HER LAP OH MY GOD U KNOW MY WEAKNESS I NEED TO HIDE FROM YOU 😭🫵 AND JOONG APOLOGIZING PROFUSELY BC ALL HE DOES IS HURT HER AND MAKE HER ANGRY AND BICKER W HER AND HE PROB DOESNT FEEL WORTHY AND EUUUUUUUGHHHHHFHFHDH

i knew it yunho I KNEW IT

omg ITS THE LINE ITS THE LINE ITS UR PUNISHMENT FOR YEARNING FOR BOTH THE SUN AND THE MOON 💔💔 (but dear yn, dont u know that the sky often sees both at once ? :') the sun and moon still wave to one another, they share a space)

also just that joong and yunho have grown up loving and respecting one another and sharing everything, knowing that one day, one of them will end up w the shorter end of the stick. only to both be in love w the same girl as theyre both in line for the same throne, and neither of them want to be without the other either... man... 🚬

im reading this like yes... wise words, yunho, u do love her no matter the fact that she loves joong and has kissed him too... love transcends—oh so we're starting a fight now UR EGGING HIM ON U SLY DOG— he's so hot for that, like actually i started giggling maniacally YES YUNHO YES MAKE HONGJOONG FIGHT AND STOP BEING A CHICKEN

UR NOT SPECIAL IM CACKLING

oh my god I FUCKING KNEW THAT SOMETHING WAS GONNA HAPPEN. u almost got me yumi wooooooweeeee u alnost caught me completely off guard w everything that's happened so far im going hysterical 😂😂 U ALMOST DISTRACTED ME FROM THE PLOT HAPPENING IN THE SHADOWS 🤺 KIM HONGJOONG BETTER GET HIS ASS SAVED/WALK OUT ALIVE SO I GET MY THROUPLE END GAME

ahhh its always Men taking advantage of my ladies 🙂‍↔️🔫

BYE i was so worried throughout this entire ordeal that something was gonna happen when they went to go pick joong up from the embassy but i see neverland got all their ducks in a row this time 🤡

warning for joong x yunho confessing their undying love for one another and BEING SOULMATES (´Д⊂ヽ I NEED A HUG also thank god they said it FINALLY THEY SAID OPEN RELATIONSHIP WORDS I'VE DREAMED OF HEARING SINCE THE BEGINNING HUZZAH!!!

the "i do"s ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ oh im so tender rn

the room layout designs IM CRYING 💀💀💀 convenient personal assistant door ... to your bed 😏😏 he must really love u since man's has to pass thru at least two sets of doors to sleep in ur bed at night 😌

wait in the beginning during the masquerade ball, it was mentioned that hongjoong was always late to the party, always fussing abt his appearance or something or other, and now no one can find him bc he's hiding and—idek if this is making sense LMAO but in my brain it does make sense and thats all that matters ☝️ anyways,,, some things never change :'))) (even tho ik its prob cuz he's nervous so he's hiding sjfnkdnfjf)

ARE U READY TO BEAR THE CROWN SKCBEKFNEKCNKDJFKDJCKJDKF MALFUNCTIONING RN .

AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER, TOGETHER (´Д⊂ヽ(´Д⊂ヽ(´Д⊂ヽ(´Д⊂ヽ I LOVE MY DESIRE !!!!!!!!!!!

this was such a fun read, and it was a nice change of pace for me bc its been so long since ive gotten to sit down and fully dig into something like this 🤧 i loved the push and pull in this (even tho i was going crazy!!!) and I SAW THE END NOTE ABT THE SMUT.... im not big on smut BUT I WOULD READ THAT ONE I SWEAR. ANYWAYS . thank you once again for a great adventure, yumi 🥹💖 it was so cute (and hongjoong was delicious)

[astrae4]

HIDE THE SCISSORS! I DON’T WANT ANYONE CUTTING MY MAN’S HAIR | Myung Jaehyun

pairings — boynextdoor’s jaehyun x reader

genre. rom-com, slice of life warnings. reader is dramatic & can also be seen as controlling wc. 780

note — requested by this anon!! love love love dramatic readers i swear. writing them is just chef’s kiss

MORE WORKS: navigation | bnd!masterlist

YOU KNOW SOMETHING is wrong the moment Myung Jaehyun says, “Babe.”

Not “hey”. Not “come here”.

Just “babe”, careful and suspicious, like he’s testing the structural integrity of the situation.

You don’t look up from where you’re sprawled dramatically across the couch. “If this is about what I think it is, don’t.”

He pauses. Too long.

“…How do you always know?”

You sit up immediately. “NO.”

Jaehyun blinks. “I haven’t even—”

“You were thinking about it,” you accuse, pointing at him like a courtroom prosecutor. “I can feel it. You were thinking about cutting your hair.”

He laughs, a little guilty, a little fond. His hair—glorious, grown-out, brushing his collarbone—falls into his eyes as he does, and you make a distressed noise.

“See?” you say. “LOOK at that. That is ART.”

He runs a hand through it absentmindedly. “It’s getting kind of long.”

“Yes,” you say fervently. “That’s the point.”

“It keeps getting in my face.”

“That’s what hair is for.”

He tilts his head, amused. “You’re being dramatic.”

You gasp. “I am being correct.”

Jaehyun steps closer, crouching in front of you.

You’re in the bathroom, sitting on the counter like you always do, legs swinging while Jaehyun stands between your knees, towel around his shoulders, hair still slightly damp.

Long. Perfect.

Threatened.

You’re brushing your fingers through it lovingly.

“I’m just saying,” you insist, “if you ever cut this without warning, I will know. And I will be devastated. Like—dramatically.”

Jaehyun hums. Too innocently.

“Mmm.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why did you ‘mmm’ like that.”

“What?” he says, reaching into the drawer under the sink.

Your soul leaves your body.

You hear it before you see it.

Snip.

You freeze.

Slowly, horrifically, you look up.

Jaehyun is holding a pair of scissors.

Open. Hovering.

Right. Near. His hair.

Your face drains of color. “Jaehyun.”

He bites his lip, clearly trying not to smile. “Relax. I’m just—”

“NO,” you gasp, sliding off the counter so fast you nearly slip. “No no no no—why do you have scissors?”

He lifts a small section of hair between his fingers, mock-serious. “I was thinking maybe just a little trim—”

Your eyes immediately well up. “You said you wouldn’t.”

“I said not right now.”

“This is right now!” you whisper, betrayed.

He makes a dramatic thinking face. “Hmm. Is it?”

Your hands come up to clutch his wrists. “Jaehyun, please. I like it. I love it. I emotionally depend on it.”

He falters for half a second.

But then—because he is apparently a menace—he raises the scissors again.

Snip.

You make a tiny, broken sound.

“…You cut it,” you say, voice wobbling.

His smile disappears instantly.

“No—no, I didn’t,” he blurts out, dropping the scissors into the sink. “I swear, I didn’t cut anything. Look—look.”

He lifts the strand. Still intact. Untouched.

You stare at it.

Then at him.

Then your lip trembles.

“Oh my gosh,” he groans. “Oh no. Baby—no, no, no.”

“I thought you—” you sniff, mortified and hurt and very much fooled. “You know I’m bad with jokes.”

He immediately cups your face, panic written all over his own. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I thought you’d yell, not—oh gosh.”

Before you can even process it, he’s kissing you.

Not one kiss.

Many.

Your forehead. Your cheeks. Your nose. The corners of your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” kiss.

“I was teasing,” kiss.

“I would never,” kiss kiss.

“I love your stupid dramatic reactions but I went too far,” kiss.

You try to stay upset, you really do, but he keeps peppering your face with soft, frantic smooches until you’re laughing despite yourself.

“Jaehyun,” you protest weakly, “stop—”

“Nope,” he says, kissing you again. “This is my apology tour.”

He presses a lingering kiss to your lips this time, slower, gentler, until the hurt melts into warmth.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I’m really sorry,” he says softly. “I won’t joke about it again.”

You sigh, hands sliding up into his hair—still long, still safe.

“…You scared me.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I felt awful the second your voice changed.”

You look up at him. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He smiles, relieved. “Extremely.”

You tug him closer by the hair, just a little. “And for the record—if you ever actually cut it without telling me—”

He kisses you again to shut you up. “I won’t.”

“…Promise?”

“Promise.”

You hum contentedly, playing with his hair again like nothing happened.

Jaehyun exhales, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Note to self, he thinks.

Never fake hair violence again.

And for the rest of the night, he lets you hold onto him a little tighter—just in case.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @voucearse @ruuroom @wensurr @sunoo-mint-choco @leehanaholic @delirioastral @todorokiskitten @cherryblossomlovesblog @pluslandminun @ivehan @chwrrydolly @mydearyeseo @gorgeoustimetravler @angelyseo

© astrae4 2026 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[luv-beam]

hi i don't go here but I LOVE WHEREVER HERE IS KDNFKDNFKFNF MAAAAAN. i love reader's melodrama and jaehyun leaning into it FULLY and his apology tour (do it again). if my man looked like HIM and threatened HIS HAIR IN FRONT OF ME w the scissors, it'd be a little more than just the couch and the dog house 😐

also gill ur dialogue, the comedy of it all, the pacing,,, was everything. a pretty package ripe for me to gush abt WEEEEEE love love LOVE!!

[everyonewooeverywhere]

smut mdni | club mom!sh x dancer!reader

cw: names (mommy, ma’am, baby, little girl)

“you did so good up there, baby,” she cupped your bare breasts with her hands, dark red manicure lightly scratching the skin. she stood behind you fully clothed, but she used the empty dressing room as an opportunity to fondle her favorite dancer, “ok so proud of you.” her lips ghost your neck.

“thank you ma’am,” your voice was soft. seonghwa was making it hard to focus on the words coming out of your mouth.

she made eye contact with you through the massive mirror that showed off the entirety of your nude body. “i love watching you dance,” one of her hands drops to cup your pussy, “i love watching those men drool over you. they think they have a chance if they give you enough money.” two fingers dip between your folds, “but that’s not true. is it?”

you shake your head, watching as her fingers sink inside your, “no ma’am.” you’re completely falling apart in her arms.

“such an obedient little girl,” her voice made you shiver, “always so good. doing everything i tell you.”

you nod desperately, wiggling in her arms, trying to get her to start pumping her fingers instead of just holding them there.

“you have a private room soon, don’t you?” she rested her chin on your shoulder.

“yes,” it was with on of your regulars. one that always tipped well—paying your rent every time he stopped in. he was also seonghwa’s husband. “i can’t skip this one.”

she chuckled, “oh baby…i would never ask you to skip. but i do have a little treat. for both you and my joongie.”

she reached into her purse that sat on the table beside you. in her hand when she pulled it out was a device you were very familiar with.

she clicked the vibrator on, letting it buzz to life. “give my joongie his show, but i want you to hold this in your cute little pussy while you do it, okay?”

“yes ma’am,” you watched as she turned it off before pushing it inside you, leaving the little vibrating piece right up against your clit. “can i—ohhh,” your knees buckled when she turned it on inside you, “can i cum for you once. please.”

she smiled, kissing your cheek, “oh baby, of course. if my little girl is gonna be so good and obedient, the least i can do is let her cum, right?”

you nod, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering shut.

“oh no no no, baby,” she grasped your chin, “watch yourself. watch how you fall apart in my arms.” a small whimper escapes through your throat. seonghwa chuckle, “you’re so cute. maybe we should bring you home with us. i’m sure my joongie would love that. his favorite dancer giving him private shows.” she presses the vibrator harder against your clit, “don’t tell him this, though. i think i’d like it more than him. i’d get to dress you up in cute little outfits, try out all the toys i could find on you, maybe we could even put on a show for him.”

“i’m close,” your voice was quiet but she could hear you loud and clear.

“hmm i don’t know, baby. are you?”

“no no please,” you were shaking in her arms, “i’m close. i need to cum.”

“well then you know what i need to hear, little girl.”

tears were welling in your eyes, “mommy. please. oh mommy please let me cum. i’ll be so good. please.” your voice was desperate.

“ok baby. you can cum. cum for me,” her voice was soft in your ear, but it was all you needed to release an orgasm that nearly made your legs give out.

seonghwa chuckled. “now go give him a show, baby.”

[luv-beam]

this was too hot for me at 11 in the morning like my thighs are squeezing together WTFFFF PLS PLAY W ME WHILE UR HUSBAND WATCHES PLSSSSSS 😭

[coffeebymofy]

IT'S DEFINITELY NOT A BIRD!

superman!kim jaehee x f!reader

A routine drive quickly turns into something much stranger when a mysterious object zooms past your truck, leaving you questioning reality during the days to come.

• genre, warnings: pg i think, project partners to lovers, fluff, a few crimes, an almost pretty bad fall, sort of canon for superman...ish?, highschool au, sort of a 00s au, mp3 player mention, smallville but not kansas

• word count: 3.3k

• author's note: tysm @sungbeam for hosting this collab! and ty @nevsky for reading getting me on the writing grind. mwah!

MONDAY—

THE TRUCK RUMBLES UNDER YOUR HANDS. You loosely grip the steering wheel, the straight, open road doesn't give you much reason to steer the old pile of junk. You hum to the newest song downloaded to your MP3 player, the bright blue neverending sky above the rows and rows of farmland cause you to squint slightly. Few and far between, skinny sapling trees shade your eyes momentarily, but you’re used to the sun. It’s been a few months since you officially got your driver's license and started driving yourself to school. Better than the school bus, at any rate.

ZOOM!

With a force that feels like it’s tipped your car, something whizzes past your driver’s side window.

You let out a scream right as the truck lands back on all four tires. “What the hell!?”

The object flies away faster than eyes can see, a sort of… brown, no, grey…? Whatever, it was a blur, and it freaked you the hell out. Do birds get that big out in the country? Hawks or maybe Eagles? Are there vultures nearby? As far as you can tell, it must’ve been some massive bird. You pull out the one earbud hanging limply from your ear, wanting to be sharp in case something else puts you in a literal tailspin. The rest of the car ride goes uneventfully, if slowly, almost risking a Monday morning detention for tardiness. You go about the rest of your morning, hauling the materials for the journalism club to your locker from your trusty ol’ truck and mostly forgetting about your avian scare.

•

The locker beside you slams shut, the force making your teeth shake.

“What’s up, loser?” A bright bleached blonde greets you, cartoonishly chewing on bubblegum in a steamed and pressed cheerleader’s uniform.

“Uh… Hi?”

“What do you have there, nerd shit?”

“Do I… know you…?”

“Ugh, whatever…” She sashays away, hair flipping behind her.

You pull a face; it hadn’t even hit 9 in the morning, and you already felt tired. You shake your head and head to your first class.

You walk into the class and sit at your usual middle-row spot by the window. An empty seat sat next to you since the start of the semester, around two weeks ago.

The teacher stands up as a boy you don't recognize walks into the room, his thick, heavy glasses peeking out from under his grey hoodie. “Young man, hood, please,” Mr. Lee says gruffly.

“Oh, sorry,” his says softly as he tips his head back and pulls his hood away from his face, still turned towards Mr. Lee.

“Go find a seat; there's one over there.”

You cross your fingers under the table, one hand propping up your face that you turn purposefully towards the window. You hear his book bag hit the floor and him sitting down beside you.

He clears his throat. “Hi.”

You turn your head towards his bookbag at first, which is made of old brown leather, looking up to meet his eyes you exclaim, “ Hi.”

He looks at you expectantly, and you scratch the back of your neck awkwardly as his gaze remains steady on you. You feel the slight tingle of familiarity; you’ve seen him before.

“It’s me… Daeyoung, you know? From summer camp?”

“Oh… Oh! My god! Yeah, you were at the nurse’s like all the time!” You remember the last night of camp when everyone was hanging out by the lake.

He was with some of the younger campers, jeans rolled above his knees. You had noticed it was the first time you had seen him without his glasses.

He chuckles, pushing his glasses up, his head down sheepishly, “I didn't know you went here. Did you just transfer recently or...?”

“Nope, been here the whole time! I guess we just never crossed paths?”

He considers it, nodding.

“What about you? Skipping this class the past two weeks or?” You echo his earlier question.

“I was, uh… sick! Pretty bad, fever and stuff,” he says stiffly.

“Oh man, that sucks, hope you can catch up with homework!”

“Thanks!”

Mr. Lee claps loudly at the front of the class announcing a group project, a collective groan passes through the class while he says to pair up with the person next to you.

“Hey pardner!” You turn to Daeyoung, tipping your imaginary cowboy hat.

He laughs, tipping his back at you.

Mr. Lee explains over the low rumble of the classroom that each group has to pick an animal and research every ancestor and evolutionary split that formed the animal as it's known now, and that points will be given for information, creativity, and presentation so there's no slacking off.

“So, do you have anything in mind?” He asks you, pulling out a notebook and a pen.

“How about a bird?”

He glances at you with an unreadable look in his eyes. Pushing up his glasses again, he replies, “Yeah, sure, a bird.”

WEDNESDAY—

A CROP DUSTER FLIES AT THE VERY CORNER OF YOUR VISION. You drive up the packed dirt driveway of the Kim household, materials for the group project tucked under the glovebox in front of your passenger seat. You see Daeyoung walk out onto the porch, waving with one arm.

You crank down your window with considerable effort just to ask, “Hey! Where do I park?”

He gestures widely, “Anywhere is fine!”

You give him a thumbs up and pull to park beside the farmhouse. You hop out, and before you can get to the other side to pull out the materials Daeyoung does for you, wow, he got there pretty fast.

“I called. Did you hear me ring?” you ask, feeling your pockets for your flip phone.

“The house phone? No, I think it's acting up again…” He sighs.

You walk inside the house together, you're greeted by a million florals in a million mediums, lace, fabric, stained glass, and real fresh bouquets litter the front room. You can see the dining room and kitchen through a set of glass panelled doors from where you're standing by the front door, the middle panels of twin lilies curved towards each other like a love heart. The whole house was old-fashioned and looked straight out of Anne of Green Gables.

“Wow.”

He chuckles, “Ma loves flowers!”

You nod, turning to him, “So… where do we sit?”

He walks further into the house, and you follow. He pushes open one of the glass doors and leads you to sit at the circular table in what you assume is a breakfast nook. The window box just outside the open window is full of herbs that blow a pleasant scent into the room, which is made up of the open kitchen separated from the breakfast nook and kitchen by an archway to one side and the bar style counter to the other, a door opposite the round table to somewhere unknown.

“Take a seat,” he gestures to the wraparound bench behind the table.

“What’s behind the door?”

“Oh, that's Ma’s sewing room. It used to be the laundry, but we renovated it.”

You nod, sitting down on the bench right by the wall. Daeyoung sits on a stool across from you and sets the plastic bag of materials on the table.

“We have around an hour until my parents come home, but you can stay longer if you don't mind working with them in the house.”

“Oh, yeah, I don't mind! It's cool that your parents are cool with this!”

“I'm pretty sure if you’re here past that hour, Ma will make you stay for dinner,” he jokes.

“I don't mind!” You reply lightheartedly.

When you start drafting your project, Daeyoung pulls out a few books on dinosaur evolution from the local library that seem relevant enough. The two of you get along well, not butting heads when presenting ideas and fairly distributing the workload. Time doesn't exactly fly, but it goes by, and before you know it, you can hear the sound of a car in the driveway. You’re startled when you hear the front door open, eyes darting to Daeyoung as he turns in his chair to glance at the living room.

“I didn't realize it'd been an hour,” he says, stretching his arms above his head.

“Yeah…” you reply meekly.

He turns back towards you. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, kind of nervous-” You're cut off by Daeyoung’s mother walking into the room. She’s a bit older than you expected, with more salt than pepper in her hair and a broad, open, welcoming face.

“Hello, dear, you must be Daeyoung's little friend! How are you?” Mrs Kim asks, arms outstretched in a hug as she approaches the table.

“Good!” you chirp, engulfed in a hug.

“Good! How are you getting along with our Daeyoung?” She said, releasing you from her hug and holding your hands in hers.

“Uh… Pretty well! He’s got really great handwriting.”

She chuckles, “Well, I’ll get the pot on the stove! You’re staying for dinner, of course!”

Daeyoung interjects, “Ma, she might be—”

“No, it’s okay! I can totally stay for dinner!”

He looks at you, embarrassed. “You really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to, I mean it.”

“Well, you heard her, she's staying for dinner,” Mr Kim calls out, walking into the room with two huge paper bags that are almost overflowing with groceries, “You kids better get back to work now.”

You nod, and everyone gets to their separate activities. The afternoon stretches languidly into the evening in the bustling house, the scent of pastry and savoury filling lifting your heads from your work like bloodhounds with their noses high and ears perked. Mrs Kim sets the pie down on the counter, and for a moment, you swear the steam comes up in swirls and squiggles, but as soon as you blink, it’s gone. It smells divine; the longer you work, the more you feel yourself almost floating over to the cherry pie, so stout and cozy. The meal is a feast of pie and a roast, warm and filling not just with the food but with the company and conversation. It passes in a blink of an eye, and suddenly youre at the end of the night with a container of leftovers to bring home standing in the doorway of the sewing room as Mrs Kim rifles through a box to give you a jacket she hadn’t used in years and felt was too pretty to go to waste.

“Dear, do you mind moving that box?”

You oblige, placing the box in the opposite corner of the room as she pulls out a beautiful cream peacoat with shiny dark wooden buttons, stitching in red embroidery thread.

GASP!

“It’s lovely!”

“Here, let’s get it on you!”

She eases the jacket over your shoulder, the sleeves stopping just past your elbow. You continue to thank her, and she assures you it is really no trouble. As you’re about to leave the room, the fabric in the sewing machine catches your eye, a deep blue winking and twinkling at you like the stars reflected on an ocean.

“That fabric is beautiful, Mrs Kim!”

“Isn’t it? Tough though, I’ve broken a whole hay bale of needles working on it!” She laughs, looking at it wistfully.

“Where did you get it?”

She glances at you for the briefest moment, “I really can’t recall, what a shame.”

You hum sympathetically, “I hope the project turns out all right!”

“Thank you, dear.”

THURSDAY—

“YOU LEFT THIS AT MY HOUSE.” Daeyoung hands you your worn pencil box, sliding it across the table towards you.

You had pushed your desks together as the class time had been allotted for your group project. The posterboard was laid out on the table, and where the glue was drying down it warped in little ridges.

“Thank you. I had a great time with your family, by the way!”

“They had a great time too, they told me to invite you over again sometime,” he pushes his glasses up, looking at the wilting corner of the image pasted on the board he says jokingly, “They love hosting, I don’t give them much oppurtunity to!”

“Tell your mom I said thanks again for hosting me. I’d love to come over again.”

“Sure, she seems to really like you!”

“I mean, she gave me this sweet jacket.” You hold your arms ajar to show off the buttons that gleam at the cuffs. “I love it!”

“You look nice— I mean, it looks great on you!”

“Shucks, thanks!”

“Yeah, I think she wore it in her 20s? I saw some old photos of her and Pa, I know they always wanted a daughter because Ma loves making dresses and passing down her old things and all.” he rambles.

“Your pops wanted a daughter, too?”

“Well, I think he wanted to see Ma happy mainly, and the old man thinks a daughter would be easier to spoil. I think it’s just that I was never going to let them spend more money on me, even if I was a girl!”

“Aww, it’s really sweet that you’re grateful for your parents!”

“Yeah, I mean, they didn’t have to raise me, you know,” he says absentmindedly, his finger on his chin.

You tilt your head.

I mean, sure, you supposed no parent did, but it was a bit of an odd statement, “I guess?”

“Oh, that must sound weird. I’m adopted.” He says frankly, “They found me, uh… abandoned in the barn and decided to keep me, so it was very much an unnecessary labor of love.”

You hadn’t expected the confession, and you weren’t sure how to react. “That’s neat?”

He laughs, “Yeah, I think so!”

“Oh! No— I just meant that, you know— it’s nice! It’s sweet that they did that!” You groan in embarrassment. “You know what I mean!”

He laughs even harder. “I do!”

You grasp his hand, and in earnest, you say while avoiding his eyes with your head down. “I think it’s heartwarming and so lovely that you love your folks. I really think that's cool and, uh, super!”

You can feel your cheeks grow warm; as you look up, you swear an aura of pink and white light surrounds him, his free hand gripping the edge of his glasses, his eyes wide with surprise behind them. His cheeks are crosshatched with red lines, the reflection of light in his glasses in the shape of love hearts, you swear you can hear a romantic, lilting piano tune playing from afar. You feel dizzy, not sure if any of this is real—

CRASH!

A bomb goes off behind you, or at least, what sounds like it. Before you can even turn your head, the glass panes crowd with curious teenagers; Daeyoung pulls you by the clutched hands, wriggling past them to see a smashed and fractured grand piano lying square in front of the classroom window. Someone cracks the window open, and you lurch forward, torso halfway out of the room, looking up to see two boys with spikey gelled hair looking back at you from the roof. One of them brandishes a camera, the flash on, pointed straight down. They laugh with their mouths wide open like the toy monkeys that have clattering teeth.

You gasp, squeezing Daeyoung’s hand. “Oh my god!”

You turn to face each other at the same time, you tell him. “Some boys pushed it off the roof!”

“Rascals!” Mr Lee yells from far behind the crowd.

He stomps out of the room and nearly takes the door down as he slams it.

Daeyoung begins to laugh, pulling you back in. You laugh along at the hilarity and insanity of the moment, you can hear Mr Lee yelling from the hallway and the heavy thudding footsteps of running as you do.

SUNDAY—

YOU WHISTLE AS YOU WALK ALONG YOUR GARDEN PATH. Your boots hit the soft dirt, and you swing a metal bucket of grain in one hand on your way to the chicken coop to give them their mid-day feed. The flock of hens gathers by the wire and clucks merrily as you approach, no doubt awaiting their meal.

“Hello, girls!”

You unlatch the door and step in, they swarm your feet in an attempt to curry favor. You giggle and begin to throw the mixed grains around the coop, watching them disperse as soon as the bits hit the ground. You keep going until nearly half the bucket is gone.

Satisfied with your work, you announce to the happy chickens, “Well, ladies! I bid you adieu!”

Your phone rings in the pocket at the center of your chest as you’re wearing your big, stained, farm work overalls. It buzzes as you fish for it, finally managing to pull it out and flip it open.

“Ahoy, who is it?” you say, pinching the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“Daeyoung!”

“Hi!” You practically sing, “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to check in,” he hesitates, “...on the project!”

“Oh, right.” Your face falls a bit. “Yeah, I have it all packed up in my car, so I won’t forget it tomorrow!”

“That’s good! Uh… well, uh… Ma... she, wanted me to ask about the container! Yeah, the container for the leftovers?”

“Oh! Yeah, I washed it, and it’s on my counter right now.” You pause, a lightbulb flashes on above you, “I could… send it over now, if that's okay?”

“Oh! Now?” he says, sounding shocked. “Yeah, oh my god, yeah, that’s totally fine!”

“Cool!”

“Cool!”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll hang up now!”

“Sure, yeah! See you soon!”

“See you!”

You fold your phone with a crisp ‘clack’ and sigh with relief as you hold it high above you. You squeal, jumping in circles, the grain in the bucket sloshing and spilling as you cheer.

“What is with all that hollerin’!” Your mother calls out from in the house.

“Won the lotto!” You say, racing past her and up to your room.

You dash back out of your room and into the bathroom, struggling to fix your hair and see your reflection in the mirror. You give yourself a once-over in your fresh outfit of Mrs Kim's gorgeous jacket, a pink gingham tank top, and a pair of white denim shorts and smile. Running out of the house with the container and phone in hand, you practically speed your way to the Kim house. The drive goes agonizingly slow despite how hard you were stamping on the gas pedal, your eyes slide off the scenery like water droplets on a greased surface.

A flash of smoke puffs up beside you as you drive on the bridge. What the hell is that? A Forest fire? Burning trash? You stop the car, and as excited as you are, you can’t help but worry about that, fire is no good in a farming town. You hop out of your truck, skipping over to the railing on the edge of the bridge. You crane your neck to see what’s going on, and when you still can’t make out what’s going on, you push further onto the fence. Once your feet are practically off the ground, you see the gel-haired punks burning something awful. They seem to spot you and yell, throwing something in your direction. You yelp in shock—

WHOOSH!

You’re falling! You scream like your lungs are about to give out, bracing for impact. Then suddenly, with a small thud but no more than a bruise, you feel the wind cut your face. You see the same shimmering blue fabric as from Mrs Kim’s sewing machine, a big logo staring you in the face. You look up and see… Daeyoung?

"Daeyoung!?"

He groans, "Hi..."

"You're flying!"

"Well, technically, we're flying..." he murmurs, avoiding your eyes.

"What is going on!"

He sets you down on the sidewalk next to your haphazardly parked truck, "You fell!"

"So you... Flew to save me!?" You say, aghast, "Is that a cape?"

He moves to touch his glasses, realizing mid way his face is bare. This is the second time you've seen him without his glasses, and he sure doesn't look like he needs them.

"Can I tell you when we get home?" He asks, wringing his hands.

You sigh, opening the passenger side door and clearing the seat, "Get in" you demand.

"Yes, ma'am."

• end note: happy april fools guys! this is my first fic on this acc eeeee!!! i hope you enjoy it!! vvvv nervy...

©coffeebymofy, do not copy, repost, translate, or otherwise alter

[luv-beam]

WAIT MOFY THIS WAS SO CUTE 😭😭😭 i don't really know nct wish that well, so i pulled up kim jaehee pics on pinterest as a reference while reading 💀 but tell me why i forgot that superman was adopted for a hot second skfndkfnjf ANYWAYS. love the atmosphere of the small farming town u created, and also the personality that shines thru in everyone's dialogue :,))) OMG when yn yelled i won the lotto i did giggle a little like yeaahhhh bestie GO GET UR GUY!!! jaehee is very sweet tho like omg i love the thick-framed glasses look on him and how he pulls off the clark kent glasses nudge and dorkiness

u def pulled off putting the superman elements into a slightly diff environment, and this was such a cute read!!

[coffeebymofy]

your response was a delight to read and you highlighted basically everything i wanted the reader to catch onto💞💞 IM SO HAPPY YOU ENJOYED THE DIALOGUE, I STRUGGLED W IT!!! and im glad the character really shone through :9

[luv-beam]

saw this on pinterest and immediately thought of this fic lolol

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Paradigm

hero!yunho x villain!reader (ft. woosan as sidekicks)

not exactly hero and villain in the strict sense but archnemesis stuff going on def

for the action figures collab by @sungbeam <3

word count: 24.5k (oops i did it again)

genres and warnings: bit of fluff, lots of crack, lots of angst, yunho is weird in this one folks like borderline ✨obsessive✨ but not in a bad way, best friends turned enemies turned lovers. dimensions, time travel and all that jazz, blood and violence, mentions of smoking, lmk if i missed sth.

synopsis: when mrs. jung goes missing, presumably inside the paradigm, you devote your life to trying to find a way to access the paradigm with wooyoung. yunho sides with the opposition and you become sworn enemies until circumstances- and his twisted affection for you- forces you both to join hands as you learn the truth about the paradigm key.

a/n: thank you to @eightmakesonebraincell for always supporting me and my crack hehe and thank you beam for sharing my misery and making this happen!

The world moves in quiet rhythms, hidden patterns that are etched deep into the bones of existence itself. The tide that sways to the pull of the moonlight, the rotation of earth to bring about day and night, the shifting of seasons– for the leaves must fall before the flowers can bloom. Every movement creates a pattern– the track of an ant’s feet, the web of a spider, the gait of a human, the flutter of wings. We walk and grow, create and destroy, live and die, all by the unseen hand of The Paradigm that guides us.

The Paradigm is a silent law. Perhaps, it is a pattern. Some think of it as a lens, a mere perspective to life. People give it names like chaos and order. Those who dare to defy it become a whisper of glitch in this infinite universe, lost to the judgement of The Paradigm. 

The Paradigm is a cruel being that does not spare the curious. It punishes relentlessly, endlessly. It holds the seekers and the travellers accountable but does not deliver justice. The Paradigm is not just.

Which is why you have beef with The Paradigm. 

“I’m just saying,” Wooyoung taps anxiously on the surface of the table where you are currently bunched up into a cocoon, studying the pattern of seashells and waiting to make a breakthrough. “Maybe you should stop fighting what’s meant to be.”

“What’s meant to be is absolute silence from you, my subordinate. The law and order of this world demands it.”

“As if,” Wooyoung says with a rather loud snort, twirling his chair twice and producing a faint whistle for the dramatics. You hate that it cannot be just one twirl like his previous two occurrences. “My mother told me to always speak my mind. You don’t get another chance if you keep silent.”

“She didn’t give birth to a yapper. She gave birth to a traveller, and you do anything but,” you tsk in disappointment, a dull ache in your heart at the memory of your teacher. Without her, you feel lost. Absolutely lost, as if you have sailed into the sea without a compass and a destination. 

“You should be finding the key to The Paradigm. Instead, you choose to babysit me,” you continue, signing the last notes and checking the time. Dawn will be cracking in a few which is your sign to leave the base and go home. 

Wooyoung proceeds to twirl in his chair thrice. Is it a force of habit, you wonder, or is it ingrained in the child of The Paradigm to give in to the divine orders of this universe?

“If your next twirling pattern is five times, you will be strapped to the stretcher as my next test subject, Wooyoung. I’m not joking.”

“What– did I do it again?” Wooyoung groans dramatically and gets out of his chair before he can risk his life. Surprisingly, subconsciously being so orderly irked him just about as much as it irked you. “You know I don’t do it on purpose.”

He follows you to the lift and you wait for him to get inside before pressing for the 13th level of your apartment complex. You send a glare through the reflective door of the lift and he runs his hands through his hair. Once.

“Except that one or two times I did it on purpose to get your attention,” he admits with a grin and you raise your brows in challenge. He runs his hands through his hair again, once. “But that was because you were holed up in your base for a solid 3 days and I was so bored.”

“I’m not your only friend in this world,” you remind him.

“But I am your only friend in this world, sweet cheeks,” he says and fluffs his hair thrice. 

“Attention!” You call and he straightens, confused. When he realises that he followed the Fibonacci again, he begrudgingly tucks his hands in the pockets of his denims. 

The Fibonacci sequence is a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the previous two numbers, starting from 0 and 1. For as long as you can remember, Wooyoung always gives in to this sequence in his daily habits.

“Any news of our dear friend?” You ask when you step out of the lift into the comfort of your home. The smell of food fills your nostrils. Even though the food must have gone cold by now, it still smells good enough for you both to steer towards the kitchen and take a few bites before going to sleep. 

“My dear handsome friend Yunho was spotted visiting all the lakes in the district. Now I don’t believe he did it just because he can, but because he, too, is looking for the key for some reason.”

The spoonful of soup pauses abruptly before it reaches your mouth and you meet eyes with your partner-in-crime. Not because he called your worst enemy his dear handsome friend in the most natural, unsarcastic manner but because you might finally have a lead.

“Now, tell me, why would the Keeper of The Paradigm need the key? All he needs to do is make sure the door to the nth dimension remains closed so no one can get to the core and try to access The Paradigm.”

“Maybe he lost something in there,” Wooyoung shrugs mischievously. “Or maybe he wants to go look for someone too, like you. Or…” 

“The possibilities are endless,” you stare at the soup, hands on your hips as you hum. “Maybe someone else like me has finally entered the nth dimension without a permit. Wouldn’t be the first time, but the Keeper does not need to take care of it when they’ve got a whole police force to take care of illegal entries. Which makes me think…”

“That whatever is happening is taking place now?” Wooyoung concludes, taking eight consecutive spoons in his mouth. You nod. 

“Get your next thirteen spoons in. It’s going to be a long night, Wooyoung. We’re raiding the Keeper’s base.”

~ 

It is usually the villains who live underground, drawn towards darkness and cold– anything remotely similar to the way they feel inside their bodies. They learn the tricks and tells of the shadows and become one with them, forcing everyone and everything else out. They step out in the light only when the need arises and sometimes, they bend the light to their will. 

However, Wonderland has always been a strange town. Here, the heroes dwell in tunnels and caves, hardly ever seen in broad daylight, rarely ever spotted by the common man. Here, the heroes are called The Keepers. They are a group of people who guard the doors to the nth dimension and its core, The Paradigm, with their life. They maintain the law and order in this world along with The Forces, thus they are the heroes.

Anyone who dares to challenge them becomes a villain. Like you.

You, who lives in the poshest part of the town in a tall apartment complex. The common man looks up to you, and you wish that they looked up to you in a positive sense too, not just because you are literally situated higher than them on a physical scale. You walk around in public with your friend by your side and everyone recognises you. 

You aren’t affected by the fact that you are recognisable. You have made the face of the news and papers a few too many times. People give you names– outcast, pariah, pandora. The Seeker remains your favourite not because it reeks of accuracy but because those who call you by the name mean it. 

You are a seeker in every sense. Ever since you cut ties with The Forces, you have been seeking not for the truth, but one lie. One mistake. 

One slip from the law and order of this world itself. Just one glitch in the matrix that you can seize in your own two human hands and prove that the law is bendable. That the nth dimension and its core, The Paradigm, are not rigid but allow for anomalies to exist.

You know that anomalies exist. One walks right beside you, child of The Paradigm. His mother is called The Traveller because she explored The Paradigm endlessly. She studied it just to satiate her thirst for knowledge. During her journey in the endless folds of time and space itself, but not alone, this child was conceived. She gave birth to a child who was very much human…

Except that he is driven by everything that reminds him of The Paradigm. As if he is meant to live, or even rule the endless dimension itself. He is not god, no. However, he understands The Paradigm better than you or any other traveller by instinct alone. It is as if he is a part of that endless, supposedly infinite being itself. 

Yet all that instinct and sight never helps when he tries to look for his lost mother.

The key, you shake your head at the thought. You needed to find the key to The Paradigm. 

The Keeper would be the only person who would know where the key is. The existence of the key is usually a top secret known only to a select few in The Forces.

The Keeper is your worst enemy because your existence itself is what forces him out of the shadows to do his job endlessly, never slacking in case you sneak past him and find your way into the nth dimension and eventually, The Paradigm. That would disrupt the law and order of this world. 

The Travellers are legal explorers. The Seeker– you– are not.

“Do we have to do this in the middle of the night?” Wooyoung asks as he waits for you to pick your choice of vehicle for the night. You pick the flashiest car in your garage because the occasion demands it. 

If you are going to raid The Keeper’s base, you are not going to do it like a burglar.

“This is exactly the time. Catch him by surprise,” you smile devilishly at the thought of a half-asleep Jeong Yunho scrambling to collect himself. Or maybe he’s up, panicking because of some unforeseen happening inside the nth dimension, or worse, The Paradigm. Something that made him visit all the water bodies in the area where the door to the nth dimension circulates, changing locations endlessly. 

“I’ll distract him. You follow your instincts and find the key.”

“As if he would keep it in his lair,” Wooyoung mutters, driving speedily towards the bridge that leads you away from the heart of the town and towards the more natural part of the city. This city is surrounded by lakes and rivers, a perfect spot for the door to materialise. 

The door is very much alive and for a few years now, it has chosen Wonderland as its base. The door switches locations, moving from one water body to another but remaining within Wonderland’s radius as if bound by something. Probably the key, you wonder.

“I think if the key is a physical thing,” Wooyoung continues to say, “San would be sent to hide it while Yunho takes care of whatever problem has arisen.”

“You think he can trust San with the key?” You ask and Wooyoung looks at you with curiosity.

“You would trust me with the key. I’m supposing Yunho does the same.”

“Since you and San have always been so chummy, maybe you can go find him then while I distract Yunho,” you say, thinking about how this night could go from here. “Maybe you can send him a cute text, see if he responds.”

“You’re still bitter about the time I went out to play with them?” Wooyoung laughs rather loudly, annoying you to no end. “Look. Everyone loves me. I’m not the villain here. I’m just the villain’s sidekick, and that’s not a bad thing. It just gives me more perks and more character.”

“Shut up and look at that. Their base is fully active in the middle of the night. Something is up.”

You use a couple of scanners and detectors to find out the number of people inside The Keeper’s home which primarily serves as a base in case of emergencies. Situated right outside the heart of Wonderland and quite close to the largest water body in this town, this place is an ideal spot in more ways than you can think of. You detect about seven people and the two of you get out, exchanging instructions and separating to get tonight’s work done.

You pause before one of the mirrored walls in the corridor that lead deeper into the lair to check if everything is in place– your hair, perfectly styled and sitting on your shoulders, clothes smooth and neatly tucked in the right places, black heels spotless, your signature ruby lipstick–

“People usually check if their weapons are in place before they arrive at their enemy’s base, don’t they?” An awfully familiar voice rings in the corridor and you pause in the middle of fixing your lip liner. “Why would you get all dolled up to come here?”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you meet Yunho’s eyes in the mirror and he allows you to put your lip liner back in your bag. You produce a weapon before you close your bag– a gun meant to freeze the person’s limbs momentarily. “I have to make sure that I’m in top condition when I make you kneel in front of the people of Wonderland.”

Yunho looks sleep-deprived, if the bags under his eyes are any indication of the recent unusual activity regarding the doors to the nth dimension. Perhaps, you can use that to your advantage, but you’re quick to make note of how he shifts his weight to his dominant leg and how his hand begins to snake behind his back, under his black jacket.

“Why are you here now?” 

“I thought you would know?” You tuck your hair back before pointing the gun at his hand that surely must hold some sort of a weapon now. “You’ve been frequenting all the water bodies in Wonderland. Tell me why.”

“No sign of Mrs. Jung, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he says softly and you almost fall for it. “There’s just been something I’ve been wanting to check. Drop your weapon, Seeker.”

“Not a chance,” you mutter and fire.

It happens in a span of seconds. He dodges and throws a dagger in your direction, which you expected. You shift your weight towards the left but the next dagger comes out of nowhere and you barely have time to duck. The impact of the dagger ends up shattering the mirror behind you and you look at the Keeper in horror.

“I’m thoroughly offended,” you admit, taking out your real gun this time. “I was only going to hold you for questioning, not kill you, you fucker.”

“And I’m only getting rid of the bane of my existence once and for all so I can focus on my work without distractions. Though… getting rid means I immobilize you and maybe hand you over to The Forces. Prison time ought to fix that pretty head of yours.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You grin before aiming at his head and firing.

You catch Yunho’s smile before he ducks behind a wall and disappears. You go after him but you are welcomed by an onslaught of his minions. You can handle them– you’ve trained for this, but it’s hard to keep one eye fixed on Yunho to see where he is disappearing off to and simultaneously shoot his minions such that no one gets fatally injured.

Because that is not how Mrs. Jung trained you. The cost of a life is too big a price to pay, she said.

You really wish she had never said that, because it is becoming increasingly difficult to not kill someone here. You curse loudly and kick the man who clings to your legs before dashing off to the room where Yunho must be–

Except that he is not there. Where did he go–

You feel the hair on the back of your neck rise before you feel the warmth of his body behind you. He whispers a ‘got you’ and grabs you by your waist, lifting you up as he walks to the nearest chair. You can not let him tie you so you scream and flail in an attempt to distract him. Just as he is about to set you down, you use the shift of his body’s weight to effectively flip him. He grunts in surprise but the flip isn’t successful and you both end up grappling for the gun in your hand. 

You bite his wrist and keep at it. He yelps and struggles to free his hand but you are on top of him and there isn’t much he can do.

“What are you, a cat? Let go.”

You meet his eyes and let go and he rubs at the bloody dent on his wrist, shaking his head. You point the gun at his head and he gives you a deadpan stare, as if daring you to shoot him. 

“I think we can talk like two civilised human beings now,” you say and he gives up, resting his head on the floor with his arms on his side. He raises his bleeding wrist.

“There was nothing civilised about this, but okay. We can make a fresh start.”

“Perfect,” you grin. “Now talk.”

“What would the Seeker like to know?”

“Why have you been frequenting water bodies so much these days?” you ask. “I just need an answer. Is the door changing its pattern of shifting locations, or is there unexpected activity going on in the nth dimension or The Paradigm?”

“Since your only concern is finding Mrs. Jung, which I can assure you that the other travellers and the soldiers from The Forces are still investigating, what’s happening now is none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is, you see?” You cock your head and match the smug grin on his face. “Finding Mrs. Jung is not the only reason I’m obsessed with studying the nth dimension. Now…” you open the cylinder of your revolver with deliberate intention and show him the two bullets. Then you spin the cylinder and it shuts with a metallic whir. 

“We can do this the easy way, but you don’t like that, huh?” 

Yunho keeps his eyes locked with yours. Slowly, he raises his hands and rests them on your bare knees. You try not to shift at his unwarranted touch but he must notice the tic in your jaw. 

“I know you have studied The Paradigm all your life, but it is a dangerous territory that you explore, sweetheart. I have offered you to work with me time and time again– legally. We want to find Mrs. Jung as much as you do. We don’t like lost travellers. So, tell me, why are you so obsessed with risking your life and entering The Paradigm?”

“That’s not something you should worry about,” you tell him in an almost chastising manner. A signal on your watch catches your eye and you contain a sigh. “Perhaps… I should shift my focus on why you go above and beyond to safeguard the door.”

His gaze darkens and you smile in victory. You press the gun against his shoulder and pull the trigger.

Empty. 

“The odds might not be in your favour the next time I shoot, so tell me. Where is the key?”

Yunho chuckles lightly at first and then it turns into a deep laughter. You don’t like how he clutches on to your knees as he catches his breath.

“You don’t know where the key is?”

Your eyebrows scrunch in a frown and Yunho makes the most of your moment of confusion. Gripping your knees, he props himself up and headbutts you. Hard. 

You cry out in pain and soon, he has your gun in his hand and you’re flat on the floor with him on top of you.

Oh, how the tables turn.

A dangerous cock of his head as he contemplates shooting you, the cold press of the gun against your forehead almost haunting. You have no doubt that he will not shoot you, yet the dark, empty look in his gaze makes your heart beat with dread. 

He has you pinned under him, helpless. 

“Go ahead,” you say softly. “If you’re going to shoot and kill me, just tell me where the key is first. I don’t want to die confused.”

“What makes you think I’d grant you that gift, sweetheart?” Yunho asks, his eyes taking note of every inch of your face as if memorising it before he mars it. 

“Because you’re the good guy,” you laugh sarcastically as you remind him. “And no matter how much you want to kill me, you never will. Not because you cannot, but because your conscience doesn’t allow you to.”

“I should kill my conscience then, huh?” Yunho says and pulls the gun away, only to aim it at his own temple. Your smile falls and when you realise that he is actually going to pull the trigger, your eyes widen and you instinctively push his hand away. 

The trigger gets pulled and the bullet makes a loud impact with the roof. You gasp and snatch the gun away from The Keeper.

“Are you insane?” You ask. “Why would you do that?”

“You don’t believe I was actually going to shoot myself, huh?” Yunho asks, unfazed. He snatches the gun and throws it away and then picks you up by the collar of your jacket. You grunt in discomfort but soon, he is fixing your hair and straightening your clothes.

“It’s just nice to learn that you don’t actually want to kill me,” he says with the most innocent smile plastered on his face. You are still in disbelief and you shake your head. 

“The Forces are due for a meeting in about… 10 minutes from now,” he says after checking his wristwatch. “Go home, Seeker. It’s not the time to be fighting. If they spot you here, they’ll cuff you for eternity.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” You ask, hating how weak you sound. 

“Not really,” he shrugs. “There won’t be anything fun about my job if there’s no rogue soul trying to sneak past me.”

You make an impressed face. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me.”

“Never,” he dismisses you with a wave. “I just have a bad headache and I’m functioning on no sleep, thanks to a certain someone,” he looks at you pointedly and you tuck your hands in the pockets of your jacket. “There is strange happenings taking place in the nth dimension and we do not think it is related to Mrs. Jung. Your system should be able to pick it up soon. I’m only doing my job and making sure you do not make a stupid mistake and get lost like Mrs. Jung, so go home. Keep doing what you have to– just stay away from the door.”

“That’s… new. You were never the type to spill. Are you sick or something?” You narrow your eyes and he returns your suspicious gaze with an eye roll. “Am I finally getting rid of The Keeper without doing anything?”

“We’re not enemies, y/n. Even if our roles demand conflict, we’re looking for the same thing,” he admits in a low voice, almost a whisper, as if he is afraid that the walls will hear him. “Let’s not become allies. However… if we ever do find ourselves on the same path, I wouldn’t mind sharing it with you.”

You pretend to throw up at the sudden display of camaraderie, even though something warm fills your stomach. He laughs and pats your back twice before harshly pushing you towards the door. You flip your finger at him but before you can leave, Wooyoung enters looking rather smug.

“Hey, y/n. I didn’t find the key but I did knock San out and retrieved what looks like their latest findings–”

As soon as he spots a furious Yunho, he grabs your hand and you both make a run for it, The Keeper hot on your heels. Wooyoung’s laugh echoes in the corridors and he takes out a smoke bomb, unlocking it with his teeth and throwing it behind you without a care. 

You turn your neck to see the look on Yunho’s face before leaving. He must be so angry, mad for giving you a chance–

But you see him shaking his head in amusement instead. It utterly confuses you and you remain thinking about why The Keeper has a sudden change of heart now. 

True, you never had the typical hero and villain dynamics. That is just how the public likes to refer to you both. You both are pupils of Mr. Jung, childhood friends who studied and trained together. Your rivalry began when Mrs. Jung went missing and Yunho became The Keeper of the door to the nth dimension, siding with The Forces. It felt like a betrayal because Mrs. Jung used to warn you about The Forces and their morals.

You went rogue. You explored uncharted, illegal territories on your own. You barely escaped prison but you made it your life’s mission to find Mrs. Jung and to find the truth about what she went to explore the last time that she entered the nth dimension and never came back.

Void points that allowed time travelling into the future inside The Paradigm.

Yunho always asked you what was keeping you back from becoming an official traveller. You told him that the people in The Forces were all liars. They claimed that no void point couldn’t transport you to the future and that they were ‘working’ on means to time travel into the future.

Surely, you weren’t the only person Mrs. Jung told about the future void points inside The Paradigm, right? Yunho must know as well. 

Did Yunho finally figure out your reason for being so insistent on studying the void points inside The Paradigm and exposing the truth? What reasons did he have for staying silent about it then?

The door is the portal to the nth dimension, which is the point in space where multiple dimensions of different times and locations in the present and the past exist. It looks like an empty white maze but there are two types of folds in the nth dimension– the common points and the void points.

The void points are raw gaps in the dimension that must be calibrated and configured through certain chemical elements until they stop changing forms and become a fixed point in its location and time. That is when it qualifies to be called a common point. Through a common point, you can access its configured location and time to travel to other common points and explore the dimension and its anomalies. They are kind of like portals in that sense.

Since common points are all void points originally, these voids are let out from the core of the nth dimension which is The Paradigm. The Paradigm is a living entity, some argue. You like to think that ‘living’ does not encompass the entirety of The Paradigm’s nature. It is a place where millions of thousands of dimensions of different times move without a beginning and an end. The Paradigm is called a living identity because it decides its key itself. It can be anything from a stone to a shell and it changes its key every few years.

The Forces call The Paradigm a void point in itself since it contains such raw energy and only a selected few qualify to explore that dimension. However… Mrs. Jung thought differently. She believed The Paradigm was much more than just a void point. She believed it could serve a greater purpose like foreseeing the future. You agreed with her.

And only one other person ever agreed with the two of you. The Keeper.

Mrs. Jung became qualified enough to be able to access The Paradigm but because of her radical views, she was never given a permit. As she started studying the core by herself through old research and occasionally sneaking in the nth dimension, she realised that she was not the first person to think about this phenomenon. 

That meant that the Forces and the higher ups were deliberately hiding the existence of the future time travel possibility from the travellers. If the void points outside The Paradigm but inside the nth dimension could be configured to a future time and location and the higher-ups had deemed that ‘dangerous’, that meant they had something to hide. 

It was bad for many reasons– travellers sometimes got lost in the commons. Almost all the common points were determined and stored in the databases so it was easy enough to extract a traveller from any of those common points. Sure, new common points were created every day and there were some territories in the nth dimension that remained unexplored, but to intentionally conceal the whole nature of the void points?

It reeks of something amiss. It is dangerous in too many ways. 

When Mrs. Jung got lost, you and Yunho had just graduated. Since you were the bestest of friends, Mrs. Jung had hoped that you would one day become partners. That you would both become travellers and explore the truth about the void points one day.

Except you cut off all ties from The Forces when they refused to look for Mrs. Jung. 

And Yunho kept all his ties to become the Keeper. The guardian to the door to the nth dimension and The Paradigm.

Your first obstacle.

However, he isn’t your only obstacle. You aren’t sure if Yunho is the one who reported you to The Forces, but someone has been on your ass since the morning and you are tired of chasing them.  

“Can’t even let a girl take her damned toilet break,” you mutter as you speed past a group of soldiers from The Forces, narrowly avoiding their taser guns, tranquiliser guns and whatnot. Do they wish to kill you? You are on a motorbike and tranquilising you would only ensure a painful death.

“Turn right– the closed intersection is wide enough for a bike to pass,” Wooyoung’s instructions ring in your earpiece. “200 metres now.”

You have to make the turn sooner than you can respond and tell him that the officers just so happen to be on bikes this time too. The cars are probably stationed ahead, ready to block your path. Wooyoung must know, though. He barely escaped from this endless chase and made his way straight to the base to guide you back home.

The Forces aren’t allowed to arrest you since you haven’t violated one of their laws yet, but they do not miss any opportunity to make your life miserable whenever they catch you outside. It is as if they want you to break the law and give them a reason to come barging into your house without the threats that you have made against them–

That if they ever step unwarranted within a 5 mile radius, you will expose the existence of the nature of the void points to the public. Specifically, their future time properties.

At first, it was a bluff you made when attempting to escape from one of your similar chases, but their surrender made the matter more serious. They did not wish for the public to learn that the void points could be configured to access the future. Why? You were still searching for that answer.

The tunnel ahead is dark but Wooyoung instructs you to keep your headlights off and follow his instructions. He guides you into one of the openings of the tunnels that is unlit, courtesy of Wooyoung’s hacking skills. You silently zoom inside that opening and after a few beats, you turn on the lights and head towards the exit.

“Anyone on my tail?”

“None of the official vehicles on the radar,” Wooyoung confirms. “Can’t speak for any unofficial ones.”

“I got my eyes for that… we are near the Aurora Lake, right?”

Wooyoung hums. “The door was last spotted here. Might still be here.”

“Hmm… I should head away then. The Forces might think I’m going towards the nth dimension if I head any further–”

A sharp sound of something zooming past you makes the grip on your bike shaky and you almost lose control. However, the next sound confirms that the target has hit home.

Your bike swerves dangerously, courtesy of a burst tyre. You curse loudly and Wooyoung’s panicked voice instructs you to head towards the forest opening that leads towards the lake– chances are that you could run and lose your tail. But this one…

It’s unofficial. Someone is deliberately out for you– someone who might not actually be a part of The Forces. You dare a glance behind and find a helmeted man, hot on your heels.

You have exactly 2 seconds to make a decision, and you decide to trust Wooyoung on this one just so you don’t have to hear his nagging when you get back home. If you make it back home.

Crashing your bike into the thick of the forest and jumping away from it before you lose a limb, you start to run on the rocky path. There is no clear trail and that means that this area is unmonitored. You’re not sure if Wooyoung made a wise decision, but you can’t place the blame on him since you have no other options.

You hear the bike stop and you speed up, already out of breath and tripping on every other rock. You were not dressed for this occasion. You were simply out to meet an old friend. You were in heeled boots, for fuck’s sake. You were wishing you had worn the trainers instead.

“But they don’t go as well with my skirt as the boots do,” you addressed Wooyoung while checking your outfit– one foot in the said boot and one in a trainer.

“The trainers make a nice contrast is what I’m saying,” Wooyoung spared you a glance while in the middle of fixing a meal for his friend who was coming over. Usually, he was the one going out but the roles were reversed today. “But you do you, boo. The all-black isn’t bad.”

“Hmm… It’s just because I’m in the mood for heels today. How cool will I look when I get off my bike in these heels?” You grinned, already picturing the stares you would get. Bikers really weren’t very common in this area, much less biker girls. 

“Are you trying to impress Hongjoong?” Wooyoung raised a brow. You rolled your eyes.

“I just want to feel good, that’s all. If he gets impressed, that’s not on me,” you raised your hands and Wooyoung laughed. Familiar footsteps sounded and San greeted the two of you.

“Trainers or boots?” You asked.

“Boots.”

“I’m replacing you with Wooyoung. Yunho can have him,” you told him and ditched the trainers. 

You wish San had said trainers. You could place the blame on him, you supposed. The meeting with Hongjoong had gone fine but you had eyes on you since you left your apartment complex. They finally got a reason to chase you when you flipped a finger at them to tell them that you knew.

Guess the blame was on you too, then.

You take out your revolver, cursing when you realise that you forgot to reload it since your last interaction with Yunho. You were not going to play russian roulette with this stranger. You dare a glance behind you, yelping as you realise that he is closer than you thought.

“Drop your weapons,” the man’s gravelly voice booms as he proceeds to load his own revolver. “I only mean to talk.”

I– singular. He is not with The Forces.

“What do you want!” It comes out more as a statement than a question and you pick a rock as you climb a rather large step, throwing it at the man with full force, which frankly isn’t much considering your awkward position. “I have nothing to offer you!”

“Fuck– You don’t know that!” 

“Great. He’s angry now,” Wooyoung calls. “You’re near the lake. Do you want to keep going in this direction?”

“She could jump in the lake. I hope she knows how to swim,” you hear San’s faint voice in your earpiece and something clicks.

“Does Yunho know? If he doesn’t, tell him.” 

“He–”

You don’t hear the rest of what Wooyoung is about to say because you get pulled by your leg and your face meets the sharp rock that you were just about to step on. You whimper in pain and kick violently. When the man clutches his eye, you’re glad that you wore the heels after all. 

The trainer wouldn’t have hurt him like this.

You click your gun, aiming at the man’s leg but it is an empty shot. Before you can click again, the gun gets punched out of your hand and the man aims his gun at your head.

You freeze. You observe. 

The man is not a familiar face. He has a rather deformed face as if he was tortured or had a dangerous injury that did not heal properly. His eyes are empty and dark which just make your heart beat right in your throat. His left eye is bleeding thanks to your kick. 

The man wipes the blood off his eye and winces, smacking the butt of his gun harshly against your ankle and you clutch your leg in pain. He yells at you to not move but you can hardly focus– Wooyoung and San are sprouting instructions and inquiring about your situation, the pain in your ankle and on your face is making you dizzy, and then the man is muttering something about the void points and how he simply wants to talk.

“I’m going to bind your limbs so you don’t try something stupid again. I am not going to shoot you. Is that clear? Now stop struggling." 

You want to cry. He takes out a gun that carries the emblem of The Forces– a triquetra knot with looped ends. You frown in confusion– is he… a deserter?

He attempts to grip your ankles with one hand so he can shoot the web out of his other gun and bind you when the sound of an actual gunshot makes you tremble with fear. For a few seconds, you think it is your ankle that he has mistakenly shot and the pain hasn’t registered yet, but then you hear a familiar voice.

“Y/n, run!”

The Keeper.

You kick one last time for good measure, smacking the man’s jaw in the process before you all but crawl up towards the top of the hill where Yunho is waiting, his gun aimed at the path behind you and shooting anywhere the man dares to step–

Until he, too, is out of bullets. Then he grabs you by the arm and you both run for your life.

“Are you stupid?” You ask while running. “You wasted your bullets!”

“At least I brought you time,” he mutters, sparing a glance and clicking his tongue in disappointment. You are not sure if the heat in your cheeks is from running or his displeasure triggered by whatever reason (the sight of you, it seems like.)

You both duck when you hear a gunshot and you speed up, ditching the clear path for a shortcut that surely leads towards the lake. You ask him if he’s gonna push you in the lake or something but he tells you to save your breath.

You realise why.

The door to the nth dimension stands at the edge of the Aurora Lake in all its mystical glory– carved out of ice in an intricate pattern that seems to resemble endless looping patterns and knots. 

“Don’t tell me that we’re headed for the door,” you pull Yunho’s hand as he leads you into the thick of the forest– a path that will surely open right in front of the door. You spotted this path while running just a few seconds earlier.

“There is no other way… unless you want to risk drowning. He is a rogue, dangerous man. He will kill without hesitation.”

You harshly pull him as you pause in the middle of running, so close to the door that you can feel its pull. “Are you insane? If I step inside the nth dimension, I’ll have a target on my head.”

“You already do,” Yunho warns you with wide eyes, lips parted as he sucks in hungry breaths. “Come. There is no other way. There is no time.”

“The Forces will come for you–”

“They’re already coming for me. I left my post,” he informs you right as you spot the uniformed men. 

You want to tell Yunho that he should at least let your hand go. It is not a good sight for the Forces to see– the Keeper with the Seeker, hand in hand. It wouldn’t matter to them if you both are risking your life to avoid being taken hostage by a deserter. They will simply fuck your lives up. You feel dread looming in the air–

And then you are out in the open, a short path to the door. You can make it past the uniformed men in time, but will the door open for you? It opens only to the keepers and the licensed travellers who possess the key to the nth dimension.

You are a couple of steps away from the door when all hell breaks loose.

The guards from the Forces realise that the Keeper is going to open the door. Though the Keeper has authority to open the door, there is still a certain procedure you must follow before opening the door to the nth dimension. You simply cannot walk inside.

The deserter realises the same thing and shoots his real gun in warning. Yunho instinctively ducks and grabs both of your hands. You lock eyes and share a silent nod, making a unanimous decision to risk getting lost in the nth dimension to save your lives.

Except some genius shoots at your joined hands. With a web gun.

Instead of your feet. Maybe they thought that the free would drag the tied if they shoot one of you. But what was shooting the hands meant to do except make sure you both enter the nth dimension–

Or did they think the Keeper would not take you inside? Or push you inside while staying back?

Yunho curses and brings your joined hands to the door. 

He does not have to pull out the physical key because the door unlocks itself. Without him pushing the key in the lock.

You don’t have time to process anything before he jumps inside, dragging you along and you are welcomed with endless darkness as the door shuts behind you.

You both clutch on to each other and soon, you softly land on a flat surface, all tangled limbs. It takes you a few moments to gather yourself before you push yourself off Yunho, but your conjoined hands do not allow you much range of movement.

“Uh, can you sit? I’m going to get a shoulder cramp–”

“Wait, uh…” Yunho awkwardly fumbles his limbs and you both spend a few moments pushing and pulling until you realise that the only option is for you to sit between his legs so your upper limbs don’t hurt with the strain. Your ankle is already in so much pain so you give in and keep a respectable distance as you sit in front of each other with you crouched between his legs.

You look at him, all messy hair that falls on his forehead and flushed cheeks. 

And then you both are laughing, looking away in disbelief.

“This was very stupid of you. You had no plan,” you say between laughs. “I’ve never seen you act so irrationally. You always plan and win.”

“I still won,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “I saved you. We’re safe here. No one else can find us here.”

“And we have no means to get out,” you sigh, looking at your conjoined hands. They feel numb. “Do you know where we are?”

Yunho looks around again. The surroundings are dimly lit without a source of light. The surface and the walls that seem to surround you are but an illusion, as everything else is in the nth dimension. Unless you both are at one of the common points, there is no way for anyone else to know your location. 

Well. There is one. The Paradigm Key. But Yunho is not sure if San will ever reveal it to Wooyoung. They are your only hope.

“Not at a common point,” Yunho sighs. “We could try getting there, but if we alert the Forces, we both get arrested.”

“So we die here,” you conclude.

“You know we can’t die here,” Yunho smiles faintly. “We might get mad, yes, but never hungry, never thirsty. No sleep and no humane needs.”

“I wish they also factored in no pain,” you mutter. 

Yunho dips his chin as he looks at your face intently, his eyes slowly scanning your face.

At first, you try to avoid his gaze but then you notice his frown getting deeper. You raise a brow.

“What happened, y/n? What went wrong this time?”

You don’t appreciate the sudden onset of questions. 

“What’s it to you?”

Yunho looks down at the space between you both and notices the big, dark bruise on your ankle. “Does that hurt?”

“A bit, yes,” you admit. In this cramped space thanks to your webbed hands, you can’t stretch your legs and your ankle is feeling the strain but you are not going to mention it.

“Did you fall from your bike?” He asked in a low voice, scanning your body for more injuries. 

“...No.”

Then his eyes fix on yours.

“He did this to you? That man from earlier?”

“He pulled me while I was climbing and I smacked my face on a rock, and then he hit my ankle with his gun,” you tell him just so he can shut up. “No biggie. You can laugh if you want–”

Yunho pulls you towards him with a sharp tug and your legs bunch between your bodies. You are grateful for the barrier but he is not having it.

“Straighten your legs.”

“What is wrong with you–”

“I know it hurts. You’re in pain, I can see it,” he taps your knees with your joined hands. “Come on. Straighten your legs and rest them over my thighs.”

“No,” you sigh, remembering how you were in similar positions not too long ago. “It’s okay, I can manage.”

“Y/n. You don’t want me to make you do it. Come on.”

His voice contains heavy warning. With a sigh, you obey and awkwardly rest your hurt leg on top of his. You use your webbed hands as an anchor and lift to tuck your other leg under you, allowing you both a more comfortable position. 

“See?” Yunho hums in appreciation. “That wasn’t so hard. Now…”

He tugs you closer and you suck your breath in surprise. He locks his eyes with you.

“How could you let him do this to you?”

“As if I had a choice!” You say in a hushed voice. “I had my gun, I was about to shoot him. He overpowered me.”

“Never caught up to self defence, did you?”

“Not after you– The Academy,” you say, recalling your student life. You used to spar with Yunho for practice. You never practised after you left The Academy. 

Sparring meant that you were physical with each other. Such a position as yours now wasn’t new, but the circumstances now…

“Look at you. Not a hair out of place even when we sparred, and now?” He sounds as disappointed as he looks and your cheeks flame with something resembling shame. 

“You’re all hurt and bloody now. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“You don’t like that someone else did it,” you correct. “Never got why you’re so obsessed with me. Always choosing me to spar back in school. Did the size difference make it fun for you? Or do you just hate me so much that you will take every chance to hurt me?”

“I chose you so you could get stronger and learn what it’s like to fight against someone with a similar stature as me,” he explains while his eyes glaze with something unrecognisable, gaze fixed on the skin near your lips. “I don’t hate you, y/n. You know that. But…”

He seems at a loss for words, his gaze still on the same spot. You lightly shuffle under his gaze, conscious. You try to flip your hair back, away from your face but your styled curls remain matted to your cheeks.

“Am I very badly hurt?” You ask him and you hate how small you sound. “I mean… what are you looking at?”

“It’s just that… you’re always so put together, and you’re such a mess now. Everything… is out of place.”

“Yeah, well…” you look away. “Happens to the best of us. Now can you stop staring at me and think of a way out?”

“Not like this,” he says, bringing your conjoined hands to nudge you and make you look at him. “Only I am allowed to see you in this state, you understand? You’re not going out like this, looking so…”

He bites his words back and his gaze falls near your lips again. 

“Don’t move.”

You don’t have time to react before he presses his lips to the corner of your lips.

You instinctively draw away and pull back but he seems to be in a daze. “I’m only fixing your smudged lipstick. Do not move.”

He pulls you closer and you contain a yelp, attempting to push him back but he presses his lips against your skin again and you pause. You let him rub his lips against your skin, caress the edge of your lips until you’re out of breath and he is satisfied. 

“There,” he draws back, inspecting the spot that he claimed had smudged lipstick. “All good now–”

He meets your eyes and finds your pupils wide. All of a sudden, it feels like the first time that you are looking at each other. This time, your eyes fall on his lips that are slightly flushed from the transferred colour of the lipstick and you can’t help but imagine–

This is how his lips would look if he kissed you.

He can’t take the look in your eyes when your gaze travels up. He draws closer, nudging your nose with his lightly before trailing the tip of his nose to your cheek where your hair is sticking to a bruise. He gently pushes until your hair is out of your face and then he blows on the open wound on your cheekbone, kissing the spot right next to it as if attempting to tell you that it is okay.

He proceeds to trail the tip of his nose to the other side of your face, pushing your hair out of your face and then he dips down and nudges your chin up with your hands so he can take care of all the bruises, blowing and kissing around them. You become putty in his hold and you’re glad that your joined hands below your chin remain acting as an anchor–

But then he pulls your hands down and starts to trail his lips down the side of your neck.

“Yunho.”

You warn him. You are glad your voice comes out steady and not shaky like your current internal state. He brings your hands to push your hair away from your front and then he kisses near the wound on your collarbone, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling sharply. Your breath hitches and you make the mistake of looking down at him when he draws away.

He must be under some influence. There is no way he is drunk on this moment alone.

He finds the spot near your lips again. Perhaps, your lipstick is still smudged or perhaps, he is kissing that spot just because he can. He draws back to look at you and when he finds your eyes filled with something right, he goes ahead and rubs his lips against yours.

At first, he pulls away and inspects your eyes again, looking for any sign of discomfort or displeasure. But he swears that all he sees is his own mirrored expressions of something unfamiliar, something almost dangerous yet exciting. Or maybe, he tells himself, he is only doing this because he’s so, so mad that you are hurt like this.

He has never felt like this when he sparred with you at the Academy or actually fought against you like recently. With guns and legitimate threats. Yes, he has a soft spot for you but was that spot occupying the entirety of his being?

He had no idea.

He pecks your lips this time, lightly, softly, marvelling at the feeling blooming in his chest. Do you feel the same? Are you confused right now? Do you like this? If not, why are you not threatening to kill him in the most painful way possible like you usually do?

“Say something,” he all but begs. The only sound you are capable of producing resembles a needy whimper so he pecks your parted lips again, and again. Softly. Lightly. A kiss.

You make the mistake of kissing his lips back.

Then he bites your lower lip lightly and pulls back, leaving you stranded and expecting more. He looks at you with glazed eyes and proceeds to rest his head against your shoulder.

“Don’t you ever appear in front of me like this again, all bloody and bruised,” he warns in a low guttural tone and you wonder if he’s shivering. “Only I am allowed to hurt you. Only I am allowed to take care of you if you get hurt. No one else. Got it?”

You have to physically keep yourself from shaking under his hold. It’s too much– you are confused. You are not hurting anymore. Instead, something unfamiliar and warm courses through your entire being. 

You don’t know how long you remain in this position. It must have been a good few minutes, but he doesn’t meet your eyes again. He simply rests his forehead against your shoulder, occasionally shifting to brush his lips against your exposed skin, never kissing. You start to wonder if you hallucinated the whole thing.

“What did you do, Yunho?” You ask softly, only after you are sure that you have regained a semblance of your control.

“I don’t know,” he responds. “All I know is that I don’t like what happened. It shouldn’t have happened. Why was that bastard chasing you?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you say and he finally pulls away. He looks back to normal now. “I was out meeting a friend but the guards from The Forces were trailing me ever since I left the house. Wooyoung was on call with me and he was instructing me so I could lose them but when I did, this man appeared out of nowhere and tried shooting my bike. I ditched it before I could get in an accident, and then this… happened.”

“It could have been so dangerous,” he scolds as if it is your fault and you pout angrily. “What if I was not there to save your ass, Seeker?”

“But you were.”

Wrong thing to say. 

Something dark flashes in his eyes again and you look away.

“Can you stop looking at me like I’m a snack?”

That finally got the Keeper to break out from his trance and he starts to laugh. You shake your head in disappointment.

“What is your deal? Stop pretending that you care about me.”

“But I do,” he says in a firm voice. “Wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if I didn’t.”

“Well, then stop pretending you’re not enjoying the fact that I’m hurt,” you attempt. “You don’t have to fix me. I’m not broken.”

“But you look so beautiful,” he says, his brows furrowing and you can tell that it is genuine. Your heart absolutely breaks as memories of your past with him threaten to surface. “Even like this. I… couldn’t let anyone else see you like this.”

“Do you have a crush on me or something?” 

“Crush? No,” He looks offended. “I’m just… I– I don’t know, I–”

Before he can form a coherent response, you hear overlapping chatter and you look up.

It has to be Wooyoung and San. 

“You hear this?”

“Yeah,” he doesn’t sound pleased and you wonder why. “Can you get up?”

“I can try,” you tell him and you both shuffle, supporting each other as you stand up. 

“They will find their way here, just wait,” he tells you and you nod. He seems out of breath and looks as if he is trying to say something.

“Whatever happened here… let’s forget about it, okay? We have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Funny coming from you, but sure,” you mutter. “Don’t ever try this stupid shit again.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, guys!” Wooyoung waves as he appears into your area and then bursts into laughter at the sight of your webbed hands, clutching on to San for dear life who seems thoroughly amused too. “That’s one way to make sure they don’t kill each other!”

You and Yunho meet eyes and look away just as quickly. San shakes his head and fishes out a dagger to expertly cut the web without hurting any of you and when he frees you, he passes you both weird looks.

“How did this even happen?”

“We were running away,” you say and fix your hair properly this time, still feeling the ghost of Yunho’s lips and nose on your face. 

“Running away?” San raises an eyebrow and looks at Yunho. “Never mind. I had to tell Wooyoung about The Paradigm Key.”

“Where is it?” You ask and when none of the three respond, you look at Wooyoung, thoroughly offended.

“Wooyoung, if you don’t tell me, god help me, I will–”

“Okay, stop. You need to calm down first,” Wooyoung motions with his hands, rubbing your wrists to soothe the redness from the webs. “And we need to get the hell out of here. The Forces do not need to find all of us here. Yunho, you’re coming with us. You’re only going to get arrested if you go back.”

“I’m not taking him back with us. He can… find refuge elsewhere,” you mutter. San looks torn, observing the way you and Yunho are shooting daggers at each other.

“Did something happen, or am I reading too much into things?” San wonders out loud.

“Nothing happened,” you mutter. “Let’s go. Keeper, do your actual job for once and find a way to get us out of here.”

“Right,” Yunho almost scowls. “Follow me.”

It was surprisingly easy to shift the door to your desired waterbody location once you were inside the nth dimension.

Or at least, that’s what you thought until you got back home and you all settled down at your workplace– the base– after a hearty dinner.

“Wait, so am I understanding this right?” you are out of retorts, for once. You simply stare dumbly at Yunho. “The reason we opened the door to my pool here, which I thought was odd enough– because doesn’t the door need the energy of a lake or something?– is because of Wooyoung?”

“Precisely,” Yunho shrugs. “The reason the door has been circling around this town is because Wooyoung lives here. He is a part of The Paradigm. Haven’t you noticed something odd about him?”

“Apart from the fact that he doesn’t possess the ability to ever shut up?” You glance at your friend who is currently explaining something to San very animatedly. San, ever the kind soul, simply watches in awe. You are sure that San isn’t even processing anything. He is probably amazed by Wooyoung’s energy.

Yunho chuckles lightly. “Come on. Spill.”

“He does have this obsessive desire to maintain order,” you admit. No harm in discussing that since Yunho was wise enough to deduce that if he hadn’t already. “He loves the Fibonacci. Watch the pattern of his leg taps.”

Sure enough, Yunho sees the pattern. Wooyoung taps his legs rhythmically in a fixed Fibonacci pattern but it is purely subconscious. Each leg tap is the sum of the two preceding leg taps. He goes from 2 to 3, to 5, 8, 13 and he manages to reach a solid 21 when he realises that you both have fallen silent and are fixated on how his hands tap his thigh. He raises his hands in surrender and the two of you go back to your discussion.

“Strange, isn’t it? I thought it is the aftereffect of being conceived in The Paradigm, but apparently it is deeper than that?”

Yunho nods. “He is the key to the core of the nth dimension– The Paradigm. I have been studying the meaning of how this works all along– Wooyoung was only born a few years ago. Who or what was the key before that? Are there more keys?”

“That is not what’s important right now,” you hold your hand in the air to stop him. “You are telling me that Wooyoung can summon the door, access the nth dimension and The Paradigm as he pleases and pass undetected through all the common points?”

“The last part is a theory, but yes. I don’t think he will show up on the radar as we do. If his energy is more similar to the energy in the dimensions, then yes. He will not be detected.”

“So how could you conceal this information from me?” You ask through gritted teeth as you lean in. “We could have been finding Mrs. Jung all along.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Yunho mirrors your furious expressions. “I don’t think Mrs. Jung is lost.”

You glance at Wooyoung to make sure he isn’t listening. “The fuck you mean?”

Yunho frowns as if offended by your dirty tongue. “I think there are two possibilities. That Mrs. Jung left of her own free will or initially got lost and is now refusing to come back of her own free will, or she is under some sort of an arrest for knowing too much and we have been lied to.”

“That is two and a half possibilities,” you fold your arms and slump back. “I don’t like this.”

“Can’t do anything about that,” Yunho mutters. 

“Not to mention that there are other unfactored possibilities,” you say. “Who else knows about Wooyoung being The Paradigm Key?”

“No one but us,” Yunho confirms. 

“We shall keep it that way,” you stand up and look at him. You do not like the way he looks up at you with all his attention devoted to your face. “I think we need to access the Paradigm.”

“That’s… madness,” Yunho shakes his head.

“That’s reasonable,” you counter. “Not only for Mrs. Jung, but to confirm the extent of Wooyoung’s relationship with The Paradigm. If we’re lucky, we can explore the void points inside as well. It would be good to gather some dirt on The Forces so they do not immediately arrest us when we come back.”

“Very illegal,” Yunho scratches his chin as he looks at his friends. You notice the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck. You would recommend a haircut, but you kind of like the length–

“They are eventually going to arrest us anyway, whether we have dirt on them or not,” Yunho looks at you again and you pretend that you had not been staring. “Why do you think Mrs. Jung is not back? I believe she fears arrest too. You know how bad the prisons here are– they torture the truth out of you but still don’t get satisfied.”

“Well, I believe that Mrs. Jung is lost inside The Paradigm,” you tell him. “If Wooyoung is the key and she is his mother, she might have accessed The Paradigm somehow. And I intend to explore that possibility whether you like it or not. Are you going to join me or are you going to sit back and watch? A house arrest here cannot be more fun.”

“Either we all go or we don’t,” Wooyoung suddenly announces as he joins the two of you. You are surprised by his sudden declaration of loyalty. He winks at you and says, “If something happens, I would like it to happen to all of us.”

San shakes his head in disappointment. “And who is going to save our asses if something happens to us?”

“That is the thing!” Wooyoung defends his point. “At least I know I won’t be betrayed by my friends if we all go.”

“I can betray you even if I go with you,” Yunho comments.

“Likewise,” you shoot daggers at him. He returns the sentiment.

“We’re doing this together, in any case,” San ruffles his short hair. “I just have one request. Can we get some sleep before we go? I want to be in the best spirits when I leave.”

“Uh… I guess so?” You didn’t expect San to be so relaxed about this. You were ready to pack your bags and leave immediately. “This base is secure. If anything happens, you’ll know, so you can sleep peacefully.”

“Perfect,” San smiles. “See you all in the morning. Come on Wooyoung, show me to my room.”

“My room–”

“I am going to get some sleep. This is not a sleepover–”

Their arguing fades as they head towards the lift. That leaves you and Yunho, alone.

When he bites his lips out of habit, you almost lose your mind. 

“Get out of my sight,” you say and go towards the computers to take one final look at the security before heading towards your room.

Yunho doesn’t obey. He loiters. He follows you and hovers around you as you make quick work of the security alarms. Then he gets into the lift with you, all silent and calm but present. Then he follows you all the way to your room until you stand outside the door and turn around.

“Do you have something to say to me?”

“Nothing,” he smiles and there is something mischievous about it. This little shit. “Just wondering what your room looks like now.”

Your brows scrunch in surprise and mild annoyance. “Why would you care about that?”

“Because I still remember how particular you were about how your room looked back at The Academy. Remember when we were roomies on a trip and you brought an entire suitcase of things you couldn’t live without?”

“I still cannot live without my fur eye mask, yes. And my silk pillows. And my soft blanket, if that’s what you are worried about.”

“I remember a bear plushie too,” Yunho comments. 

“Your room,” you ignore that and point at the door in front of yours. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You enter your room, not caring if he catches a glimpse inside. He’s seen it all anyway. However, you pause when you are about to shut the door. He is still watching you with a cryptic face.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, genuinely worried. “You’ve been strange all day.”

“Are you… okay?” He asks. “We can delay the trip to the nth dimension until you heal.”

“We cannot delay it,” you say. “The Forces will make up an excuse to come barging in here. We need to disappear before that happens. Besides, it’s just a swollen ankle and a few bruises. Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t cure.”

“Sleep well, then,” he says softly. 

You stand staring at each other for a few moments, none of you moving or even speaking. Just the unspoken question–

What the hell happened today in the nth dimension between you two? 

If you were worried about Yunho acting strange, he sure sobers up when he witnesses The Paradigm Key actually work.

Wooyoung has no idea how to summon the door, but he sits by the same pool the door opened to yesterday. Yunho does the rest of the work by giving some vague instructions to Wooyoung– something about connecting with the water on a deeper level and looking for the orderly energy of The Paradigm in his core. Wooyoung has no idea what Yunho is on about but he shuts his eyes and you see when it happens.

When he lets go of his surroundings and starts to tap with both his fingers incessantly in rhythmic patterns. Almost like a code. San points at the edges of the pool and you see how the water droplets start to arise and remain static in the air, a stillness washing over the surroundings.

“So much energy,” San comments. “If anyone is nearby, they can definitely feel it too.”

“Let’s hope not,” you say and San agrees, looking sombre. It is nothing short of supernatural to watch Wooyoung nod ominously and see the door materialise in front of you from thin air, the door opening on its own without a key and inviting you to its unwelcoming white void. 

Yunho nods. He has hidden the physical key to the nth dimension in the apartment. He doesn’t need it since Wooyoung is with you all. Besides, using the physical key would document your entry. It works like a marker.

Wooyoung opens his eyes and gasps lightly. He expected this but he is still a little surprised. When he turns to look at you with a feline expression of curiosity, you smile.

A thought passes in your mind and your smile falls.

Would Mrs. Jung approve of what you are about to do?

Yunho seems to read your mind, or perhaps, he shares the same thoughts as you. He nudges your hand with his and when you mirror the doubt that he holds in his eyes, he relaxes.

“One last time. Are you sure about this?” He asks.

“Not sure, but we have no other choice,” you say the obvious and he nods in agreement this time. 

Checking if you have all your belongings, you give the signal. Yunho is the first to step inside, so very familiar with the nth dimension. He waits until all of you are inside before he shuts the door.

And then you are surrounded by nothing but white walls all around you, over you and under you.

You curse loudly and ask Yunho to lead the way, sharing a look. He turns to Wooyoung.

“You are our compass now. We will go wherever your instincts take you.”

“You sure?” He asks, looking conflicted. 

“100 percent,” Yunho assures. “You can tell where the core is, right? The Paradigm?” 

Wooyoung points in a direction towards his east. Yunho nods. 

“We’re accessing The Paradigm and avoiding all common and void points before that unless something catches your attention. We’ll follow your lead.”

“It’s what’s after accessing The Paradigm that changes everything,” San reminds Wooyoung. “Just help us avoid all these points and any travellers until then.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung claps his hands and inhales, cheering up. “Let’s move.”

You don’t follow immediately. It isn’t until Yunho finds you standing hesitant that you finally move. He asks you if something is wrong.

“I wish I could tell him to keep his expectations low. There is a chance we might not find his mother,” you say and Yunho agrees. “I can’t do that, though. That sounds like a cruel thing to say.”

“You care a lot about him,” Yunho notes. There is no apprehension in his voice.

“He’s my family,” you say the obvious.

“I think San may have already talked about this to Wooyoung last night. I asked him to,” Yunho says. “If not, he will soon. Wooyoung listens to him, and San knows how to deliver such a message kindly.”

“I appreciate that,” you mean it. A faint smile crawls on Yunho’s lips and you ignore it. You have to stay vigilant right now– anyone from The Forces could be paroling in here. You could accidentally come across a traveller and they could report you to the headquarters. You have to look for the common points and avoid them, and keep an eye out for the void points. The nth dimension is changing infinitely and you don’t want to accidentally take a wrong step–

Yunho’s hand brushes against yours as you step into a narrow path. The space is too narrow for him to step away and the action seems to be unintentional but when you exit the narrow path and come across a wide expanse, he still remains just as close.

You can’t tell if you like it or not. He has been crowding your mind ever since you infiltrated his base. Even before that, if you are honest. He is always somewhere in your headspace, but now…

Another brush of his hand and you look at him. He remains oblivious or maybe, he is good at acting.

"Let's not get distracted in here,” you comment as you create a few inches of gap between the two of you. “It could cost us.”

“I’m not distracted. I know what I want,” Yunho says in a sure voice and you are unsure if he knows what he is talking about. “Do you?”

You make a face and he snickers, intentionally stepping closer this time. “You’re being a menace, Yunho.”

“You love that,” he has the audacity to lean down and whisper in your ear and you squeal, swatting at him and smacking his arm. He laughs loudly and you flip your hair back in annoyance before brisk-walking to where San and Wooyoung have paused their trek and stand watching you in surprise.

“When did you two get so chummy?” Wooyoung wiggles his brows. “I thought you were sworn enemies.”

“Remind him,” you point and fix your black jacket before linking your arms with Wooyoung and San. 

“Don’t leave me behind!”

“Guard us!” You yell at Yunho in response and the duo on either side snickers. 

Since there is no concept of time in the nth dimension, especially when you start to move deeper, you start to feel tense. If Yunho had the physical key, it would give a hint of the time difference with the world you just left, but now, it could very well be a year passed in the real world when it felt like only a few hours had passed in the nth dimension.

That is why entering the common points is so important. Not only do they track your location but you can adjust the time difference with the devices set up there so when you go back to the real world, just about the same time you actually spent here has passed in the real world.

The door to The Paradigm stands loud and proud in the middle of the white spherical base you have been navigating all this time. The knots on the door move endlessly, creating different patterns but most commonly, the triquetra knot to indicate the past, the present and the future. 

You observe Wooyoung. Since you entered the nth dimension, he hasn’t once had the desire to use the Fibonacci sequence anywhere. He is acting normal for once.

“Should we actually enter The Paradigm?” San asks, unsure. “I think that is less risky than entering one of the void points here and trying to navigate from there.”

The Paradigm is all unexplored territory for a good while now. The Paradigm hasn’t had a solid key in years since the last one evaporated into thin air. That was definitely around Wooyoung’s birth, and you are not surprised that no one made the connection. No one knows the truth about Wooyoung’s birth. 

Wooyoung stands with his gaze stuck to the door. Does he feel the urge to step closer? It sure looks like it– he seems to be physically holding himself back. 

“Mum might not be there,” Wooyoung talks about this matter for the first time. “She might have never told us because she did not want us to be here.”

“Or she could be stuck,” you counter gently. “We don’t know anything until we find out for ourselves.”

Wooyoung extends his hands and you take it. San takes his other hand. You look back at Yunho and extend your hand. 

“Let’s step in together. Do not let go of each other no matter what, okay?” You remind them for the umpteenth time.

You follow Wooyoung’s steps. He rests his forehead on the centre of the trinity knot, driven by instinct alone. The knot starts to unravel and disappear, a pathway materialising in the middle. All you need to do is step inside.

“It will be okay,” Yunho comforts. “Let’s do this.”

Wooyoung steps inside first and you all follow.

As soon as the door closes, you are all hit by a burst of energy so harsh that it almost makes your grips on each other loose. You clutch at each other and miraculously manage to hold on until you slam against a hard surface with considerable force. 

You groan and your eyes take a moment to adjust, but you can smell it before you see it.

Rain.

“Ain’t no fucking way,” Wooyoung gets up and brushes his clothes, looking around. You contain a gasp as you look around what appears to be an old city, all ruins and dust. The sun is nowhere in sight since the clouds cover the expanse and you don’t hear a human soul in this area.

“Mrs. Jung was right,” you look at Yunho. “Alternate dimension. I know this place.”

“Sector 1,” Yunho confirms. “Except… not the Sector 1 that we know.”

San finds a newspaper stashed in the trashcan. “2004. That’s before the Sector 1 Development Project, right?”

You nod. “The question is, why are we here? The Paradigm wouldn’t bring us here just for sightseeing or a look back in time. There must be something here we have to find– if not Mrs. Jung, then a clue.”

“Let’s search then. Divide and conquer?” Yunho asks.

“Pairs,” Wooyoung agrees and pairs with San as if it is the most natural thing.

“I thought we are a team,” you pout.

“I don’t trust them,” Wooyoung jokes. “Let’s keep one of them with us at all times.”

“True,” you can’t fight that argument. You don’t want to admit that you trust Yunho enough to let him search on his own, so you have no choice but to follow him in the opposite direction from the duo. 

“Does The Paradigm know why we entered it?”

“Maybe,” you wonder. “It is a living entity. It knows our desires. It transported us to Sector 1 for a reason, after all.”

“And what reason is that?” Yunho asks.

“Wooyoung,” you admit with a smile. “He once got lost here as a kid, so I think he knows exactly where to go. Another reason, though… Mrs. Jung’s favourite hangout spot is somewhere around that river,” you point at the distance. You have to cross a bridge to get there.

“Do you think Mrs. Jung is just sitting here and waiting for us?” Yunho ponders.

“Can’t be that simple,” you think. “If we’re lucky, we might find clues. You know how she loves being cryptic, right?”

“Where do you think I learned that skill?” He scoffs. He helps you jump over a big gap between the bridge and the road. If this is Sector 1 from 2004, the bridge was being torn apart before a new one was built in its place. 

When you grip his hand and jump towards him, he steadies you with a hand on your waist. Before you can shrug it off, he lets go and straightens your clothes and hair for you. 

“Why do you keep fixing my hair? I can do that myself.” You ask as he continues to firmly grip your wrist to keep you close while he tucks the strands behind your ears.

“Your hair is blocking my vision.”

“My hair is blocking my vision and I am perfectly fine because I get to see less of you that way,” you mutter and push his hand away, fluffing your hair so he cannot see your flaming cheeks. He chuckles to himself.

You start to move towards your left. It is not there yet, but at the corner of an alley not far from the bridge is a small coffee shop that was Mrs. Jung’s getaway. You are not sure what you will find there now.

“I don’t get why you are so obsessed with me,” you sigh.

“Because you are still my best friend even though it’s been years since we acted like friends.”

You look at him. “I thought I was your archnemesis.”

“Can’t we be both?” He grins. You hate the way his eyes curve downwards. You hate how fluffy and soft his hair looks. You hate how cozy he looks in his casual flannels. 

You hate how he feels so familiar. 

“You can’t say things like that after you left me alone, by the way,” you tell him casually, afraid your voice would betray you. “You lost the right to call yourself my friend the day you chose to side with The Forces.”

If hearing that hurts Yunho, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe, he has heard or thought about this too many times himself.

“You never thought about why I joined The Forces, did you?” 

You step into the alley. The location of the cafe should be at the other end. “What does it matter? You betrayed me. You betrayed Mrs. Jung. You sided with the enemy.”

“They say keep your enemies closer,” he challenges and you spare him a glance, speeding towards the end. He jogs lightly to keep up with you. “Think about it when you get a moment to spare.”

“I would rather use my free time thinking of ways I could kill you. The current count is 121.”

“Ah,” Yunho sounds awfully pleased. “So you think about me that much?”

Well. Fuck.

“Oh, look,” you have reached the corner of the alley. “Absolutely nothing but ruins. What do we make of this?”

Yunho kicks the rubble and rubbish with his sneakers. He crouches in between to inspect anything that catches his attention. You copy him. For once, you are wearing trainers. They are not so bad after all. They come in handy at times like these–

“Now what is that?”

Yunho walks towards you and does the honour of kneeling in front of you to pick up a shimmering little stone. It isn’t until he digs it up from between other stones that you both gasp lightly, meeting eyes.

“Is that what I think it is?” 

“The dichroic cube?” Yunho says, inspecting the translucent thing. “I don’t think this is a coincidence. Could The Forces have planted it here?”

The dichroic cube is the chemical element used to calibrate void points. It is a registered derivative of uranium to use specifically inside the nth dimension and by extension, The Paradigm. When uranium is subjected to a certain cooling and compression sequence aligned with the Fibonacci sequence, it abandons its chaotic lattice to crystallise into spirals that echo the existence of phi– the golden ratio. Thus, a stone that dichroics not only light but time itself is formed.

The dichroic cube is used as a grounding device for the common points. It is what forces the void points to transform into a common point so that the Travellers can use it as location markers and adjust the time settings. For the dichroic cube to be lying in here…

“This must be an unregistered dichroic cube, but how did it make it out of the headquarters of The Forces?” Yunho asks. You take the cube and inspect it. It’s been a while since you have seen the cube up this close. 

“Maybe someone stole it,” you look at him. “Mrs. Jung.”

“Why?” Yunho asks. You are not sure. “The dichroic cube by itself… isn’t it useless? Unless it is attached to the time device that is used in the common points.”

“It is useless,” you agree. “I think we should find Wooyoung. If the dichroic cube is here, there must be something else where Wooyoung has gone, or there must be more of these cubes. I… I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Yunho shifts uncomfortably. “Do you think it’s a trap?” 

“It’s not that,” you say as you start to walk back towards the meeting point– where you all landed. “It’s the implication of finding the cube here. Is this… a common point that Mrs. Jung has created for herself?”

Yunho stops in his tracks and you pause. You can practically see the cogs in his brain turning. “I… have a theory but I’m going to hold on to it until I’m sure.”

“It better be good,” you warn.

You reach the meeting point shortly and sit cross-legged in front of each other with the cube in between, glaring at it incessantly as if your watchful eyes would make the cube change forms or make it float. It isn’t until you hear familiar chatter that you both look up towards the duo who arrive, looking rather pleased.

“Did you guys find anything?” You ask.

“Yeah– hold up,” Wooyoung moves towards the dichroic cube but you hold a hand up to make him pause. 

“Tell me what you found first.”

“A message,” Wooyoung reveals after narrowing his eyes. “Coordinates and a date.”

As soon as you and Yunho meet eyes, it clicks. You begrudgingly hand the cube to San and forbid him from letting Wooyoung touch it.

“He’s the key. He might transport us somewhere wrong if he touches the cube,” you explain.

“Why would someone leave this here?” Wooyoung asks, looking carefully at the cube where it rests in San’s hands.

“It has to be your mum, Wooyoung. She chose the two locations that only you would know,” you tell Wooyoung. “The place where she found you when you got lost as a child, and her favourite hangout spot. She wants you to take the cube and go to the prescribed time and location.”

“But this is just the cube,” Wooyoung argues. “It’s not with its mechanism. How are we going to travel both in place and time if it’s just the core element?”

“The core element in the core dimension with the key,” San reminds, failing to keep the thrill from his voice. “It sounds significant.”

“I don’t know how to navigate this, though,” Wooyoung says, hands in the pockets of his denims. He seems to be buzzing with anxious energy now. “I don’t know what those coordinates mean.”

“Lucky for you, I’ve got a map,” Yunho smiles. San looks proud. You inspect Yunho and you just know that he does not have a physical map.

“So you’re just insane,” you conclude. “You’ve got the map and coordinates memorised?”

“No, silly. Those coordinates are familiar. Remember that I used to travel with Mrs. Jung. She made me memorise a few coordinates. At that time, I thought that it was in case I ever got lost, even though those coordinates are not of any registered common points or locations in the real world significant to us.”

You have to bring a fisted hand to your mouth. You are in awe.

“I checked the locations when she went missing. I don’t think those locations have anything in common. This one… it’s the restaurant she took me to when she congratulated me on getting promoted to a Traveller.”

“Did she foresee this?” Wooyoung frowns. “We couldn’t have cracked this code if the three of us didn’t come together.”

“I feel left out,” San pouts and folds his arms. You pat his back. He met and became friends with Yunho and then Wooyoung after Mrs. Jung went missing. 

“You have the most important role here, though,” you tell San. 

“What’s that?”

“Keeping Wooyoung under control,” you say casually. Yunho struggles to contain a laugh and Wooyoung just glares, biting back retorts since he is so busy chewing the skin around his thumbnail. San can’t help but smile.

“Let’s hand the cube to The Key then,” Yunho takes Wooyoung’s hands and you all shuffle to hold on to each other. He tells Wooyoung the location and asks him to keep the date in his mind before touching the cube.

That is how you all are transported to the month of August in 2019, around the time when Yunho graduated and became a Traveller. It happens in seconds– as soon as Wooyoung’s hands make contact with the cube, it emanates light and comes to life. You all shut your eyes instinctively when it bursts with energy and the feeling of getting sucked into the folds of time almost makes you nauseous. 

You can never get used to it– the feelings of whiplash where a hollowness passes through your insides before you are brought back to life. It feels like falling into a pit of void and then reemerging through sheer will.

The four of you manifest dangerously close to the riverside in the heart of Wonderland. You are glad that you do not emerge inside the water body, but you still go to the edge of the river and run your hands through the water to make sure it still feels the same.

It does, so you wash your hands and then flick the water droplets on the person closest to you, which just so happens to be Yunho. He gives you a warning look and you bow your head in apology. You know that he would have no trouble dunking you in the water just because he can. 

“I guess you can lead the way this time?” Wooyoung says to Yunho as he looks around. It is rather sunny here this time. “Is the weather the same as that day?”

“Everything is,” Yunho replies, feeling nostalgic. “We sat here by the river to discuss our future plans and then we went there to eat hotpot and sushi.”

You follow his pointed finger to a restaurant that opens to the river. “That’s a pretty spot. Why have I never found it before?”

“It was our spot,” Yunho teases. “I suppose you have something like that too.”

You nod. You can’t be jealous. 

The three of you follow Yunho inside the restaurant and search incessantly but find nothing of significance. You ask Yunho if he is sure that this is the right place and he insists that it is. San believes Yunho because he has seen him memorise the coordinates time and time again. Wooyoung doesn’t say anything. He quietly looks around.

You tap Wooyoung’s shoulder and ask him to follow you outside and he does. 

“Are you alright?”

“I am,” he insists, taken aback by your question.

“You’re quiet,” you explain. “You know that you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” Wooyoung takes your hand and squeezes it. “I’m just… wondering why mum would do all of this– scatter clues in different locations or whatever. I’m trying to think like her, but I cannot.”

“You cannot– not alone. You have me and Yunho,” you remind him. “Together, we can find these clues and find out what they mean. I personally think this whole thing is organised such that only we could discover it and eventually find her. Maybe The Forces were after her. Maybe they had a good reason to be after her,” you say, thinking about the cube you found in the previous location.

“Right? Why would she steal a dichroic cube? She didn’t have any means to have them produced herself, and The Forces keep all the scientists and chemists to themselves.”

“Did she ever travel outside of Wonderland?”

“Not that I know of,” Wooyoung rubs his face. “It’s just confusing, that’s all. And if this really is the location, why can’t Yunho find the clue?”

“Maybe the clue is not meant for Yunho,” you wonder. “Have you ever visited here?” 

“Never,” Wooyoung confirms. Yunho finally emerges along with San and he shakes his head.

“Did you and Mrs. Jung do anything else that day?” You inquire. “Think about your full meeting with her that day. We can trace the paths.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea. I think finding the cube or whatever clue here would be too obvious,” Yunho says. He recounts that day– how Mrs. Jung picked him up from The Academy, came here to sit by the riverside and wait for the confirmation of his passing. After they got a call that he had passed, they had dinner at the restaurant and then they went to visit Yunho’s parents who live just outside the town. Then she dropped him back to The Academy.

“So we should split again,” San suggests. “Vehicles won’t work here so try finding a bicycle if you can. Me and Wooyoung will have a look around here again and then follow the path back to The Academy and take a look there. You can visit your parents’ house and come back here. Whoever comes back first waits for the others.”

You all agree and part ways. Yunho recalls a bike stand near this spot so you go there first–

To find one bike.

“This is worse than the one-bed trope,” you mutter to yourself. “I’m driving.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t drive the both of us,” Yunho scoffs. “Just accept your fate and be the passenger princess.”

“Ain’t no fucking way,” you curse and get on the bike. He sits behind you happily and you start to pedal.

“See?” You grin. “I am strong. I can drive us both–”

“Honey, I’m the one driving us,” he says. Begrudgingly, you turn to find that you have another pair of pedals which are Yunho's feet.

That is how you get humbled and switch places with Yunho, resorting to your passenger princess status. You scold him for being too tall and he just asks you to hold tight as he starts to speed up.

He rides in silence for the most part. The scenery of the river that you are crossing, paired with the low sun and lack of people engages his attention but not anymore than the fact that you have wrapped your arms around his waist as if it is the most natural thing to do. 

It is not the first time that you are riding a bike together– back when you were students at The Academy, Yunho and you used to sneak out and take a bike and go wherever the road took you for a breather. It has been about 4 years since Mrs. Jung went missing and you both took different paths.

Does distance make the hearts grow fonder? You don’t know, but you miss the feeling of resting your face against his back and hearing his heartbeat. You don’t dare to do it right now but you can just tell that Yunho is holding back his words. 

It takes a while but eventually, you reach the town where Yunho’s parents live. He finally starts to talk and asks you if you remember the ice-cream place at the corner of the street, the playground where you both used to go as kids at nighttime to watch the stars and the broken streetlamp that they never fixed.

Of course you do. 

How could you ever forget the countless times he found you at the end of a tough day at The Academy and snuck out with you so he could treat you to some ice-cream? How could you ever forget the late night conversations at the playground, talking about anything and everything while you looked at the stars? How could you ever forget the broken streetlamp where he would step closer to you in a protective manner?

“I know we kind of hate each other,” you tell him as you grow closer to the location of his house. “But I do think about the good times.”

“So you do think about me,” Yunho says with a stupid grin and you smack his back, asking him to focus on the road.

You don’t tell him that you remember the way he watched you when you ate ice-cream. He would habitually wipe your lips with the pad of his thumb and you would scold him for acting like that when tissues existed, but he was always silly and caring like that. One time, he wiped the ice-cream off your lips and then sucked his thumb clean, which earned him a smacking and silent treatment for the rest of the week.

Not because you hated it, but because you were so, so scared of falling in love.

You still are, but you sometimes wonder if it is too late for that.

You don’t tell him that you remember how he rarely ever watched the stars during those late night conversations. He would be sitting or half-lying next to you on a slide and doing anything but looking at the sky, which included playing with your fingers or your clothes, or simply watching you. Whenever you glared at him in return, he would pretend that there was a bug on your face. 

You never believed him, but he didn’t need to know that. Maybe he should have.

You also don’t tell him that you remember exactly how he would casually fall back one step when you went through the broken streetlight area. His hand would hover at the small of your back protectively. As soon as you crossed the dark patch, he would match your steps again and you would smile to yourself because he was always so protective of you.

He still is. He stops in front of his parents’ house, his hand naturally coming to hold yours so you know when to let go of him and get off the bike. So you don’t accidentally get off while he parks the bike. So you don’t fall. Then he proceeds to fix your hair like he always does, brushing the strands away from your face.

“It’s not like your parents are waiting inside,” you remind him with a pout. “You don’t need to do that.”

His fingers brush the fading bruise on your cheeks and then his fingertips trail down on your neck. “Does it still hurt?”

“Are you gonna kiss it and make it better if I say it does?”

Wrong move. Yunho looks at you with surprise, eyes expectant as if that was actually a question. You scoff to cover up the heat blooming in your cheeks and brush his hands away as you take the lead, entering his house with your usual greetings. 

Yunho is quiet now. He takes the lead, going towards the backyard where he must have had tea with his family and Mrs. Jung. Sure enough, under the lawn chair lies another dichroic cube, this one more red in its tinge.

“Now why would we have another one of these?” You ask, inspecting the cube. It seems to be exactly the same as the one you found earlier. 

“I can’t tell if these mean something else or these are just our own little checkpoints,” Yunho says and your interest piques. 

“If these dichroic cubes can act as a location marker,” you begin and immediately, Yunho picks on and starts to shake his head. “We could use these to navigate the void points if we come across any. Do you have any idea how big of an opportunity this is? Maybe this is why Mrs. Jung left all these cubes.”

“I can’t let that happen,” Yunho insists. “Exploring the void points is dangerous as it is, and we have little to no idea of what they actually are. We could end up travelling somewhere without a chance of returning. Also, we don’t know if entering a void point would alert The Forces.”

“They’re looking for us anyway,” you argue. “Look– Mrs. Jung believed that the void points inside The Paradigm had different properties than the void points outside The Paradigm in the nth dimension. I bet that at some point, The Forces have investigated The Paradigm’s void points– they’ve existed since forever. Why would they hide the properties of these void points from the travellers?”

“So we don’t stupidly go exploring them?” Yunho looks at you pointedly, hands in his pockets. “Look– I’m a Keeper. Even I am not informed about the properties of these unregistered void points. There must be a reason for that.”

“They keep you in the dark for a reason,” you conclude with an exasperated sigh. “Maybe think about that.”

Yunho doesn’t respond. He takes one of the cubes from your hand and looks at it closely.

“Do you think she is somewhere watching us collect these little easter eggs?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she is. I bet she is at least alerted about our presence now. Question is… just how many more do we have to collect to get somewhere?”

The question gets echoed when you go back and find that Wooyoung and San have returned with not one but two dichroic cubes on top of another set of coordinates.

“If the next location gives us three, I’m officially going to lose it,” you mutter and Wooyoung cracks up.

“Your hatred for the Fibonacci sequence should be studied,” San comments, shaking his head. “I think it’s beautiful and very meaningful.”

“It is meaningful,” you agree. “Beautiful? Debatable.”

The next location which San found at The Academy leads to the main headquarters of The Forces a few years back from the current date. This time, you do find three dichroic cubes sitting prettily in one of the drawers in Mrs. Jung’s old office with a new location.

The new location transports you a few years into the future to your parents’ house in Sector 1 where Mrs. Jung last met you before disappearing for good. She came over to deliver the news of your passing out to your parents herself and they took you to a barbeque restaurant. 

At the back of the restaurant is a narrow alley where you went to take a breather and ended up crying because you finally did it. Graduating from The Academy had been your biggest dream but your parents had you stressed because they were going to be relocated to another district and they wanted to see you graduate personally. For that, you needed to pass out on time. Mrs. Jung found you crying and offered you a smoke. 

You took it and failed her personal test, getting an earful about how smoking is so bad for health. That made your mood better.

“That is so like mum,” Wooyoung smiles and you can tell that hearing all these stories about his mother that he was not a part of is making him miss her very much. “She would be so disappointed to learn that smoking is the first habit you picked when she went missing.”

“Had to piss her off somehow,” you mutter and look around the trash can where she would have thrown the cigarette. 

Sure enough, you find 5 dichroic cubes sitting prettily in a corner with coordinates etched on the wall.

“Good thing I brought a bag along, right?” San offers when you make a face at the cubes. 

“We should all have at least one cube on us, in case we get separated,” Yunho says and you narrow your eyes.

“Are you planning to get separated?”

Yunho shakes his head. “I am not, but I know that you are going to be using this opportunity to explore the void points if we come across any.”

“Because I believe that it is necessary to explore those points. Right Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung agrees enthusiastically, but you can see the conflict in his eyes. It wasn’t there ever before, but since his mother seems to be so close now, he can’t help it.

The others don’t comment on it if they see it. You turn to Yunho. “I know that you are bound by the law and whatnot, but if I come across a void point, I will be stepping inside and exploring it. The dichroic cube will help with the time configuration– you know that. If I have to do it alone, I will.”

“Y/n–”

“If Mrs. Jung is inside The Paradigm, she wouldn’t be walking around and about,” you interrupt Yunho and look at Wooyoung when you say, “She would be exploring the void points. Perhaps, she has made these locations in different points from the void points. Perhaps these locations now classify as common points inside The Paradigm. Isn’t that right, San?”

“That is a possibility, yes,” San nods. “Since we have no idea how The Paradigm is actually supposed to be like, it is possible that we have been exploring common points created by Mrs. Jung all this time. If that is the case and the cubes are what created them, that would mean that taking the cubes with us would make the common point become a void point again.”

“Hold up,” Wooyoung says. “So if we leave from here with all of the cubes, this location in this time will cease to exist because there is no more cube holding this dimension pocket intact as a common point?”

“Yes,” San shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe… we shouldn’t have taken the cubes with us. That way, we would have had more common points to transport to in case… you know. In case The Forces find us.”

A grim air of realisation settles at his statement. 

“I think taking the cubes with us makes it so that we leave no trace of our travelling behind,” Yunho suggests. “This way, The Forces can’t track us. If they’re here right now at this current point, if we leave right now with all the cubes, they could end up getting lost.”

“Perfect,” you clap your hands. “Let’s go to the next location before someone finds us.”

“The next location… is The Academy,” Yunho says and looks towards you. “Did you notice the date?”

17th of August, 2021. That is two days after Mrs. Jung went missing. Wooyoung says that for you, but there is something off about the date.

“All these dates so far are related to Mrs. Jung directly, but she was not at The Academy on this day,” you recall, looking at Yunho who confirms with a sombre look in his eyes. “Something about this point seems different.”

“Only one way to find out,” Yunho says. You agree and hand Wooyoung the new five cubes. You all huddle together and get transported to that fateful day at The Academy.

Fateful for you and Yunho, since that is the day he decided to become a Keeper and you went rogue. The day you put an end to whatever friendship and love there was between the two of you as childhood friends and classmates.

When you all recover from the effects of travelling, you hand all the cubes over to San for safekeeping. You decide to split again– you and Yunho know exactly where to look if the location you are thinking of is relevant to the reason you are transported to this day. Wooyoung has other ideas– on this day, he went to the headquarters of The Forces despite his mother’s constant warning to never step foot inside.

“Let’s meet back here,” you say and squeeze Wooyoung’s hand. “Try to look for something else other than the cubes. Anything that pulls your attention or catches your eye.”

“Got it,” he says. He knows what this day means to you so he sends a glare in Yunho’s direction and he shifts uncomfortably, muttering something to San. “Don’t kill him. Go easy on him, eh?”

“I think this is your mum’s twisted idea to have us make up, so let’s see if that goes well,” you mutter. He smiles and kisses your cheek before telling San that he is ready.

“You know where to go,” you say, urging him to lead the way. You don’t match his steps this time. 

In fact, this is the first time you feel tired ever since you entered the nth dimension and The Paradigm. It is as if you can actually feel the weight of that fateful night again. It also seems as if you are not the only one who feels that way– Yunho’s steps are slow and heavy, as if it physically pains him to walk down this memory lane that leads to the backyard of The Academy where you broke things off with him.

You both remain silent even when you reach the backyard. This was the last night you spent at The Academy so you wonder if the backyard still has the apple trees and half-dead rose bushes bordering the yard. He remains shut as he starts to look around aimlessly, picking a stick in the middle of searching and poking at everything with it.

“I’m going to check our dorm,” you say and before he can respond, you leave.

The dorm is situated at the west of the yard. The dorm arrangements were made according to the level or grade. You shared a dorm with Yunho and some other students since getting accepted to The Academy when you were about 10 and living together for so long felt like you were housemates. You had the same living space, shared a kitchen and whatnot. You and Yunho were the most constant residents of that dorm along with Hongjoong who joined much later but remained until the end.

You go to your room and smile to yourself when you look around. You were very particular about your room even back then– you had a photo wall in front of your desk with pictures of everyone who meant something to you. Most of these photos were of you and Yunho. Some included Hongjoong and the other students and friends you made along the way. A lot of them had Wooyoung and Mrs. Jung, and some of them included your parents.

You recall never being able to focus on studies because of this distraction right in front of your eyes whenever you sat down to study. It was a welcomed distraction though and more times than not, it motivated you to do better.

It is a struggle to peel your eyes away from the wall and search for anything out of place. After rummaging through some drawers, you finally find something that did not belong to you, something you have no memory of owning.

A radio device.

You try to tune it but it gives no signal. You suppose it might come to life if you power it with dichroic cubes so you decide to keep it.

“Found something?” Yunho steps inside the room and you show him the radio. He checks it thoroughly and finds that it has no batteries. 

“I might have batteries in my room,” he thinks. “Should we check?”

“No harm in checking, yeah,” you agree. “I don’t think batteries will work here, though.”

“You never know,” he half-smiles.

When you enter his room, your heart twists with ache. You did not realise how much you missed him and the comfort of his room until you moved to your current lavish apartment and found that no amount of decoration or objects would match the feeling of being with the one who feels like home. 

You look around and memorise every little detail and feeling of this room– from the crooked planks on the floor that creak exactly like you remember, from the neat organisation of the room to the absolute chaos of little toys and figurines in one corner. You struggle to keep the sting away from your eyes and watch Yunho rummage through his drawers to look for batteries.

He opens a drawer and shuts it immediately, rather uncharacteristically, before moving to the cupboards. He attempts to act normal but you catch the hesitation in his movements. Before he can stop you, you open the drawer, expecting to find something that should not be for your eyes, but–

“Yunho.”

It is his photo diary. The one he hid from everyone because he said that it was something very personal to him. 

You used to tease him about it and went so far as to beg because you wanted to see it so bad. Were you a part of it? How many photos did he have of you? He had a film camera phase, he said, and the photos were of the places he loved. Nothing significant, he would try to cover up, but he still didn’t allow you to see it.

“Go ahead,” Yunho almost whispers. “Take a look, y/n.”

“Are you sure?” You pick the diary anyway. “Wouldn’t want to invade your privacy or whatever.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he smiles almost sadly.

You give him a look before you open it. The first photo is of his parents and you smile at how he has captured them at their raw moments– his father pretending to read the newspaper but watching his wife peel potatoes with fondness dripping from his eyes.

“That’s cute,” you comment and turn the page. Next is a class photo, a copy that you also own. Mrs. Jung, a few other teachers and students. Wooyoung, the odd one out, who joined the photo that day. 

You turn the page, and turn, and turn. Yes, there is a photo of a beach, of random streets, of food and of the night sky, of the sunset and sunrise, of the mountains and the sea, but there is something that makes you stop and look at him.

All these photos include you. A glimpse of you– either your shadow, your hand, or your back. Your face, your shoes, your hair. 

It’s all you.

“Why would you do this?” You scoff, failing to hide the wetness from your voice as you toss the diary on the table. “Whyever would you do this, Yunho?”

“Because you are my muse,” he says. “I only ever enjoy life when I am with you. You know what you mean to me, y/n.”

“Then how could you fuck this up?” You ask, a tear trickling down your cheek. Yunho’s jaw clenches as he holds himself back, opting to hear you out. “How could you do this to me?” 

“You don’t get it– you still don’t get why I became a Keeper,” he says, cursing under his breath as he runs his hands through his hair, exhaling. “I know what Mrs. Jung means to you– she is just as important of a person for me. You thought that you could find her on your own and for that, you had to cut ties with The Academy. Did you ever consider why I stayed back?”

You watch him with your mouth sealed shut, lest you say something bitter that breaks his heart again.

He decides to answer for you. “I stayed with the Academy and became a Keeper because it was the only way that I could protect you and prevent you from recklessly going inside the nth dimension. I became the guard to the door so you would have to cross me if you ever decided to risk it all, so that I could push you away from destroying yourself. I stayed–”

He paused, feeling out of breath not because of his confession but because all this time and he still couldn’t bear to see tears in your eyes. You hardly ever cry so watching your shoulders curve inwards was breaking him.

“I stayed, my dear,” he whispered, “so I could put myself in danger, learn more about the common points and the void points, learn more about The Paradigm. From the first day, my intentions were never pure. Once I learned about The Paradigm Key, I started planning to stab The Forces in the back, learn everything about Mrs. Jung and why she would go missing, and then find my way back home. To you.”

You take a few deep breaths and wipe your eyes. “Why did you never tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have let me do this on my own,” he shrugs. “I would rather have you ignorant and safe.”

“If me with an arrest warrant on my head is your definition of safe, then you need to do something about it.”

“Why do you think they never issued a legal warrant?” Yunho smirks. “I kept creating distractions so they would forget about you. But you… you have always been such an attention seeker. Always had to do something and remind The Forces of your rogue existence, didn’t you? Had me cleaning up your mess as usual. Some things never change, I suppose.”

“Careful, Yunho,” you warn. “It sounds like you care. Didn’t you want my doom or something?”

“I do care,” his gaze grew soft. “I thought that much was clear. I never wanted your doom, I just…”

“Go ahead,” you challenge, stepping closer. “Say it. Tell me how much you want to get rid of me. Tell me that you want me out of your life. Tell me that you hate me for leaving you like that.”

“I do hate you. I hate you so, so much,” Yunho says with a grimace as if the words hurt his soul. He steps closer and tosses the radio on his bed carelessly. “If I could go back in time, I think I would have it so I never met you. So I never fell into this tortuous, vicious cycle where I can’t decide whether I want to kill you because you broke my heart or hate you because that is the only way I can forget about you.”

“Did you ever decide then?” You ask, taking a step back when he draws uncomfortably close.

“I made the decision the day you left. I made the decision to keep loving you. My heart knew it, all this time,” he says and crowds your space, making you step back until your back touches his desk and you are trapped. “I guess I just had to keep myself occupied because otherwise, I would have gone mad.”

He brings his hands up to tuck your styled curls away from your face and you fail to suppress a shiver as the ghost of his fingertip caresses your cheek. You can hear his breath quickening and you clutch the edges of the desk, debating if you should push him back. 

But his eyes are molten honey. They drip with longing like you have never seen before, and it takes your breath away. You fear that he can see the same in your eyes so you look away but he turns your chin with the pad of his thumb.

“Look at me.”

You do. You lock eyes with him.

You wait.

“Let me make it up to you,” he pleads. “Let me show you what you mean to me.”

“Yunho,” you whisper. “I… I’m scared.”

“Of what?” His brows furrow as he cradles your face and scans your eyes. “Tell me, love. What scares you?” 

“You,” you admit, vulnerable for once. “I’m scared that your love will break all the walls I have spent years building in a second. I… I missed you so much, it broke me to leave you. I couldn’t sleep properly all this time because every night, I missed hearing the sound of your shuffling in the next room. I… I realised how much I loved you after I left you because it consumed me and swallowed me whole. It was so dark. I’m afraid of going back.”

Yunho presses his lips on your forehead and you let out a shaky breath. “You never have to be scared again. I will never, ever leave your side again. I never left you, you know that. I was always there, always waiting. Please, let me–”

You don’t let him finish his sentence. You push yourself up to meet his lips and he groans deeply before kissing you. He moves his lips unrushed as if he intends to make up for all the time you spent apart, unhurried for he does not have to worry about something as insignificant here as time.

He could kiss you forever, he realises as he lets his hands trace down your arms to hold you by your waist and bring you flush to him. The feeling of your arms wrapping around his neck makes him kiss you deeper and he gently picks you up to set you on the table, allowing you a moment to catch your breath. 

You do. He doesn’t care about that. He attaches his lips to your skin– anywhere he can kiss, he does. He pecks and kisses along your neck and jaw, his trembling hands and shaky breath mingling with your little sighs. He carefully kisses the bruises if that is what will make them better. He kisses the tip of your nose before meeting your lips again and you deepen the kiss, loving the way his hand cups your neck.

You kiss for a long, long time. You both have it calculated in your own heads– it should take Wooyoung and San a while to return from the headquarters since it is located at a distance. You basically have all the time in the world to make up. You kiss, exchange smiles and confessions, kiss again and share fond looks. You tell him that you still despise his existence and he tells you that he thinks you are a headache. 

Still, he can’t keep his lips off of you. His tongue explores your mouth lazily and his hands travel with lazy intention all over your body, but he doesn’t cross any boundaries. This is enough– he could never get tired of kissing you, he thinks. He bites and sucks at your lips until they are swollen and until his lips almost turn the same shade of red as your lipstick. He couldn’t care less. He holds you as if you are made of glass and then he holds you as if you would crumble if he let go.

You wrap your legs around his waist and tug him closer. He passes you a lazy smirk and you tangle your fingers in his hair, loving the softness of it. You kiss the freckles on his neck and litter kisses all over his face, making his ears turn red as he laughs. You peck his lips teasingly, again and again, testing his limit.

When he breaks and captures your lips in a kiss, it is as if you are kissing for the first time again. The desperation in his movements alter your brain chemistry forever and you know that there is absolutely no going away from this moment. You engage in a battle of lips and tongue, losing yourself in the moment–

Until the radio sparks to life and static fills the room. You lightly jump and he wraps his arm around you in a protective embrace as he looks towards his bed where the radio has turned on.

“I didn’t do anything,” he says. 

“Wooyoung must be close,” you say, chuckling. “Let’s go.”

“Already?” Yunho asks, his gaze stuck on your lips.

“Yunho, it’s been more than half an hour since your assault on my lips began,” you tell him, pushing him away lightly. “I am tired.”

“Liar. You can’t feel tired in The Paradigm,” he matches your eye level to call you out.

You fold your arms. “Fine. I am not tired. If we weren’t on a mission, I would break you, Yunho,” you say and he smirks dangerously. “But we got more important things to do. Wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

“Break me, huh?” He asks as he follows you out of the room, the radio still ringing in your hands. “Would like to see you try, Seeker.”

You gulp. He doesn’t miss it. He simply seals the promise with a kiss on top of your head before letting you be. 

When Wooyoung and San find you, they immediately know something is up.

“Don’t tell me you both had a quickie in there,” Wooyoung looks appalled.

“Shut the fuck up,” you warn while San and Yunho lose it, clutching on to each other as they laugh, exchanging smacks. “Eight cubes?”

“True to the Fibonacci,” he says. “What’s this radio?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “It’s been screaming like this ever since you came in radar, I suppose.”

“Is it the cubes or me?” Wooyoung wonders.

“Probably both,” you muse. “Now… what do we make of this? We don’t have a location this time, do we?”

Everyone shakes their heads no. You ask Wooyoung to take the radio and circle the area to see if the radio responds to Wooyoung himself or if it is pointing to a new location. 

Sure enough, the radio dies when Wooyoung faces the direction of the headquarters and grows the loudest a little to the west of the headquarters. Taking that as a sign, you start to follow Wooyoung with immense curiosity, all of you rather quiet as you exit The Academy.

You are not moving in a familiar direction. San has a map on hand and he sometimes mentions the names of streets or famous spots– anything that might ring a bell, but nothing does. You are just going towards the river–

A scream gets stuck in your throat when Yunho pulls you to himself. The sound of a bang and a shatter follows and your ears start to ring, your eyes widening with fear as you cling on to him. You meet eyes for one second and you immediately know what’s wrong. 

The Forces.

The three of you immediately provide cover to Wooyoung as you narrowly dodge bullets to take cover behind a building, and then you all are pulling out weapons.

“Not you,” you tell Wooyoung who is ready to put the radio back. “We’re speeding towards where the radio leads us. You instruct us and we provide you with cover. Got it?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Wooyoung shakes his head.

“There’s no knowing how many of them are here,” San agrees with you. “We need to get to the new location asap.”

Wooyoung is conflicted but he gives in. You and Yunho naturally take the same offensive-defensive position from your training and San guards your blind spots with a shield gun while ensuring Wooyoung remains safe. 

Thus, you leave your cover and engage in your deadliest fight to date. You spot three men wearing the uniform of The Forces and you grit your teeth, firing bullets at them with precision. Yunho uses the paralysing gun and he manages to get one soldier before you do. As they fumble, you manage to shoot another soldier on his thigh.

And then you all are running as if the very ground is crumbling under your feet. It is too dangerous, too risky, but you can make it–

A bullet manages to penetrate through San’s shield and though it doesn’t hit with as much speed as before, it still wedges into Yunho’s arm and he lets out a guttural groan but hardly stops running. You feel the pain as if the bullet has hit you. 

You don’t stop. With the radio growing louder and Yunho’s firm voice commanding you to keep going, you do exactly that until you reach the shore and then…

“Ain’t no way,” Wooyoung mutters.

You all stop abruptly when you almost accidentally step into the shimmery fold in the air, indication of a void point. Yunho steps back and makes sure you all do so with him but Wooyoung goes ahead to stand with him and make sure if the static grows loudest when the radio is pointed towards the void point.

It does.

“I’m not going in there,” Yunho mutters. “We have no idea what will happen if we step inside a void point here.”

“We have the cubes, we have Wooyoung,” you insist while you inspect his arm. The bullet is half-lodged inside his flesh. You look towards San for supplies and he has already taken out his first-aid kit. He mutters something about how it is better the gun stays inside for now to avoid blood loss and Yunho agrees. San has no other option but to secure it in place with a bandage.

“The Forces will be on us at any minute now,” Wooyoung says. “I would rather risk entering a void point than have them hurt us again.”

“We could get hurt if we go inside,” Yunho insists and dismisses the way you glare at him. “It is too risky– we could get separated or something worse could happen.”

“We each take a few dichroic cubes,” San says, looking back to make sure the soldiers haven’t arrived yet. He starts to dig in his bag and puts 4 cubes in everyone’s pockets. Yunho looks betrayed but after San is done, he takes Yunho’s hands. 

“We either get killed or worse, arrested,” San says and they share a knowing look. “You know why getting arrested is worse than anything that could happen here.”

You and Wooyoung share a look. It seems like they have seen the prisons of The Forces. You have heard rumours, but you didn’t think it was this bad.

“We could outrun them. We could come up with another plan, we just need to lose them–”

“Stop right there!”

You all collectively mutter curses as the soldiers half-run towards you. You huff. “Yunho. Make. A. Decision. Whatever you decide, we stick together.”

“I don’t know,” he finally starts to feel the weight of it. San activates the shield again to buy time and Wooyoung moves closer to the void entrance in case you all have to make a run for it. 

“Guys, do you hear that?” He almost whispers. “It’s like someone is calling my name from the other side–”

“You’re hallucinating,” Yunho tells him but his eyes widen when he sees a pair of arms appear from inside the void and take Wooyoung by surprise, grabbing him from the back by the waist and pulling him inside.

It happens in a split second. Your jaw falls open. Wooyoung gets pulled into the void by someone and out of sheer instinct, Yunho jumps towards Wooyoung. He manages to grab his wrist but starts to get pulled inside and then you grab San and leap after them, entering the void without a second thought.

This time, the feeling of being transported in space and time is entirely different. It shakes and rattles you and you feel as if your bones have turned into jelly. Your brain turns mush and when you finally land, you can’t breathe. You clutch at your chest and heave, thoroughly parched and see the rest writhing in pain as well.

Someone hands you a glass of water and you gulp it. They might as well have fed you poison but you don’t care– you just need to feel human again–

“Mom?”

Wooyoung has never sounded so small. You feel your heart sink and it takes every bit of effort to look up at the person who gave you the glass of water.

Mrs. Jung.

She looks exactly the same as the person who left you about four years ago, since a person doesn’t age in The Paradigm. However, she looks weary. Her eyes shine brightly at the sight of you all but her movements are slow and tired. 

“I knew you would find me one day,” she finally says and laughs, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for leaving like that. I… I didn’t know I would get trapped inside here.”

Wooyoung doesn’t care. He gets up and rushes to hold his mother in his arms and you feel tears trickle down your cheeks at the way she relaxes and lets her son hold him. The son she left behind– Wooyoung has changed so much since she last saw him. 

Mrs. Jung draws away to hold her son’s face in her hands and memorise his features. She says something about how he has grown so much, how he looks as if he spent all this time in The Paradigm– has he not been eating well?

“I made sure that he ate well,” you get up and Mrs. Jung nods. 

“No doubt about that,” she corrects herself. “It’s just…”

“I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve matured. Look,” Wooyoung straightens, flexing his body and all of you share a laugh. “I’ve been working out! I just missed you and your food, that’s why I look like this.”

“I’m sorry, my child. I didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to return if I stepped inside The Paradigm again.”

“What do you mean again?” Yunho asks. “Wooyoung is The Paradigm Key. How did you enter without the key? How are The Forces here without using the key?”

“Let’s discuss it over some tea. And let me fix up that wound of yours,” Mrs. Jung clicks her tongue at Yunho’s interrogation and turns to San. San gets up and bows properly.

“I remember you from the headquarters,” Mrs. Jung says. “Did you know that it is your father who helped me become a traveller?”

“...I was not aware,” San admits, looking at Yunho and you. “He doesn’t share his personal business with me.”

“But he has raised you into a good man,” Mrs. Jung says and goes ahead to hold his hands. “Thank you for taking care of my son all this time.”

~

Mrs. Jung seems to have made home in this dimension– in this void point. She explains that this is the year 2045 which is why everything looks different around here. She also explains that just because the year 2045 looks like this in this void point– bleak, gloomy and lifeless– does not mean that the year 2045 in the real world will look the same.

“Void points follow just one possible path out of many. If a certain few decisions about our world are made, the year 2045 will look exactly like this,” she says, pouring tea in porcelain crockery. 

“Void points are very different from the rest of The Paradigm,” she continues. “They all have their own rules. Here, I can ingest as much liquid as I want and it doesn’t affect me in the slightest! I would have gone mad if I couldn’t do something as human as drink water here.”

“I don’t feel pain here,” Yunho says and your eyebrows perk up. “Is that also a property of this void point?”

Mrs. Jung nods. “Whenever a void point is calibrated to become a common point, we factor in pain so that travellers do not forget their purpose and get lost. Since this void point isn’t calibrated, you do not feel pain here. You could cut off your limb and still be functioning normally.”

You swirl the chamomile tea and inhale deeply. The scent calms you down a little but you have so many questions. You know that Mrs. Jung can tell that you are brimming with questions but she takes her time in breaking the truth to you all.

“Is this your residence here?” Wooyoung looks around the dining area. It seems to be the only space that she uses with the kitchen that is attached to it. The couch seems to be where she rests though she never sleeps here. The walls are full of scribbles and formulas. There are a few objects that seem to be tokens that she has collected over her stay here– a compass, a plushie, a toolbox and some other items.

“I call it my base,” Mrs. Jung says. “Having a home here would mess up my mind.”

“Did you ever make something out of those formulas?” San asks. “You seem to have been working out a way to travel in time. What are those equations?”

“I wrote everything I remembered as soon as I realised that I was stuck here,” she explains. “I needed to do that in case I forgot my purpose here and forgot that I have to go back. Those equations… that is what I remembered from the time I assisted in making dichroic cubes.”

“Did you… make these dichroic cubes then?” You finally ask. “Alone?”

“It was risky business, but the technology here is very advanced. I had little to no trouble creating 20 of these cubes before I ran out of the elements in store. I couldn’t risk travelling anywhere in case you all tried to find me here, so I stayed and decided to wait.”

“It could’ve taken us so much longer,” Yunho says in a sombre tone. “Would you have waited without knowing how long it would take for us to find you? What if someone else found you first? What if I didn’t make the connection and realised that Wooyoung is the key?”

“I made preparations for that reason,” Mrs. Jung doesn’t mind Yunho’s scolding tone one bit. She understands his frustrations. “I had you memorise the coordinates. I left clues for you both, knowing one of you would be able to make the connection about Wooyoung first, but I also had arrangements made so that you two would come here together, all of you.”

Mrs. Jung shares a knowing look with San and you can tell that he has made some connections. Was San unknowingly working for Mrs. Jung all this time, or was his friendship with Yunho and Wooyoung intentional?

When he passes you a genuine smile, you scowl at him. You can’t tell if you are being tricked right now, so you decide to change the topic. “Why did you enter The Paradigm in the first place if there was a chance that you would be trapped here? What if something happened to one of us and you were stuck here forever? And… what purpose do these dichroic cubes serve?”

Mrs. Jung takes a seat with her cup of tea and gives you a pointed look. Too many questions. 

“Wooyoung is The Paradigm Key,” she confirms for the first time. “He was conceived inside The Paradigm. My husband, may his soul rest in peace, realised almost too late in my pregnancy that Wooyoung’s birth would be changing a lot of things. He was one of the main scientists who created the dichroic cubes. 

“One night during the eighth month of my pregnancy, I went to the office with him. The dichroic cubes started reacting to my presence. It was a miracle that only the two of us were present at the time. That is when he started to study the implications of a child conceived inside The Paradigm. He tried his best to provide justifications to why the door to the nth dimension started circling Wonderland. He did his best to mislead The Forces– absolutely no one knew about the nature of my pregnancy so no one made the connection.”

“And then he passed away,” Wooyoung sighs. “And you took it upon yourself to protect me.”

“I had to,” Mrs. Jung smiles. “I had to keep my child safe. What we discovered was that since you were once a part of me, I had whatever energy or element necessary to act as the substitute key. Therefore, we made arrangements so that I could travel inside this dimension undetected. The only way I could protect you was if I held something over The Forces, so I made it my life’s mission to study why they kept the existence of the void points inside The Paradigm a big secret.”

“Because they show you one of the possibilities of the future,” you conclude, “when no void point outside The Paradigm but in the nth dimension ever takes you to the future.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Jung claps her hands. “Even the void points that are let out of The Paradigm are calibrated enough so they never take a traveller to the future. They keep misleading everyone and forcing them to study the void points extensively when we already know everything that we need to know about them. They are the window to the future, and if you manage to trace your path back in time from a void point, you will be able to learn what decisions you need to make or what factors you need to control to ensure this exact future.”

“That’s… insane,” Yunho rubs his face. “The only reason they would do that is because they have seen a future that is exactly like they want our world to be.”

“That is my life’s mission. To find out what future they envision for our world and prevent it from becoming real because I know it is not a good one.”

San sucks in a breath. “If you are a substitute key, you got stuck here because?”

“Because I simply ran out whatever energy I had in me to pretend to be the real key,” Mrs. Jung shrugs. “That is the only reason that makes sense. His father suggested that it would happen one day and warned me to be careful. I should have listened to him. During some of my visits here, a few soldiers started to trail me. They remain lost like me with no means to get out.

“As for the dichroic cubes,” she looks at you. “I scattered them in a certain sequence so only you would be able to understand what they mean– that they were from me. Now that you have brought them back, I can use them to calibrate this dimension so we can transport ourselves out of this void point into The Paradigm and eventually out of The Paradigm and back home.”

“So now what?” Wooyoung asks. “Are we going back now? Also… I think we have arrest warrants issued out– at least these two.”

Yunho and you share guilty looks. Mrs. Jung chuckles lightly.

“Well… we have all the time in the world now. Are you up for an adventure?”

“An adventure?” San echoes.

Mrs. Jung folds her arms. Even though she seems tired, her energy seems to have replenished in just a few minutes of being with you all. 

“I have had a lot of time to reflect here. I think that we should never have hidden from The Forces. Now that I have all the answers that I need, I think it is time that we expose The Forces and their secrets, tell the world about their lies and create a new team of travellers that study The Paradigm properly.”

“You would need The Paradigm Key for that,” Yunho cautiously reminds her. “Will you let the world know about who Wooyoung is?”

“Absolutely not,” she almost smirks. “I have everything in place to create another key– an object. I think that in this dimension, the year 2045 here… with the technology and everything that I saw at the headquarters here, there are ample studies here on how to create multiple keys. I believe that this future is a bleak one where I am not alive and The Forces capture Wooyoung and use him to make more keys from him.”

“Damn,” Wooyoung shivers. “That’s… fucked up.”

“Language,” Mrs. Jung says in her typical motherly tone and the rest of you snicker while Wooyoung pouts and asks if language is so important right now. “Once we make a few substitute keys, we can go back and threaten to expose The Forces. If they do not comply with our conditions, they will get exposed even if they arrest us.”

“Sounds difficult,” Yunho comments. “The Forces aren’t that easy to bend. Can we really accomplish this?”

“We are not the villains in this story, Yunho,” Mrs. Jung says and Yunho looks at you. “None of us is a villain for trying to learn the truth about the nth dimension and its core. The real villains are those in power who prevent us from educating ourselves, threaten our lives and mistreat us just so they can find a way to bend the future to their will. 

“I came here to protect my son,” Mrs. Jung says as she looks at Wooyoung. He smiles warmly. “And I will continue to do so until I can sleep knowing that he is safe. If that makes me a villain to The Forces, then I will gladly be one.”

“You are not a villain, though,” San says. “You are the most heroic person I have met.”

Mrs. Jung smiles. “We are all heroes. Let’s never forget that. Now…” Mrs. Jung claps and stands up. “No time to waste. Shall we begin this battle? Remember, it only ends the day we are able to walk in the streets without shame, without anyone looking at us with scrutiny. Until justice prevails.”

“I don’t know,” you fold your arms. “I’m more used to being the villain. This hero thing doesn’t suit me very much. Yunho, though...”

“Oh, come on now!” Wooyoung says. “Stop being so melodramatic! Come on, mum, show us your lab. I’m curious to see what it looks like and I must tell you about all the pain these fuckers gave me–”

“Jung Wooyoung, language! I am your mother!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wooyoung grabs San by the wrist and gets him to tag along. San joins the mother-son duo with a laugh and motions for you two to follow.

Yunho gets up and extends his hand. You take it with a shy pout.

“You may be everyone’s villain,” Yunho starts. “But to me, you have always been my hero–”

“Shut your trap before I show you why no one ever called me a hero, Jeong Yunho.”

Yunho snickers. He teases you by singing verses about heroes and doesn’t let you get away despite your struggles. Once you break free, you clutch on to Mrs. Jung who kisses the top of your head, laughing when Yunho huddles between the four of you.

Your bickering and laughter echoes in this bleak future. Led by the true hero of your lives, you walk, you work and you cry now to make sure that the future you make for the people back home is a beautiful one.

taglist pt 1:

@lorensonebraincell @waywardstaytiny @lluvia1415 @woohwababes @fruithoughts @fancypeacepersona @propinquitypsithurism @kyomiingi @ateezswonderland @janetsarttrove @thenopekid @justconniez @daniela-f-uwu @hwasbestlover @missbangtangirl @beabatiny @slowitdownmakeitb0uncy @alliethequeen @lavishloving @haowonbins @franbowesax @klllerwaifu @selfishw4ltz @paramedicnerd004 @atzlordz @meowmeeps @intowxnderland @faeriehwa @staytiny-yaps @ishz @dumplingsyum @bunnychui @kandy108 @softsanglix @yongility @sweetinsaniiity @bihwabi @pshwifey @emotionallyanaemic @affy1106 @parkthothwa8 @my-loves-my-life @sunnysidesins @jyoon-ahgatiny @lover-ofallthingspretty @dea-nimus @cksanpurpleluv @atzloverr @bamdoe

[luv-beam]

this took way too long for me to get to ( 一一) BUT IM SO EXCITED TO FINALLY BE ABLE TO DIG INTO THIS FIC YUMI TYSM FOR PARTICIPATING IN THE COLLAB !! 🥹🥹

okay we're starting out super strong w such artful language, like i love that we've given a name to the very flow and nature of the universe — like i love a good Capitalization of Words, and now we have something that feels real

and then the kind of record scratch feel w "which is why u have beef w the paradigm" 💀💀 like i can imagine reader narrating the beginning paragraphs only to break the vibe/fourth wall w that line dknfkenfjf

AND WOOYOUNG BYE ofc he's a subordinate who commits insubordination on the daily 😭💀

^ OKOK I KNEW I WASNT JUST HALLUCINATING THAT LINE BEFORE MENTIONING THE CHAIR SPINNING PATTERN do u mean the child of the paradigm part literally or only figuratively O_O what happened to wooyo's ma and wtf is the spinning pattern wooyoung is going by—

AH. ITS THE FIBONACCI SEQ DAMN ok so wooyoung is ruled by a set pattern that he loathes to actually do, sounds very wooyoung to me (i also love a good insert of the fibonacci sequence,, it just feels so,,, like adventure-coded? idk if that's the right phrase)

ooo omg i love the slight worldbuilding we get w the peek into who yn and wooyoung r and what their purposes are/what drive them; wooyoungs ma is so cool lmao and ig now we can confirm that wooyoung really is just a strange child LMAO /pos

but it is interesting how the positions of hero and villain have swapped where villains r more public-facing while the so-called heroes are in the dark. is there a reason why the govt haven't come to apprehend yn if everyone seems to know them? also interesting how travellers r legal but seekers r not

i looooove a good back and forth and "u think im pretty?" encapsulates everything perfectly

OKAY YUNHO WHAT WAS THE SUICIDE BAIT also okay bestie i see where ur loyalties lie 😌 (w us ofc,, i know u want me)

I LOVE A BIKE CHASE EVEN IF ITS BRIEF (also not the flashback to discuss reader's choice of shoes LMAOOOO me fr) rip that the one time reader isnt going after the gate, they get chased and has to dodge certain death 💀

ARE U TRYING TO IMPRESS HONGJOONG? UHM YES NEXT QUESTION

(san and wooyoung going in btwn you and yunho is so funny to me for some reason)

okay so SO MUCH SHIT JUST HAPPENED AT ONCE like we've got a deserter from the forces who's coming after u to """talk""", yunho has also abandoned his post??? to save u or cuz he's fed up we dont know but maybe both, the forces are also after yunho (and u), and now we're just in the nth dimension w our hands locked together and our bodies in an even more compromising position (also I GET THE SLIGHTLY OBSESSED PART NOW DKFNEKNFJFN that line abt no one else should be able to see u like this .......... Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

hey man what r u doing (do that again, but w ur tongue—)

HE'S TENDING TO OUR WOUNDS LIKE A FKN CAT 😨😨😨 DO IT AGAIN—

okay i see the twisted obsession part (again) 🗿

LMAO??????? JEONG YUNHO U CONFUSING SON OF A GUN???? WDYM UR BEAUTIFUL LIKE THIS BUT U DONT HAVE A CRUSH I NEED TO KNOCK SOME SENSE INTO UR DUMB, LANKY ASS

I KNEWWWW IT HAD TO DO W WOOYOUNG THIS LITTLE BEACON SKFNKDNFKD LIKE CALLS TO LIKE

im like suckered into the plot/story as it goes rn but the way i started howling like a monkey at seeing 2004 LIKE THATS ME GUYS LOL 💀 also my brain is taking 5x as long to fire neurons so imma need some time to collect my thoughts on whats happening cuz did the door in the paradigm just lead to an alternate, past sector 1

THEEEE CURRENT COUNT IS 121 / AH SO U THINK ABOUT ME OKAAAAAAAAAAY heh yeah yunho why u so obsessed w me, boy i wanna know (isnt that a song)

goddamn . the fucking physics-science-y stuff in this is kinda crazy yummy like the way the dichroic cube is a derivative of uranium that is subjected to a cooling and compression pattern in line w the FIBONACCI SEQ????? oh the planets are aligning folks 😌✨ like that is lip-smackingly good like all of it feels rooted in some kind of reality and it makes the world building that much better

THIS IS WORSE THAN THE ONE BED TROPE IM CRYINNGGGG 💀😭

wait lowkey im kind of scared for whats gonna happen and what they'll find when they go back to the academy on the day their friendship broke up...... cuz wdym everything bad happened kind of started /here/?? like yunyn friendship over, wooyo went to the academy despite his mom's warnings, and its two days after mrs jung went missing.... LIKE IM NERVOUS ALSO WE'RE NEARING THE END I CAN SEE THE BAR ON THE SIDE OF THE SCREEN

NAH THANK GOD THEY FINALLY CLEARED THE AIR ON WHY TF YUNHO STAYED BACK WHILE YN LEFT idk why i was typing in all caps but i was yelling at yunho to be straight like GSJFBRKFNFKFNKFNFJ anyways,,,, make out sesh in the nth dimension say hey yo 😎

the quickie comment... LMAO

the radio kind of becoming a compass ooooooo—

FAWK I HAD TO COVER THE BOTTOM OF MY PHONE TO PREVENT MYSELF FROM SPOILING THE NEXT PART (iykwim) BUT IT DIDNT WORK AND I SAW THE FORCES ANDJEKFKRKGNKRNG GAAAADAMN IT !!!!!!!!!

thank god mama jung is alive and that she yanked their indecisive asses into the void point before they were cooked 🙏

ahh the big bad govt wants to hide the possible futures from the public to maintain their ultimate control,, how interesting while also giving me déjà vu of our own reality 🤧 NO BUT the fact that this 2045 is the vers where wooyoung was captured by the forces and researched on is so dark but like,, kinda thrilling (sorry wooyo 💀) but i need to know how tf mama jung was able to make herself a pretend key 0_0 like maybe her biology was built to hold the energy since wooyoung can too...?

ANYWAYS SOME CONCLUDING THOUGHTS: okay yeah ik what pain u went thru writing this but i do have to tell u that the worldbuilding in this fic still had so much SUBSTANCE like my brain did actually compute things during this which i absolutely loved !! also yunho was giving sick dog, emphasis on the sick akfnkdnfkf and i loved the very lowkey action movie vibes this was giving?? it was kind of a mix btwn alice thru the looking glass and like the matrix in the best way possible, and yeah :,))) just an incredible job overall, as always 🤧😭💖 THANK U SM FOR UR HARD WORK YUMI I APPRECIATE UR ARTISTRY SM

[blizzardfluffykpop]

A Loving Home

Summary: When you find the cardboard box you call ‘home’ on fire after a long shift. You watch it turn to ashes before the rain finally puts it out and you start walking away. Just to run into a man, who offers you shelter. You warily take him up on his offer. And as much as Yeosang gives you a place to live. You find home within him.

Oneshot

Trauma Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Supervillain au, and a very small suggestive moment

Trigger Warnings: Reader is from an abusive foster home and will live on the streets in a cardboard box for a bit. Both will play a major part throughout the story. The reader will be healing from both, but there will be no explicit details of said abuse. It will dig into aspects of how it affects the reader but not actual details. If you cannot handle this topic or any of the following, please, don’t read. Yeosang also goes through past childhood trauma of being kicked out of his home at a young age due to his family viewing his vine powers to be traits of a monster. And there is possible body horror due to how Yeosang’s vines manifest from underneath his skin.

Key information: All the flowers/vines have meaning in their usage! And I believe there is only one uncommon flower that most won’t know. And that is the Desert Rose! It means resilience due to how they grow in harsher conditions. Yeosang is our lovely supervillain, ‘The Doberman’ who has vine and flower powers & other regular super abilities (superhearing/fast healing/etc). Our superhero is ‘Stormfly.’ While we never get to know the man beneath the mask; he controls weather patterns, has fly wings, and yields a mighty silver spear, and is of course, a Mr. Goodytwoshoes. (In a way, they would be Nature vs Nurture powers)

Word Count: 16,561

Kang ‘The Doberman’ Yeosang X Reader

[Features: San and Wooyoung]

[Long A/n: This is a part of @sungbeam’s action figures collab! I happily chose the supervillain route~ Anyways, thank you so much for hosting this fun collab, Beam! This is the first time I’ve written a super(anything) au! I knew the second I joined, I was going to write a supervillain au, it just took until now to get there… But honestly, I enjoyed it to the fullest. I think next time I would challenge myself to write more fight scenes rather than how I chose to write for this one. But I’m very happy with this fanfic tbh. A special thanks to @jinkoh for helping me decide who should be the villain~ and for helping further this idea along! (Maybe the other possible villains will have their day~) Also, this is my first fic for Ateez… So, I’m a little nervous about that fact. I desperately hope that the characterizations come off correctly. And this is the longest fanfic I’ve written in over two years. I went insane unravelling the trauma and having them heal each other. Also, the car was decided before they all rode in porsches in the newest content… But the one featured in this fic isn’t a convertible~ Anyways, I hope if you decide to read this fic that it’s as healing for you to read as it was for me to write!]

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“And something else! You guys can go fuck yourselves! I'll find somewhere else to live! I'll survive- no- I'll thrive! Just you all wait and see!” That was the last thing you said to your foster parents before you were out on the streets. You had two dollars to your name, the clothes on your back, and your cellphone. And you couldn’t help but feel free.

It’s been months since you’ve begun living on the streets. You knew it wouldn't be easy. But anything was better than living another day under their roof. You accepted a long time ago, that no one was coming to save you. You used to pray for ‘Stormfly’ to save you from your home. But he never came, so you gave up on him. Even when you were in the worst neighborhood, seeking shelter in a box, and crying your eyes out. You didn’t call out for him. He never listened before, why would he listen now? You somehow wondered if you called for your city’s newest supervillain, ‘The Doberman’ if he’d come running. And sometimes you’d wonder if his villain origin story started much like your own story did. You could easily see how a life of torment and neglect could shape someone to become a villain, at the very least a criminal.

Maybe he was a hero, hell you never got to catch the news, you wouldn’t truly know. Maybe the chatter you always heard in school hallways as a teenager was wrong. But you still can’t bring yourself to call for him. So, you just cry as the rain comes down, seeping in through your cardboard box shelter. The wet cardboard smell was getting to you, making you miss home. Not because of the people, but because of the safety of having a non-leaky roof over your head. You didn't miss the people you left, honestly, you were grateful you left when you did. Living on the streets was better than living with them. They tormented you in ways that you’re sure even ‘The Doberman’ would find despicable. And he was torturing ‘Stormfly’ for fun on the weekends. But at least when ‘Stormfly’ escaped he wouldn't have to come home to worse. No, he lived in a lair deep within the mountains and you couldn't help but be jealous of his safety. It must be nice not to fear for your life on the streets, or in the place you used to call home. The people you used to live with who gave you scars that you fear are too deep to heal.

It wasn’t like this every day, but days like today made you wish for more. But you promised yourself, someday soon you’d be living in a nice apartment. And this would all just be a distant memory. You fall asleep to the rain pitter-pattering on through your shelter.

—

After how hard last night was. The last thing you expected when you got home to your box after working a grueling nine-hour shift, was to find it on fire. This can’t be real. The flames twinkle in your eyes as you feel your last shred of dignity crumble. You fall to your knees as the rain starts coming down from the dark storm clouds that have been waiting to rain since last night. Maybe you should have lived in the park where some of your acquaintances did. But you knew if you did, you’d be limiting their resources, and that’s why you didn’t before. And now you were alone, watching your ‘home’ with your tattered blanket and lumpy pillow and spare change of clothes turn to ashes. You knew you could go find another box, another blanket, another pillow, and hopefully some clothes. But that was your first ‘home,’ and watching the things you worked so hard to obtain turn into ashes? It was mortifying.

You can’t do much but watch it burn, as the rain tries to put it out. As you watch the flames flicker, the gears in your mind start turning. You didn’t own anything that could catch fire without you being around. So, what started it… And you realize, that’s not the question you should be asking. It’s who. Who would set a box, a blanket, a pillow, and some clothes on fire? And why? It doesn’t make any sense to you. And what worried you worse was if someone was willing to set these measly items on fire. Who’s to say they wouldn’t set the next one on fire. You gulp as you wonder who you made as an enemy in the recent months. You know your acquaintances wouldn’t do so for fear of you seeking revenge. There was a truce between all of you after all. Your hands shake as you bring them up to wipe your eyes. You’ve been hurt so many times when you’ve trusted others. And now, you have to worry about who is after you.

The rain eventually puts it out. But nothing helps. You could go back home. You could suffer for a few days until you figure something else out, right? No. You can't. You don't have a home to go back to. The people you called your parents for twenty some years weren't safe. Hell, you were lucky you put up with it for twenty some years. But that last night there, was it. You can't go back. You have to figure something out. You focus on the fact that you still have the clothes on your back and the measly paycheck you earned in your back pocket. You get up with tears streaming down your eyes. If your parents could see you now, they'd sneer. They'd laugh and the names they called you, would be true. You really were good for nothing.

What you didn't expect because you were deep in thought was to run right into someone as you tried to escape the rain. You gasp, “I'm sorry!” His long black hair obscures his eyes, “Careful.” He steadies you before he moves his umbrella to shelter you both from the rain. He asks softly, “Do you have shelter?” You just lost your shelter, “I uh…” and then remember that you're in a bad neighborhood and square yourself up, “What's it to you?” Even though you lost everything but the cash in your pocket, just now, you weren't about to let someone take that from you or worse. He puts his hands up in defense, “I was going to make sure you got home safe. It's bad weather and there are bad people out here.” What you didn't know, was you were currently talking to the worst of them all. You squint and jut your thumb towards the alley, “I know. I used to live in that alley.” He looks back towards the alley you ran out of, “There’s no living accommodations down there, though?” You look down, not wanting him to pity you, “I lived in a box…” He nods immediately understanding. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of where or how you lived. You just didn’t like people thinking you were less by barely scraping by. Hell, you were lucky you got that box considering the three other people you had to fight it for. The box was huge and big enough for you to sleep in and feel somewhat comfortable as you slept even if you constantly had to be on high alert. He tells you softly, “I’ve been there before.” You tilt your head at him wondering what he meant, “I used to live on the streets as a kid.” You nod and he gives you a soft smile, “Do you have anyone to fall back on?” You shake your head, if you tried to stay in the park where the resources were already limited, your acquaintances would struggle worse. And you weren’t about to make them suffer. And there was no way in hell you were going back to your foster’s home. You’d rather stay knee deep in sewage water over that.

He asks gently, “Would you like to stay with me?” Your eyes grow wide, “I- I can’t ask that of you.” He shakes his head, “You’re not asking me. I’m asking you. You can stay as long as you want.” You ask softly, “Why would you offer me that?” He shrugs, “I’ve been there, and I promised myself when I was younger if I ever found someone in the same situation I was in. If I had the means to help them… I would.” Well, at least if he plans on killing you, you’ll have more than a cardboard roof over your head. And you wearily tell him, “Okay.” He gives you a smile, “Come on, my car’s just down a ways.” You ask incredulously, “You have a car?” He lets out a small laugh, “Rare, isn’t it?” You hum, around here it was, “Why pay for gas, when you can hop the turnstiles?” He shakes his head, “And here I thought you were an innocent person.” You shrug, “The true crime is them making us pay for public transit.” He laughs, “I agree.” Under his umbrella, you make your way to his car and the last thing you were expected to see was a porsche.

Now, if you kept up with the news, you’d know that the mastermind behind the city's worst atrocities, drove a modified midnight blue porsche. One that could turn invisible and was faster than any V12 engine being sold on the blackmarket. But you didn’t have time to read, you always had to make your next quick buck. Lingering a second longer than necessary to read something unimportant to your hustle, and you were living on saltine crackers for the rest of the week. So, you definitely didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. Sure, you committed harmless crimes, jumping turnstiles, jaywalking, and illegal dumping of your garbage in a dumpster that was definitely not yours. But you didn’t know you were getting into the passenger seat of someone who has murdered hundreds of people just because they got in his way. You were too naïve, not because you wanted to be, but because you had no other choice. You had to keep pushing or you’d end up committing petty theft again.

You click your seatbelt in at the same time you hear a distinct push of a button. You tilt your head, but don’t question it, thinking it was just the noises a car this expensive made. Until you hear a loud explosion, you whip your head back to see the building your box leaned up against up in flames. You watch as bricks fly out into the streets and burning pieces of paper flutter out through the shattered windows. You hear a stifled laugh, but you can’t think too deeply about it. Because if you do, you’ll remember that a moment ago you were just a few feet away from the explosion. That if your box wasn’t set on fire, you would be dead right now. You let out a soft, “Holy shit…” And he tells you with a smile on his face, “Well, it's a good thing we left when we did.” He starts the car up with a button, and you should have known those two sounds were very different.

The roar of his engine sends a thrill through your bones as he drives. You don’t know the last time you’ve ridden in a car, but it feels right as he jets off. Somehow simultaneously driving like he stole it and yet, still carefully enough to narrowly avoid a pigeon in the middle of the intersection. You can’t bring yourself to look at the guy who is so graciously letting you stay at his home. So, instead, you look at the counsel, taking notice of a small green button that says ‘nitro.’ You wonder if he’s an underground racer, and that's how he makes his money. It would make sense for how rich this car looked, maybe he won’t kill you after all. You smile at the plastic vase he has in his cup holder that holds a couple of fresh yellow roses. It gives a homey sense to the rather elegant car. And you can’t help but be put at ease by it.

When he pulls up to his house, your jaw nearly falls off. “You live here?” He hums and you take it all in. You were expecting a nice apartment, maybe even a penthouse considering the car he drove. But you weren’t expecting a dark castle with rose bushes alongside it. That was the last thing on your mind. Honestly, he could have lived in his car, and you’d still be impressed. But his house, no… his castle on the hill, was something out of those dark fantasy novels you had read in grade school. Maybe him living in a castle on the side of a hill should have alerted you of what you were getting yourself into. But it didn’t. Rather it intrigued you to no end. You’ve never been in a house that was bigger than four rooms. And that was for twelve foster kids and two parents minus you. You couldn’t imagine what living in a castle all by yourself would be like. You were used to barely having enough room to sleep. So, going from that, to this, would be a dramatic change. But not unwelcomed. He slowly drives over to his garage that was nestled inside the black stone.

There were so many things you could ask like ‘how did you go from homeless to owning this?’ to ‘this is insane, do you really live here? or do you live in the guest house?’ but all of those were rude to ask. And you knew better than to speak like that to someone who so graciously offered you someplace to stay. His garage door rolls up without him even pressing a button and he drives in. The garage itself, something that tended to be an afterthought when building such a place, looked like something you could never dream of affording. Not even the ‘Rich Weekly’ magazine houses could hold a candle to it. The black marble flooring and crystal chandeliers just in the garage have your jaw on the floor. You couldn’t even begin to hold back your awe as he turns off the car and the garage door shuts behind his parked car. It wasn’t even the only car in the garage. This was insane. You look down, trying to process all that you’ve just seen. And he quietly asks, “Wanna see something cool?” You tilt your head, what could be cooler? But you nod anyway, and the floor beneath the car you’re in begins to spin. The car slowly turns from facing away from the garage door, to facing it directly. You can’t help the way your jaw drops, you quickly collect it, not wanting to look as if you’re experiencing luxury for the first time. Though you were. He chuckles, “Cool, isn’t it?” You give him a small nod. If this is what the garage was like, you knew you were in for a culture shock.

He tells you softly as he unclicks his seatbelt, “Follow me.” You nod and follow him out of the car, gently closing the door, afraid of hurting the thing as he slams his door shut. Your heart almost jumps out of your ribcage at that, and he laughs. “No need to be gentle, it’s a porsche, it can take it.” You nod, even though you knew you weren’t about to slam that car door anytime soon. As you look at the marbled stone, you don’t notice how the computer scans his retina the second he puts his hand on the side door. Nor do you notice that he has the computer scan your eye into the computer’s database. Not because you weren’t paying attention, but because your eyes couldn’t physically pick up the infrared laser color. Even though he could clearly see it. He smiles as he opens the door for you, now you could enter without ever needing to wait for him.

You follow him inside, taking off your shoes, but keeping your measly paycheck close in your back pocket. You take it all in as he shows you around, “You’ll stay in this wing with me. You can have any room you’d like, outside of my office and room.” You nod and he shows you his office, which has a couple plants throughout it. Before showing you his room, and your eyes widen at the gaming setup. And he grins, “Do you like to game?” Your eyes shift to the side, “A little. I’ve only ever gotten to play a few times…” He hums and you notice the plants in his room too. “Do you like plants?” His eyes widen before he nods, “I love them.” You grin and he continues showing you the rooms, and when he’s finished showing you your shared wing, you end up picking the room with a bathroom attached to it.

Everywhere you look is luxurious, yet elegant. Nothing was too extravagant, but it was clear that everything in his castle cost a fortune. From the flooring to the light fixtures to the paint on the walls. It felt very clean, and fresh as if the castle was built three days ago. Yet, it still felt homey with the greenery splayed around. There were little flower vases in each windowsill with handpicked bouquets and a large orchard filled with different types of trees outside. But the most beautiful are the vines that creep along all the hallways. They felt as though they had a pulse, like they breathed life into the castle walls. You can’t help but smile softly at them, slowing down to admire them. That’s when you notice that there were flowers along the vines, but they were currently in nyctinasty, peacefully sleeping, waiting to bloom in the morning. You wonder if being here would give you time to stop and smell the roses. And you can’t help but smile at the thought.

You end up bumping into his back when you resume your pace, and you jump back, “I’m so sorry!” He shakes his head, “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” He gestures to the vines you were just admiring. You can’t help the fond smile that graces your lips and give him a small nod. He tells you, “I grew them myself.” You tell him, “You must have a brilliant green thumb then.” He hums, “You have no idea.” You don’t understand what he means by that, but you shrug. Maybe it was a plant growers’ way of saying, ‘you haven’t seen nothing yet’. And you really hadn’t. He continues the tour, leading you to the staff wing. And he sighs as he notices all the doors are closed, “I had a feeling… But I won’t be able to show you any of the rooms in this wing.” You hum not too worried about it knowing the staff probably savored their privacy. But he goes about showing you all he can before he happily shows you the kitchen and the living room.

You knew from the garage that this place would be nothing like anything you’ve ever been inside, let alone lived in. But actually, walking the halls and taking it all in was a different story. There were paintings of all sizes, books from all ages, timeless records, an exorbitant number of videogames, and a tv as big as your foster parent’s living room. Everywhere you look is just beyond comparison. You were used to cramped conditions from your foster home to the box you lived in. This felt spacious, like you had room to breathe for once. And with the flowers and greenery everywhere, it felt like you could breathe fresh air without having to go outside. It was nice and you softly tell him that. He grins and tells you a soft ‘thank you’ before his eyes widen. “I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” You shake your head, and you turn to fully face him. He holds his hand out to you, and you take his hand in yours as he tells you, “I’m Yeosang.” And you take in his soft yet sharp features as you tell him, “I’m (Y/n).” He grins, “That’s a beautiful name.” You thank him and he leads you to the couch.

You sit on the couch beside him, and he gives you a small smile. “Would you like to watch a movie with me?” You shrug and he hums a tune as he searches for one you both can agree to. “I haven’t watched this in a long time.” “Me neither.” You settle into a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s company. “I um… I wanted to thank you for allowing me to stay here.” He smiles, “It’s no problem.”

After you finish watching a movie, he asks, “Do you have a change of clothes?” You shake your head, and he smiles, “I can give you something of mine if you’d like?” You shyly accept his offer, and he leaves to his room, and gives you a pair of his sweatpants and a soft black t-shirt. You thank him, and he leads you back to the room you chose to stay in. And you notice as you follow him how every flower he passes seems to bloom just a little brighter as if happy to see him. And it makes you smile; he was probably an excellent plant dad to get such a reaction from his plants. He tells you good night softly before leaving you be.

As you get changed in the connected bathroom, the emotions hit you full force. You lost so much today, but in a way, you gained a lot back. But how long could you stay? You weren’t sure, you knew you’d have to hustle so you don’t become a burden. But maybe, this would make coming home less stressful, knowing you had a solid roof over your head. Maybe you could just enjoy it while it lasts. And with that thought you tuck yourself into bed in the soft clothes he lent you.

—

It’s been a full week and Yeosang still hasn’t shown signs of wanting to kick you out. And now that you don't have to worry about having shelter or food. You started taking time to live, to take time to make time. The hustle and bustle you usually subjected yourself to just to survive, slowed. You were now able to read books on more than just ‘how to make a quick buck’ or ‘5 ways to become a millionaire’. You were also able to catch up on the news, media, cartoons, everything and anything you could get your hands onto. You even were able to take time on your day off to go clothes shopping. While it wasn’t much, it still made you feel like a human. It was weird, one day you were struggling to make ends meet and now you’re sitting here relaxing before your shift begins. Watching an old cowboy rerun. Something you’d be lucky to see on the tv when you were at your old home. There was barely enough room in your foster parent’s home to house the fifteen of you. Most of the time you didn’t even get a chance to take a glimpse at the tv unless most of the house was out for a sports game. And so being able to watch a tv all by yourself without having to worry that someone will come up and shut it off or squeeze you out of the room was a weird feeling to get used to.

Yeosang comes up, “What are we watching?” And your instant reaction is, “I uh.. I’m not.. I’m watching anything!” You get ready to run, before he calms you down, “You can continue watching tv…” “Oh.” His eyes flicker over to the tv, “Oh, I haven’t seen Matt Dillion since I was living back home.” You smile at him, and he rests easy beside you. You don’t feel the need to run, even though your memories beg for you to. You know you’re safe to watch it besides him. You quail your nerves and relax into the chair as Chester and Dillion save the day. It was a simple story, but that’s what made it easy to watch. He hums as the ending credits roll, “The good guys always live and get what they want, don’t they?” You nod, “Always. But that doesn't mean the villains don’t find their own happiness.” He sighs, “I wish one time the villains would win.” You say, “I think they win in their own way.” He tilts his head at you, “How so?” You smile, “They get to live their life of their choosing, isn’t that winning?” He hums and gives you a soft smile, “I suppose it is.” You nod and you both go back to a comfortable silence.

The clock strikes four thirty and you leave, there’s not much said but you feel something lighter about you. There was a growing sense of safety in these walls that you weren’t prepared to feel. After all, you planned on staying here for a month tops, until you got on your feet enough to live in the projects. But the safety you’re starting to feel here, you worry you’ll long for it when you have to leave. You could see yourself getting comfortable and living with him for a long time. But there’s that saying of guests being like fish, after a week or so, they get this stench. And you certainly didn’t want to become rotten fish to the man who so graciously offered you his humble abode. Well, humble in the sense that he called it humble, there was nothing humble about living in a castle on the hill.

That’s how life started in that big mansion on the hill. You’d spend nights in front of the tv just getting to enjoy it all. You couldn’t believe your ears that he wanted to share his PS5 with you. You were used to sharing everything, of course, but being offered to share something so precious, felt different to you. He smiled at you as he set it up. And it was the first time you got to play on a real console. Sure, you had a Wii at your foster home. But you never got the chance to play on it. All of your siblings were always hogging it, never even letting you have a chance. Sure, there were only four remotes, but you could have taken a turn… But they refused to let you. One more slice of the pie meant less for them, and they weren’t about to share. But sitting on the couch beside Yeosang was different. He didn’t make you feel like you had to fight to be in the same room, much less time to play on his console. Rather he asked you what type of games you had played before. And you answered honestly, how you had only played games on the school computers and were only really used to those. He softly nodded and had you choose a game you thought you would like. It felt weird having the first choice, let alone a choice at all. You hoped it didn’t show too much.

He taught you everything he knew. And the two of you had so much fun together, playing game after game together. You ended up pulling an all nighter together. It was so much fun, neither of you could get enough of it. The two of you laughed until the sun came up, and when it shone through the windows the two of you were shocked. You let out a soft, ‘Oops’ and he chuckles. And it fills your heart with warmth. You both head to bed after another round. And it feels like you had a never more fulfilling rest. When was the last time you had such fun? You honestly can’t even remember. But you hope you don’t have to wait too long to experience that again. And you don’t, you end up playing games with him every other Friday night when he doesn’t have a big meeting to attend.

Usually when he was at his meetings you were at work anyways, so it didn’t bother you too much. But you wondered how this life felt like to him. Everything about living here was the lap of luxury, and he had it all to himself. No one to share it with except people he paid to live here, outside of you. And you found that quite lonely. While your family situation was horrible, you were never truly alone. There was always someone around, so you were never alone even though you were terribly lonely in your own way. You couldn’t imagine feeling loneliness on top of being alone. But he never seemed to mind, it seemed like he much preferred it. Especially with the way he’d disappear into his office, and you wouldn’t hear from him for hours upon hours. But whenever you needed him, you knew you could visit him, and usually you’d visit once you’d get off of work and come see him in his quaint little office. And the two of you would talk for a while before he’d softly tell you that he had to get back to work. If you pouted hard enough, he’d stay with you for another hour but after that, he’d disappear. And you’d be happy to roam the halls that you were free to explore.

It was interesting getting used to the staff. You were very much accustomed to doing everything yourself and fighting for meals. But now, all you had to do was ask. And don’t even get started on trying to cook something for yourself… That was totally out of the question. The two cooks that ran the kitchen… Would have your head if you made a simple sandwich in their kitchen. One would shoo you out and another would sweetly ask you what you’d like. And then there was the cleaning staff. You couldn’t believe your eyes; the first time you saw them mopping the marble tile. You felt so guilty and offered your help, and they immediately shooed you away. You felt like pinching yourself, it was so weird. You were always on cleaning duty. Not because you wanted to, but because if you didn’t, the already horrible living conditions you lived in would become that much worse. And to suddenly be freed of having to even wash your plate? That was a culture shock. Sure, you could protest all you’d like but none of them were having it. You didn’t know that Yeosang had informed them of your past and to make sure you didn’t lift a finger more than you needed to. You also didn’t know that they ran the house like a tight ship not because of how well they were being paid even though they were being paid quite well. But because they had great respect for the guy they worked for. And you definitely didn’t know they were all trained fighters on top of being house staff. There was so much you didn’t know, but there was always time to learn.

You came to find that the staff enjoyed watching tv as much as you did, and whenever you got lonely and Yeosang still hadn’t returned. They’d be happy to join you if you asked. They were usually in their wing of the mansion doing their own thing. And if Yeosang returned from his office, they’d make room for him to sit, and you all would sit like one big happy family. Which was odd to you, because when you had to share a couch before, you were usually kicked out if room needed to be made. Booted from the room, not to be heard from, but they were different. If you came later, and they were all watching tv, they made room for you, always making you feel welcomed. And if you tried to retire to your room before whatever you were watching together was over, everyone complained which came as a welcomed surprise. You weren’t used to it, but you could easily see yourself becoming used to it. It was comforting to be welcomed in all places of the house. Outside of cooking in the kitchen, of course. You felt safe, and welcomed, and it felt healing to you. How you’d ever garner the want to leave you weren’t sure. But you knew if you needed to come back, they’d welcome you back with open arms. Which was certainly something you couldn’t say about your foster home.

You return from his office for the day, and head to the bookshelf to read as the news plays in the background. Nothing too interesting, just something about ‘The Doberman’ and ‘Stormfly’ having another explosive fight in the middle of City Square. You couldn’t care less; crime was a part of this city. It was something you grew accustomed to. But as they replayed it, you glanced up. And there was something eye-catching about ‘The Doberman’. Why did that silhouette of the supervillain look familiar? There was something gnawing at the back of your mind as you looked at them. But considering how many people you’ve known and met while working customer service and being surrounded by people. You were bound to run into someone with supernatural abilities or evil intent even if it's not aimed at you. Without thinking more in depth about it, you change it to a music channel for background noise. Ignoring the nagging feeling that the city’s main bad guy was closer to you than you knew. After all, you finally have time to linger and enjoy life. You didn’t need to waste it on thoughts that weren’t worthy of that precious time now that you finally had it.

“Hey, (Y/n)!” You bookmark your page and look over your shoulder, “Yeah, Wooyoung?” He shakes his head, “I told you to call me Woo…” You laugh, “Sorry, Woo. What do you need?” He grins, “I’m going to prepare something big and mean for the boss man tonight, and I was wondering if you wanted anything special?” You shrug, “You know I’d eat anything you’d make.” He grins, “You flatter me” You grin at him, “Of course, my compliments only go to the best of chefs~” He smirks and thanks you before he heads to his kitchen. You should have connected the dots sooner that the reason why Woo was making such a hefty meal was because of the superfight that had just unfolded on the news mere minutes ago. But that was something you couldn’t even begin to imagine. You genuinely thought that Yeosang worked for a high-class business and just made the deal of his life that needed to be celebrated. Not knowing that he had probably the worst yet most successful fight of his life.

You should have realized it when he came home and looked like he had a slight limp to his walk. But you just gently asked, “You okay?” He hisses through his teeth as he tells you, “Just closed my leg in the car door this morning.” Your eyes soften, “Do you need me to look at it? I’m quite good at patching people up…” His eyes shift a bit, but he lets you take him to his master bathroom. You wouldn’t know by this time tomorrow it would be healed up. But for now, he’d let you take care of him. You tentatively lift his pant leg. And he holds the roll up to prevent it from falling back down as you assess the damage. You grab some gauze and tape. You gently tell him, “It looks like it’s just surface level, so you should be okay soon.” He gives you a small smile, hoping you’ll have wrapped quick enough that you won’t notice how his cells are quickly repairing themselves. It hurt a little as they reassembled themselves, but it was nothing compared to when ‘Stormfly’ threw his mighty metal spear through it. Fucking bastard. But if it meant feeling your delicate touch as you carefully wrap his leg. Maybe he wouldn’t mind it happening again.

You finish bandaging him up and without a second thought you lean down, closing your eyes a bit as you lay a kiss on the wrapping. “There… All better!” Your eyes fly open as you realize what you just did. You quickly move back and apologize, “I uh… sorry… it’s just a habit.” His cheeks are rosy as he shakes his head, “It’s okay… It was sweet.” You grin and help him off the counter. You act as his crutch, helping him back down the stairs into the dining room. He gently thanks you as you sit him at the head of the table before finding your space beside him.

—

It’s been a couple of months; things are always happening in the world around you. You see people fly through buildings, save kittens from trees, all while there is gunfire below. As if the powers some people had, just simply weren’t enough. But you were grateful for the quiet life you carved out. You finally acquired a nice quaint job, that if you were to move from Yeosang’s castle. That this job would cradle you enough to stay in the slums and be content. You didn’t mind living in the slums, but you knew if you told Yeosang you were leaving his ‘lap of luxury’ to live in the slums, he wouldn’t let you leave. So, you continued to save and work towards a better goal.

Plus, you weren’t sure you wanted to leave either. Not because of his home, and the shelter he provided you. It was the comfort of him being there. It was who he was that made you feel safe and at home. That feeling alone made you want to return home. Before when you’d return to your little alley box, you’d be happy because it was something you could call yours in this big world. But nothing compared to the excitement you felt when you’d return to the dark castle. It was a complete 180° from the sheer dread you would feel when returning to your foster home. You couldn’t wait to get off your shift and come back to people you considered your friends

And what was also different, that if you came into Yeosang’s office even when he was in the middle of doing something. It didn’t feel like you were interrupting him. It was like he welcomed your interruption, more so, he welcomed your presence. You never felt like you had to tiptoe around him. Which was a first for you. You could talk freely, and he’d listen and respond even if he could be doing whatever he does for his job. He’d take the time to spend time just talking with you. Sure, you had friends throughout your life. But none felt like him, maybe none ever would. And you knew one day would come where you had to move out, no matter how nice this was. But you didn’t want to, and you hoped he would never make you. He was home to you now, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to leave without breaking your own heart to pieces.

You didn’t know that he had a signal that told him when you’d return home so he could be in the office when you returned. You didn’t know that his real office was located behind the wall and down an elevator. It’s not like he wouldn’t tell you, but he was worried about what you’d think if you found out about his secret identity. He knew you’d feel lied to, and that would crumble the trust you both worked so hard to build. But he knew he couldn’t hide it from you forever. Because if you found out without him telling you. He’d run the risk of you running. And that was an even scarier risk. Because he knew if you ran, you’d be back on the streets. And you would have no one to turn to, and he knew it, and knowing that, he knew he had to take a calculated risk sooner or later. Maybe not now, but soon.

—

When you come home, he’s already waiting for you in his office with his legs kicked up on his desk. You take your time coming to his office, and soon you’re dressed in your pjs and take a seat across from him. You mumble as you kick your legs up on his desk, “You know, I should probably move out soon…” You know you don’t want to and would beg to stay, but you knew you had to say something. You knew your stay was starting to smell like rotting fish. He tilts his head as he hums, “And why’s that?” You look down at your hands, “Guests are like fish, after a week they start to smell bad.” He takes a big sniff of the air, “I think you need to check your sources, because you certainly don’t smell like rotten fish.” You laugh before you tell him, “Seriously though…” He shakes his head, “It is your decision at the end of the day. But if all you can afford to move in is the projects… You better think again before continuing. I won’t let you move there. It’s no better than living on the streets… I would know.” You huff, “But… I can’t just expect you to shelter me for free.” He shrugs, “My staff live here for free.” You groan, “They work here! I don’t!” He shrugs, “Even if they didn’t, they’d be free to stay as long as they wanted.” He pauses before he asks, “Do you no longer want to stay here?” Your lips part at that, “That’s not… That’s not what I meant.” He shrugs, “If you like living here, why would you move out?” You sigh as you look down at your hands, “Because I feel indebted… And I feel like I’m giving you nothing in return.” Your eyes flicker up to look at him, just to see him shake his head, “You give me companionship.” “Oh… but that’s-” He shakes his head again and you sigh, “I feel bad…” His moves his hand over yours, “It’s okay. If you’re happy living here, I’ll never ask you to leave. It feels less lonely on this side of the mansion now that you’re here.” You give him a small smile and he takes that as a victory. “Why don’t we go downstairs, eat some popcorn, and watch a movie together?” You grin, “I’d like that.”

You feel content sitting beside him, like something inside of you finally feels complete. But you’re not too sure why. You haven’t felt this way in so long, it feels foreign to feel. You snuggle under your blanket and scoot closer to him seeking some warmth. Two movies in, and you’re resting your head on his shoulder, sound asleep. His head lolls on top of yours, before he’s fast asleep resting his head on yours. It felt so comfortable, you wake up in the morning with your head still on his shoulder. You’re nervous to move. It feels so right, like something in your heart is singing about it. But shortly after you wake, Yeosang wakes with a big stretch, and he smiles over at you. And you think you’ve found the reason why you don’t actually want to move out. The reason why he feels so much like home. The two of you unravel from your blankets and say nothing about how you both slept last night. Other than soft smiles you give each other before you leave to go to your rooms to get changed for the day. He waves at you before you head to work, and your heart feels lighter.

There was something blossoming in your heart and you should have seen it sooner, just as you should have realized the feelings that were blossoming were for someone that was the city’s newest supervillain. But you didn’t. But at least you were realizing one of them now, and you can’t help the pep in your step as you walk to work and do your job. You’re in love with him and it was clear to everyone around you. Especially the house staff.

Oh, they were having a heyday finding you both cuddled up on the couch last night. “I told you it’d happen!” San rolls his eyes, “You did…” Wooyoung cheers, “Pay up~” He hands him a five out of his wallet. “But it still doesn’t mean they’re dating…” Someone slinks in and asks, “And what are you two talking about?” That voice makes the color drain from their faces as Wooyoung flips around, “Heh… Funny you should ask, Yeo.” Yeosang rolls his eyes, “Mmhmm.” San asks, “So, when are you going to make a move-” He sighs, “(Y/n) doesn’t even know I’m a supervillain yet…” Wooyoung exclaims, “You still haven’t told them?!” He shakes his head, “Not yet… The time’s never been right.” San crosses his arms, “You should tell them soon, if they find out after you’re dating. They might kill you themselves and then give the remains to ‘Stormfly’.” He rolls his eyes, “I don’t think (Y/n) has a killing bone in their body…” Wooyoung teases, “But it would be hot, right?” He scoffs but his red ears give him away, “That’s not the point.”

The two of them nudge him, “So, if they learned how to kill, you’d want to be their first victim?” He shakes his head, “You two are sickos…” Wooyoung teases, “Says the one who leveled buildings just to try to take down ‘Stormfly’…” He rolls his eyes, “Whatever…” He thinks for a moment before he says, “If (Y/n) still likes me after I tell them… I’ll owe you guys both a hundred.” The two of them immediately grab both of his hands, shaking on it, with a yelp of, “Deal!” And that’s when Yeosang cheekily adds as vines curl around their wrists, holding them to the deal, “And if they don't… Which considering what the masses consider me as… You’ll both owe me each a hundred.” The two groan, “Fuck…” And he releases them from their vine binding deal. When he starts to walk away, Wooyoung calls to him, “But we’re more likely to win~” He shrugs a hopeful smile playing on his face as he walks away, “We’ll see…”

There was a lot that he could hope for. If you truly liked him as he liked you. Then, him being a supervillain wouldn’t matter to you, would it? He hopes his doubts are wrong. He’s not sure the last time he’s felt this deeply about something let alone someone. Outside of ‘Stormfly’, who he feels a deep hatred for. Or the friendships he has forged with his staff, he’s unsure that any relationship has made him feel the way you do. Not even his parents kicking him out at such a young age made him feel this deeply. You make him feel like growing hundreds of flowers. Hell, he can’t even resist replacing the flowers on your nightstand with fresher flowers every other day. His eyes widen as he passes your room as an idea flits in his mind, he should change the red carnations out for red roses. He smiles as he walks through your open door. And grows the roses in his hands and places them into your vase. The carnations reabsorb into his body as he admires the red roses he grew for you.

He smiles softly to himself because it matches the cheek tattoo, he keeps hidden from you. You wouldn’t know how much roses mean to him, but he’s sure you know what red roses mean. And he hopes you know that he’s the one that always changes the flowers in your room. He walks out of your room, touching the blossoming Morning Glories. They all seem to sing to him as he heads to his office. They sound like they’re singing him a love song. And he knows in some way the effect you have on him, is affecting the way his powers manifest. Not in a bad way, but it seems like they’ve grown more powerful. Like the power of love truly was a force to be reckoned with. No wonder, ‘Stormfly’ was so powerful, so many people adored him, and he loved many others. But now, he's finally experiencing it. He can say his heart feels lighter, like the vines that wrap around it, let him breathe just that much easier when you’re around him.

Sure, he’s still worried that once you find out you’ll consider him a monster. Or worse, someone who terrorizes the city for fun. Not that he’s saying he doesn’t, but he doesn’t want you to think of him like that. He’d never hurt you, but if someone hurt you? Oh, there’d be hell to pay. The vines that he grows that are usually a deep green, would grow black with poison and he’d kill to get you the revenge you deserve. If the world needed to burn around you, to get you to safety? He’d do it in a heartbeat. No second thought. And oh, if he ever saw your foster family in real life, he’s not sure he’d be able to hold back. From what you’ve revealed, and what he’s come to realize from your reactions… Oh, they wouldn’t be living happy lives anymore. He’d make them suffer. He couldn’t stand you being hurt, you were so kind. So lovely, so sweet, oh, he’s got to get back to work. He still hasn’t figured out how to make the final mechanism work so he can capture ‘Stormfly’ in another ploy. He can think about you and how he’ll tell you everything you need to know later. Right now, he has important villainry to be working on.

—

It was a couple weeks later, and the two of you had begun having skinship to a level that his two best friends were raising concern. Because if he doesn’t tell you now, this could ruin your budding relationship. Building a relationship on a falsehood where you don’t know who he is, could lead to major heartbreak. Sure, it could end in heartbreak now… But at least you wouldn’t be left as big of a mess. And you’re less likely to run if you know now. The two of them keep sounding the alarm to him every time you aren’t around. And he knew something had to be done before it was too late. He knew this was bound to hurt, because it hurt him not being able to tell you anything about his life. It hurt not being able to tell you how he had a big victory, or how he ended up getting injured. Or why his wounds seemed to heal so quickly. He hated lying to you and skirting around the truth. Because you deserved to know every piece of him. There was so much of him he couldn’t share, and it was painful because he wanted to tell you everything. He wants to bear his heart to you. But he can’t without you knowing… And maybe, you’ll accept him. If not, he’ll learn to live with that. But oh, if you did, he’s unsure he’d be able to resist kissing you.

When you come into his office with your bunny slippers on, he grins. You tell him about your day, and he tells you some nonspecific things about his day. Before he sits straight up, and you tilt your head. And he tells you softly, “There's something you need to know…” You tilt your head and let him continue. He takes a deep breath in before he whispers his truth. But it isn’t loud enough for someone without superhearing to hear. And so, he tells you a little louder, almost shameful. “I’m ‘The Doberman’.” You look at him confused, “Doberman?” Damn… what did that telecaster say about ‘The Doberman’…? It was something big… What was it? He sighs, “I’m a supervillain.” “You?” And he nods and it’s when things start to click. That superfight you caught on the television where the villain’s silhouette looked familiar to you. The little articles you’d passed on your way to work, the billboard signs bewaring you of his existence. The telecaster whose face drained of color at the mention of him.

And it takes you a couple of minutes before you realize why he stifled a laugh that night when the explosion went off near your burned down home. Wait a minute… The fire grows behind your eyes and before you can resist, you’re pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, “Wait a fucking minute. Does that mean you set my box on fire?! My home!? You fucking bastard.” He waves his hands in front of you, “It was already on fire by the time I was done setting my explosives up!” You’re burning with anger now, “And you didn’t do anything!?” He puts his hands up in defense, “In my defense, I thought someone made a dumpster fire! And I had a few more loose ends to tie up… Literally.” Your eyes widen in shock, “You mean… you killed people in there?” He shakes his head, “No, no, nothing like that! It was my old headquarters… Paper trail, had to make sure they were tied into the explosion before leaving. And that’s when it started raining…” You nod, “And so when you saw me, that’s when you knew?” He shakes his head and sighs, “I only knew when you said something.” Your finger drops as you sigh, “I’m sorry, I just. That was my home…” He nods and gently puts his hands on your shoulders, and you look at him as you sadly tell him, “I wish I knew who did it.” He sighs, “I wish I did too. But I can have people look into that.” Your eyes soften, locking with his again, “You can?” And he nods, “I promise. I'm a supervillain, not a monster.” You smile before you gently ask, “Do you mind if I sit with this information for a while?” He nods, understanding, “Take all the time you need.”

You sigh as you get back to your guest room, lay on your bed, and take it in. This whole time he had been deceiving you that he was nothing but a good guy. Maybe you should have seen the signs sooner. But you didn’t. You didn’t even know where to look. He lied to you. He swindled his way into your heart and now, he’s been lying to you who he actually was. You felt conned. But then your mind starts replaying how he’s taken care of you. From letting you stay with him, to watching the silly shows you always wanted to see. To having ice cream and beer at three in the morning just because you were both wide awake. To leaving you orchids, carnations, roses by your bedside table in a little (f/c) vase. To playing videogames until you both were tired beyond belief. All the little things in how he’d hold your hand when you talked to him about something serious. And how he felt gentle in the way he’d approach. Nothing was too much for him to take and he’d completely hear you out. He’s shown you nothing but kindness, he’s letting you stay in his house- his castle rather- for free, with expecting nothing back. Could he really be a villain? Or was there a reason you were missing? You were probably missing half the story. Because someone as kind as he is had to have a reason to be evil. To commit atrocities and giggle about them. There had to be something more to his story you just didn’t know. But for now, you needed to cope with the fact that the guy you had feelings for, was a supervillain.

The second you leave his office; his hands are pulling at his long dark tresses. Fuck, he really hopes he didn’t screw up. He feels so nervous, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. He was always sure in his schemes. Never feeling nervous even when ‘Stormfly’ would drag him up through the atmosphere to drop him to his certain death. Even that first time, when ‘Stormfly’ did it to him the first time. The hero’s wings battered through the harsh winds, carrying them both higher and higher as the air got lighter and lighter. He didn’t feel nervous, even though he couldn’t escape the hero’s grasp until they were well into the stratosphere, where ‘Stormfly’ was more than happy to drop him. Assuming that he would pass away on collision. But Yeosang never once felt nervous during the whole ordeal because his vines were always ready to catch him.

Every little thing in his life could be solved with his vines, his greenery, the flowers he grew, and the fruits he cultivated. But right now, his vines could do nothing but wrap around him, doing their best to comfort him. He feels the broken sobs come out of him before he can help it. The leaves gently wipe the tears from his eyes as he cries. He doesn’t want you to view him as a monster, he doesn’t want you to be hurt by this. And he definitely doesn’t want you to run, he doesn’t want you to lead the life he once had. Even if you’re only capable of becoming a mere criminal and not a supervillain. He doesn’t want you to hurt in capacity. But he understands if you need to leave, but he desperately hopes that somehow. The person he feels so deeply about, can look past his villainy and love him just for him. Oh, he would give you the world if you’d only let him. He’d have it bow before you, if that’s what you wished. Whatever you wished, was his command. Him and his vines could do it all for you and more, if you’d only let him.

It was a couple of days before you felt like talking to him again. You cautiously make your way to his office and knock on the door. Your bunny slippers squeaking anxiously under your feet. As you wait to hear the voice you long to hear. You almost let out a sigh of relief when he tells you to ‘come in’. And you do. He looks wrecked, like he hasn’t slept for days. And your heart aches badly, but you can’t say you’re in much greater shape. You’ve felt like a giant mess since he’s told you. You ask as you approach his desk, ready to sit in the chair across from him, “Can I ask you how you became ‘The Doberman’?” He nods and instead of gesturing for the chair across from him. He leads you over to the couch in his office. You sit on either side, and he tells you softly. “My father kicked me out at a young age… When he found out my mom passed her father’s powers down to me. They wanted nothing to do with me.” You nod and place your hand over his, while you didn’t have powers, none of your family, even the ones who took you in, wanted you. So, you understood, and he continued, “So, to survive because I couldn’t get a job as a child, even the paper route had raised their age requirements. I committed petty theft and for a while, that sustained me. Then, it got to the point where I was committing robbery. I needed money, I needed to survive. No one was going to take care of me… And well, I was sick of it. And when I had full control of my powers, I was able to use them to commit the crimes without getting caught.”

You nod and can easily see how if you had powers, your story would turn out quite similar, except you were sure someday you’d be in the slammer instead. “But, my powers and crimes, caught up to me. You know that big shot, Mr. I’mthegoldenboyeveryoneadores?” You shake your head, “No, not really actually.” “Well, his parents loved him, cherished his powers, and cultivated a superhero. He stops crime before it happens. And suddenly the money I was garnering- stopped…” “Oh.” He nods and he tells you, “And that led to me becoming a supervillain to survive.” You nod, “Okay… So, you’re saying, you… The kindest person I’ve met since the day I was born, is a supervillain?” His eyes soften, “I’m the kindest?” You nod and he hums, “You really haven’t met many good people.” You nod and he sighs, patting your hand and you tell him, “You gave me shelter, you don’t expect anything out of me. Even though I feel internally indebted to you. You’ve showed me nothing but kindness and grace. And you’re telling me that the same path I was on, became your villain origin story… I see why. And I’m glad you stopped mine from happening.”

You two sit beside each other as you both talk about your past. He fills you in on everything, from how ‘Stormfly’ and him went from just rivals to superrivals. You ask carefully, “Did you have any siblings?” He nods, “I do, but she’s nothing like me, and I don’t hold it against her. She doesn’t have any powers, she’s an upstanding citizen, believe it or not.” You laugh and he fondly tells you, “I still keep an eye on her.” You smile softly, “Do you ever talk?” He shakes his head, and you sigh, “I know what that’s like.” He pulls you closer to him and you tell him about your foster siblings. And it feels like the levee finally gave way, and you both could tell each other everything and anything. And neither of you wanted to spare a detail. He tells you how Wooyoung and San became part of his staff and how he loves growing Morning Glories the best. And you tell him about the various jobs you’ve worked, and people you’ve met that have influenced you in some way. Every detail either of you share, fuels another story from the other. And you spend the night talking away. It feels like you both have finally gotten everything left unsaid off your chests. That all the weight the two of you bear, no longer had to be carried alone. Your hearts intertwine even further.

You end up talking yourself into yawns. And he gently leads you to your bed, and you catch his wrist. “Yeo…” “Yeah?” “Don’t leave.” “But-” You shake your head, and he sighs, “Okay.” He climbs into bed facing you. And as you’re close to falling asleep, you ask him softly, “But you were just a kid… How could they do that to you?” His eyes look as though they could fill with tears any moment, before he turns the question to you, “How could your family do that to you for years and not feel remorse?” You put your head against his chest, closing your eyes as you start falling asleep. And he holds you against his chest. The two of you have been through so much. But at least, now, you would have each other. You feel safe in his hold, which should be weird to say about someone who was supposedly an evil supervillain. But you haven’t felt safer in all of your days alive than in his arms. You giggle as you feel his vines tickle your shoulders and he lets out a soft apology, “Sorry… they uh…” You shake your head, your eyes still closed as you tell him, “They’re soft, it’s okay.” “Oh.” That was the last thing he expected you to say and yet, he can’t help but feel as though you lifted another weight off his shoulders.

He can’t control how his vines love to hold things he’s holding. It’s something that got him in trouble when he was child. He just wanted to hold his parents’ close. And while his sister didn’t mind the sensation. When his vines happily secured them together for that brief moment. They weren’t tight, they would have relinquished the second the hug was over. And yet, his parents' screams still echo in his mind from that moment, he was so afraid you’d scream like they had. But you giggled… And he can’t help the tears that pool at his eyes. He nestles his head into your hair as he mumbles, “Thank you.” He’ll tell you someday how your words affected him. But for now, he’ll let his vines curl around the two of you and keep you both safe.

You felt safe in his hold before, but with the vines wrapping around both of you it feels as though nothing could harm you while they’re wrapped around both. And you knew in your heart, if you wanted out of them you could politely move away. But you wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in them and stay close to him. You feel the weight of having to protect yourself at all moments of the day, finally collapsing in his hold. And you can’t help but sigh contently into his hold. With one more yawn from the both of you, you find yourselves sleeping comfortably for the first time in a long time.

You wake up facing the opposite way and quickly shift your eyes to see he’s still lying beside you, sleeping in a starfish position. But you feel something move around your waist, and you look under the covers to see one of his vines still wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him. Almost as if he was afraid, you’d leave the moment he woke up. You can’t help but giggle and roll over to be even closer to him. You lay your head on his chest again, and with the morning rays just starting to come in, you fall asleep again, feeling completely safe in his hold.

When you open your eyes again, the sun is fully up. You look up from his chest to find him looking down at you and you smile at him. He smiles back and you feel the vine that was wrapped around your waist slowly unravel so he can stretch fully out. And you pout at the feeling, which makes him softly ask, “You miss it?” You nod, “It makes me feel safe.” His eyes soften and he can’t help but wrap his arms around you again and you giggle as small vines come around to hold you close to his chest. He whispers, “No one’s ever said that before to me.” You tilt your head, how could someone not want to be wrapped up in it? It’s not like he’s strangling someone with it. Although, you can picture he’s done that before. Rather it feels like they just want to keep you close and protect you. You ask softly, “Do your powers make you feel safe?” He looks you in the eyes to tell you his dearest truth, “Completely.”

You hear a knock on your door, and you gasp and curl into Yeosang’s hold. Almost scared, no one ever knocks on your door outside of Yeosang. And he’s in here right now. And that thought fills you with dread until you feel how the vines wrap around you protectively. It almost feels as though they were telling you, ‘We’ll keep you safe.’ He softly asks, “Yeah?” And you hear the calming voice of San, “Do you guys want breakfast?” You breathe a sigh of relief, and the vines loosen up on their hold as Yeosang softly asks you, “Do you?” You give him a soft nod, and he says, “We would.” And you hear San leave, his footsteps moving quickly to the kitchen.

You lay on top of him, and his hold keeps you steady. The two of you talk in soft murmurs, “Where do your vines come from?” He moves a hand back to show you where they come from underneath his wrist, “They can appear from any part of my body though. But these are the ones that are out most often.” You hum and he tells you how they’re not a finite source, that as long as he’s still breathing, they’ll do anything to protect him. How he’s made vines twice the size of the tallest skyscraper just to catch ‘Stormfly’ by the ankle in the mesosphere. You ask, “You guys can breathe up there?” He nods, “It was weird for me to find out too.” You grin and he tells you all about how his powers work, well as much as he’s discovered, in his years of living with them. “Do you think you’ll uncover more about it?” He nods, “I discovered when I began living here that I could cut them and put plants into vases.” You blink and can’t help but exclaim, “You cut them!?” Your eyes dart over to the freshly placed red roses before your ears flush as you realize how loud you were in the quiet room. And he laughs, “I was just testing to see if I could.” You nod, “Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt me. Plus, I re-absorb them when they’re done being display.” You let out a sigh of relief but tilt your head. And he grins, “Here watch~”

You watch as he makes new red roses, with more petals and grabs the roses that are currently in the vase. And you watch as his vine reabsorbs the stems and petals into its vine. Your eyes are wide, but you’re fascinated. “That’s so cool.” He grins and he places the new roses in your vase before he says, “It only hurts if someone else does it.” And you wrinkle your nose, “Oh… ‘Stormfly’ must know that, huh?” He nods sadly, “But it only hurts as much as getting a scrapped knee does.” You let out a sigh of relief.

And before you can ask any more questions, another knock comes on your door. But you don’t find yourself cowering this time. Yeosang tells them to come in, and you roll off of him. You feel a leaf move to fix your hair. You smile softly and notice Wooyoung and San smirking at you both. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, knowing they were thinking something bigger occurred than what actually happened. And of course, Wooyoung can’t resist it, “So, what were you two doing in here last night?” Yeosang answers bluntly, “Sleeping.” And San places the tray over both of you, with a teasing lilt, “Is that all?” You can’t help how you flush under their gazes, but nod. And Yeosang’s vines wrap around your shoulder. And you relax into his hold. Wooyoung chastise, “You two aren’t very secretive y’know~”

The two continue teasing you both, making you both go redder and redder by the minute. And before they leave, San tells you both sternly, “Make sure to take care of each other, okay?” You smile, knowing you would do your best to support Yeosang after knowing his full truth. And Yeosang would do anything to keep you safe, no matter the cost. The two of you eat quietly, and it just feels nice. There are no expectations, there’s no worry someone will come around and eat all of your food. There’s just the two of you, enjoying each other’s company and eating together.

After you finish breakfast, you two wind your way down to the living room. And he tells you about how he heals fast. And you turn to him, “So, all those times I’ve patched you up…” He nods and you pout. Which makes him quickly put his hands up, “Doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate it!” You smile and he adds with a small smirk, “Especially when you kiss them.” Your cheeks burn at that, and he says, “I can’t help but wonder, if I injured my lips if you’d kiss them…” You figure your whole face is scarlet now as you tell him. You whisper, “I don’t think you’d have to injure them to find out…” He hums, loving the way your cheeks burn red and how you’ve gotten shy, “So, if I say I wanted to kiss you… What would you say?” You grin, “I’d say ‘Yes.’”

His hand cups your jaw with his hand and a small vine curls around, tickling you, making you give him a small smile. His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips before he finally moves towards you. His head tilts a bit to the left, so your noses don’t bump together. And your lips meet for the first time. Your hands instantly move to lock around his neck, pulling him in deeper as your lips meld together. It feels like your world is finally piecing itself together as he kisses you. Everything feels so right. And when he moves back, his forehead rests against yours. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” And you grin, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for it.” And this time, you capture his lips in yours.

Your cheeks burn red as you pull back this time, and your thumb brushes over his birthmark. And he smiles at you and the two of you take in the moment. It feels like everything is finally right in the world. And that’s when you notice the glow of a rose on his cheek. “Oh?” And he wipes his cheek a bit and shows the black rose, colored in by the rest of his birthmark. “You’ve had that the whole time?” He nods, “I just usually cover it up since I uh… I didn’t know if you’d recognize me by it and I…” You shake your head at him, “Please don’t hide it again.” He gives you a small smile and you place a gentle kiss against it. And you whisper, “It makes you look even hotter.” He blushes and he says softly, “You really think so?” You nod and he brings you in for another kiss.

As your lips chase each other, you hear someone clear their throat behind you, “I was going to ask if you guys wanted dinner, but it seems-” And the two of you jolt back from each other, as if the feeling of each other’s skin shocked you. And San exclaims, “Sorry!” He pretends as though he isn’t looking by covering his face with his hands. But the way his eyes peek out have you both laughing. You answer his question politely, that you're hungry for dinner and look over at Yeosang who nods his head. And San turns quickly, heading to the kitchen as fast as he can and you hear him exclaim, “NEXT TIME! I’M SENDING YOU OUT!” And you hear Wooyoung laughing loudly inside the kitchen as San tells him what he witnessed and the two of you giggle. Your hand finds Yeosang’s and the two of you hold hands while you watch the tv, contently waiting for dinner.

—

He no longer hides his tattoo from you, nor does he hold back any details about his masterplans. You listen intently as he tells you about his latest one, with poison oak glowing in his eyes. And all you can hear out of his lips is ‘something, something, capture, something, vine move’. And he smirks, “And I think the water fairies down the street will be a great asset to me.” That makes you blink from your stupor, “What? We have what down the street?” He smirks, “I knew you weren’t paying attention. That’s why I said that.” And you cross your arms across your chest. “That’s not fair…” He asks you, “What’s got you so distracted, sweetheart?” You mumble something under your breath, and he smirks, you knew he heard you with his superhearing, but he can’t let it go, “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it?” He just loves watching you melt. You exclaim, “Your lips are quite distracting, okay?” He laughs before he tells you softly to kiss him.

And before anything can move any further, he tells you softly, “I have to go, my love.” And you pout and he giggles, “When I get back, okay?” You grin and he says with poison oak and nightshade dancing in his eyes, “This one is bound to end up on the news.” You laugh and for a moment, there’s a certain softness in the way you both look at each other. And you tell him, “Okay, I’ll watch you on the tv.” And with that, he’s down to his basement, and you hear his porsche starting. The engine roars as he barrels down the street, no one can see him in the daylight and now you have even more to think about.

You’re in love with the city's most feared supervillain, who has the kindest heart. And as you make your way to the dining room, you can hear Wooyoung and San absolutely losing their minds. “Did you see how they kissed!?” San chuckles, “I can’t wait for that hundred. We were so right about (N/n) not caring about him being a supervillain!” You sneak up on them, “Were you?” The two of them jump out of their skin. Wooyoung shrieks, “You can’t just do that!” You laugh, “So, what’s this reward for your bet?” “100 each~” You pout, “He really thought that being a supervillain would matter to me?” They both nod and Wooyoung says, “He was worried you’d perceive him as a monster… We told him there was no need to worry and yet-” You feel so sad about that, but you understand where he’s coming from. “He didn’t need to worry. I just needed to process it…” San pats your shoulder, “We know. That’s why we placed the bet that you’d love him no matter if he was secretly a frog.” You blink your eyes rapidly, “Is he?” Wooyoung bursts out into laughter, "Definitely not.” You three giggle and San asks, “What do you want to eat?” You hum, “What are you guys having for breakfast?” Wooyoung shrugs, “Same thing as always…” You grin, “Serve it up~”

—

It’s been a few months since he had first told you that he was a supervillain. And had told you he wasn’t the one to set your box on fire. And while the box no longer is necessary to you. You still can’t help but wonder as you come home from your shift if you’ll ever find out who did it. You sigh as you kick off your shoes and place them into their compartment before heading up to your newly shared room. You had begun sharing a new room after growing tired of switching between the two of your rooms to sleep every night. Plus, with your things in the same place, it meant you could stay in each other’s arms just that much longer. Instead of having to separate to get changed. You still had your individual rooms if you wanted space. But neither of you could sleep without the other’s arms (and vines) around you. It was a comfort neither of you could go without. So, it just became more convenient for the two of you. And you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of falling asleep together later tonight.

All your worries and thoughts drift away with that thought as you pull on your pajamas and bunny slippers and make your way over to Yeosang’s office. You can’t help the smile that finds its way to your face as you walk inside, finding Yeosang already sitting there waiting for you to come in. He gives you a small smile and you sit down across from him. But you notice the way his smile doesn’t meet his eyes, and it worries you. Did he plan on doing something risky tonight? What was going on? You can’t help but nibble at your bottom lip. And before you can voice any of your worries, he tells you, “I found out who set your home on fire…” Your eyes widen, “You did?” His vines reach out before he can, the leaves acting as mini hands, softly stroking your arm, trying to soothe you before he breaks the news to you, “I um… I’m so sorry.” His hand reaches yours next, holding it securely in his, and you ask as bravely as you can, “Who did it…?” He utters the words, “Your parents.” And it feels like your whole world crumbles around you. You can’t help the tears that stream down your cheeks, and Yeosang quickly rounds the table and pulls you into his arms, “I’m so sorry, baby.” His vines wrap around, bringing you into him even closer. You mumble into his collar, “They really didn’t want me to succeed… did they?” He pets your hair, his voice soft as he tells you, “I fear not.” And you wail into his arms; you can’t help it. You knew they didn’t love you but knowing that they were willing to destroy anything that gave you a little sense of comfort destroyed you.

The two of you stay like that for a while, with you crying into his arms as you try to comprehend it all. You didn’t know what to do and knowing that they would have done it again and again to you breaks you even further. Why did your own enemies have to come from the family that had taken you in when you were no more than three? When no one else would adopt you? You couldn’t understand how they hated you then, and you don’t understand now. You were out of their hair, you were no longer their problem and yet, they were determined to see you crawl back to them. But now, they couldn’t touch you, and it was all because of the man holding you tightly to his chest right now.

When you were younger, you used to cry for ‘Stormfly’ to come save you from your situation. And while you had done most of the work to get yourself out, yourself. The man you cried for to save you, never came. But the one you never dared to call for, was right here, holding you and keeping you from falling completely apart. And as your cries turn to sniffles, you realize that if you were to call for ‘The Doberman’ he’d come running. He found the way your foster family treated you to be despicable just as you always predicted. Which in a way, was funny, he was the city’s most feared supervillain, but it didn’t mean he was completely vile. He was an evil supervillain, but he wasn’t a monster. And the family you had, well, to put it lightly, were monsters in their own right.

Maybe monsters weren’t dressed in funny getups and had superpowers. Maybe they were in people’s homes, lingering, and hurting people they supposedly cared about. And before you can travel much further into that thought, you hear a murmur of, “Sweetheart?” You look up from his chest, your eyelashes still riddled with teardrops that he wipes away with a few leaves making you smile. And he gives you a tiny grin before he softly tells you, “I’m sorry.” You shake your head, “It’s not your fault.” And he sighs, “I wish I had known, I wish I was there sooner… I wish-” You shake your head at him and place a gentle kiss on his collar. “It’s not your fault, Yeo… They’re not good people.” He sighs, “I know but…” You pull back and let your head fall back against the plush leather.

You feel some of his vines uncoil from around the two of you and that’s when you notice how many were wrapped around you as though he was building you a safety net. And some part of you wonders how often he built himself a cocoon to sleep in, but that’s a question for another day. Your eyes finally have the courage to meet his again. And when you do, you notice the belladonna glowing in them, as though he’s ready to go out and wrap his vines tightly around them until they pop, if you let him. He softly states, the normal brown in his eyes returning for the moment, “You know I’d burn the whole world down for you, right?” You give him a cautious nod, and he asks, “Before I say what I would prefer to do to them… What do you want to do now that you know?” He leans against his cherrywood desk, and you think it over. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the fear of running into any of your family is constantly in the back of your mind. You fear they’ll force you back into that house and keep you in there for good. You fear constantly and consistently that they’ll find a way to destroy the life you’ve worked so hard to carve out for yourself. And the worst of them all, was that you feared that somehow, they’d make Yeosang turn on you. It wasn’t a fear rooted in any reality, and you knew he’d always take your side, especially when it comes to them. But the way they tormented you over the years, and got inside your head, you worried it to be possible.

You realize, if they were away from you and you never had to worry about them interfering with your life again… You’d feel safe, sure, you felt safe right now with his vines wrapped protectively around you. But what about the times when he’s away, and you’re working at your desk job. Sure, you could cry out for him, but will he be there fast enough to save you? When he has much bigger bugs to fry. And while you know he would drop anything for you and burn the whole city down and then some just for you. You know your worries won’t go away if they are still in a tangible distance. You know no matter how safe and protected you feel in this castle. Your nerves won’t ever rest easy. And you know you can’t live in fear for the rest of your life. So, with a shaky voice, you tell him, “I think… I think I want you to take them away.” You feel a leaf brush a strand of your hair back behind your ear as Yeosang carefully chooses his words, “In what way, my love? Because you say the word, their house will be swallowed by a sinkhole, come this time tomorrow morning.”

You can’t help the small smile that graces your lips at that thought. But killing them would be too nice for them. And with the way he looks at you, he knows that to be true. So, he asks again, “What are you thinking?” You ask, “At the minimum, I want them far away, in a place where they can never touch me.” He nods and crosses his arms as he thinks about how best to do so. Before he tells you, “Consider it done. Anything else?” You nod, “I want their privilege of being able to foster children to be revoked.” And he smirks, “I already did that long ago.” Your eyes widen, “When?” He gives you a soft smile, “The morning after you told me their names.” You smile and something rests easy in you, knowing Yeosang was already taking care of you long before you knew. You think for a moment before you tell him, “While I don’t want my ‘siblings’ to find me, or ever see me again… I don’t want them to suffer under their care.” He nods, “Okay, I’ll have Wooyoung and San take care of it.” You nod and he softly asks, “You’re sure there’s nothing else?” There’s an evil thought that echoes in your mind as if it’s being spoken to you. And maybe it is, maybe the pretty pink desert roses that decorate his vines today are whispering to you. And you can’t help but find yourself agreeing, “I wish to watch their house burn down, and for you to uproot the foundation.” A fond smile comes across his features at the thought of tearing it up for you, “Your wish is my command, my love.”

—

And that’s how you find yourself today, standing beside Yeosang as your foster home burns to the ground. No fire department was called, nor was it deployed from the smoke. Nor did ‘Stormfly’ come around to put the fire out. It was just the two of you watching the wreckage. When the ashes settle, and there’s nothing left but cement and rebar, Yeosang lifts you up on his shoulders. And you gasp, “What are you doing?” And he grins, “It’s more fun from a bird’s eye view.” You laugh as your hands wind their way into his hair to keep yourself steady as Yeosang’s vines grow from underneath him raising you guys high above the foundation as his vines get to work dismantling every piece. You watch as cement blocks crumble between two massive vines, as if they were mere pieces of air-dry clay. In less than an hour, Yeosang had it torn out completely, there was nothing left but a giant gaping hole. He tells you as you both look onto it, “I’ll have a company out to fill the hole later today.” You hum and the large vines beneath him slowly retract, and return to their rightful place under his skin, slowly setting him back down on the grass. And when the last one settles beneath his skin, he lifts you up from his shoulders.

You smile as he sets you down beside him. It feels like a giant weight has been lifted off your shoulders. With it being completely dismantled, not a trace of it left. You were assured that no one could ever force you back into that hell house. No one could make you feel housebroken again. You felt safer, you had already felt safe inside of Yeosang’s castle, and with the staff. And even safer besides Yeosang with his vines. But now, you felt like you were finally able to rest. There is no longer a foster home to return you to, and you can finally be at ease. And he asks you as he stares into your eyes, “Better?” You let out a sigh of relief, “Better,” before you give him a giant grin. He grins back and ruffles your hair, and he takes your hand in his. “Come on, let’s go home.” You never thought you’d be happy at hearing those words. You thought the word ‘home’ would always fill you with a sense of dread but hearing it from his lips. You couldn’t help but feel excited at the mere mention.

You feel a vine snake around your waist to keep you close, and you look over at him, “I thought tearing that down wore you out…” He shakes his head, “Nothing could ever exhaust me enough to not hold you close.” You hum, teasing, “Even the throwdown of a century?” He shakes his head, “Never.” You grin and kiss his rose tattoo and watch with a soft smile as a blush dusts his cheeks. He looks away trying to get it under control as his vine wraps around you tighter from embarrassment. You giggle and the two of you make your way to his porsche.

With its cloaking device on, you can’t see it, but he can. So, he opens the door for you and buckles you in before heading to his side. As he speeds the two of you home, a notification rings through from Wooyoung, “They’ve been handled.” You tilt your head, “What does he mean?” Your eyes flicker over to see the poisonous oak look in his eyes. And he tells you, “You won’t have to worry about them entering the country again. Their ties with this embassy have been severed.” Your eyes widen, “You can do that?” He nods, “Woo used to work for the government after all. They’re traitors to the country, and now if they try, they’ll be turned away, or better yet locked in prison.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, “Really?” He nods and puts his hand over yours, and for the first time in your life, you finally feel fully at ease.

Yeosang made you feel safe, and the job you worked felt nice, and the castle you lived at felt like home. But knowing that your former abusers would never be able to even enter the country you lived in without prosecution or being sent away, filled you with a sense of relief you didn’t know was possible. You lean back against the leather seat and just take it all in, closing your eyes as you realize it’s all going to be okay. As he drives the two of you back, you come to realize you got the real home you always wished for. In a material way, it was the castle both Yeosang and you lived in. In the way that you cared most about, it was the home you found in your friends, and Yeosang. No matter where the two of you were to live, as long as he was beside you. You were home.

Yeosang would do anything to keep you safe even if it meant working with ‘Stormfly’, but thankfully it didn’t come to that today. But as he looks at how relieved you look, he can’t help but feel content. You felt safer and he couldn’t be happier. He holds your hand tight in his as he whips around the last few curves before he’s inside your shared garage. And while he knows there is still underlying trauma that the both of you have to still heal from. Unlike before, you have each other to overcome them together.

And you were right; he may not have to win the battles against ‘Stormfly’ although he’ll never give up trying. He’s found his own happiness; he found his home in you as much as you found your home in him. He won in his own way, he’s already got you, whatever ‘Stormfly’ had, couldn’t compare to you. And nothing would ever come in between you. Well, maybe Wooyoung and San when they want to sit in between you both during movie nights to keep you two ‘lover birds from necking.’ Which always brings the most beautiful giggles out of your mouths. That his heart can’t help but bloom at the sound. But even with them in between you two, that still can’t stop his vines from sneaking behind the couch just to hold your waist. Even if it causes chaos in your lovely castle, his home that he shares with you and his friends.

The flowers on the windowsills seem to bloom that much brighter when you both return. You both were finally home at last.

—(Epilogue)—

You were thriving, you didn’t have to worry anymore. You made a name for yourself; you were quite happy in your profession. And you had a loving partner to come home to even if he was known to commit atrocities, he was still your Yeosang at the end of the day. And the staff became a part of your family. Everything from your past slowly became bad memories that had no place in affecting your future. Things that made you feel skittish before because of them. No longer made you feel that way. And if something was capable of doing so, Yeosang was right there to catch you and remind you who you are and who you’ve become to him. Sure, sometimes you’d have nightmares where you were still trapped in that cramped house. But they were nothing more than that. Because when you wake up in your shared room to Yeosang sleeping peacefully beside you. Nothing bad could hurt you. And if they tried? Well, Yeosang had ways of making them quiet forever.

You curl into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you. His vines tickle you as he kisses you, “What are you doing up, sweetheart?” You sigh, “Bad dream.” He hums and kisses your forehead, and you tell him softly, “But it’s okay, you’re here.” He holds you close to him, and you reach up and trace the rose on his face, and over to the rest of his stork bite mark. “You’re so pretty, Sangie.” He smiles as he kisses your cheek, “You’re prettier, sweetheart.” As much as he was here for you. You were there for him. He still worried you’d view him as a monster but every day before you went to bed together, you’d remind him how untrue it was by telling him you loved him. When he’d wake up with night terrors of his father kicking him out, you’d be right there, holding him close and reminding him he doesn’t have to worry anymore. That he’s safe. And he knew, if his father were to ever show his face again. You’d have a couple of choice words for him. And he couldn’t help but smile at the thought that even though you were powerless, you’d defend him with your whole chest. He loved you so much for that. And the two of you became each other’s rock.

Neither of you could have guessed that day would turn out the way it had. What was supposed to be a simple getting rid of evidence day. Turned into holding you, the most precious thing in his life, in his arms. What turned from a hellish nightmare of finding the one safety you craved out in this little world, on fire. Turned into snuggling into his chest whenever you felt like. And in some ways, maybe it was fate. You were bound to have that happen, and he needed to blow that place up on that day, no sooner, no later. It was just coincidental that you were both there, escaping the rain at the right place at the right time. And the two of you couldn’t be more grateful for that timing. Because you both have a loving home to return to now. And you both have someone that you look forward to when you’re returning home.

His vines wrap around you a little tighter as he holds you closer, “I love you, (N/n).” Your hands curl into his shirt, “I love you too, Sangie.” He kisses your forehead, “Goodnight.” You hum softly, placing a gentle kiss on his chin, “Goodnight.” Yeah, it felt good to be home if you were there.

[luv-beam]

KATE!!! i have my thoughts below the cut! :'))

love the setting so far, like i can picture it in my mind like a movie — the blueish gray grittiness to the world (almost like the iomt mv), how small reader makes themselves in order to fit into the box shelter as rain batters it from above, the yelling and the slam of a door when reader runs from the foster home

NOT TO MENTION WHEN READER COMES BACK TO THE BOX ON FIRE 😭😭 after a nine hr shift and to see all ur belongings burning and u cant do anything abt it is crushing

reader immediately squaring up like "whats it to u" I CAN SEE IT SO CLEARLY IDK WHY I LOVED THAT PART HAHAHAH

man,,, ur so right why r we paying for PUBLIC transportation huh its time to start a revolution

HMMMMMMMM IIIINTERESTING 🤨🤨 so did yeosang burn ur little box ??? bc he knew someone was living there and wanted them to stay away while he blew the building next to it up?? something very sus is going on

keeping a flower vase/cup in the car is so yeosang lol

had to look up the word nyctinasty, love when i learn things while reading ff 😋

lowkey this fic feels like such a great like,, commentary?? on just homeless people in general. like u dont CHOOSE to be homeless, and most of the people who r homeless r trying so hard just to survive and live their lives. if we just gave them the chance, some money and food and shelter, to turn their lives around, they would make that effort fs (just treat e/o like humans, give each other the benefit of the doubt yk)

"they get to live a life of their choosing" so true

ooh i like that line abt guests r like rotting fish, and after some time, they begin to smell

reading abt how well yeo treats the staff at his home reminded me of the line where u noticed how the flowers seem to brighten or bloom more whenever he walked past, and ik thats his power, but flowers and people are so similar in the way that we brighten and bloom beneath more positive circumstances/environments

UGH I LOVE A GOOD PATCH-ME-UP WHUMP TROPE (´Д⊂ヽ LIKE YES U WOULDN'T YEO, I KNEW U WOULDN'T DKCNKDFMKF THE KISS TO MAKE IT BETTER??? move over yeosang. can u fight?

yeosang having a batcave but he should call it the greenhouse skfnskfnjd (lmao just a thought as i was reading)

NOT THE "BUT IT WOULD BE HOT RIGHT?" AFTER THEY MENTION U KILLING HIM AND GIVING STORMFLY THE REMAINS 😭😭😭 STAND UR BTCH ASS UP /affectionate

omg i LOVELOVELOVE the paragraphs right after he leaves woosan w the bet and lasses by ur room to change the carnations to roses 😭😭😭 there's something sooooo idek how to descrive it, like,,, romantic?? soft?? IDK but when u said how the morning glories were like singing a love song to him and hes thinking abt how adoration can make people feel powerful and the vines are curling around him so comfortingly..... EUGH IM IN LOVE

IF I INJURED MY LIPS WOULD U KISS THEM OOOOKAAAAAAAY MR CHA CHA REAL SMOOTH IS HERE I SEE 👀👀👀

yn being like blah blah backstory stuff when yeo talks now esp w the tattoo exposed is so real 😭🤧

okay glad we cleared up that yeo didnt set yns box on fire but MAAAAN . fck their foster parents bro 😐😐 if yeo doesnt do anything abt them THEN I WILL !!!!

awwwh wait i love the bit of parallelism from the beginning when they talked abt how they wondered if stormfly would come if they asked for help vs if the doberman would; and turned out, stormfly prob wouldn't give a shit but the doberman def did

ahhhh a very satisfying conclusion, esp since yeo and yn and the gang (woosan) took care of yns foster aprents and their foster sibs. im glad yn did actually mention to take care of the foster sibs bc it meant that even tho they grew up in such a hostile environment, they didnt lose sight of the common enemy o7 and that deep down, they did care abt them and understood that they were all just scavenging for the ability to survive in that awful house

anyways, some concluding statements!! thank u soooso much for participating in this event kate, and for writing this lovely piece ofc :,))) i love a good protector kind of trope and it was fun seeing yeo kind of tiptoe around telling yn haha also the addition of woosan to the story was great in adding thag spice of humor, it really added to the fic in a good way hehe ANNNND OFCCC!!! YEOSANG SKFNDKFNDKNFJ i loved the way u wrote him here, and incorporated the flower tatt (like the one from that makeup look he got); the powers def suited him super well. i would've loved to see even more abt the dobermans rivalry w stormfly too!! maybe some backstory as to why we dont like this so-called hero heh

but again, this was such a fun read tyty for ur hard work, mwah!!! 💖

[yuta-nakamots]

Tasty - L.Mark

Pairing - Spiderman!Mark x Sorcerer!AFAB Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Smut, Action, Superhero!AU, Marvel!AU

Warning(s) - smut, unprotected sex, p in v, use of restraints/bindings, multiple orgasms 

Summary - Magic and mischief collide when your unstable spells entangle you with New York’s favorite web-slinger. Between chaos, charm, and a sticky mess of soda and flirtation, Mark brings lightness to a world you’re still learning how to control. But even as sparks fly, some feelings are more dangerous than magic itself.

Word Count - 6.7k

Author’s Note - This was inspired by a dream I had of Mark spilling soda on me lol

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls (join my taglist!)

Written for the Modern Magics Collab originally hosted by @rosyrenjun. Also part of the Action Figures Collab hosted by @sungbeam.

Now playing: Tasty - NCT 127 

You had been sent on your first solo mission under the orders of the teachers at Kamar-Taj. There had been multiple energy anomalies across the world and you were assigned to investigate the one in New York. The portal you made was supposed to open above a rooftop in Brooklyn. Instead, you stumbled out of the glowing orange ring midair, slamming directly into someone else also in midair. 

“WOAH–HEY–!”

You collided with them in a tangle of limbs, wind, and some sticky substance, crashing ungracefully onto a rooftop with a loud thud. The world tilted, causing you to blink rapidly through the dizzy blur of magic sparks and scraped palms. When your vision finally cleared, you found that someone was staring at you, upside down. 

The red suit. The webbing details. The large white lenses. 

SpiderMan. 

“Uh…” he tilted his head. “Are you a cosplay emergency?”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

He gestured vaguely to your robe, now disheveled and revealing the sling rings on your fingers. “Stunt got outta hand? Fell off the roof? Happens more than you’d think.” 

You sat up slowly, trying to tug your robe back into place with whatever dignity you had left. “It was a portal I opened that was slightly–just slightly–off target.” 

“So…you’re not here to kill me?”

You scoffed at him. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t even aiming for you?”

Mark–though you didn’t know his name yet–flopped down beside you. “Well, I guess welcome to Brooklyn, magic girl. Got a name?”

You brushed dirt from your sleeves. “Not one I give to strangers who interrupt my training.”

The large white lenses narrowed as he squinted at you. “I think you interrupted me, technically. I was chasing an actual bad guy. You kind of…uh…” He made a small crashing motion with his hands. “Broke my momentum.” 

You winced. “Right. Sorry about that.”

He waved it off with a grin. “No big deal, Kind of used to the weird at this point.” 

“That’s…not comforting.” 

“I know. But it makes this-” he gestured to your Kamar-Taj standard issue robe, “feel kind of on-brand.”

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh. Mark looked pleased with himself. 

“So,” he began, standing up and offering you a hand, “wanna try again? You can tell me your name, and I promise I won’t web you unless you ask nicely.”

You blinked at his hand, then took it. His grip was warm and surprisingly strong for someone who just broke your landing. You let him help you up, then immediately dropped his hand, pushing your sling rings further up your fingers. 

“You’re not from around here, huh?” he asked, peering at the orange sparks from the barely-open portal behind you. You didn’t answer. Your fingers flicked in a subtle motion, testing the integrity of your energy. “Seriously,” he continued, head tilting. “I’ve seen Doctor Strange do some weird sparkly stuff before, but you’ve got a whole different vibe going.”

You rolled your eyes. “Doctor Strange is a master. I’m not…yet.”

“So you’re like…a junior wizard?”

You bristled at his comment. “I’m a disciple of the mystic arts, not some Harry Potter sidekick.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrendered quickly, raising both hands. 

You shot him a flat look and turned to scan the skyline, mentally refocusing and trying to see if you could feel any disturbance in the energy fields. You still needed to track the anomaly you’d come for. 

“Right, well,” he started, trying not to sound too curious, “if you’re not gonna tell me your name, maybe you could at least tell me why you fell out of a portal.”

You ignored the question and honed in on a wave of energy pulsing from somewhere in your peripheral. Bingo. 

SpiderMan stepped closer. “Hey, look, I’m not trying to mess up your wizard internship or whatever, just making sure you’re not about to summon a bad guy or open a portal to some dark dimension.” 

“If I were, you’d already be webbed to the wall by your own shooters.” Your fingers flexed, feeling out the current of the energy, mapping out how strong it was and how far away it was.

He paused, blinking. “Okay, rude.” 

You gave him a sly glance and turned to open a new portal, this time with sharper precision. The orange light rippled open in a perfect circle. Before stepping through, you looked over your shoulder. He was still watching you, head cocked like he hadn’t quite figured you out yet. 

“Try not to crash into anything else tonight,” you said lightly. 

“Try not to fall out of any more portals, sorcerer girl.” You smirked, then stepped through the ring of sparks, and disappeared. Mark stood there for a second longer, muttering to himself. “Definitely not a cosplay emergency.”

The portal dropped you straight into the atrium of the New York Sanctum which greeted you with its usual eerie quiet, the kind of stillness that hummed just under the skin. You watched the portal disappear and took in the appearance of the halls that seemed to stretch on forever, where the dust never settled and the shadows shifted just a little too slowly. 

Wong stood near a relic case, inspecting a glowing scroll with furrowed brows. He didn’t look up as you approached. “You were supposed to land in Manhattan, not Brooklyn.”

“I did,” you replied quickly. “Eventually.”

Wong sighed without turning. “And?”

You straightened. “There was a pulse of dimensional interference. Nothing that resembled a rift, but enough to displace a portal. Brief but localized. Brooklyn.”

Now he looked at you. “That’s the third one this month. One of the minor wards in that area weakened, again. I’ve reinforced it, but it shouldn’t have caused your portal to slip unless…”

You winced. “Unless my magic wasn’t perfect.”

Wong nodded grimly. “We don’t aim for perfection. But we do aim for stability.”

“I understand. I will continue to practice my skills.”

He returned his gaze to the scroll. “Your instructors will want a full written report. Return to Kamar-Taj once you’ve cleaned yourself up.”

You were about to nod and open up a portal when a loud thump echoed from the entryway. You turned to the source of the noise. “Oh, come on.”

SpiderMan stood sheepishly near the entrance, closing the large doors behind him. 

Wong glanced at him once before going back to the relic. “Why is he here?”

Mark pointed at you. “She dropped out of the sky. I figured that counted as a New York Sanctum problem.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I had it under control.”

Mark tilted his head. “You also kind of landed on me. Pretty sure that makes it my jurisdiction too.”

Wong looked between the two of you with the exhausted patience of someone who’s seen a lot of magical nonsense. “Sort out whatever you need to, just keep him out of the relic room.”

“Got it,” you muttered, grabbing Mark by the wrist and dragging him down a side corridor. He didn’t resist, just followed along with an amused grin beneath the mask. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you hissed as you shoved open the heavy doors of the library. 

“Yeah, I got that vibe. But also? You didn’t say goodbye.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because it wasn’t a date, Spider-Boy.”

He placed a hand on his chest, mocking disbelief. “Ow. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t summoning any bad guys. Or, you know, dying.”

“I wasn’t,” you said dryly. “But thanks for the concern.”

Mark wandered deeper into the library as you gathered a few scrolls to double-check the incantations you had learned recently. The tall arched ceilings flickered with candlelight–magical, of course–and several relics sat locked in glass along the wall.

It should have been peaceful. Except Mark was already touching things.

“Don’t–” You turned just in time to see his fingers graze the edge of a floating book, hovering just inches above a table. 

“Touch that?” he offered innocently. 

Too late.

The book snapped open, glowing with a shimmering orange script. Behind it, every other book on the table began to rattle. One by one, they rose into the air, pages fluttering, enchanted bindings glowing with energy. 

“Oh, great–” you groaned, flinging out a sigil to bring the books back down. It backfired, turning the room into a cyclone of magical texts. Books and pages zipped past your ears. 

Mark yelped. “What the–?!” He shot a web at one of the spinning tomes, only for the line to veer off and stick squarely to your hip. Before you could react, he got dragged forward, crashing into you and tangling you both in an ungraceful, magical heap. 

You stared up at him, his chest against yours, one of your legs trapped between his, his mask slightly askew. He was breathing hard. “Okay, wow. Um–”

“You are the worst magical anomaly I’ve ever encountered.”

Mark’s grin returned. “But admit it, you were a little impressed by the web shot.”

You rolled your eyes, trying–and failing–to push him off. The webbing on your hip held tight. Your hands were stuck somewhere between the two of you. 

He looked down at the mess. “Okay, uh, I didn’t mean to make this weird but it might take me a while to get the webbing off you.”

The books began to slowly settle, pages flapping gently to the floor around you. One of them landed open beside your head, the page glowing faintly with the sigil you had cast. You reached toward it, only for Mark to shift with you, knocking his forehead against yours.

“Ow,” you groaned. 

“Sorry, sorry, reflexes, you know?”

You sighed. “Just hold still, will you?” With a flick of your wrist and a whispered incantation, the web binding snapped cleanly and you pushed him off, dusting yourself with unnecessary force. 

He stayed where he was, lounging against the floor like the library didn’t just attack both of you. “So…not a date, huh?”

You looked down at him, trying to hold back the reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “Still not a date.” 

He pointed up at the floating orbs of light. “Felt kinda date-ish.”

You turned, walking back to your scrolls before he could see your smile growing. “Don’t touch anything else, Spider-Boy.”

“Can’t promise that,” he murmured with a grin.

You brought him with you to Kamar-Taj. You didn’t mean to, not exactly. But when you opened the portal to head back, he was standing close, and you didn’t say no. 

The energy of the monastery greeted you the second your boots hit the stone. A cool wind swept through the open courtyards, tugging at the folds of your robe. 

Mark looked around like he had stepped into a movie set. “Whoa. Okay. This is…a  lot of sandstone and old things.”

“Don’t touch anything,” you warned automatically.

“Do I look like someone who would–”

You gave him a look. 

He closed his lips under the mask. “Right. No touching.”

You led him quickly through the lower halls toward your private quarters, more of a modest apartment than anything grand. It had a kitchen corner, a low bed, and a balcony that overlooked the mountain range far beyond the boundary wards. 

“I have to check in with the instructors,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the corridor. “Stay here. Seriously. Stay.”

Mark held up both hands in surrender, though you didn’t miss the inkling of mischief he held. “I promise.” You narrowed your eyes at him before slipping out the door. 

By the time you returned ten minutes later, pushing your door open, Mark was sprawled on your small couch, mask tossed on the coffee table like it didn’t hold one of New York’s biggest secrets. His hair was messy from the cowl, cheeks slightly flushed. In one hand was a half-empty can of bright pink soda. 

“Watermelon,” he said cheerfully, raising the can in a greeting. “Hope you don’t mind. Fridge was calling to me.”

You stared. “You–you’re in my room. Drinking my soda. With your mask off.”

He grinned. “A trade. My face…for your name.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “That’s not fair. You already knew what I looked like.”

“Okay, fine,” he leaned back, one arm slung lazily across the cushions. “Name for a name?”

You crossed your arms but relented. “You first.”

“Mark,” he stated easily. “Mark Lee. From Queens, New York.”

You hummed as if caught in thought. “I’m not calling you Mark until I decide if I like you after everything you put me through.

“Ouch.”

You sat next to him after grabbing your own soda from the refrigerator. “You know, I’m technically not supposed to have soda in here either, by the way.”

He gave a mock gasp. “A sorcerer and a rebel? This can’t be.”

You ignored the heat crawling up your neck. “So. SpiderMan. What’s it like being a superhero?”

Mark shrugged, taking another sip. “It’s weird. Sometimes it’s all adrenaline and saving people and swinging through traffic like a total badass, and then I get home and crash so hard I forget to take the suit off. I still have calculus homework, you know?”

You stopped mid-sip. “Wait–you have homework?”

“Comes with being a student,” he deadpanned. “I’d assume you’re familiar with that as a student of the mystic arts and all.”

You laughed. “Fair.” 

There was a beat of silence before he asked, more softly, “and what about you? Why sorcery?”

You glanced down at the rim of your soda can. “It’s complicated. I didn’t choose it, not exactly. I was…pulled in after something happened. Magic gave me control again, or at least the illusion of it.”

He tilted his head. “And now?”

You looked up at him. “Now, I’m just trying to be good enough not to burn a dimensional hole in the multiverse.” 

“Low bar,” he teased.

You cracked a smile. “Want to see something I’ve been working on?”

His eyes lit up instantly. “Yes.”

You set your soda aside, wiped your hands on your robe, and stood next to the table. “Okay,” you breathed, fingers lifting, poised. “It’s a simple whip spell, meant to be used in combat or to grab objects.” 

Mark leaned in, elbows on his knees, watching you like it was the most exciting thing he’d seen all day. You said the incantation in your head, willing the whip into existence, twisting your wrist just right as orange energy flared across your palm. A shimmering Eldritch whips unfurled midair, lashing towards a notebook left on the table. 

The whip wrapped around the notebook just as planned, except Mark had set his soda down right next to it. The whip snagged the notebook and the rim of the can in its path. The notebook flew neatly off the table into your grasp, meanwhile, the soda can was sent hurtling at you. 

Mark shot a web at the can, slamming it back down onto the table but it was too late, the damage had been done. The sticky, carbonated pink liquid was sprayed across your chest, your sleeves, and your face. You were frozen in place as it dripped from your jaw onto the floor. 

Mark blinked. “Oh…crap.”

You turned to him slowly, shooting him a deadly glare. “You had one job.”

He looked like he wanted to laugh. Very badly. “I–I’m so sorry.” His mouth twitched. “Look, technically the soda wasn’t a relic.”

You didn’t move, you just peeled the front of your shirt from your skin with a faint squelch. “Well?” you said with an edge to your voice. “Clean it up.”

Mark raised a brow. “You’re serious?”

You lifted your chin, challenging him. “You made the mess, you clean it up.”

His expression was unreadable as he stood and stepped close. “Okay,” he said, voice dropping a little. “But if I do it…I’m doing it my way.”

Your breath caught as he reached out and touched your jaw first, tenderly, like he was checking for resistance. When you didn’t pull away, he leaned in, brushing his mouth against the corner of your lips where a drop of soda clung. Then lower, sweeping his tongue against your collarbone, leaving a warm trail in his wake. You yelped at the sudden contrast in temperature between his tongue and the cool of the soda. 

Mark looked up at you through his lashes. “Still mad?” You didn’t answer.

He kissed down your throat, each pass of his lips followed by a swirl of breath and heat. One hand cupped your waist, the other trailing beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips sticky and curious. 

Magic sparked across your skin, literally. Golden threads of latent energy danced over your shoulder, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat. “Mark…” you warned. 

He smiled. “You told me to clean it up.” And then his mouth was on you again, hot and deliberate, tasting, teasing, sliding lower as your legs threatened to give out. 

His lips grazed the curve beneath your collarbone and he lingered there, tongue flicking out to catch a drop, and then he leaned back just far enough to meet your eyes. His voice was soft, almost boyish. “Can I…?”

You blinked. “Can you…what?”

His cheeks began to turn the faintest shade of pink while he scratched behind his ear. “I mean, I wanna keep going, but if this is like, a ‘haha clean it up’ joke, I’m gonna…respectfully back away. With a lot of self-control.”

The corners of your mouth tugged upwards. “You’re asking permission?”

“Yeah,” he huffed, suddenly a little breathless. “I mean, I just met you today. You’re magic. And also, very–uh–” His eyes darted to where your soaked top clung to your chest. “Very distracting.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “And if I say yes?”

Mark gave you a crooked smile. “Then I’ll keep going. Slowly. Carefully. Perhaps a little clumsily. But still with maximum effort. I won’t leave a drop behind.”

You bit your lip and nodded. “Go ahead.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, then hooked his fingers under the hem of your shirt. “Okay,” he murmured. “I got this.”

You raised your arms, helping him peel the shirt off your head. The fabric clung for a moment, then came free with a tug, hitting the floor in a damp heap. Cool air brushes your skin as you rid yourself of your equally wet bra. 

Mark’s gaze dropped, reverent, wide-eyed. He swallowed, hard. “Whoa.”

You flushed under his stare, resisting the urge to fold your arms. “You’re staring.”

“Because I’m trying to memorize everything,” he said honestly. 

You let him look a moment longer, then leaned close enough for your breath to ghost against his neck. “Your turn.” 

Mark’s fingers worked at his suit with growing urgency, but it was clear he wasn’t used to doing this part with someone watching. The way the fabric stuck, the way it bunched around at his waist, it was like undressing a second skin. You didn’t say anything, instead, you simply watched, amused, as he tried to tug the upper half off without tripping over himself. 

“I swear this thing wasn’t designed to be sexy,” he muttered, struggling with a seam at his ribs. 

You gave him a sly smile. “It’s growing on me.”

Mark shot you a look, then finally wrangled the fabric down past his hips and thighs, the fabric dropping in a defeated heap at his ankles. He stepped out of it awkwardly, suddenly very naked and very aware of your eyes on him. 

You didn’t say anything but let your gaze drag slowly down his body, taking into appreciation the defined lines of his muscles and his cock, already half-hard. “Okay,” he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck, “now I feel totally underdressed for a sorcery demonstration.”

“Oh, we’re not demonstrating anything yet.” You turned without waiting, walking toward your bed with a quiet confidence he hadn’t seen from you before. 

Mark followed, not bothering to hide how stunned he was by the whole situation. You sat at the edge of the bed and reached for him, coaxing him down until his knees hit the mattress and he was inches from you, skin warm and flushed and visibly trying not to squirm under your attention.

You gently pushed him down onto the bed, watching his eyes darken the second his back hit the sheets. You touched him softly at first, a brush of your fingers, a deliberate drag of your palm against his chest, and you felt him respond to each one with a shiver or a sharp inhale. You kissed down his body, his solid abs, along his hip bone, causing him to unintentionally jerk. 

“Shit,” he whispered, bracing one hand against the headboard. “You’re really gonna kill me.” 

You didn’t answer. Your mouth traveled lower, lips parting, using your tongue to caress his length, slow and teasing, making him fully harden under your touch. 

But he didn’t stay still. The second your lips wrapped around his tip, he bucked his hips upward, groaning as though he couldn’t help it. The first time, you let it slide. The second time, it made you gag slightly, pulling back with a small cough and a narrowed glare. 

“Sorry–!” he gasped, clearly flustered. “I didn’t mean to–You just–It’s kind of hard to–”

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you lifted one glowing hand, fingers tensed at the ready. “Then stop moving.” 

With a crackle of golden energy, an Eldritch whip unfurled midair, radiant and precise, and in a flash, it had looped once around his hips, another one going around his wrists, yanking them above his head and anchoring his hands against the wooden headboard. 

Mark yelped, startled. “Wait–what the–?!”

You looked up at him, utterly unbothered. “You’re not in danger,” you said lightly. “Unless you move again.” 

He stared down at himself, blinking at the restraint now keeping him completely still and completely at your mercy. “Oh my god,” he whispered.

You took his length in your grasp, feeling him hot and heavy in your palm. “Is this okay?” He nodded mutely, breathing going ragged.

You leaned in again, slower this time. With him bound in place, you could take your time, easing his length into your mouth while tracing your fingertips down his ribs, watching him twitch slightly, then still. Your mouth worked on his cock, tasting the saltiness of his skin while pressing against the thick vein on the bottom of him. Your hands continued roaming across his body, feeling the tension in his thighs and the way his hips flexed against the binding with every small movement. 

“Still doing okay?” you asked sweetly, lips brushing against the inside of his thigh.

He groaned. “S-so good.” 

The praise made you smile before taking him in your mouth again, deeper, all while never once letting him buck upward again. The whip flared faintly, keeping him perfect still, just as you liked. With him bound and still, you could savor every flick of your tongue, every muffled breath that caught in his throat. His wrists strained slightly against the glowing restraints above his head, a halo of golden light illuminating his knuckles. The Eldritch whip shimmered against his skin, the energy humming in response to your pulse. 

“Holy–” Mark’s voice cracked as you circled his tip with your tongue, his head tipping back against the pillow. “You’re…insane.” 

You hummed around him, letting the vibrations course down his length. His thighs tensed again, trying to shift, but the binds held him firm. Every time he instinctively tried to move, the whip pulsed tighter, warning but never cruel. It made him groan, louder this time, desperation catching up with him. 

“Please,” he rasped, breathless, eyes glassy. “I’m not gonna last.” 

You pulled back just far enough to look at him, lips slick and curved into a smile. “That’s kind of the point.” 

Your hand stroked the base of him with a steady rhythm while your mouth returned to the head, circling and teasing, coaxing him right to the edge. He was trembling now, breath ragged, cheeks flushed. 

When it finally hit him, when his body tensed so tight he couldn’t speak, you didn’t stop. You swallowed around him, taking him through every shudder, every moan he let out, muffled against his arm as his climax crested through him, powerful and raw. His hands clenched against the bindings, and you stayed with him the whole way down, only letting go when the rise and fall of his chest evened out. 

You released his wrists from the whip with a flick of your wrists, the magical restraints disappearing into thin air. Mark sagged into the bed with a dull thud, boneless, his eyes half-lidded and dazed. 

“You okay?” you asked softly, brushing your thumb along his jaw. 

He exhaled a laugh, still catching his breath. “I think I saw a different plane of existence.” 

You chuckled, then leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Good.”

When you moved to stand, his hand caught yours, pulling you gently back. “Hey,” he murmured, voice still hoarse. “We’re not done, right?”

You raised a brow, amused. “You sure you’re up for more?”

Mark grinned, wide and lazy. “I’m a superhero, remember? Helping people out is part of the job.”

You let him tug you into the sheets beside him, your bodies tangling together, legs brushing under the covers. He reached for you then, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, slipping under the waistband of your bottoms. He helped you out of them, leaving nothing separating your body from his. 

Mark’s mouth found you again as he hovered above you, except this time it was less playful and more deliberate. There was no teasing quip behind his lips now, only heat and hesitation, the kind that came with gravity. His palm slid to the back of your neck, holding you steady, thumb brushing your jaw as if asking one more time, ‘are you sure?’

You kissed him first.

It wasn’t a rushed thing. You pressed into him gently, mouths meeting in the softest of promises. Your lips parted in perfect rhythm, and the moment you deepened it, just enough to taste him, his breath hitched and something in the room shifted. 

The air felt charged again. Not just with magic, but with want. With choice. 

When he pulled away, his eyes immediately fell to yours. “We really just met today.” 

You nodded, gaze steady. “Yeah.” 

His hand still cupped your jaw. “If you want me–right now–I’m yours.” 

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. Your hands reached up at his waist, pulling him down over you. You could feel him hardening again between your legs, slow but eager, and you wrapped your thighs loosely around his hips, guiding him closer. 

He pressed into you, his length sliding through your folds, wet with anticipation, using your slick to coat himself. The head of him nudged at your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you each time. His head fell to your shoulder just from the feeling of your warmth and wetness against him, already sensitive from his previous release. 

But nothing could compare to the moment when he entered you, carefully, both of you falling short of breath. It wasn’t because of the stretch or the heat, though there was that too, but rather, it was from feeling each other, in full, for the first time. 

He paused, halfway in, branching himself on trembling arms. “God, you feel–”

You reached up, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead. “Keep going.” 

Mark moved with you, setting deeper, inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you. One of his hands slipped beneath your thigh, hiking it up against his waist for leverage, the other curling into the sheets beside your head. 

You exhaled, shaky and overwhelmed from feeling so full. “Don’t hold back.”

His hips rolled into yours in a steady rhythm, unhurried like he was memorizing the way your body fit around him. His mouth grazed your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, all while he whispered things you couldn’t quite catch. Nonsense and reverence, all mixed together. 

When he hit a particularly sensitive spot in you, you clenched around him, causing his pace to falter. “Fuck–do that again–” You did and he let out the most obscene moan you’ve ever heard from a man. 

The bed creaked beneath you, a quiet counterpoint to your shared breath, to the soft moans that spilled against each other’s skin. Your nails raked lightly down his back, and his hips stuttered forward in response. Each particularly hard thrust made your magic flicker, tiny sparks flaring along your fingers like little fireworks. 

He caught your lips again, kissing you rougher, hungrier, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted more, your kiss or your body. Maybe both. 

You felt him begin to lose control. His grip on your thigh tightened, his pace quickened, less measured now. A low noise rumbled from his chest as he buried himself deeper, chasing that breaking point. 

“I’m gonna–” he started, panting.

You arched up to meet him, pulling him impossibly close. “Let go for me.” 

Mark’s whole body shuddered. He pulled back just enough to finish against your stomach, his release hot and sudden, coating your skin in thick streaks as he moaned your name through clenched teeth. 

You lay still, watching him above you, his chest heaving, face slack with wonder and exhaustion. His eyes drifted down to the mess he’d made on you. 

He froze. “Shit. I did it again.” 

You grinned. “You better clean it up.” 

Mark looked down at you, your stomach painted in his cum. He licked his lips, looking back toward your face, like he wanted to say something cock but couldn’t quite find the words. Not when you looked so enticing beneath him. So undone and waiting. 

Instead, he leaned down slowly, his tongue licking a long stripe up the center of your stomach. You gasped. “Mark–”

“I said I’d clean it up,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough and low. 

His tongue moved again, catching every drop. He paused to kiss the space between your breasts, then followed the trail higher, licking up the last of it with a reverent sort of patience. When he reached your collarbone, he kissed you there too, soft, like it was second nature to him. 

Then his mouth hovered over yours. You looked up at him, eyes hooded. “You’re gonna kiss me after you just did all that?”

Mark didn’t answer. He just leaned in and kissed you. And you tasted it, you tasted him mixed with the faintest hint of your slick, the way he had been inside you so intimately just moments before. There was something shameless and messy about it, but also strangely tender. His mouth was warm, pliant, and full of something deeper than lust. 

You moaned into the kiss, hips shifting against him. You were still aching, still stretched open from the way he filled you, but wanting more, needing release. 

Mark broke away just far enough to see your expression. “I got you,” he whispered. Then he slid lower, trailing kisses down your body again. He kissed each spot he’d already licked clean then continued down, past your navel, over the sensitive skin of your pelvis. His hands caressed your thighs, urging them open. When you did, he settled between them as if he belonged there. 

Your breath caught the second his tongue met your folds. He starts with slow, languid laps, just enough to make your hips twitch beneath him. He tasted you like he meant it, like he was still trying to understand just how good you could feel under his mouth. His fingers gripped your thighs, holding you open while his tongue flattened and curled against you, working your clit in gentle circles. 

You bit your lip, moaning low in your throat. “Mark…” His eyes flicked up briefly but he didn’t stop. If anything, he grew bolder. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth, drawing a strangled gasp from you as your hips bucked. He didn’t falter, just pressed his palms harder against your thighs to hold you down. His tongue moved in quick, teasing strokes, alternating between flicks and swirls, building the pressure in slow, perfect increments. 

Two of his fingers slipped inside you, knuckle deep, curling upward right into that sweet spot that made your toes curl. He pumped them in time with his mouth, setting a pace that was both caring and overwhelming. You were drenched, throbbing, walls fluttering around his fingers as heat bloomed low in your core. 

Your hands gripped the sheets. “I–Mark, I’m–”

He hummed against you, the vibration setting off a chain reaction you couldn’t hold back. Your orgasm surged forward, blinding and breathless. You came with a cry, body arching, hips shaking under his grip, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you. 

He kept going, kept licking you through it, mouth gentler now but still attentive, savoring the aftershocks. Only when your body began to twitch with oversensitivity, did he finally stop. 

Mark kissed the inside of your thigh before moving up the length of your body again. When his face was even with yours, you were still gasping, flushed, and glowing. 

“You good?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. 

You laughed, weak but giddy. “I can’t feel my legs.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mark chuckled, settling beside you, pulling the sheets over both of you. “Told you I wouldn’t leave a drop behind.” 

Your chest still heaved gently under the blanket, the aftereffects of your orgasm still lingering like residual magic under your skin. Beside you, Mark lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with a quiet sort of fascination, like he couldn’t believe you were still here, like he didn’t want to look away in case you vanished. 

“I really wasn’t kidding,” you muttered, staring at the ceiling. “My legs are gone.”

He laughed quietly, the sound warm and low in his throat. “Should I call for magical assistance?”

“No spells,” you said firmly. “Just…lay here.”

And he did, without hesitation. He eased down, sliding his arm beneath your neck and pulling you against his chest. His other hand smoothed gently over your shoulder, fingertips brushing up and down your arm. His heartbeat echoed faintly beneath your cheek, soothing and steadying. 

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt full somehow, like a calm tide after the storm. But eventually, Mark broke it. 

“So…do all sorcerers have that kind of magic, or are you just a show-off?”

You snorted softly. “What, the Eldritch Whip?”

“I mean, yeah,” his smile was audible in his voice. 

You shook your head against his chest. “No, not all of us. Some have more dimensional magic. I just…like things I can control. Things with structure.”

Mark was quiet for a moment, absorbing your words. “Is it lonely?” You didn’t answer right away. 

Your fingers curled in the sheets. “Sometimes,” you admitted. “There’s power in what I do. Discipline, focus. But the more magic you use, the more you get used to it, the more it changes you. You started to feel...untethered like you’re floating a little outside the world everyone else is living in. It’s like you don’t exactly belong to this world anymore.”

Mark’s fingers went to your cheek, cupping it before brushing stray hairs away from your temple. “That sounds terrifying.”

You nodded. “It is. Especially when magic was the only thing that ever made me feel grounded. You don’t notice it at first, but suddenly it tips on its head. It stops being an anchor and starts pulling you away.” 

His hand stilled. “What happens then?”

Your voice came out barely a whisper. “You forget who you were before it.”

Mark shifted beside you, pulling back just enough to see your face. His thumb traced your cheekbone, gentle and sure. “Then let me be your anchor.”

“What?” Your brows furrowed at his words. 

“I know what it’s like. The pressure, the expectations, the feeling that you have to protect people but never really being with them.” He came close once more, brushing his nose gently against yours, voice softer. “If you start to drift again, let me be the thing that pulls you back.”

You stared into his eyes, stunned. “We met today, Mark.” 

“I know,” he said, not even flinching. “But we’re both used to making life-changing decisions before breakfast.” You laughed, quiet and involuntary, but it cracked something open in your chest. It felt warm and scary but it was real. 

You reached to where his hand rested against you and laced your fingers through his, pulling his hand down to lay over your heart. “You want to anchor a sorcerer?”

“I already swing across skyscrapers and fight aliens before going to school,” he assured, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “You think any of this scares me?” 

Your throat tightened, yet you curled into him, just a little more. 

“This is a basic portal spell,” you informed Mark, drawing a glowing circle in the air with a flick of your wrist. “Like a small peek into another dimension. No instability. I do this all the time just to see what the different versions of me are up to.” 

He squinted skeptically at the golden circle swirling midair. “You literally said ‘oops’ three seconds ago.” 

“I said ‘oops’ because the spell was a little enthusiastic, you replied. “Not wrong. Just…excited.”

“Right,” Mark muttered. 

Before you could respond, the portal gave a pulse, then expanded, twisting open wider with a sharp ripple. You and Mark both stepped closer as a warm breeze curled from its edge, filled with the faint scent of petrichor and jasmine. 

Mark looked at you. “What is–”

The image inside came into focus. A city skyline, similar to New York’s, but cleaner and sharper. It was a rooftop like the one you had met Mark on. But it wasn’t the setting that made you freeze. 

It was you. 

Standing in the middle of the rooftop, in a different version of your robes. It was sleek, darker, and glowing with magic. And next to you?

Another Mark. 

It wasn’t the stolen shirt and boxers Mark that stood next to you in your room. No, this version of him stood tall in a red and blue SpiderMan suit, mask off, hair windswept, and eyes full of something that you couldn’t place a finger on. Amusement? Familiarity? Love?

He leaned toward your variant self and said something you couldn’t hear, then cupped her cheek. And she–you–smiled. 

She wasn’t shy or uncertain like how you were with your Mark. This was the smile of someone who had said yes a thousand times to the person in front of them. 

Your real Mark breathed. “Whoa.” You didn’t realize you were squeezing his arm until he looked down. “Is that…us?”

“I think so.” Your voice was faint.

Inside the portal, the other you leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t heated or messy, it was slow, deliberate, and intimate.

The portal flickered suddenly like it had been caught peeking. Then the world inside blurred, warped, and collapsed into golden threads. 

Gone. 

The walls of your room returned.

You and Mark stared at the fading sparks for a long moment before he finally cleared his throat. “So…alternate universe versions of us are like…dating?”

You shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“And they–they have suits…and serious vibes.”

“And what appears to be a healthy emotional bond,” you added, still dazed.

He looked at you. “Do you think they collided on a rooftop too?”

You laughed. “Doubt it. They probably met mid-battle or while negotiating with cosmic beings.”

Mark let out a low whistle. “Multiversal overachievers.” There was a pause. Then he smiled and bumped his shoulder into yours. “Do you wanna…I don’t know, try getting to that version? Like, not the suits or the very intimidating eye contact–but the rest?”

You met his eyes and it felt like the ghost of that other you was lingering behind your gaze. “I think,” you began, “we already are.” 

Mark grinned. “Cool. So next time, maybe dinner before the unstable portal?”

“Not promising anything,” you chided. “Come on, hero. Let’s go clean up the rest of the soda.” 

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Shadow - L.Ten

[luv-beam]

oh WAIIIT NOW WAIT A MINUTE UR ONTO SOMETHING TOMIE GAAAASP??? yk when i first read that this was like a sorcerer reader au i didn't even THINK of the doc strange type of sorcerer for some reason 💀 but imagine my very pleasant surprise to read kamar-taj and WONG 😝😝

anyways, i loveloveLOVE the way u wrote spidermark, i mean he has so much charisma (both the spidey and mark lee kind) he's also low-key got rizz??? i was giggling ksfbdknf and whenever reader called him spiderboy, u best believe i heard mark's/peter parker's voices going "actually it's spider-MAN" SKFNKDNF

reader and mark also being fully aware that they just met and they were getting to fucking was kinda funny lmfao also love that mark's kind of nosy asf like that is so peter parker of him !!! thank u sm for writing this, i enjoyed it very much heh 🤧

[fatalhoon]

caught in my web ! - sjy

spiderman!jake x best friend!reader

wc ~6k

cw fluff!! swearing, one cum joke LOL, jake is a big nervous dork and reader is a little dumb lmaoo, i think that’s all!

an i wrote this and posted it on my sideblog for a different fandom but i thought it was cute so i wanted to redo it for jake a post it here too :>

*update* an pt 2 submitting this fic for the action figures collab hosted by @sungbeam ! i wrote this pretty early in the year and i wanted to try and write another fic for it but i didn’t have time so i figured i’d go with my original plan and submit this one :> i just kept completely forgetting to actually say it was my submission LMAOO

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

when he first discovered that such a simple and seemingly harmless spider bite had such irreversible effects on him, jake, to put it bluntly, was petrified.

even from the moment the spider bit him, for all he knew he could soon be literally petrified by the way the bite was making his arm feel weird already, and though he can’t say he’s necessarily well versed in arachnids, that was not a spider he’d ever seen before.

he knew most likely it was just paranoia, but his brain was swirling with worst case scenarios.

nonetheless, it was very late at night and a college student such as himself did not have the money nor the means for an emergency room visit, so he decided to attempt to sleep it off, and if it seemed to be worse in the morning he’d see what he could do.

well, maybe that’s an oversimplification of events.

he’d called you, practically hyperventilating and saying his goodbyes, scaring you shitless as well for a good minute before you’d finally pried out of him what had happened.

luckily, entomology was something you were actually studying, and you had enough knowledge of various spiders and the effects of certain venom that when you arrived at his apartment (for his own peace of mind and yours) you were able to calm him enough to the point that planning his own funeral was no longer at the forefront of his mind.

with the strange spider safely captured in a small jar (as afraid as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to kill it) he felt a little better even just from your calming presence.

(“jake, why did you put a piece of cheese in there?” “i wanted to be hospitable.” “..cheese.” “i don’t know what spiders eat!”)

you spent the night on his couch that night as well (he hadn’t asked, but you knew if you left he might start typing up a will) so you were able to keep an eye on him.

the next morning jake wakes up feeling fine, albeit a bit groggy. he flops out of bed, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes as he wanders across the hall to the bathroom.

grabbing his glasses and sliding them on, he looks down at the spot on his arm that he’d been scratching at to check it’s status.

but its.. blurry?

he blinks a few times to focus his vision, but nothing changes.

its not until his hand pushes his glasses up to rub at his face and he gets a view without a lens that he realizes that its actually his glasses that are the issue. he moves them out of the way, and to his shock he can see completely clearly without them.

he lifts them up to sit on his head, looking at himself in the mirror, absolutely dumbfounded.

“what.. the fuck?”

“jake?”

he jumps, banging his knee on the counter.

“jesus! sorry,” you chuckle, hands up. “not a spider!”

“har har,” jake mocks, massaging his leg, a cute pout on his face.

you step into the bathroom, reaching up to adjust his glasses that had fallen from the crown of his head to the tip of his nose. he squints, rubbing at his temple.

“you.. okay?” you venture, watching him blink hard a few times.

“yeah! uh-“ more blinks, eyes wide- “i’m good.” a fake smile. its your turn to squint, not quite believing him.

you see him instinctively clenching his fist, shaking out his arm a little. you grab it and drag him forward a little to examine the splotch on his forearm.

“mm.” you hum. you brush your fingers along the bump, making a shiver roll up jake’s spine. he watches you over the rim of his glasses.

“its a little red, but it looks okay. i don’t think it was poisonous.”

“great! uh- cool, that’s good news,” jake bumbles, an awkward smile on his face.

he stares at you.

you stare at him.

your face is blurry.

he adjusts his glasses.

“right..”

he gulps.

“well. i have a lecture soon, so i should get going.” you give his arm a little pat and release it from your fingers. he nods, scratching at it absentmindedly again.

“still on for movie night later?”

jake answers without thinking through it.

“of course.” shit.

you grin at him. “great.” shit shit shit.

but the twinkle in your eyes and the way your fingers ruffle through his messy hair makes his heart flutter less with anxiety and more with something.. warmer.

you turn and round the hallway corner and jake lets out a tense breath he didn’t know he was holding. he knocks into a small table from his lack of clear sight as he follows you, and swiftly blames it on lack of sleep when you quirk a brow at him.

a minute later you’ve gathered your things from the living room, the bottled spider included to take to your class to be studied, and give him a wave as you walk out his front door.

“see you tonight, spider man.”

jake takes off his glasses once the door is closed behind you, sighing heavily and rubbing a hand down the side of his face. he swipes his thumb across his forearm, your touch lingering in his mind.

“spider man.” he scoffs, but he can’t help the fond smile that turns up his lips.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

“where are your glasses?”

“i got contacts.” jake lies through his teeth.

“today?” you question incredulously.

“… yeah.”

you clearly don’t believe him, if the way your brow furrows is anything to go by. you’d seen him just a few hours ago.

“is it because i always call you a nerd? you know i mean that affectionately, right?” jake hears the hint of guilt in your voice and panics.

“no! yeah i uh, i do- i just-“ he trails off. he isn’t sure where else to go with this. you catch the awkwardness, watching as he scratches the back of his neck, and decide to let it go before he starts sweating.

“well, if you can’t see the screen don’t ask me what happened,” you joke, lightening the mood to jake’s relief. you set down the snacks you brought and plop down on the couch, propping your feet on the coffee table, remote in hand.

jake relaxes in his spot next to you, ripping open a bag of chips. “you’d probably be asleep even if i did.” you roll your eyes and smack his arm. jake lets out a laugh.

fourty five minutes later, jake does have to ask a question about the movie you’re watching (but not because he couldn’t see, he’s just been daydreaming for most of it.)

and lo and behold, you are asleep, so he’s left to wonder.

jake starts to reach for his soda on the table in front of him, but you, wrapped around his right arm and sleeping comfortably, tighten your grip when you feel him start to move.

he moves just the left side of his body forward, ever so slowly, wiggling his fingers as he strains to grab his drink without disturbing you.

but suddenly, something knocks into the can, denting the side and sending it falling over with a tinny clank against the wood. liquid spills from the opening and dribbles over the side and onto the floor.

“how the-“

“shhh,”

he freezes, looking down at you. you pull him back again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. your cheek presses up against his sleeve, smushing up your face and jakes’s heart almost explodes. he reaches up gently, pushing a tuft of hair away from your face, and you hum happily.

jake thinks for a second that maybe a stain on his carpet is worth it if he can stay like this forever.

something stuck to his wrist catches his attention.

its a strand of web.

jake yelps before he can catch himself, frantically flicking his arm to detach it and startles you fully awake in the process. you let out a similar yelp in practically the same octave as his was, jumping up and clutching tighter onto his bicep.

“what!! what happened?” you squeak.

he doesn’t answer, just continues his task of brushing off every square inch of his body to rid himself of any potential dangers. when he deems himself safe, he looks over at you, and is met with crossed arms and a disgruntled look.

“sorry! sorry,” jake huffs apologetically. he clears his throat, his face flushing red from embarrassment as he explains, “spider web.”

you chuckle incredulously, rubbing your eyes and letting out a yawn. “spider web,” you giggle through a playful smirk. you stand, stretching your limbs, and hobble in the direction the bathroom.

“try not to die out here without me, alright?” you quip as turn the corner.

jake groans. he gets up himself to grab a towel from the kitchen, coming back to crouch down and sop up the mess still dripping from the table.

he picks up the can and tries to set it back on the table top, but it sticks to his hand. even when he uncurls all five fingers from it, its still stuck snugly to his palm. he uses his other hand to grab it and pry it away, and it detaches with a sticky snap, leaving multiple strands of web connecting his skin to the tin.

“jesus christ,” he gripes, watching the web strands flutter under his breath.

“oh, there really was a spider web,” it’s jake’s turn to startle, jumping a bit as he sees you crouched down right beside him, observing the wiggly webs.

jake gives you an indignant look, one that reads ‘did you think i was lying?’

“honestly i just though you were being paranoid.” jake rolls his eyes, nudging you with his shoulder.

“sorry! not my fault you’re a scaredy cat!”

“i am not!” he defends, pressing the towel further down into the carpet plush.

you glide your fingers up the back of jake’s neck in a gentle tickle, and right on cue he lets out a little ‘eek!’, slapping your hand away. he pushes you softly and you giggle, falling back from your crouched stance on your toes and onto your butt. you hug your legs, resting your chin on your knee as you watch him continue to dry up the mess.

“they probably just like you. i know i do.” you drop a little hint at the end. he never seems to catch on.

“they can like me all they want, just far away from me please.” he grumbles, taking the can to the kitchen to toss it in the trash.

“spiders are friends!~” he hears you sing from the other room.

he drops the can into the bin, hoping this is the last of his spider related worries.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake never thought he would ever be friends with spiders. let alone be one.

it took him a while to realize that the spider bite had caused him more trouble than just a slight fear of the nooks and crannies of his apartment. much more trouble.

he discovered that it was him creating the webs he was finding around when he dropped his pen once while writing out some notes for a class, and when he tried to grab it before it hit the ground, he’d caught it with a collection of web strands that shot out of his wrist instead.

he discovered how strong his webs were when he tripped on the staircase while running late one day, spurting out a web that stuck to the wall and caught him, and tugged him upright before he hit the ground.

and he discovered how useful this strange new talent could be outside your apartment.

“so, any news about that spider? you brought it in to study it, right?” jake asks as nonchalantly as he possibly can, walking down the concrete steps beside you.

“oh, actually yes! we think it might be a-“

suddenly a hooded figure runs by, snatching your backpack from right off your shoulders, and sprinting down the sidewalk through a dense crowd of pedestrians.

the stranger nearly knocked you to the ground with the push-and-shove of stealing your belongings. jake caught you, steadied you on your feet, and booked it after him without even thinking twice, leaving your confused cries to stop behind him.

his speed and reflexes seemed to be heightened as he caught up in a few seconds flat, and in a fraction of that time he had a web wrapped around the strap of your bag, pulling it directly into his chest to wrap his arms around, and a leg out to sweep the thief’s legs straight out from under him, sending him face first into the pavement.

jake stands motionless for a second, energy rushing through his veins, and waits for his brain to process what had just happened. when it does, it feels like he’d just returned to his own body from somewhere completely different.

you caught up to jake after a moment, heaving heavily from your tired lungs. your eyes widen at the scene in front of you; a completely unscathed jake and a nearly unconscious criminal bleeding from the nose below.

“how did-“ you struggle for a full breath. “how did you do that?”

“uhm- adrenaline, i think?” honestly, jake isn’t quite sure how he did this either.

“jake, you could have gotten hurt!” you scold him, trying your best to sound steady and serious, but by the way your hands tremble it tells him you were more worried for his safety than anything else.

“i wasn’t gonna stand there and do nothing,” he says like its the most obvious thing in the world. he settles your bag back on your shoulders, looping your arms through the straps for you and adjusting the fabric of your sleeves. your eyes gloss over and you’re gnawing at your lip like you’re trying your best not to cry.

“your laptop is expensive. we can’t have you lose that,” he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.

you let out a trembling laugh, and yank him in to hug him with a full crushing force. “you’re such an idiot,” you whine, and he returns the hug with a chuckle of his own.

jake isn’t sure how he did this or what exactly is going on, but what he is sure about is that whatever is happening to him, using it to protect you will always be his first priority.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

the idea to become a “hero” of sorts struck jake one day like a bolt of lightning.

the notion sounds absolutely crazy, jake knows that, but the circumstances have fallen directly into his lap, and he knows that if he has the ability, the real ability to protect people, he should take it.

he practices his web slinging in private, and he’s gotten quite good at it; he now can do it on command instead of at random, and can control it when he needs to.

(and yes, he’s made all of the jokes, even if he’s the only person around to laugh. he can shoot sticky white goo from his wrists, did you expect him not to be a little silly with it?)

he practices his dexterity in the air out in an old alley that no one has any reason to frequent. in doing so, his muscles have bulked up significantly, and he was flustered beyond belief when you of all people were the one the pointed it out.

he told himself that if he was going to be this new face of justice, he should protect his identity and keep it separate from his personal life. he didn’t want anyone he knew and loved getting involved; if someone got hurt because of him he wouldn’t be able to bare it.

so he made a few suit prototypes from old clothes and acrylic paint. he may not be the craftiest, but he made do, and he learned some sewing basics in the process, though you really wouldn’t be able to tell. (in the end he commissioned someone to make one for him anyway, for the sake of quality.)

the last thing he really needed came to him after he’d successfully helped a woman with an issue involving a man following her down the street late one night. after making sure the woman was safe enough to leave, he attaches his web to a fire escape and is about to swing away.

“what do i call you?” she yells out from below him as he hangs from the rail.

he thinks for a second. web boy? no, that’s dumb. arachnid kid? a little silly, he likes that it rhymes, but it still doesn’t feel right.

and then it hits him.

“spiderman.”

he swings away, and within the next few weeks, ‘spiderman’ is everything that people are talking about.

you included.

“have you seen him?” you ask him excitedly, rocking back and forth on your heels as you both stand in line at your favorite ice cream shop. “he’s so cool!”

he chuckles a little. “i’ve heard of him.” a blush creeps up on his face he hopes you don’t see, but you’re too excited to even notice. “cool, huh?”

“so cool!” you thank the worker for your milkshakes and leave the small shop, the bell above the door jingling as you step outside. “i want to talk to him so bad, i bet he’s so interesting, and he’s probably so cute under the mask,” you daydream out loud as you walk down the sidewalk.

jake coughs a bit in surprise. “what makes you think that?”

“don’t be jealous,” you poke, a smirk on your face. “just a hunch.”

in a split second you’re suddenly yanked to the edge of the sidewalk by jake as you’re about to step onto the crosswalk. before you can comprehend why, someone comes barreling through on a bicycle, shouting a faint ‘sorry!’ as they whiz by, the wind fluttering your hair. your milkshake slips from your fingers, a small gasp leaving your lips, and jake grabs it before it can splatter across the ground, placing it back in your hand for you.

“you okay?” he asks, brushing off your jacket. you don’t answer, still staring off in the direction the bike went in shock. as soon as everything catches up to you, you look at him, eyes wide. “that was insane! when did you get such crazy reflexes?”

“what do you mean?” jake sweats a little. “didn’t you hear him coming?”

you shake your head. “no that’s not it, you did that so fast, and my drink-“

“i think- i think you were just caught off guard,” he excuses, ushering you forward to keep walking.

“so um. you were talking about spiderman?”

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

and talk about spiderman you did.

specifically, you talk about how you would love to meet him, to speak to him.

so, who would jake be to keep that from you when he is the one you want to meet?

well unfortunately, it wasn’t his choice.

(how was he supposed to go about that? knock on your door and say “hello random citizen, i’m spiderman! your best friend jake who i totally don’t know and definitely am not the same person as said you wanted to talk to me”?)

no, in reality, it was a total accident.

he finds himself crash landing onto the roof of your apartment building after a particularly brutal fight he’d gotten himself tied up in, his fatigue and pain not letting him swing any longer to make it all the way back home. he groans loudly, cradling his leg in his arms as he lays on the cold roof in the fetal position.

“spiderman??”

fuck. he knows that voice.

he lifts his head up in the direction it came from, seeing your head pop up over the ledge of the building. before he can say anything, you scramble up from the fire escape and run over to his side.

‘great,’ jake thinks. this is the second worst byproduct of you having a top floor apartment. (he still remembers how sore he was after having to help you drag your mattress up several flights of stairs when you moved in.)

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i’m good, i just-“ he attempts to stand on his own, but groans again, and crumples under his own weight. its your turn to catch him before he falls.

“oh god, um, i can help! just- here-“ you sling his arm around your shoulder and huddle into his side, and you help him hobble to the edge. he clambers down the fire escape, using his webs to keep him relatively stable, and fumbles through the window and onto the floor of your apartment. he hits the floor with a thud and a moan.

“sorry! um, i’ll get my first aid kit! i’ll be back!”

you leave and come back in a blind hurry, making quick work of rolling up the torn part of his suit to get a clear enough view of the gash in his leg to start your process. it hurts at first, a lot actually, but the pain subsides not long after. maybe because its you doing it, and he trusts you more than anyone, but he feels so much love and care in your movements.

he lets you focus in quiet for a while before he finally decides to say something.

“for someone who studies bugs and not medicine, you’re pretty good at that.”

you raise your eyebrows at him, wrapping a bandage around his calf. “how do you know i study bugs?”

shit. “just a hunch.”

you glance at him, not convinced.

“the pinned butterflies on your wall.”

“ah,” you say, nodding.

whew.

“maybe i just like butterflies.”

“that could be it too.” he chuckles under the mask. “i mean they’re pretty. like you. so it makes sense.”

you blush, a smile tugging at your lips. “smooth.”

“thanks, i know,” jake drawls, leaning to suavely rest on his elbow next to him, and hits his head on a table. “ow.” you both laugh.

when you finally get him patched up, he thanks you (he almost leans in for a hug on accident, but settles for a firm handshake instead) and climbs over the windowsill in preparation to take his leave.

“hey, can i ask you something?”

jake’s heart pounds. “sure.”

“can you.. come back sometime?” you twist your fingers nervously as you ask, avoiding his eyes. “i always wanted to talk to you but, this wasn’t really.. under the best circumstances, i guess.”

jake’s brain doesnt know if he should say yes, but his heart knows he could never say no to you, spiderman or otherwise.

“of course.” your smile makes it worth it.

he slings a web up onto a bar of the fire escape and flings himself out.

“wait!”

he turns back, glancing back down at you leaning out the windowsill, the chilled wind fluttering your hair.

“i don’t just like butterflies. i like spiders, too.”

jake grins.

“i didn’t used to like spiders. but i think they’re growing on me.”

and with that, he swings away.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

despite his better judgement, jake does come back. more than once.

he knows he shouldn’t appear as spiderman in front of you more than he needs to, but it just makes you so happy, it was physically impossible for him not to when he knows he’s the reason for your smile every time.

he sits with you now on the roof of your apartment, the same place you found him the first time, and the same place you two always meet now.

“-and that’s the story of how i met my best friend jake.” you finish your story, face flushed from laughing, and he’s forever grateful you can’t see his face under his mask. if he’s being honest (having lived through that torture with you) you actually told it way less embarrassing than he remembers it being. whether you perceive it less humiliating than he does or if you’re just gracious enough not to go into detail with strangers he’s not sure, but he’s thankful nonetheless.

“seems like you really care about him.”

“jake?” you ask, leaning back to rest on the heels of your hands. “well, yeah. he’s my favorite person in the whole world. don’t you feel that way about your best friend, too?”

jake feels his face heat up. “yeah, um. you pretty much took the words right out of my mouth.”

“yeah? tell me about them. what’s their name?”

“hey, whoa” jake lifts his hands in defense. “ask me about my favorite ninja turtle all day, but i can’t be giving out my best friend’s identity. why do you think i wear the mask?”

you laugh, nodding in understanding. “okay, okay, fair.”

a comfortable silence falls for a moment, and jake watches you gaze at the stars above the city lights.

“you remind me of him, you know.”

“huh?” jake snaps back into the present.

“jake. you guys seem really similar, honestly. same mannerisms, same cologne-“ you know the smell of his cologne? “you say things sometimes that i definitely think he would say. same favorite ninja turtle, too.”

he never really realized you paid this much attention to him. his heart flutters.

“ehh, i don’t know. guy sounds like a total nerd.”

you snort out a laugh. “oh he is,” ouch?? “but he’s my nerd. i love him just how he is. i wouldn’t change a single thing about him.”

“.. you love him?”

another silence. this one a little more.. tense.

“i love all my friends, but jake is.. different.”

“different how?”

“i’m not in love with my other friends.”

jake’s brain nearly short circuits right then and there. how he gets a single comprehensible sentence out of his mouth after that is honestly beyond him. but he’s not jake right now, he’s spiderman.

“i’m in love with my best friend too.”

“really?” you look at him, a sense of hope in your eyes, like you just found the only other person in the world in the same position as you. if you only knew.

“this,” he motions to his suit, and in turn the whole act of being spiderman at all. “its for them. i help everyone i can, of course, but,” he seems to be lost in thought for a second, drumming his fingers on his knee. “like you said, they’re different. i’d do anything for them. anything at all.”

you tilt your head at him. “wow, who knew a superhero could be so sappy.”

“yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand dismissively. “my bad, gotta protect my stone cold image.” you huff out a laugh.

“have you told them?”

“no.”

“why?”

“same reason as you, i’m guessing.”

“fear?”

“fear.”

a knowing look is passed between you.

“my best friend doesn’t actually know i’m spiderman.”

“wait really?” you ask, surprised. “why not?”

“how am i supposed to tell them that? ‘hey by the way i’m risking my life every day for you!’ that seems like a horrible conversation.”

you chuckle. “yeah, i get that. i suppose its similar to the reason you haven’t confessed. the fear of rejection is present either way.”

“exactly,” he sighs.

after a second, a light bulb seems to come on above your head. “hey, i’ve got an idea. you tell your best friend you’re spiderman, and i’ll tell my best friend i’m in love with him.”

“that’s a terrible idea,” jake admits through a chuckle.

“is it?” you feign indignant. “if they love us, they’ll accept us, right?”

jake thinks it over for a second, his heart racing so fast he hopes you can’t hear it.

“okay. deal.”

you grin. “perfect.”

how the hell is he gonna do that?

“jake should actually be on his way, i’ll call him to make sure.”

shit. shit. he forgot about movie night.

you pull out your phone, tapping quickly to find his contact and press your phone to your ear. jake panics, pulling his phone from his suit just as it starts to ring, and presses end as soon as he can reach the button.

you give him a puzzled look, and he huffs nervously. “sorry, scam calls.” he shoves his phone into his suit before you can see it.

“hm. it went straight to voicemail. that’s odd,” you muse, glancing at the ‘call ended’ screen.

“maybe he’s driving. yknow, gotta stay safe,” he bumbles, nerves flooding his system as he stands up and dusts off the back of his legs. “hey listen, its been great, but i just remembered i have to go-“

“wait, wait!” you jump up as well, grabbing onto his gloved hand. “can you stay for just a minute? i think jake would really love to meet you!”

“i really uh- its- its important- i should-“

“it’ll just be a second! i promise! don’t move!” you plead. you give his hand a squeeze, and before jake can stop you, you hop down the fire escape and scurry back into your apartment.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake is fucked. absolutely fucked.

as soon as he sees you disappear into your apartment to wait for, well, him, he slings himself down to an alley to ‘jake’ himself up.

luckily, he has spare clothes stored across the city in case of emergencies like this. he stuffs his hand through a hole in the bricks of an abandoned building and pulls out a backpack, and as quickly as he possibly can, he pulls his clothes on over his suit, shoves his mask in and zips it up. he ruffles his messy hair in an attempt to seem a more presentable type of messy, and sprints out into the street.

now trekking up the stairs toward your apartment door, he thinks there wasn’t even really a logical reason to do this. he could have just told you right then that it was him, but something inside him told him that wasn’t the right time or place.

stopping in front of your door, he prepares himself, catching his breath before he knocks.

you swing it open immediately, a huge smile on your face.

“jake! i have something to show- why are you so sweaty?”

“i uh- i was running late so i ran.” he fumbles for an excuse. he walks in and is about to kick off his shoes when you grab his arm, dragging him across the living room to your window.

“come with me first! i have something to show you!” you say, brimming with excitement.

“hold on- i need to-“

“hurry!” you squeal, and hop out the window to climb the ladder. jake internally groans, following after you.

he grabs the rungs and hoists himself up behind you. “can i tell you something first?” he calls upwards. “its important!”

“this is important too! he has to be somewhere!”

oh, so now you listen to that information.

when his head pops up above the ladder to see the expanse of the rooftop, you’re already looking around, confused.

“where did he-“

“why are we up here?”

“i’m looking for someone! he said he would stay for a second,” you whine.

he never actually agreed to that, but he’ll let it slide.

you grip the barrier of the roof and pull yourself up to stand on the ledge, putting your arms out to steady yourself as you survey the area.

“what are you doing!” jake shouts, running up to you and grabbing your waist to prevent you from falling. “you have terrible balance!”

“relax, i’m fine. maybe if i fall he’ll come back to swoop in and save me.”

and as if the universe took that as some sort of sick challenge, a huge gust of wind blows through, knocking your balance off. you tilt forward with a strained yelp, flailing your arms. jake tries to grip your belt loops but they slip from his fingers, and he lets out an exasperated yell.

bracing yourself for a horrendous fall, you let out a scream, squeezing your eyes shut.

but it never comes.

you’re suspended in the air, but there’s no rushing air, no sinking feeling in your gut, everything just.. stopped.

you pop an eye open, met with the rough red texture of the brick in front of you. you follow your arm that’s outstretched above you upward, expecting somehow to see jake’s grip wrapped around your wrist, but instead you see a bracelet of weaved white. you lock eyes with him, a terribly worried expression on his face, the same white around your wrist attached to the underside of his.

for the first time, it all clicks together.

the webs in his apartment. the way they have the same voice, same habits. the way the spider on the suit is jake’s favorite color. his change in demeanor these past few weeks. jake having a limp from the same leg spiderman had injured around the same time.

it all finally makes sense.

“you-.. you’re-..”

“surprise,” jake whispers, a small, guilty smile on his face.

“can you. pull me up, please?” you tremble.

“oh! yeah, sorry.” jake brings you in with ease, grabbing firmly onto your body until you’re sat on your knees on the safety of the roof. you lunge forward, trapping jake in a bone crushing hug. he feels that you’re still shaking, and wraps himself around you with equal fervor, holding your head to his shoulder and stroking your hair to soothe you.

how could you have been so stupid? so clueless? you had every single piece of the puzzle, yet you were so blind to the placements.

it hits you then, that you had confessed to him without knowing it.

jake pulls you back and holds onto your shoulders, scanning you for any injuries. “are you okay?”

when he locks eyes with you, he sees how flustered you look, the blush on your face, and he has to bite back a smile.

“well, this is a little awkward,” he chuckles.

“you’re such an idiot,” you scoff, a common phrase nowadays it seems, but he hears no real weight in your words.

“i should have known. no ones favorite ninja turtle is leonardo except yours.”

“don’t bring my boy into this.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“well i think spiderman already explained that,” he says with a shit eating grin.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, he told me quite a bit, actually. some pretty gushy stuff.” jake whines nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“big mouth on that guy, huh.”

“jake.”

“hm?”

“i have something to tell you.”

he smiles shyly. “yeah?”

you grab jake by the zipper of his jacket, pulling you together to connect your lips in a kiss. his hands immediately find your waist to pull you closer, practically falling on top of him. he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. you sigh happily in tandem.

after a second your hands find the sides of his face and you pull away, giggling at how you both can’t stop smiling and its making it hard to continue.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

you run your thumb across his bottom lip, admiring the contours of his face and how his goofy grin and lidded eyes are so full of warmth.

“don’t you have something to confess to me, too?”

“i still don’t like spiders.”

“jake!” you push him back by the chest and he laughs, wrapping his arms completely around your torso.

he wiggles his fingers up your spine in a crawling motion, making you shiver and swat him away in a fit of giggles. he leans in close to your ear, and whispers-

“i’m spiderman.”

[luv-beam]

OKAY AS I SAID BEFORE I LOVE A GOOD SPIDEY AU and man oh mAN is jake a good spiderman 😭🤧 i had to go back thru to find all my fave parts cuz there so many great little moments/details/lines and i paused my reading somewhere in the middle 💀 anyways

i love that u went the tobey maguire spiderman route w the webs coming out of his body SKFNKDNFKDJ i feel like i don't see that often and jake is such a cute little dork in this 😭😭 AND I ALSO LOVE THAT READER IS A HUGE NERD TOO !!! from jake hating spiders, to wanting to draft his will, to his fav ninja turtle being leonardo — there was just so much life to his character raaaaah

also him wanting to be hospitable to the spider by giving it CHEESE 💀 i did laugh. what a NERD—

the talk btwn reader and spidey abt their """best friends"""/each other was so sweet as well, i think the way they ended up confessing was kinda perfect (and def was the right kick jake needed to put on his big boy pants) THANKS SO MUCH FOR WRITING THIS JUDAH!!