THE NAME'S NOON, known by many as fae. STUDENT/WRITER
⤷ majority of the content i post are nsfw! which include 18+ content, some sfw works thus, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT if it isn't appropriate for your age. I do take time writing my work as i do not use AI, i refuse to. so with every marrow of my being, the lagging and insomnia, i write with passion. i write for:
A comprehensive masterlist of all the works i've been busy with thus far that will soon see the light of day.
Taglist deets──if you'd like to be added on my permanent taglist, anoint me on my ask or comment under any of my works. and for specific works you can specify in my asks.
SOON TO BE RELEASED...
marvel hill (fair play, baby)
incubus!heeseung x reader ft. jay
SYNOPSIS | In attempt to reshape the man you‘ve always dreamed of, you turn to forbidden magic to mold your fiance into your ideal partner; only to summon a Phantom beyond. Heeseung, the jester-incubus prince torments and guides you just beyond reach, where your deepest desires become torture, and he lingers. Freedom in his world comes only through gratitude for what you already have. but enchantments twist intention, and escape may demand far more than the fate you tried to change.
GENRE | INCUBUS AU, DARK FANTASY, PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR, SMUT
est w.c: 21k
SMOOTH OPERATOR
lawyer! Jay x client ! reader
SYNOPSIS | you’re the woman of his dreams that seeks to match his freak. You’re a pro-bono client a well-known lawyer who never goes pro-bono. What was meant to professional at first turns playful. to test the waters, Jay ends up swimming into something that he can’t get himself out of. You’re so addictive, this whole entanglement is addictive, he’s addictive…he won’t let go. Ever.
est w.c: 23k
𓏲ּ𝄢 Cannibal's Cancion 𓏲ּ𝄢
vamp! Yeosang x vamp! reader x fledgling! x Seonghwa
SYNOPSIS | you love them both. one with the devotion of eternity, the other with grief of remembrance. and yeosang loves you beyond himself, enough to let fate guide a troubled man from oceans away into your arms. but not all forms of love are meant to be merciful. greed, lust and pride poisons it, and carnage is yet to awaken the rage buried deep within a man who bore a striking resemblance to the one you lost long ago: park seonghwa.
GENRES…VAMPIRE AU, SOULMATE/REINCARNATION, SMUT
est w.c. 15-19k
LONE THE WISP
SYNOPSIS | Of all fairytales you’ve read as a child, yours was destined to become the most dreadful and the most fulfilling. As a princess, suitors arrived by dozen, with material promise—yet no one lingered in your thoughts. Until Prince wooyoung.
GENRE…ROYAL AU, TRAGEDY, ROMANCE
est w.c 18k
LITTLE MAN
SYNOPSIS | When you have to babysit Sunghoon’s troublesome little brother ri-ki—a grown ass man—the downturn of the night leaves you in shambles and him in satisfaction.
RUINED ─ snippet of ‘nettles’ going solo was never part of the plan— neither was jake sim, your younger brother’s best friend.
❪ 6102 ❫ ｡ jake 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 𝑖𝑛 brother’s best friend ✿
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ! ʚɞ : smut - sub!jake, nerd jake, soft dom reader, use of “noona”, semi public sexual interaction (gym), whimpering, teasing, sexual tension, handjob (thru clothes), reader is just a tease, ruined orgasm, cum in pants. 𓏻
NETTLES ON WATTPAD ( this is a snippet of my book- context lacks but it doesn’t impact anything. ) ♯ younger brother’s best friend ♯forbidden love ♯ idol x idol
▬▬ THE GYM IS in the basement.
Three floors down from the break room, which sounds simple enough except the Hybe building has the elevator logic of a fever dream- you press B1 and it takes you to B1- but through a route that involves stopping at 2 for no goddamn reason.
You stand in the elevator with your bag and your water bottle- in the mirror you check your figure, it's true that you've lost a bit of weight, which is probably not the healthiest motivation but is at least— a motivation.
The doors open at 2 and nobody gets on. You stare at the gap for a bit before it closes back again.
You arrive at B1 forty-five seconds later, walk down the corridor, badge your way through the frosted glass door and push into the gym.
It's mostly empty at this hour, which is what you'd counted on— a few pieces of equipment running, one staff member at the far end getting ready to leave.
So you drop your bag on the bench by the entrance, pull your hair up, put your earphones in.
And then you see him.
Jake is on the treadmill at the far end— earphones in, eyes forward, moving at a pace that tells he's been here for a while already— his jacket is off and draped over the handle.
Of course he's here.
Of fucking course.
You stand by the bench for approximately three seconds doing a very quick internal calculation: 'leave', which would be weird and noticeable; or 'stay', which is fine— this is a company gym, you're allowed to be here, you're a professional.
You stay.
You pick a treadmill four machines down from his, set your water bottle in the holder, and start your warmup without looking in his direction.
For about six minutes, this works just fine.
You find your pace, settle into it, and stare at the wall in front of you, trying to focus on a true crime podcast that honestly— doesn't even go past your ears.
Then the aircon kicks up a gear.
The basement gym is always cooler than the rest of the building but right now it tips from cool into 'actually kind of cold' —getting into your shoulders when you're not moving hard enough to compensate for it. You're in a short-sleeved training top— arms covered in goosebumps— which is a deeply unpleasant sensation.
You slow the treadmill, step off, and rummage in your bag for a jacket.
Which you don't have, because you left it in the break room earlier and apparently Nishimura Riki is too focused on being a dork to notice your black jacket splayed on the couch.
Fantastic, you think. Fucking great.
You stand there for a second weighing your options— get back on the treadmill and just suffer through it, go back upstairs for the jacket which defeats the entire purpose, or—
"Here."
You look up.
Jake is beside you, which —you hadn't heard him approach over your earphones, and your heart does one involuntary loud beat. He's holding out his zip-up— the Nike one that had been on the treadmill handle — already extended toward you, not quite meeting your eyes.
"I'm done with it," he says. "I run hot."
You look at the jacket.
He's looking at a point somewhere near your left shoulder, expression neutral, his hair is messy, beads of sweat running down his neck to his sharp collarbone.
"I'm fine," you shake your head.
"You're freezing," he insists, to your left shoulder.
"I'm not—"
"Na-ri." He says it quietly, just your name. Not noona.
You take the jacket— partly because you don't want to argue but also because you're terribly freezing at the moment. Like 'about to die' freezing.
"Thank you," you test the fabric in your hands.
It's a a grey Nike tech fleece— when you put it on, it's warm like it's been worn recently, and it's big on you— Jake is considerably broader than you, which you are not going to think about.
You zip it up to the collar and get back on the treadmill. It has a specific smell of laundry detergent- the kind that reminds you of your childhood soap, comforting in a way— a little bit like Jake.
You work out in silence for the next twenty minutes. Jake moves to the weights- you move to the mat for stretching.
At some point you're both just existing in the same space, doing separate things, and it's almost normal except for the awareness that is always, always present when Jake is within thirty feet of you.
You’re busy stretching your sore limbs when the podcast you were totally focused on instantly cuts. You think it's your phone at first- but it's sitting on the floor, untouched, so you reach for your earphones instead.
You pull them out, look at them uselessly when you see the little red light flicking — and cast around for somewhere to put the devices while you finish the cooldown stretch.
Your pockets— your own pockets, the ones in your training sweats— are too small, just the tiny decorative kind that fit approximately one airpod, not the whole box.
The jacket pockets, though.
You push the earphones into the left pocket of Jake's zip-up but the second you do, your fingers brush something.
You pause, wrapping your digits around the foreign object and pull your hand back out slowly.
When you look down at your palm, it's a small flower that you see.
Yellow.
Then another one, slightly crushed, same color. Small and bright and definitely not yours —you hadn't packed any, and they're not from the pink and white batch in your bag, they're a completely different color.
They're the kind that— you know for a fact had been in the photoshoot mix, the ones that had been left out of the box at reception.
Left out deliberately.
Because someone had sorted through the box and separated them. The yellow ones on one side and the pink and white ones on the other.
Jay, you'd thought, when the box arrived. Obviously Jay.
Jay who doesn't even know your favorite colors— if you're being completely honest. Jay who would've grabbed the whole box without opening it.
You look up slowly.
Jake is at the weights bench, back partially to you, and you watch the exact moment he registers the silence- and the shift in the room's energy, which makes him glance over.
The second he sees what's in your hand, everything about him goes very still.
The flush starts immediately, the one that begins at his neck and moves upward with absolutely no chill, he sets the weight down with slightly more care than necessary.
"Was it you?" your voice comes out a little breathless.
He doesn't answer— which is also an answer.
You stand up from the mat, the little yellow flowers still in your palm, and cross the gym toward him. Jake tracks your approach in his peripheral vision and does absolutely nothing about it— doesn't move, doesn't deflect, just stands there.
You stop in front of him and he looks at you for a second, then back at the wall.
Then you drop your head forward with a long, slow exhale through your nose— you're not angry exactly, you're something more complicated than angry — and when you look back up your voice comes out quiet and a little tired.
"The magazine," you say. "And now this." You hold the flowers up slightly. "What's going on with you, Jake."
It comes out condescending. You know it does- not cruel, but with an edge to it.
Jake's jaw tightens slightly— still he doesn't look at you properly.
"It's just flowers," he mutters, quietly.
"It's not just flowers and you know that."
Jake doesn't answer right away. He just stands there in front of the weight bench, chest still rising and falling from his set, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. His eyes flick from the little yellow flowers in your palm to your face, then back down again like he can't decide which is safer to look at.
Finally, he speaks, voice low and careful.
"I saw them when they were sorting the photoshoot leftovers," he says, almost like he's confessing to a crime. "The yellow ones... they reminded me of that one stage outfit you wore for Coachella. The one with the pink accents on the sleeves. You looked really happy that day. And so— since it's your favorite color, i thought i'd just leave the pink ones. And- well... the white ones are because I remember you said you couldn't find white flowers."
The words land softly, but they hit like a fucking truck.
He remembered. Not just the colors. Not just the flowers.
He remembered a specific stage outfit from years ago and the offhand comment you made once about liking white flowers.
You feel something dangerous twist in your chest.
This is not good.
"Jaeyun," you say, voice quieter now.
He straightens a little at the way you say his full name, eyes wide and attentive— almost endearingly like a puppy waiting for instruction.
You take one step closer. Then another. Until you're standing right in front of him, close enough that you can see the way his pulse jumps in his throat.
Jake doesn't move, he just looks down at you, breathing shallow, waiting. His hands are clenched at his sides like he's physically stopping himself from reaching out.
Then you lift your hand slowly and press the yellow flowers against his chest, right over his heart.
He inhales sharply at the contact— like it pains him.
"You keep doing things like this," you murmur, voice low. "Bringing me food at 3 AM. Sorting flowers for me. Showing up when I'm falling apart. What am I supposed to do with you, huh?"
"I know... i know i shouldn't have... but I couldn't stop thinking about how happy you looked wearing that color. I just wanted you to have something that made you feel that way again."
The words hit somewhere deep and tender and extremely inconvenient.
Sim Jaeyun needs to stop making you feel these things.
You stare at him, the small yellow flowers still warm from your palm against his chest- his heart is hammering so hard you can feel it through the thin, damp fabric of his shirt.
You're close- too close. But you still take one step closer because too much is never enough.
There's almost no space left between your bodies now, your hand stays pressed to his chest for a second longer before it slides slowly upward, fingers tracing the line of his collarbone.
Jake's breath catches sharply at the contact- his skin is fever-hot, slightly damp, and you feel the rapid flutter of his pulse when your fingertips reach the side of his neck.
And before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, low and rough:
"If you weren't Jay's best friend ... I'd really want you, Jaeyun."
For a second he just stares at you, stunned, lips parted. Then, in that soft, nerdy, slightly rambling tone he gets when he's nervous, he starts:
"Well...technically Jay isn't my best friend. I'm- closer to Heeseung-hyung these days. We've been rooming together longer— we have more overlapping schedules and we talk about music production stuff more... and we share the same skincare routine now and—"
Sim Jaeyun is quite literally trying to distract himself with words— typical. Maybe he thinks that his explanation is magically going to bypass every single moral you have- maybe he thinks that— just because he's technically closer to Heeseung, it's gonna make it all okay.
"Stop with the scientific reasoning," you cut him off, voice husky.
Jake shuts his mouth instantly, looking down at you like he'd do anything you told him to.
The silence stretches between you thickly and you can quite literally feel the heat pouring off his body in waves.
You don't kiss his mouth. You won't. His mouth feels too intimate— like the door to his soul.
So you just lean in, tilting your head until your lips are hovering barely an inch from the side of his throat. You breathe there —slow and warm. The air from your mouth ghosts over his skin, raising goosebumps instantly.
Jake shifts desperately.
You stay right there, breathing against his neck, letting the heat of your exhale drag slowly over his pulse point.
Jake makes a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat -barely audible, but it vibrates against your lips and sends heat rushing through you.
He shifts again, hips twitching forward once, helplessly, before he forces them still. You can feel the tension in every muscle, the way he's fighting so hard to stay good for you even while falling apart.
You move your mouth a fraction closer, lips brushing his skin without quite kissing him yet— just breathing torturously slow.
Jake's head tilts back slightly, offering more of his neck without a single word— and you enjoy every second of it- dragging it out like seeing him undone is your favorite thing in the world.
His breathing has turned ragged now, warm puffs of air brushing the top of your head with every shaky exhale.
Only then do you press your lips to his neck —open-mouthed and agonizingly slow.
Jake whimpers quietly, the sound vibrating against your mouth; skin tastes like salt and faint cologne as you kiss lower, dragging your lips down the column of his throat, savoring every tiny tremor that runs through him.
His hands finally settle on your waist — light, respectful, barely holding on, like he's terrified of gripping too tight; his fingers flex helplessly against the fabric of his own jacket that you're still wearing.
"You're not allowed to touch me more than that. Understand?" you whisper against his skin.
Jake nods frantically, fingers flexing against your waist but not tightening. He can't even get the words out.
When you suck gently at the sensitive spot where his neck meets his shoulder— his whole body jolts, a soft, needy sound escaping him before he bites his lip hard to contain it.
You feel the way his thighs tremble, the way his hips twitch forward again, seeking any kind of friction before he forces himself still.
You slide one hand under the hem of his shirt, palm flat against his stomach and his muscles tense and tremble violently under your touch, skin scorching hot and slightly slick with sweat.
You drag your nails lightly downward, stopping just above the waistband of his sweats— and his forehead drops until it almost rests against yours.
"Breathe, Jaeyun," you murmur against him, voice low and teasing. "I can hear how fast your heart is going."
His mouth is so close- lips brushing the corner of yours with every ragged exhale - but you turn your head at the last second and kiss the sharp line of his jaw instead.
Your thigh slides lightly between his legs, and that's when you feel it - the hard, throbbing heat of him pressing insistently against your thigh through his sweats.
He's so hard it has to be aching.
His hands stay exactly where you told him- resting lightly on your waist, trembling with the effort of not gripping harder.
You can feel every tiny twitch of his fingers, every shaky breath, every helpless roll of his hips as he tries (and obviously fails) to stay still against your thigh.
You bite down gently on his collarbone and Jake moans— soft, needy, and so fucking pretty it makes heat pool low in your stomach.
You soothe the spot with your tongue, then move higher, sucking a slow, deliberate mark just under his ear.
Your hand— slides lower, fingertips brushing just above the waistband of his sweats.
Jake's breath hitches, his whole body shuddering- as you press your palm flat against his lower stomach, feeling the way his muscles clench and tremble under your touch.
Then, slowly, you drag your hand down and cup him through his pants.
Jake's knees nearly buckle.
A broken, needy whimper escapes him as your hand presses against the hard, throbbing outline of his cock. He's burning hot even through the fabric, thick and straining desperately against your palm.
You rub him slowly, firmly, feeling every twitch and throb as he jerks into your touch.
"Noona-" His voice cracks, hoarse and wrecked. His forehead drops fully against your shoulder now, breathing hot and fast against your neck. "Please... I- fuck-"
You squeeze him gently through his sweats, stroking the full length of him with slow, deliberate pressure. Jake's hips stutter forward, chasing your hand, but he catches himself and forces them still again, whimpering softly into your shoulder.
"What's wrong puppy?" you look up at him doe-eyed.
His hands are still on your waist, fingers digging in just a little harder now, but he doesn't move them any further.
He's trying so hard to be good.
Jake lets out another shaky, mortified sound at the pet name, his forehead pressing harder against your shoulder like he needs the support to stay upright. You can feel the heat of his breath soaking through the fabric of your hoodie, warm and uneven, each exhale trembling.
"I— I can't... it's too much," he whispers, voice muffled against you. "Fuck i can't..." He trails off into a quiet whimper as you stroke him again, slower this time, dragging your palm from base to tip with firm pressure.
You feel everything. The way his cock throbs heavily against your hand, the faint damp spot growing under your palm where he's leaking for you, the way his thighs tremble every time you squeeze him.
"But you’re being so good for me already, Jaeyun."
You don't even know what possesses you to say these things, but you're so consumed with need that it doesn't even matter.
You feel every tremor that runs through his body, the way his stomach muscles clench under your other hand, the way his thighs shake as he fights the urge to rut against your palm.
You press your thigh a little firmer between his legs, giving him more pressure while your hand keeps stroking him slowly, torturously. Jake's head drops lower, lips brushing the side of your neck as he pants against your skin.
He doesn't kiss you.
He just breathes there, warm and shaky, completely overwhelmed.
"Noona... please," he whispers, voice hoarse and broken. "It feels so good... I— I'm trying so hard not to—"
Every stroke pulls another broken whimper out of him. His cock twitches hard against your hand, leaking steadily now, the damp spot under your palm growing warmer and slicker with every pass.
You can feel how close he already is— the way he throbs, the way his hips keep stuttering forward in tiny, helpless movements before he forces them still again.
"You're so close already, Jaeyun, look at you," you murmur against his neck, lips brushing his heated skin. "Just from my hand"
Jake lets out a mortified, needy sound, his fingers digging harder into your waist. "I— I can't help it... Noona, please— it feels too good..."
The gym is completely silent except for the wet drag of your hand over his clothed cock and his ragged, desperate breathing. The risk of someone walking in makes everything feel dangerous.
Jake's thighs are shaking now, his whole body trembling against yours as he fights to hold back.
"I'm- I'm sorry," he whimpers into your shoulder, voice cracking. "I'm trying not to- but you keep— fuck, Noona, I can't—"
The friction of your palm is relentless, a heavy, rhythmic pressure that has Jake completely unmoored— his breath coming in short, broken stabs that sound like he's sobbing without the tears.
He's so close, so painfully close, that you can feel the frantic, rhythmic pulsing of him against your hand, the heat of him almost searing through the fabric.
Just as you feel the tension in his thighs reach a breaking point; just as his hips begin to lurch upward in a final surge—
The heavy sound of a door swinging open echoes from the far end of the hallway.
The sound of approaching footsteps, casual and rhythmic, cuts through the heavy air of the gym like a blade.
You freeze. Your eyes snap toward the entrance, your heart leaping into your throat. You immediately pull your hand away, the sudden loss of contact making Jake's entire body lurch as if he's been dropped from a great height.
"Ah—" The sound is caught in his throat, a stifled, strangled noise that he desperately tries to swallow.
Because you let go right at the precipice, his orgasm doesn't come with a release; it comes as a frantic, uncoordinated spasm.
Without your hand to guide the friction or your body to absorb the impact, Jake's hips jerk once, twice, a violent, helpless twitching. He bites his lip so hard his knuckles turn white, his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorting in a mix of intense pleasure and frustration.
He cums in his sweats, the sensation sudden and jarringly incomplete— it's a ruined, messy release a heavy, pulsing throb that has nowhere to go, leaving him feeling hollow and achingly sensitive.
He shudders violently, a silent, body wracking tremor that leaves him limp and trembling against you, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder as he tries to regulate his breathing before the footsteps get any closer.
The dampness is immediate, a warm, spreading weight in his pants that feels humiliatingly obvious in the sudden quiet of the room.
"Jake?" a voice calls out from the hallway, muffled but approaching. It sounds like one of the staff members.
"I'm sorry," he breathes, the words barely a ghost of a sound, thick with the shame of how much he needed you to finish what you started.
He looks like a puppy that's been scolded, yet there's a dark, lingering hunger in his gaze that tells you— he'd let you do it all over again just to feel you near him.
It takes you about 40 seconds to regain your consciousness, it's almost like you were under artificial drugs— shame incapable of entering the fortress of your mind.
"Thank you for the flowers Jaeyun." you take off the jacket and hand it to him— as if you pressed a switch all of a sudden. "Forget this happened, yeah?"
✂︎ 𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: Mornings became sweeter and nights became much warmer. suddenly Seonghwa miscalculates. What he dismissed as just a simple and harmless visit—San’s presence begins to itch beneath his skin, an unshakable sense that something is shifting between you and him. His control slips, calm by day and volatile by night. It’s in the red room that you slightly come to your senses, where you notice that his proposal isn’t a choice but an ultimatum. You’re too far gone to even call yourself trapped, but all you know is that you’re damned either way. And all that matters is your undying love for him.
You had the kind of night where morning had come to soon. His breath , a centimetre away from your lips as his fingers dragged helplessly between your folds—swollen and silky. Seonghwa was what you call a "sex God" in contrast to his evident debonai. He knew his way around your body like a noose he'd tied himself.
"Do i make you feel good, my love?" His voice, such a sweet saccharine sound amidst your own shallow breaths. His index probed and painted between your folds, over you clit. Not quite digging into the place he knew better than yourself. "Hmm? Does hwa make you feel good, baby—
"God yes!" You breathlessly exclaimed, heaving as your back arched into his chest. His caress trickled upon your body in liberty and your body convulsed—the opposite of virtue, the unravelling of your sanity. Your climax had come as perfect as always, the everlasting stroke of him eased away your tensions, frustration, wiping you clean until you were deemed brand new…reborn.
And now he held you close to his chest, skin-to-skin close enough to swim in. Old y/n detested mornings. But like two spirits greeting at the edge of dawn, Seonghwa's affection felt brand new—fresh and indulgent…almost too perfect to question. He failed not in making sure of that.
You barely shifted enough to unclapse yourself from his hold when he held you even tighter, breasts squished against his forearm. "Uh-uh." He groaned against your nape, kissing your pulse a few times before you could hear his soft breaths. You just listened attentively—the villa's silence unsettled you no more, it eased you—the way he lulled against you all vulnerable and exhausted.
What have you done to score such a man, such a complicated gem?
You sigh loud enough for Seonghwa to chuckle, almost like a whine.
"What's the matter, baby?" He asked eyes half lidded as he lifted enough to see your smiling face. You playfully shook your head biting at your lip. But hwa knew it wasn't nothing. He couldn't help himself to pry—such a remarkable woman laid bare in his arms, the way your hair cascaded around your head like a halo—it was his iobligation to make sure you weren't troubled. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked voice taut. "Like what?" He smiled before dropping to kiss the tip of your nose then lifting again to look at you. "Like this?" Your cheeks tinted instantly, rose and nothing more than the heat that surged from your heart. "How can i not, when you look so breathtaking."
"I could stare all day without blinking , you know that dont you baby?" His voice dropped as he cooed and you couldnt help but to explode
"Hwa, stop—"
His hands brushed at your sides then drifted lower, slowly along your thighs unhurried, deliberate as always. "Not while im alive i won't." His lips caught yours unexpectedly, plump and indulgent before letting out a sound when he broke conatct. "I love you too much, my love."
His fingers always, always found their way between your legs, massaging your inner thighs softly. There was no telling who loved who the most, but Judging from the rasp in your moans—Seonghwa loved selflessly and you received endlessly. A love so absolute, such a scene could not be mounted on the walls in his gallery. Never documented, re-created…only evolving continuously.
A few hours later, the villa stirred with unusual life. Maids moved through the halls carrying fresh linens and arrangements, while a handful of members of the orphanage staff arrived to help prepare the house for its newest guests. The once-quiet space hummed with activity, every room being adjusted to feel a little more accommodating:; with strict instruction that no one set foot in the gallery or your shared bedroom.
Even eunji made an appearance after weeks of absence.
To your surprise, she headed straight for the closet—the one filled with the tagged clothing you had spent so many nights wondering about. Piece by Piece, the garments disappeared into early packed boxes.
Seonghwa had listened.
He had listened to every concerned, every uneasy question you had tried to dismiss. And without hesitation, he had spoken with woooyung and arranged an entirely new wardrobe to replace what remained. It was such a simple gesture, yet it carried the same unsettling thoroughness that seemed to follow everything he did—as though no discomfort of yours could exist for long without him reshaping the world around it.
But what you didn't know, was that hwa changed everything.
You paced along in the walk in closet you both shared now, searching for comfortable shoes to wear. But to no avail you go to pair was no where to be found.
"Hwa," you called softly, fixing your earrings. "Yes, angel?" He answered, stepping behind you as he fixed the sleeves of his beige quaterzip. "I'm looking for comfortable shoes, and i can't find the ones i wore last week."
Seonghwa not only didn't answer, he paused behind you, shifting his gaze over the shelves—slow, assessing—like he was retracing something only he could see. "I gave them away remember?" He said firmly.
Your brows knitted as you turned. "But they were a perfectly—
"They weren't suitabe, love." A faint smile touched his lips.
The word echoed in your mind, you don't recall ever agreeing on that part of "rebranding" but you laughed softly nevertheless. "It must've slipped my mind."
He stepped closer then, reaching past you—making sure you were caged between his chest and the shelf. Seonghwa pulled down a ivory colored box you hadn't noticed before, clean and untouched.
"I'm sure these will be to your liking."
Your eyes scanned the box again, no way—
The lid lifted with quiet ease, and inside, new and pristine custom heels from songzio. "They're a better fit, had them specifically made for you." He added, tone gentle, knowing very well it would've settled with no thought.
"…hwa, whe—you got these made, for me?" Your voice hitched in enamorment. He nodded proudly with a content hum. He watched closely when you window shopped online, specifically mulling over a specific pair for about 45 minutes before putting it in your cart for safe keeping.
Your smile glistened through the velvet of the closet. This is what he wanted. You happiness and nothing more, even if it meant disacrding the old and replacing it with the new. The softened of it all, his certainty and every other gesture made you exhale lightly.
"They're beautiful."
And the fit perfectly, as though he'd taken a mole of your feet to the outfitters. But hwa knew you like the back of his hand, inside out through the in. He watched silently and satisfied as you adjusted, like something small clicked into place. He took you in as you twirled around in your outfit: canary summaer dress, beige cardigan tied around your shoulders, and your new semi flat heels.
"Stunning, mrs. Park." He whispered to himself.
Settling into the dining area, everything was just about ready. Chandeliers were neatly polished, the dining table themed with finger foods and effects that would be to San and woo's liking. The guest room was as good as new, a whole new makeover from what it was the day you arrived. And those clothes were gone.
All the effort without lifting a finger, seonghwa ordered that you just sit comfortable as he helped around with what was left. About three strawberries in, your phone buzzed: mom.
mom: its a wonderful day, darling! Make sure woo and san don't get on hwa's bad side you know how your brother can be.
Why would they get on his bad side? You thought.
You: hwa doesn't have a bad side mom, besides he's welcoming so he'll be fine
Before you could type any more, eunji appeared. "Mrs. Park, have you been keeping well?" She greeted, more like a farewell with the way she carried her bag on her shoulder. "Eunji, are you leaving already?"
She nodded once with a tight smile, the fine lines in her eyes on full display. "Mr. Park has instructed that i return home and rest."
"O-oh, alright then…thank you for the help. I hope to see you again." You stood to hug her lightly. The contact came unexpectedly hence she flinched. But she returned the gesture with a soft tap on the back. "I should get going then." She intoned.
Not long after she'd left, a car pulled in the driveway. Onyx and sleek like the one that picked you up the first time you met him. You didn't;t have to get up to see who it was, you heard him the moment the rear foor opened.
"Noonna, we're here!"
Seonghwa appeared out of thin air, treading carefully towards the entrance. You followed suit with excitement. There they were all cute aand cuddly as hwa welcomed them to hi humble abode.
"There she is, my cash co—i meant sisterrr!"
You fake laughed, wrapping your arms round him in warm embrace. 'It's good to see you, how was the flight?"
"It was great besides the clay they fed us and called it chicken."
Woo was something else, there wasn't a day he never complained.
After greeting hwa, San walked over to you with a warm smile. Adorable as always no wonder woo fell in love with him. "Good to see you , sis." His arms wrapped over you like gift ribbon. It was natural, a fond way San greeted you. "Arghh, its been so long."
Wooyoung hauled the luggae from the trunk while one of the maids hurried over to help him. You lingered nearby, caught in easy conversation with San, the kind that came naturally after years of friendship. For only a few steps away, Seonghwa watched, close enough to notice the way san's hand settled against the small of your back when he laughed. Close enough to see how his smile lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary while you rambled n about something only the two of you seemed to understand. And just as San dipped his head, poised to murmur something into your ear, Seonghwa appeared at your side as though he had always belonged there.
"Why don't we head inside and show them around, love?" He suggested smoothly, his hand finding the curve of your waist with effortless familiarity.
Wooyoung let out a low whistle the moment he stepped inside, his eyes darting from one lavish detail to the next. The grandeur of the villa seemed to capture him instantly. Beside him, san was quieter, taking everything in with a careful eye—from effort down to execution woven into every choice.
"It was a team effort, right my love?" Seonghwa interrupted smoothly, draping an arm around your shoulders. You blinked before nodding along, the interruption felt oddly deliberate. If anything the maid-crew deserved most of the credit, but every corner carried hwa's fingerprints, his vision, his meticulous attention to detail, maybe he simply wanted to impress woo and San, to win them over. The thought made you lips twitch into a smile.
The tour began with the kitchen and dining area before flowing naturally into the lounge. From there, seonghwa guided them upstairs where the study was and then to the guest wing where their room awaited. "Wahhh…" wooyoung gawked, dragging his suitcase into the bedroom that looks as though it belonged in a palace. "I hope it's to your liking," hwa said softly, though there was a quiet confidence beneath his words. And why wouldn't there be? He'd just about done research on where woo and San lived who picked the place and why, then incorporating his findings in a way that could wi their hearts. So far, it was a solid 10 for accommodation.
The final stop came only after Seonghwa paused, as if remembering something.
"Oh. One more room."
The gallery. The familiar pace unfolds before you—paintings lining the walls, sculptures standing like silent gaurdians, and the seam…
Your stomach tightened. "This is my favorite room," Seonghwa said. "It's where i keep a part of myself."
You barely heard him. Growing up with woo had taught you one thing: curiosity ra in the family. If there was locked door, he wanted it opened. If there was a mystery, he wanted it solved.
San was worse. The smallest irregularities, the details everyone else overlooked, oh he noticed.
"Hyung, you're quite the catch, aren't you?" Wooyoung remarked, stopping in front of a sprawling landscape canvas. Meanwhile, sand drifted further into the room. Toward the sculptures, vases, toward the wall…toward the seam.
Your pulse climbed, as San skimmed across the concrete surface, narrowing ever so slightly as he studied it.
"Shouldn't we get lunch?" You blurted suddenly. 'You must a be hungry."
"We still have time, love. we can—"
San took another step closer.
"Now, please." Your words came out sharper than intended. Seonghwa turned his head, immediately catching the strain in your voice. And to your horror, amusement flickered across his features. He knew exactly what had rattled you.
Flustered didn't even begin to cover it. Mortified was closer. The thought of wooyoung or San discovering what lay beyond that hidden wall made your stomach churn. Would they look at you differently if what you joked about were true? Would they understand? Would they understAnd Seonghwa?
You doubted it.
San's hand hovered near one of the sculptures, his attention still on the section of the wall.
"Actually, lunch sounds amazing." Wooyoung groaned dramatically. The spell broke. San glanced away from the wall from the sound of wooyoung' voice.
Only then did you realise you were holding your breath, beside you hwa's thug brushed lazily against your shoulder—a silent acknowledgement. He knew exactly what you were afraid of…
Wooyoung slowly wandered out the gallery, loudl announcing his growing appetite as San followed after him with a bowing smile. The moment the others disappeared into the hallway, seonghwa stepped closer—hand settled lightly against the small of you back as though guiding you forward, but he leaned down just enough for only you to hear.
"Don't ever do that again, angel."
The softness in his voice made the warning all the more unsettling. You glanced up at him. "Hwa, i was just trying to—"
"Mm." His smile remained perfectly intact. "I know what you were trying to do." He drifted his gaze toward the gallery entaracne where San had vanished. "You don't need to carry burdens that belong to me."
His eyes softened, or perhaps they only appeared to. His thumb brushed once against your side. You searched his face for a moment.
"I'm sorry, hwa." Your answer came automatically, easing the crease between his brows. And with a soft smile and a lingering kiss to the forehead he praised…
"Good girl."
A/N: it’s been a long freaking time!! And I’m almost done editing chapter five, here’s a little something something for you guys. I hope it was worth the wait even though it’s a piece of what’s yet to come. Mwah 💋
SYNOPSIS: You were taught to know him only as “GOD”—until his true name slips. In every world, every god has favorites, and you were Yang Jungwon’s to a bloody extent. Unbeknownst to you, your body carries a lineage bounded to his through time.
GENRES!: Werewolf AU/Religious Cult Horror, Dark Smut, Psychological. Bonding AU, kind of ambiguous storytelling. NSFW / MDNI, 18+!
TWO SHOT WARNINGS!: Sacrilegious themes! Violence, bruising, hitting. d3ad animals, Worship & blood play, biting, oral. P in V (unprotected). jungwon is TAN/OLIVE TONED N NOT WHITEWASHED IN THIS STORYYYYYY. jungwon hates children btw and is a lil…obsessive. erotic body horror undertones…knotting. PT. I of II.
Please heed the warnings. Don’t like—simply don’t read.
—mav’s notes: wrote this in the morning cause i needed to get my brain going.
He liked it when you bit hard enough to scar.
Teeth marks were religion—indentations as worship: proof that you wanted to keep God close long enough to let him bleed. He’d return the favor, jaw tight around your throat as if it took everything in him not to break you, cold exterior straining under the effort. But his hands were always a dead giveaway: the tremor in his fingers, the shudder in his breath whenever the metal of your blood settled slow and heavy in his gut.
You never asked his name. Part of you still doubted his power, however otherworldly he seemed. If he wasn’t truly a god, you wouldn’t be surprised. God didn’t need a name—he needed an omnipresent title. And he was beautiful enough that it never felt worth questioning.
GOD ties your hair back with a small ribbon, coaxing the strands down your spine until your throat is laid bare, every scarred bite on display.
“There she is,” he says softly. “All done.”
You meet his eyes through the mirror’s reflection, palms folded neatly in your lap. “Am I pretty?”
He smiles with his teeth.
“Prettiest lamb I’ve ever seen.”
Truth was—he wanted to rip you open.
You haunted him even in his dreams: visions of curling inside your stomach, cradling your spine, blending so deeply into you that he ceased to exist anywhere else at all. The chair scrapes as he draws you back against him, pressing a kiss to your neck.
He chuckles under his breath, eyes glinting with mischief. Overgrown strands of hair veil his expression as he dips his head to rest against your nape. “Do you want to know my name?”
You still, eyes fixed on your lap. Despite the fear gnawing at you, you nod.
He mouths the syllables against your skin, breaking the name apart like meat, like something meant to be tasted before it’s taken whole.
You repeat it, hesitant.
Jungwon.
It feels like a death sentence.
It’s inevitable. There’s no going back.
Mother Mary seemed to sleep in the water, her stone palms gently pressed together, lily pads brushing her body before drifting away. A rosary is carved around her wrist, the stone slowly eroding as the statue lay flat and abandoned in the pond. The town was calm—strangely hollow at 2 p.m.—quiet except for mourning doves and the soft drift of shallow water. It breathed, it emptied itself. It smelled like the sulfuric skin of a young “God.”
The community was never “Godless.”
Long before he arrived—terribly young and deeply unsettling—religion still haunted the old white wood of every creaking establishment.
Maybe it was something in the water, a collective infection that craved the end of the world under the guise of preparing for it.
“There will be blood,” he’d say, his gaze downturned and unreadable as he dipped his fingers into ash. “We have to accept the process of bleeding. Only then can we be saved.”
God enjoyed rituals—the slow, gentle bleeding—and enjoyed the principle of never asking his name. When he arrived alone as a child, he said only that the human tongue could not withstand the weight of his name.
Communion is bloody, the way “God” liked it.
A small piece of meat, torn and raw, is placed on the tongue as the attendant pricks your finger and holds it over a brass goblet.
No one else questions. Not when he spoke so convincingly, it became gospel.
⏾
“Remember that I made you,” he’d always say—a baptism, a faithful mantra that crowded the room like smoke.
Every prayer he uttered drifted through the air like bleach, an attempt to sterilize the room of doubt. Of him. Of his ownership. The space buzzed like flies, lines forming at the epicenter as church attendants fed faithful mouths—ecstatic. Now clean.
When it’s your turn to receive communion, he rises from his seat, gently pushing aside the young boys reaching to feed you, to prick your finger.
He comes close. So close your breath catches when he lays his index and middle fingers flat against your tongue, gazing at you with that peculiar look in his eyes. Your saliva stretches and clings, silent and silken against his smooth fingers. Deliberate. Lingering. He touches you like he intends to stay.
“Remember that I made you,” he repeats.
You don’t wince when the prick comes. You notice the deliberate way he slides his finger against yours before anyone can see, and the press of his tongue against the bead of blood when he turns his back to the crowd.
He made me, you remind yourself.
‘I’m his.
He is not mine.’
⏾
[FLASHBACK: before you’d bore his mark.]
The previous cacophony of the great hall hushed the moment he stepped inside. Golden cheekbones cut through the vibrancy of the celebration, his dark hair fluttering in the rush of air from the newly opened door. People marveled at him, bowing their bodies in immediate acts of reverence.
“GOD”, or Jungwon—as you’d come to know later, appeared only a handful of strange times each year outside of sermon like he’d shot darts blindly at a calendar and decided from there. He would enter slowly, as though hoping to go unnoticed, sit to pick at his plate, then leave without a word. Most days he spent cradling a book in his thin hands and falling asleep on the porch until villagers would bring offerings to his door. He observed the festivities with a keen, distant gaze—occasionally nodding at stray facts his attendant murmured—before turning away again.
You noticed he only ate red things.
Sometimes you’d see his eyes flicker back to you, smoldering. All too aware. It made your stomach churn, licking at your intestines like the flickering of a lantern.
You remember meeting him once, when you were twelve—he was young then, standing level with your chest. Even then, there was something unnerving about him, about his eyes: a dark, vast abyss that scanned his surroundings as though he could sense its pulse without effort.
He bit you once. You forget how it happened. His attendant apologized, explaining it was a habit he was learning to grow out of.
But you could’ve sworn you heard the whispered words, this one’s mine, just before you instinctively tore him from your shoulder. Jungwon didn’t blink. He sank his sharp teeth into you as if he knew the mark would scar—something he’d use to trace his way back to you someday with ease. He sensed something you didn’t. Til this day, you don’t know what it was.
Even now, from across the room, his eyes lay on the thinly covered slope of your shoulder, where the scar still gleams faintly whenever a shift of movement betrays a sliver of skin. You’re older now. Worn. A little jaded from a failed engagement five years ago: You’d never wanted children and that incompatibility wretched you two apart after eight years of being together.
“The grapes.”
Your spine straightens at the sudden sound of his voice. He rarely spoke outside of sermon, and hearing the timber of it so close catches you off guard. He tilts his head to look down at you, lifting a flippant hand to gesture his thin finger toward the bowl behind you.
You were hardly in the way.
Still, you keep your eyes on his as you reach back, take the bowl, and offer it to him. He reaches to calmly pluck from the stem, keeping his eyes on you as he peels the skin with his teeth, and sucks the pulp lightly into his mouth.
A faint glimmer cuts across his eyes before it’s gone. He notices the way you don’t look away, the way your spine stays ramrod straight instead of curling instinctively beneath his presence. The moment is cut short the moment all false bravado seemed to leave you at his sharp inhale. He didn’t mean to make his frustration obvious.
Your silence, however, unsettled him.
Years of watching you from afar never once broke your resolve to keep your distance—and today, the prideful God finally relented.
“Do you always do that?” He questioned.
“Do what?” Your hand unconsciously reaches to smooth down your dress. Jungwon tilts his head.
“Avoid gazing at me for too long.” He starts, stepping around you. The air around him seemed molten—dangerous. A unseen black fog that seemed to stifle only you from its sickening sweetness, sticking to the clamminess of your skin.
You swallow hard, braving yourself to raise your head just enough to peer at him through your dense line of lashes. “Is that not what one should do in the presence of a God?”
“True reverence is being unable to look away even when etiquette calls for it.” He replied.
“Reverence looks different on everyone.” A strange fever drips from between your legs and the apple of your cheeks flush at his mere scent. Being around him has always been strange. It made you strange. And that’s why you avoided him like the plague.
He clenches his jaw before turning to his attendant briefly. The man bows in immediate understanding, quickly looping an arm through yours to guide you outside the hall.
Most of God’s lovers couldn’t say no. They never wanted to, even if there was an initial fire to resist for the sake of rebellion—but when his gaze would finally fall onto them: quiet, domineering, and intensely magnetic—their breaths would catch in their throat, before they’d part their mouths to welcome him in. If he beckoned you—you’d come. That was your bible. His words were gospel.
He says nothing at first. Eying you like it’s the first time he’s ever truly done it, and—for a moment—you start to doubt he remembers that incident.
Blue moonlight bled into the marbled hallway. Vast windows, framed by towering arches, were frigid to the touch. You leaned against the wooden railing along the wall, almost sitting, one leg left to hang idly.
“Will you let me in?”
He shivered at your doe-eyed gaze, at the unconscious way your legs drew together—as if you understood his meaning before you let yourself admit it.
“Let you in?” you echoed, breath slipping out of you. It had been years since you’d spoken, yet he was as jarring as the day you first met him.
Keeping his eyes on you, he slowly sank to his knees. Your hands darted forward to steady him, but you flinched as his teeth sank lightly into your wrist—hard enough to leave indentations, not enough to draw blood.
You interrupt him, gasping as his hands slide from your ankles to lift your dress past your thighs.
He huffs a laugh, leaning back on his knees, eyes fixed on you with an almost arrogant intensity. “Don’t you feel it—the pull? Or are we still going to play dumb?
He leans forward to hold your dress up again, boldly saddling his face between your legs—breath pressing hot against the thin fabric of your underwear.
Your stomach tenses, hips automatically flinching forward when you feel his eerily long tongue lick up the fabric, barely missing your clit. Your eyes briefly catch on the ominous shape of his shadow as it looms and stretches across the hallway’s white wall. For a moment, it seems almost alive. But his wandering hands pull your attention away before you can study it any further.
You feel his thick palm push your leg up to drape over his shoulder, grinding his nose into the meat of your thigh before inhaling deeply.
“You’ve always been mine—” It almost sounds like an unintended confession when it leaves his lips absentmindedly.
His hand snakes upward, trailing past your abdomen and grazing your sensitive, flinching chest before his index finger traces the raised ridges of the scar his teeth left behind years ago.
Slowly, he draws aside the fabric of your dress, exposing the marked skin in the pale light. The silvered lines of the old wound emerge beneath his touch, stark against the softness surrounding them.
In the moonlight, the scar seemed to beckon him. His fingers slipped into your mouth, gathering your saliva as it coated his skin. What excess remained spilled past the corners of your lips, trailing down his wrist while the rest slid down your throat.
When he pressed deeper, the heated muscles of your throat tightened reflexively around the intrusion, constricting with each measured movement. His gaze never left you.
And then he bites.
Your back arches as a searing pain blooms through the soft flesh of your inner thigh, radiating outward in hot, pulsing waves. Jungwon presses closer, his mouth lingering against your skin as his grip tightens. A faint shudder runs through him at the feel of you beneath his hands—soft, yielding, all too easy for him to hold. The sound that leaves him is low and strained, caught somewhere between hunger and restraint.
He draws the blood from you, drinking until all you can see is red. The metallic tang lingers on your tongue—thick and pungent. Through the haze, you squint, your brows knitting together.
When you lower your gaze, you find him already watching you. Searching. Waiting for a sign you don’t yet understand—for the taste of blood to hit you, despite his fingers being the only things held in your mouth.
The slightest movement of your tongue—a minute reaction to the strange taste flooding your mouth—makes something gleam in his eyes. He pulls away, grinning.
Blood stains his teeth. “Your mouth is my mouth,” he says softly. “What I taste, you taste.” His pearly canines catch beneath the cold blue light as his eyes darken into polished obsidian.
And then it dawns on you.
He’s no god.
He’s a monster.
⏾
You jolt from your sleep. It was more dream than memory, some of its details lost to the wind. That memory, in particular, was still fresh despite the years that had come and gone.
The memory of Jungwon’s claiming.
But as much as he hated to admit it, Jungwon had grown soft for you: the god loved you enough to go hungry. That devotion didn’t tame the monster within him, if anything, it only drove it mad. The longer he denied himself, the sharper his hunger became. His fondness festered alongside his appetite, twisting affection into something ravenous and possessive.
Peering through a sliver of an opening near his door, you hear the soft, muffled sound of squelching seep into the hallway. Jungwon leans over the table, handling flesh with absent-minded brutality—shoving and tearing at raw meat until tough tendons split apart. Intestines lie scattered across the surface, some draping over the edges almost mournfully.
The carcass of a lamb stares back at you with unsettlingly blank eyes. And once again, Jungwon’s shadow seems to possess a life and shape of its own.
At the sound of your sharp inhale, Jungwon stills. His back remains turned to you, illuminated by the flickering glow of tapered candles. Now and then, molten wax drips onto the surface below, each slow descent resembling a falling tear. They are the only witnesses to his monstrosity—save for you. Yet despite his stillness, only the head of his shadow turns toward you.
Slowly, you step back before retreating to your room. Beyond your bedroom window, a pale gray morning stretches across a field of wheat, the stalks swaying gently in the breeze, quiet and serene. But only the two of you understood the weight of the silence that filled the home you shared.
A soft humming leaves your throat, absentminded gaze resting outward as you dragged a boars brush down your lengthy hair.
You never asked questions. He waited until you were ready to. At least that’s what he told himself—it’s all the more likely he wasn’t brave enough to disrupt the illusion of your calm life together.
The longer Jungwon went without having you, the harder it became for him to sate his appetites.
One by one, the women in your village who shared your particular shade of hair disappeared. Your perfume became an omen—a hunter’s mark upon prey—though no one in town ever dared speak of it aloud. The offerings doubled in number, and meat grew increasingly scarce as the villagers prioritized satisfying their god’s insatiable demands.
You knew it was your fault. Maybe being so close to a god for so long had made it easier to feel detached from the rest of humanity. The more you bled into him, the more you wanted him to consume you whole.
He arrives like smoke, drifting to your vanity with effortless grace. His hands trail down your arm in silence before brushing the loose strands of hair from the nape of your neck. Your lips are still bitten raw, stained a deep plum from the night before.
You catch his hand and press it to your cheek, gazing up at him through lowered lashes. “Still hungry?”
He smiles sharply. “Always.”
⏾
Something wicked gathered in the air.
You felt it before you understood it—an ancient pull, familiar as a forgotten dream. It lingered at the edges of your consciousness like a homecoming gone wrong, a summons delivered to your doorstep by something neither living nor dead.
Beyond the windows, the wind moaned through the dark, rattling the old wooden frames, and only the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates accompanied the ghastly sound. Raw meat and pomegranate seeds littered Jungwon’s plate—He ate slowly, absentmindedly, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the walls of the house.
You had long since abandoned your own meal. Instead, your attention lingered on him.
Something stirred deep within you—a hunger without a name. It coiled through your ribs and unfurled beneath your skin, restless and aching. The feeling was unbearable in its familiarity, as though some invisible thread buried inside your soul had suddenly gone taut. It nearly drew you toward him.
A sudden pull seizes you. A dull ringing echoes somewhere deep within your mind, insistent.
Go outside. Look at her.
Before you can think better of it, you’re rising from your seat. Your fingers curl around the front door’s handle, and moments later you’re padding barefoot across the cool grass.
Moonlight spills over the clearing, silver and damning. It washes over your figure, turning the thin fabric of your nightgown nearly translucent as you lift your gaze toward the sky. It felt like a spell had washed over you.
Something in your blood was calling you home.
In the distance, the full moon peered through a thick, haunting haze of clouds. Jungwon steps out slowly, eying you with veiled caution.
“Little lamb,” he called softly, taking a cautious step forward. “Why don't you head back inside? You aren't even wearing your shoes—”
The words faltered once a sharp breath tore from your lungs. The sensation struck without warning.
Everything felt as though it had caught fire—a violent lurch tearing through you, urging your palms against your temples as the thudding of your own heart ricocheted against your ears. You hear Jungwon curse under his breath before rushing to your side, hauling you upright with a firm grip on your upper arm.
Sweat beads along your forehead as Jungwon slams a hand over your eyes.
“Don’t look at it,” he says. “Don’t.”
Your pupils dilate, irises blazing the color of burning coals before bleeding into an ominous black, like ink unfurling through water. Your teeth begin to tremble, rattling in your jaw until they fall out one by one, replaced by sharper, predatory incisors. Jungwon’s expression crumples as he watches, his gaze turning forlorn the moment you pull his hand away and stare up at the moon once more, bathed in her haunting light. Then, the hallucinatios arrive like a fever.
Everything is red.
The clearing is suddenly littered with bodies. Blood soaks the grass beneath your feet. The air is thick with the scent of it—copper, bile, and something rotten. Entrails spill across the earth, tangled among limbs and torn flesh. Humans, creatures, beasts all lie at your feet.
For a moment, you feel something in your hands. Bones. Sharp. Freshly broken—You can almost feel them splintering beneath your grip. Then, in the blink of an eye, they’re gone.
An almost primordial hunger rises from within you. It’s terrible, urging you to gnaw at its flesh before it beats you to the punch and swallows you instead.
Your eyes find Jungwon.
You want to rip him open. Want to feel skin give way beneath your nails. Want to taste his spine and feel it clatter in your mouth like porcelain, salt, and marble.
The thought arrives so naturally it startles you. nd then—Calm. The hunger recedes like a tide. It stills, like a lock finally clicking open.
Everything is suddenly, terrifyingly, right.
“I understand now,” you say between ragged breaths, resisting the urge to blink.
His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face.
“True reverence,” you murmur, unable to tear your eyes away, “means not being able to look away.”
And then all fades to black as you sink to your knees, thudding against the dampened grass.
⏾
You awake to an overwhelming chorus of whispers. Even the rustle of the sheets, the morning dew slipping down the banisters, the restless rhythm of Jungwon’s pacing—every sound reached you with startling clarity. They crashed against your senses until nausea churned in your stomach.
“—she’s not ready,” Jungwon hisses at another man.
Even with your eyes closed, you can feel them. At least three others linger in the room, their presences pressing against your sharpened senses.
“She’s been ready,” an unfamiliar voice replies. “You’re the one who’s been delaying the truth. For how long now, Jungwon?”
A heavy silence follows.
“How many more lambs—”
A sharp thud cuts him off, followed by the clatter of bones scattering across a table.
“How many more lambs will you have to tear through just to make it another week?” the man continues, undeterred. “The people are running out of offerings. You’ve been here too long. Any longer, and the locals will realize they've been worshipping a beast instead of a god.”
Another voice chimes in, softer than the last.
“Jay, that’s enough. What’s done is done. But Jungwon… you’re out of time. We have to get her out of here.”
You hear Jungwon exhale shakily as he runs a hand through his hair.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She awakened for the first time last night, but her bloodlust…” He swallows hard. “It was far too intense for a fledgling.”
“All the more reason to take her away from here.” Jay’s voice tightens as he struggles to contain his frustration. “You’ve already accomplished what you set out to do years ago—kept the myth of us being gods alive, performed enough miracles to keep the offerings coming, and kept all those disappearances quiet. Finding her.”
He turns away with a sigh. “Jake, please talk some sense into him. It’s like he gets off on doing the exact opposite of everything I advise.”
Jake steps forward. It seems he was the owner of the softer voice from earlier.
“Won…” he begins carefully. “I fear her bloodlust is the result of you delaying the bond. Remember, she feels what you feel, even if you’ve only claimed her thus far. It’s only natural that your instincts, your hunger, have been driving hers into a frenzy.”
His voice remains measured, almost placating.
“And you have to remember that her beast has been dormant far longer than normal. The rest of us in The Selene grew up knowing what we were. But for whatever reason, she resisted awakening until yesterday.”
A smooth, timbered voice rises from the darkest corner of the room. “We know why.”
A strange tension settles over the room.
“Ni-ki, don’t—”
Ni-ki ignores the warning. “When you killed your brother, her original mate, during the Succession War, I’d wager that’s what forced the ‘true’ her into slumber.”
The room falls silent.
“Enough,” Jake snaps. “That’s not his fault, Ni-ki. This is the nature of choosing a successor.”
“He was never fated to be our leader.” Ni-ki’s gaze shifts toward your motionless body. He points at you.
“She was the sign.” His voice hardens.
“She was the omen. The proof. And your brother…” He pauses, eyes never leaving you. “She was his.”
Mate? Brother? The Selene?
Your head reels from the onslaught of information. Without answers, none of it fully clicks into place. Jay is the first to break the silence.
“Ni-ki, it’s been years. And while your point may be valid, it doesn’t change the fact that Won is our leader. That’s the oath you swore to uphold—”
“I swore my loyalty to Sunghoon.” Ni-ki’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.
“And I swore to protect her from the day she was born.” His gaze flickers toward your unmoving form, anger simmering beneath the surface. “So forgive me if I’m not thrilled to find her like this after Jungwon apparently spent years delaying the binding.”
The room grows heavier with every word. “Hell no.” He takes a step back, jaw tight.
“I’ve been waiting for her return longer than anyone.” Ni-ki’s eyes flick toward Jungwon. “Even longer than him.”
A bitter laugh escapes him.
“Because while he abandoned The Selene to search for her, the rest of us stayed behind. And for what? Just to discover she’d been right under our noses the entire time?” His gaze hardens. “You call him our leader?”
“Tell me, then—who’s been watching over the Selene in his absence? Who’s been carrying the weight of his responsibilities? It’s been both of you.”
His jaw clenches. “But Sunghoon wouldn’t have left.” The room falls silent. “He would’ve stayed. He would’ve protected his people.”
Ni-ki’s eyes drift to your sleeping form once more.“And he would’ve protected her even if it meant pulling the rug under her feet.”
You can feel Jungwon's dark eyes on you. Even now, the sensation ignites every fiber of your being. Heavy footsteps retreat toward the door. You hear shoes being kicked off, followed by the soft rustle of bare feet against grass. Ni-ki steps out—his particular scent of tobacco and cedar wafting away.
You aren't naive.
You've grown up on the folktales that cling to the forests surrounding your village—the stories of men who never seemed to age, of livestock found mutilated at the edge of the woods, of grotesquely mangled bodies discovered far from home. The elders always dismissed such things as tragedies or bad luck. But everyone knew what the stories were truly about.
Wolves that weren't just wolves.
You're not sure how no one has realized what Jungwon truly is. Not a god—An entity far older. Something maybe more malevolent in nature.
His voice cuts through your thoughts as though he knew what coursed through you. Perhaps he had.
He knew you were awake.
"Each generation of the Selene is born with a gift," he says. "Mine is Compulsion." His gaze drifts toward the village beyond the trees.
"Illusions. Commands. Suggestions. The whole nine yards.” A faint smile touches his lips.
"If I don't want someone questioning me, I simply will it. It’s the only reason why I was even considered for succession, when my brother was everything that one could hope for in a leader.”
The smile disappears.
"But even gifts have limits. Time dulls their effectiveness. The villagers have been under my influence for so long that some have begun building a resistance to it—especially when their minds recognize that something is terribly, terribly wrong."
You sit upright—movements feel strange, almost doll-like. Every twist to your wrist, every small shuffle felt new. An awareness that felt all too real for your body. Curiosity pulls your gaze around the room.
The first stranger you notice is tall and lithe, dressed entirely in black. Short-cropped hair frames sharp features, while silver hoops line one ear. The second is smaller in stature but no less striking. Beautiful in an unsettlingly gentle way, his features softer, almost feline compared to the man beside him.
Both stare at you openly.
"Hi," the taller one says dryly. His eyes sweep over you with unconcealed curiosity. "Should've met you centuries ago, but... circumstances got in the way. I'm Jay."
The other steps forward immediately, smiling warmly. "It's nice to finally meet our Luna." He tilts his head. "I'm Jake."
Outside, Jungwon slips into the darkness, little more than a living shadow beneath the moonlight. He’ll leave it to Jay and Jake to answer the questions he’s never had to bravery to.
Ni-ki ignores him. Standing in the middle of the clearing, Ni-ki takes a slow drag from his cigarette.
"You're right."
Jungwon's voice is calm. His hands disappear into his pockets as he approaches. The shadow stretching from his feet seems unnaturally large tonight.
Ni-ki notices it too.
"But Sunghoon would've loved her out of obligation." The words settle heavily between them.
"To this day, I don't know why, but the thing inside me..." Jungwon pauses. "It was drawn to her in a way it's never been drawn to anything else." His eyes flick toward Ni-ki.
"You know about my beast, don't you? I'm sure you've heard stories."
Ni-ki remains silent for several moments. "I've heard nothing directly from you."
Jungwon nods. "Unlike the others, feeding has always been a necessity for me. Never a thrill. Never a hunt." His gaze drifts toward the forest.
"I don't enjoy chasing prey. I don't crave conquest. My nature is selective. Detached." A laugh leaves him. "Most things bore me."
"I've never been ambitious.” His eyes find yours through the window. "And then I met her."
Something dark flashes across his face.
"Even now, I don't understand how someone fated to be my brother's mate became mine after his death."
His jaw tightens. "Sometimes I wonder if some part of me always knew. If some part of me understood what would happen long before I did."
Then, "Tell me, Ni-ki."
"Imagine every instinct you possess. Every urge to hunt, to possess and to claim." The shadows around him seem to deepen. "Now imagine all of it directed toward a single person."
His eyes never leave yours.
“I never knew hunger until the day I met her."
Ni-ki lights another cigarette, eying Jungwon thoughtfully. “Did you stay here for her?”
“I liked living the myth. Not because I was a god, but because I could live peacefully beside her. Once I take her to the Selene…” Jungwon furrowed his brows, digging his heels into the soil. “You know things will change.”
He glanced at Ni-ki.
“I’ll only admit this once. You’re the only one who willingly acknowledges all the ways I fall short. The only one who has no love for me, no real loyalty. So listen carefully: I never wanted to lead the pack. But I’ve always wanted to be hers.”
“And now I’m here.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Sunghoon’s dead. I ate his body to prove my place.”
Ni-ki’s eyes remained as blank and cold as gunmetal as he stared into the darkness beyond the trees, digesting Jungwon’s words. He crushed his cigarette beneath his heel, then turned and walked away without another word.
⏾
The three other men remained scattered throughout the house. Jake brewed tea with quiet ease, Jay had fallen asleep on the old dusty couch in the living room with a book draped across his face, and Ni-ki soaked in the bathtub until his fingers wrinkled and the water turned cold.
Being near them felt right, like pieces of a puzzle slowly falling into place. You still couldn’t see the full picture, but you imagined this was what it felt like to have a home—to belong to a family.
A single candle illuminated the room. Jungwon’s lithe frame seemed to glow amber in its flickering light, his skin still damp from the lingering humidity of the warm summer night. He undid the buttons of his loose white dress shirt before easing it from his shoulders, the subtle flex of muscle beneath his skin effortless and unintentional.
He crawled onto the bed the moment he registered you lying on your back, completely nude, legs coquettishly swinging in the air as if beckoning him.
Your chest rose and fell calmly, shaking from your subtle giggle. His large hand grasped at your left ankle before he leaned his head down to lick a trail from there to your inner thigh.
Without a single word, his mouth meets your core—long tongue dragging along your lips to suck eagerly at your clit. An open-mouthed moan leaves your throat, and his arms loop around the soft meat of your thighs, strands of hair brushing your pelvis and stomach.
“Missed you. Missed this.” He breathes out, gasping against your slick. A faint flush adorns his nose bridge as he stares up at you with glossy eyes.
You huff out a laugh, clenching your thighs around his throat. “You had me just the other day.”
"I never have enough of you." He prods his tongue out, slipping inside of you before a thick finger curls alongside the muscle. You jolt, your breasts heaving as you press your hands onto his shoulders.
"We have company."
Jungwon raises a brow. "And you thought lying here naked was a good idea?"
You grin. "I thought it'd be fun to test you."
He moves to loom over your body before crashing his lips into yours deliberately, molding his mouth to engulf your tongue. He pulls his sweats off and rolls his hips against yours, the friction leaving a sinful squelch between your bodies, panting against your mouth before pressing his temple onto yours. "Has that ever gone well for you?"
You lock him in place with a leg wrapped around his slim waist. "It’s gone wonderfully for me, actually."
In a heartbeat, he pushes himself in completely. A small scream tumbles out of you as you pulse and contract around him. Immediately, he pounds into you and forces you to wrap your arms around his neck—pushing your knees to your chest as you jostle at his force. "So you enjoy not walking?"
"T-there’s something enticing about being kept under lock and key, I suppose." You force out.
The reality of his words hits you as his thrusts sharpen, driving you deeper into the mattress. The rough friction against your sensitive walls has your head spinning, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. Each impact is almost brutal in the small room, wet and loud, and your fingernails dig into his shoulders, leaving half-moon marks that seem to spur him on.
“Will you do anything for me? As I’ve done for you?”
You didn’t quite know what he meant. All you know is that something inside of you said yes in less than a heartbeat.
Before you can answer, he pulls back slightly to watch his cock slide in and out of you, glistening with your arousal. The sight is impossibly lewd, and your back arches off the bed, seeking more friction. He smirks, leaning down to capture one of your breasts in his mouth, his tongue swirling over your nipple before he bites down gently.
"Faster," you plead, legs trembling. "Please."
He reaches down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he lifts and drops you to meet his every stroke.
Look at me," he demands, his voice rough. "I want to see you when I take you."
He wraps his arms under your thighs and pushes your legs back further, opening you up completely. The view is humiliating and erotic, and your face burns with heat. He stares down at you, his eyes dark with something carnal , before leaning down to capture your mouth again, swallowing your moans.
he thrusts hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt. He holds himself there, grinding against you, before leaning down and sinking his teeth into the curve of your neck. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, leaving angry red scratches. He bites harder—enough to draw blood. Enough to bruise and blotch your skin purple.
Only this time, your mouth drags along his shoulder before it nestles on the curve between his throat and collarbone, before biting down mindlessly. You don't register the copper tang of his blood flooding your mouth, nor do you notice the way his body shudders against yours as he spills into you—thick and full.
The rhythm doesn't slow. He drives into you with punishing force, the wood of the headboard shrieking in protest before snapping completely off, leaving your back scraping harshly against the bare wall as your body curls inward in a pathetic, obedient arch. You take him in, bowing beneath his weight, a submissive doll opening wide for his use.
When you bite again—even barder this time, you tear the skin clean through.
But Jungwon only holds your head in position against his throat, smiling softly.
“There’s my Luna.” He gasps out, eyes dilated and black, fighting to resist the urge to swallow you whole.
When you finally pull away, wet with surrender, you watch as his skin seals within seconds. He licks into your mouth softly before laughing lightly.
“I’d say we need a new bed, but we have to leave this place first.” He lay on his back, one forearm draped across his eyes.
You jolted, staring at him in surprise. “Leave?”
Truth be told, there was nothing here for you. Even so, it was all you had ever known.
He remained silent for several minutes, waging an internal battle you had no hope of deciphering. When he finally spoke, the tension in the room seemed to ease.
“There’s a place I’ve needed to take you for a long time now, and there’s no avoiding it anymore.” He rolled onto his side, tucking his hands beneath his cheek as he looked at you.
“The Selene. Only there can you finally understand what all of this means.”
You studied his face for a moment before reaching out to brush your fingers along his cheek.
“Well… when do we leave?”
His eyes fluttered shut, a soft smile touching his lips.
“Tomorrow.” He mutters tiredly. “We leave everything behind tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, everything changes. For good, Jungwon thought.
But maybe things had already changed, and he simply hadn’t allowed himself to admit it yet.
⏾
AUTHORS NOTE: i know we hate when i do two part series bc i take my absolute time with updating. however, i couldn’t resist posting this one after much time deliberating during my hiatus….
life’s been crazy. absolutely plot worthy, and i needed to write something to deal with the tyranny of being a hot girl in my mid twenties amen.
next update for this will be EXTREMELY steamy (as we haven’t really gotten into the smut aspects this chapter) and have a lot more character details/plot clarification! hope anyone who reads this enjoys. <3
✂︎ 𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: Mornings became sweeter and nights became much warmer. suddenly Seonghwa miscalculates. What he dismissed as just a simple and harmless visit—San’s presence begins to itch beneath his skin, an unshakable sense that something is shifting between you and him. His control slips, calm by day and volatile by night. It’s in the red room that you slightly come to your senses, where you notice that his proposal isn’t a choice but an ultimatum. You’re too far gone to even call yourself trapped, but all you know is that you’re damned either way. And all that matters is your undying love for him.
You had the kind of night where morning had come to soon. His breath , a centimetre away from your lips as his fingers dragged helplessly between your folds—swollen and silky. Seonghwa was what you call a "sex God" in contrast to his evident debonai. He knew his way around your body like a noose he'd tied himself.
"Do i make you feel good, my love?" His voice, such a sweet saccharine sound amidst your own shallow breaths. His index probed and painted between your folds, over you clit. Not quite digging into the place he knew better than yourself. "Hmm? Does hwa make you feel good, baby—
"God yes!" You breathlessly exclaimed, heaving as your back arched into his chest. His caress trickled upon your body in liberty and your body convulsed—the opposite of virtue, the unravelling of your sanity. Your climax had come as perfect as always, the everlasting stroke of him eased away your tensions, frustration, wiping you clean until you were deemed brand new…reborn.
And now he held you close to his chest, skin-to-skin close enough to swim in. Old y/n detested mornings. But like two spirits greeting at the edge of dawn, Seonghwa's affection felt brand new—fresh and indulgent…almost too perfect to question. He failed not in making sure of that.
You barely shifted enough to unclapse yourself from his hold when he held you even tighter, breasts squished against his forearm. "Uh-uh." He groaned against your nape, kissing your pulse a few times before you could hear his soft breaths. You just listened attentively—the villa's silence unsettled you no more, it eased you—the way he lulled against you all vulnerable and exhausted.
What have you done to score such a man, such a complicated gem?
You sigh loud enough for Seonghwa to chuckle, almost like a whine.
"What's the matter, baby?" He asked eyes half lidded as he lifted enough to see your smiling face. You playfully shook your head biting at your lip. But hwa knew it wasn't nothing. He couldn't help himself to pry—such a remarkable woman laid bare in his arms, the way your hair cascaded around your head like a halo—it was his iobligation to make sure you weren't troubled. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked voice taut. "Like what?" He smiled before dropping to kiss the tip of your nose then lifting again to look at you. "Like this?" Your cheeks tinted instantly, rose and nothing more than the heat that surged from your heart. "How can i not, when you look so breathtaking."
"I could stare all day without blinking , you know that dont you baby?" His voice dropped as he cooed and you couldnt help but to explode
"Hwa, stop—"
His hands brushed at your sides then drifted lower, slowly along your thighs unhurried, deliberate as always. "Not while im alive i won't." His lips caught yours unexpectedly, plump and indulgent before letting out a sound when he broke conatct. "I love you too much, my love."
His fingers always, always found their way between your legs, massaging your inner thighs softly. There was no telling who loved who the most, but Judging from the rasp in your moans—Seonghwa loved selflessly and you received endlessly. A love so absolute, such a scene could not be mounted on the walls in his gallery. Never documented, re-created…only evolving continuously.
A few hours later, the villa stirred with unusual life. Maids moved through the halls carrying fresh linens and arrangements, while a handful of members of the orphanage staff arrived to help prepare the house for its newest guests. The once-quiet space hummed with activity, every room being adjusted to feel a little more accommodating:; with strict instruction that no one set foot in the gallery or your shared bedroom.
Even eunji made an appearance after weeks of absence.
To your surprise, she headed straight for the closet—the one filled with the tagged clothing you had spent so many nights wondering about. Piece by Piece, the garments disappeared into early packed boxes.
Seonghwa had listened.
He had listened to every concerned, every uneasy question you had tried to dismiss. And without hesitation, he had spoken with woooyung and arranged an entirely new wardrobe to replace what remained. It was such a simple gesture, yet it carried the same unsettling thoroughness that seemed to follow everything he did—as though no discomfort of yours could exist for long without him reshaping the world around it.
But what you didn't know, was that hwa changed everything.
You paced along in the walk in closet you both shared now, searching for comfortable shoes to wear. But to no avail you go to pair was no where to be found.
"Hwa," you called softly, fixing your earrings. "Yes, angel?" He answered, stepping behind you as he fixed the sleeves of his beige quaterzip. "I'm looking for comfortable shoes, and i can't find the ones i wore last week."
Seonghwa not only didn't answer, he paused behind you, shifting his gaze over the shelves—slow, assessing—like he was retracing something only he could see. "I gave them away remember?" He said firmly.
Your brows knitted as you turned. "But they were a perfectly—
"They weren't suitabe, love." A faint smile touched his lips.
The word echoed in your mind, you don't recall ever agreeing on that part of "rebranding" but you laughed softly nevertheless. "It must've slipped my mind."
He stepped closer then, reaching past you—making sure you were caged between his chest and the shelf. Seonghwa pulled down a ivory colored box you hadn't noticed before, clean and untouched.
"I'm sure these will be to your liking."
Your eyes scanned the box again, no way—
The lid lifted with quiet ease, and inside, new and pristine custom heels from songzio. "They're a better fit, had them specifically made for you." He added, tone gentle, knowing very well it would've settled with no thought.
"…hwa, whe—you got these made, for me?" Your voice hitched in enamorment. He nodded proudly with a content hum. He watched closely when you window shopped online, specifically mulling over a specific pair for about 45 minutes before putting it in your cart for safe keeping.
Your smile glistened through the velvet of the closet. This is what he wanted. You happiness and nothing more, even if it meant disacrding the old and replacing it with the new. The softened of it all, his certainty and every other gesture made you exhale lightly.
"They're beautiful."
And the fit perfectly, as though he'd taken a mole of your feet to the outfitters. But hwa knew you like the back of his hand, inside out through the in. He watched silently and satisfied as you adjusted, like something small clicked into place. He took you in as you twirled around in your outfit: canary summaer dress, beige cardigan tied around your shoulders, and your new semi flat heels.
"Stunning, mrs. Park." He whispered to himself.
Settling into the dining area, everything was just about ready. Chandeliers were neatly polished, the dining table themed with finger foods and effects that would be to San and woo's liking. The guest room was as good as new, a whole new makeover from what it was the day you arrived. And those clothes were gone.
All the effort without lifting a finger, seonghwa ordered that you just sit comfortable as he helped around with what was left. About three strawberries in, your phone buzzed: mom.
mom: its a wonderful day, darling! Make sure woo and san don't get on hwa's bad side you know how your brother can be.
Why would they get on his bad side? You thought.
You: hwa doesn't have a bad side mom, besides he's welcoming so he'll be fine
Before you could type any more, eunji appeared. "Mrs. Park, have you been keeping well?" She greeted, more like a farewell with the way she carried her bag on her shoulder. "Eunji, are you leaving already?"
She nodded once with a tight smile, the fine lines in her eyes on full display. "Mr. Park has instructed that i return home and rest."
"O-oh, alright then…thank you for the help. I hope to see you again." You stood to hug her lightly. The contact came unexpectedly hence she flinched. But she returned the gesture with a soft tap on the back. "I should get going then." She intoned.
Not long after she'd left, a car pulled in the driveway. Onyx and sleek like the one that picked you up the first time you met him. You didn't;t have to get up to see who it was, you heard him the moment the rear foor opened.
"Noonna, we're here!"
Seonghwa appeared out of thin air, treading carefully towards the entrance. You followed suit with excitement. There they were all cute aand cuddly as hwa welcomed them to hi humble abode.
"There she is, my cash co—i meant sisterrr!"
You fake laughed, wrapping your arms round him in warm embrace. 'It's good to see you, how was the flight?"
"It was great besides the clay they fed us and called it chicken."
Woo was something else, there wasn't a day he never complained.
After greeting hwa, San walked over to you with a warm smile. Adorable as always no wonder woo fell in love with him. "Good to see you , sis." His arms wrapped over you like gift ribbon. It was natural, a fond way San greeted you. "Arghh, its been so long."
Wooyoung hauled the luggae from the trunk while one of the maids hurried over to help him. You lingered nearby, caught in easy conversation with San, the kind that came naturally after years of friendship. For only a few steps away, Seonghwa watched, close enough to notice the way san's hand settled against the small of your back when he laughed. Close enough to see how his smile lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary while you rambled n about something only the two of you seemed to understand. And just as San dipped his head, poised to murmur something into your ear, Seonghwa appeared at your side as though he had always belonged there.
"Why don't we head inside and show them around, love?" He suggested smoothly, his hand finding the curve of your waist with effortless familiarity.
Wooyoung let out a low whistle the moment he stepped inside, his eyes darting from one lavish detail to the next. The grandeur of the villa seemed to capture him instantly. Beside him, san was quieter, taking everything in with a careful eye—from effort down to execution woven into every choice.
"It was a team effort, right my love?" Seonghwa interrupted smoothly, draping an arm around your shoulders. You blinked before nodding along, the interruption felt oddly deliberate. If anything the maid-crew deserved most of the credit, but every corner carried hwa's fingerprints, his vision, his meticulous attention to detail, maybe he simply wanted to impress woo and San, to win them over. The thought made you lips twitch into a smile.
The tour began with the kitchen and dining area before flowing naturally into the lounge. From there, seonghwa guided them upstairs where the study was and then to the guest wing where their room awaited. "Wahhh…" wooyoung gawked, dragging his suitcase into the bedroom that looks as though it belonged in a palace. "I hope it's to your liking," hwa said softly, though there was a quiet confidence beneath his words. And why wouldn't there be? He'd just about done research on where woo and San lived who picked the place and why, then incorporating his findings in a way that could wi their hearts. So far, it was a solid 10 for accommodation.
The final stop came only after Seonghwa paused, as if remembering something.
"Oh. One more room."
The gallery. The familiar pace unfolds before you—paintings lining the walls, sculptures standing like silent gaurdians, and the seam…
Your stomach tightened. "This is my favorite room," Seonghwa said. "It's where i keep a part of myself."
You barely heard him. Growing up with woo had taught you one thing: curiosity ra in the family. If there was locked door, he wanted it opened. If there was a mystery, he wanted it solved.
San was worse. The smallest irregularities, the details everyone else overlooked, oh he noticed.
"Hyung, you're quite the catch, aren't you?" Wooyoung remarked, stopping in front of a sprawling landscape canvas. Meanwhile, sand drifted further into the room. Toward the sculptures, vases, toward the wall…toward the seam.
Your pulse climbed, as San skimmed across the concrete surface, narrowing ever so slightly as he studied it.
"Shouldn't we get lunch?" You blurted suddenly. 'You must a be hungry."
"We still have time, love. we can—"
San took another step closer.
"Now, please." Your words came out sharper than intended. Seonghwa turned his head, immediately catching the strain in your voice. And to your horror, amusement flickered across his features. He knew exactly what had rattled you.
Flustered didn't even begin to cover it. Mortified was closer. The thought of wooyoung or San discovering what lay beyond that hidden wall made your stomach churn. Would they look at you differently if what you joked about were true? Would they understand? Would they understAnd Seonghwa?
You doubted it.
San's hand hovered near one of the sculptures, his attention still on the section of the wall.
"Actually, lunch sounds amazing." Wooyoung groaned dramatically. The spell broke. San glanced away from the wall from the sound of wooyoung' voice.
Only then did you realise you were holding your breath, beside you hwa's thug brushed lazily against your shoulder—a silent acknowledgement. He knew exactly what you were afraid of…
Wooyoung slowly wandered out the gallery, loudl announcing his growing appetite as San followed after him with a bowing smile. The moment the others disappeared into the hallway, seonghwa stepped closer—hand settled lightly against the small of you back as though guiding you forward, but he leaned down just enough for only you to hear.
"Don't ever do that again, angel."
The softness in his voice made the warning all the more unsettling. You glanced up at him. "Hwa, i was just trying to—"
"Mm." His smile remained perfectly intact. "I know what you were trying to do." He drifted his gaze toward the gallery entaracne where San had vanished. "You don't need to carry burdens that belong to me."
His eyes softened, or perhaps they only appeared to. His thumb brushed once against your side. You searched his face for a moment.
"I'm sorry, hwa." Your answer came automatically, easing the crease between his brows. And with a soft smile and a lingering kiss to the forehead he praised…
"Good girl."
A/N: it’s been a long freaking time!! And I’m almost done editing chapter five, here’s a little something something for you guys. I hope it was worth the wait even though it’s a piece of what’s yet to come. Mwah 💋
Heyy enchive it’s fae here!! I just finished reading your park sunghoon oneshot: HOW TO PRETEND. And I must say it was one of my favourite reads this week…I say this was a full heart and you’ve written it well. I’d like to thank you for writing such a great oneshot, honestly speaking!!🤍💋
hai fae! thank u sm for reading and thank u smssmmsms for ur kind feedback!!! It means so much to me to read this and know that you thoroughly enjoyed it <3 I’m so grateful and honored to have been apart of one of ur fav reads this week <3 thank u!!! ur so kind and sweet
Hello! I don't know about the other groups but the links to all the ateez fics seem to be opening in a different browser, could you maybe try to fix it? I've heard if you delete all the percent symbols + capital letters with numbers in the link, it should be okay then!
Heyyy! apologies for only replying now. the links should be working fine now, i made sure to test them about three times <3
Wonderfools || park seonghwa || series? one-shot? mini-series
| genre: slice of life. superntural!seonghwa. supernatural!reader
| mentions: ahm not much probably trying to kill seonghwa BUT ON THE PURPOSE OF READER'S NOT SO GOOD CONFRONTATION!
words: 585
Seeing the figure step into the greenhouse, my intrusive thoughts moved faster than my conscience ever could. With a slight flick of my hand, the entire structure began to tremble violently. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to stop—to speak like a normal person, to confront them like a normal person—but I needed to know. I needed to prove the theory that had haunted me ever since I noticed the similarities in his actions to the boy I knew twelve years ago.
Sweat gathered along my forehead, trailing down my temples and neck as my jaw clenched painfully tight. The greenhouse groaned under the pressure before collapsing inward like a crushed soda can. Panicked screams erupted from inside, sharp and desperate, while shards of glass and rusted metal crashed together in a deafening roar. And still, I pushed harder. The walls caved, the foundation buckled, and soon even the screams disappeared beneath the destruction.
A minute later, I slowly stepped toward the ruins.
My breathing was uneven as I lifted an arm, sweeping the debris aside with a violent motion. Twisted metal and shattered wood flew across the field, crashing several feet away while I searched desperately for the person trapped beneath the wreckage. Again and again, I cleared the rubble away, confusion tightening across my face when all I found was junk—rotted beams, broken pots, scraps from the abandoned greenhouse.
“What—”
My movements halted as I spun around the wreckage, eyes darting across the area. There was nothing. No body. No trace. Just piles of ruined debris staring back at me.
A chill crawled up my spine.
Where did he go?
I swallowed hard, my thoughts spiraling. I never meant to erase him completely—though proving my suspicions had always been the goal. Ever since I began noticing the familiar habits, the same mannerisms, the same look in his eyes, I couldn’t stop believing he was connected to the boy from twelve years ago.
Lost in my thoughts, I failed to notice the shadow approaching from behind.A hand suddenly landed on my shoulder. I jolted violently, instinct taking over before reason could catch up. My arm shot outward and a blast of force hurled the person across the air, sending them crashing several meters away into the rice field below.
“Oh— OH!”
Panic surged through me instantly. Without thinking, I stumbled backward away from the figure I had just sent flying, my heartbeat pounding violently against my ribs. Before I could even take another step, another body suddenly slammed into me, tackling me straight to the ground.
“Ack—!”
A painful grunt escaped my lips as my back hit the dirt. I shot an irritated look upward, only to catch a glimpse of the person quickly lifting the injured man into their arms before rushing off toward the house.
Silence followed after the chaos.
I let out a shaky breath, squeezing my eyes shut as regret settled heavily in my chest. My hands curled against the soil beneath me. I could’ve seriously hurt someone.
All because of a theory. Because of a suspicion I couldn’t let go of. Yet even as guilt clawed at me, another part of my mind refused to back down. The way they moved, the timing, the disappearance beneath the rubble—it only fueled the thoughts I had buried for years.
Maybe I wasn’t entirely wrong.
Maybe they truly were connected to the organization. Maybe… they were one of the children who escaped the laboratory fire all those years ago.
