Summary: It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.
Pairing: Yoongi x reader
Genre: fluff; angst; smut
Word count: 54k
Status: Complete
Warnings: Relevant warnings will be posted on each part. Drinking, low self esteem, swearing, explicit sexual content (towards the end).
Authors Note: Now complete! Thanks to anyone read this at the time, I hope whoever reads this in the future enjoys :)
title: minted (explicit)
pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader
rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au
summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous.
note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all!
warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence
drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est
word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌
mood playlist: here
—
—
Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked.
Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind.
And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst.
Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself.
But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat.
All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.
But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.
And today is no different.
You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks.
If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.
When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.
Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits.
It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.
Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans.
Another day. Another exchange.
In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.
After a while, you do try talking to him.
Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is.
One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house.
“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away.
When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.
Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.
“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.”
He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,
“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.”
When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly.
“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off.
Well.
Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.
Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart.
From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers.
You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together.
Taboo, even.
But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just…
“You always stare this long?”
Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”
To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”
“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span.
Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag.
Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day.
But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”
“Didn’t choose these.”
Ah. Way to assume things.
Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.
But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall.
“What.”
“I worry sometimes.”
His gaze lifts. “About me?”
“Yeah.”
You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to?
Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.
Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.”
Someone like him? What does that mean?
Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.
You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.”
Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.”
“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday.
These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest.
It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.
“Here they come!”
“Bunch of idiots this time.”
“What do you mean this time?”
Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.
After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact.
And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets.
Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.
Here it goes again.
As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.
No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—
Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.
Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”
“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”
“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”
Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.
More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter.
Then it’s done.
After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street.
“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans.
Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?”
Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too.
A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.
“You should find another place to sell, dear.”
In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?”
“Don’t underestimate your elders now.”
“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”
“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.
If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead.
At least they seem to be more fair.
After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought.
Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point.
Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.
Still so odd…
But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return.
Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.
By none other than your favorite set of hands.
What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand.
Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—”
“Course I don’t.”
That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again?
Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”
With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again.
What the hell is up with today?
Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now?
Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too.
Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.
Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first.
Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.
Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously.
You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached.
It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.”
You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.
Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time?
Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street.
It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.
When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.
Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.
Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.
Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.
God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.
“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”
“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.”
Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.”
Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one.
Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.”
He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence.
But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home?
Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.”
He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences.
“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.”
Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over?
His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.”
Ah.
This version of him is not good for you at all.
When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!”
Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk.
What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting.
And he looks impatient as hell.
Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived.
Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?”
Silence has never been so booming.
In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second.
Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question?
Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks.
After a condescending puff, he only smirks.
Then he takes one step. And another. And another.
The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it.
Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.”
Oh.
Why did… you kinda like that?
Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.”
This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence,
“Always took you for a good girl.”
Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.
Yoongi.
For a hardened soul, his name is so…
Tender.
For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once.
But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi.
As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.
The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.
“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right.
Left seems promising.
You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for.
It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared.
Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.
Find a meal.
Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.
A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.
But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby.
What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.
After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance.
Always facing the entrance.
Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out.
The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form.
With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down.
Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed.
But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months.
Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth.
At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the…
Ambiance.
Wait.
Dragons. A lot of them.
You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal.
But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass.
…Yoongi?
His jacket. The colors.
He’s in Dragon?
Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.
As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge.
Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere.
So what the hell is Dragon doing here?
From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers.
Hold on, what—
“What are you—”
A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past.
All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke.
And just like that, your reunion is over.
Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—
A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling.
Shit.
Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company.
Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often?
Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.
Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time.
Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here?
With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side.
Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase.
Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.
But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win.
Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful.
Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.
Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.
An inhale.
Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.
This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.
Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.
Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.
And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on?
Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—
Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.
But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.
Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?
You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.
He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight.
“Where’d they go?”
“Upstairs!”
Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now.
With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.
Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.
The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you.
What do you do? What even can you do?
Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance.
Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—
Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!”
It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.
Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—
Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.
“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.
Luckiest timing of your life.
“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!”
Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him.
Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do…
This one thing…
…
Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you.
And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck.
Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,
“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.”
“Excuse me?”
Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply,
“You shouldn’t be up here.”
What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?”
Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.
But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet.
“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.
But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward.
Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.
…Are you?
More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant.
God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now.
But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.”
Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”
“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.”
“I—I didn’t mean to—”
Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages.
You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill.
“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.”
Live with it. How poetic.
You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor.
“Are you coming or not?”
You’re gonna puke your guts out.
With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps.
Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling.
When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe.
The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs.
No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down?
Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same.
Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”
His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”
“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.”
Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
“Where’d he go?”
“It’s gone!”
Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.
As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now.
Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?”
He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit.
You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought.
This is going too well.
But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now.
Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.
But suddenly.
Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded.
And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,
“Looks like you’re in it now.”
Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime.
Yoongi’s right.
You’re in it now.
And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run.
You’re really doing this.
Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go.
At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.
Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”
Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front.
“Get back here!”
“You fuckers!”
Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?
When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns.
He’s grinning.
You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine.
And he’s… enjoying this?
You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—
You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees.
Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.
Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.
Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit.
Yoongi? He waited for you?
“Go!”
Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between.
An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.
Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck!
Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes.
Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face.
Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!
“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life.
Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no.
Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is—
Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd.
“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”
“You good?”
Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”
“Then keep up.”
Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.
If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.
Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside.
Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in.
And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear,
“Kiss me.”
“I said get out!”
“What?”
“Come here.”
You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—
“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.”
Oh.
You were just… Oh.
Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either.
“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”
You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”
What is he getting at you need to leave fast—
“Agust.”
…Huh?
Agust?
This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun.
When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight.
Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?
When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes.
And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever.
“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”
To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey.
“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”
Oh, fuck that.
Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.
He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck!
“You bastard—”
“You’ll live. Drive.”
“Fucking—fuck!”
The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.
He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day.
So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.
Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?
The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts.
Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory.
Did you both really make it this far?
Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do.
Rest. Sleep. Home.
With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three.
Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not.
“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.”
When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.”
“Just listen to me.”
“Why?”
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it,
“Good girl.”
And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right?
Right?
“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop.
That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—
Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it.
Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for?
Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up.
But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”
“Yeah—”
“Then get up. Get up.”
Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again.
What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all.
You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive.
Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district.
Han Station is a floating railway?
Holy shit, where are you?
Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head.
Oh.
The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—
Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward.
Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head.
You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?
“Come on!”
Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!
The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.
Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”
“No!”
“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”
Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore.
“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?
You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name!
“Agust!”
Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle.
He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”
After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt.
He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.
Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.
Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.
Just like that.
You made it out.
What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now.
Finally, finally, finally able to breathe.
But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.
As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection.
Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way.
You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,
“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”
But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry.
When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”
“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”
“Quiet.”
Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by.
Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time.
Your tangerines…
When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away.
No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal.
The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.
Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.
The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake.
“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.
Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.
Where are you now? Where are you getting off?
You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers.
But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.
You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.
“We’ll stay here.”
We? Stay?
“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.”
At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?”
“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.”
Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,
“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.”
Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.
Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.”
Mm.
After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow.
Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?
While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder.
This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have?
Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.
If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now.
Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust.
Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,
“Just wanted to.”
Your heart trips into the next beat.
On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.
And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.
Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train.
A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—”
“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.”
“Understood.”
Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling.
How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with?
…Who exactly did you save?
Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into.
Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman.
Right before sliding doors shut the world out.
—
—
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a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:))
a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading!
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⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
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✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.
✧ TAGS: slow burn (the romance part lol), eventual smut, eventual romance, fluff, light angst, humor, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up
✧ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, slow burn
✧ WORDCOUNT: 37.7k
✧ STATUS: complete
✧ CHAPTERS ✧
CH 1: Lay Your Cards Down, Down, Down, Down [2.7k]
CH 2: Tell Me What You Want From Me [3.2k]
CH 3: I Wanna Fold Clothes For You [3.5k]
CH 4: Just The Way That We Are [5.1k]
CH 5: I Think I Need Your Help [7.4k]
CH 6: Y'all Ain't Never Been To A Party Before? [5.4k]
One of my favourite songs. The first time I listened to it, I started crying when Chan started singing even though I didn't know the meaning of the words, and when I read the translation I cried even harder
Ao3 Link - Latest Update (Jan. 4) - Chapter Thirty-One
⚔️ Updates every Thursday ⚔️
Character Descriptions
World Map
ot8 x reader
Stray Kids Fantasy!AU
18+ MDNI
Tags:
Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Swordfighting, Magic, Eventual Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Romance, Adventure, Fighting, High Fantast, Slow Burn, Extremely Slow Burn, Plot Heavy
Summary:
“No.” Your voice was stern, your eyes didn’t even look up from the plate in front of you. A healthy helping of roasted potatoes being pushed around by the metal fork in your hand.
“I am offering you a hefty sum of gold,” the man’s voice pleaded with you.
“I am well aware of the amount you offer, but you must think me mad to go anywhere near Miroh.”
“Thrice the amount, then.”
You paused.
Swallowing your mouthful of food, you placed your fork back on the table; tonguing your cheek and shifting on your seat.
Individually, you cracked each knuckle on both hands, your mind reeling.
“Explain the job to me once more.”
Chapter One - Thrice The Amount
Chapter Two - Stained Glass Window
Chapter Three - Red and Gold Throw Pillows
Chapter Four - Sword Sparks
Chapter Five - Careful, Merchant
Chapter Six - Aye, My Lord
Chapter Seven - Decree
Chapter Eight - Twenty Laps
Chapter Nine - Clear Your Plate
Chapter Ten - By First Light
Chapter Eleven - Permitted to Die
Chapter Twelve - Rest
Chapter Thirteen - Jump
Chapter Fourteen - Quite Certain
Chapter Fifteen - Serendipitously
Chapter Sixteen - Make it in Three
Chapter Seventeen - Hang in There
Chapter Eighteen - Sunshine in the Night
Chapter Nineteen - Dance Lessons
Chapter Twenty - While Dancing
Chapter Twenty One - Mend
Chapter Twenty Two - Of Course
Chapter Twenty Three - Tea With Sugar
Chapter Twenty Four - Dagger
Chapter Twenty Five - The Gracious Host
Chapter Twenty Six - The Dove Waltz
Chapter Twenty Seven - Imported Cigars
Chapter Twenty Eight - Use
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Between Two Walls
Chapter Thirty - Missed You
Chapter Thirty-One - Bonfire
It’s warm. Cozy, even. Each muscle in your body feels as though you’ve been placed next to a roaring fire, like you went to sleep with a belly full of stew.
Everything around you feels comfortable. Almost too comfortable. Since when was your bedroll this soft?
Even the rented tavern beds back in Erbus were not this cozy.
It’s not. Your bedroll is definitely not this soft.
The events of Miroh’s Keep come rushing into your head and your eyes snap open to take in unfamiliar surroundings. Your blood runs cold in your veins.
When you go to sit up, your muscles strain in restraints and your body is held to the plush mattress beneath you.
Wild eyes shoot down to where your wrists are tied to the side of a bed. Fingers flex and stretch to try and test the circulation.
Where are you? Are you still in Miroh?
Your heart begins to race wildly, eyes darting around the room.
Various plants hung on the walls, vines climbing up the stone, making the room seem warmer than the others you were in.
Several windows had color stained glass in them, streaming in different shades of sunlight. Beautiful hues of reds, purples, and yellows cover the stone. The sun still hung in the sky outside. How long were you asleep?
Hanging pots bathed in the multicolor light. Some of the plants inside the pots were common wildflowers you would be able to find on the outskirts of town, but there were a few others that seemed to give off ethereal energy. More bookshelves decorated the walls, but these books looked more well loved than the others you saw.
On other shelves were bowls and jars of potion ingredients. Some you recognize, some you don’t.
When your eyes make it to a workbench in the corner, that’s when you finally see a person.
His back is turned to you, bright blonde hair and mage’s robes. Specifically restoration school robes.
Healing ward. You’re in a healing ward.
…
You killed four of their men, why are you in a healing ward? Shouldn’t you be chained to the wall in the dungeon? Starving and begging for just a sip of water?
“And waste a sword arm like yours? Nay, I believe we may have better use for you.”
Changbin’s voice echoed in your mind and you let out a small gasp.
By The Six, what have you gotten yourself into…
Uselessly, you pull on the restraints. The rustling sound alerts the man standing at the workbench of your consciousness.
He turns around to face you.
Is the sun shining outside in the sky? How could it be? It’s in the room with you. This man has the brightest expression you’ve ever seen. Even his skin seems to glow.
“You’re finally awake.” His voice is so much deeper than you were expecting.
He quickly makes his way across the room to you, eyes scanning over your body.
You decide to keep your mouth shut.
“How are you feeling? Is your head hurting?”
No, it wasn’t. At all. It feels like you just had one of the most restful night’s sleep of your life.
You shake your head no as he stands beside your bed.
“That is brilliant.” He smiles down at you. Your lips twitch and it’s almost impossible not to smile back. No wonder he’s a healer, you can tell just how nurturing he is by being in his presence for mere minutes.
He just looks so… warm and inviting.
“If I am being honest with you, I barely had to do anything to heal you. By the time Changbin brought you to the ward, your head had basically repaired itself.” His blue eyes scan over your head before coming to meet your gaze, “Did you take a tonic before coming here?”
Your throat squeezes uncomfortably. No, no you had not taken a tonic. You’ve just always had remarkable healing abilities ever since you were a baby.
That’s one of the benefits that comes with being a Half Elf.
Elves had long since been cast out in society. Looked down upon, spit on in the streets as if they were nothing.
Your father had been Elven. Your mother fell in love with him before Erbus signed a decree, identifying Elves as outlaws, scum.
After that your family went into hiding.
In truth, the only reason Elves were outlawed was because of how much more powerful they were than humans. Accelerated healing was not the only ability that you were blessed with.
But you had kept all of that hidden from everyone you’ve ever met. What are Miroh’s laws on Elves?
“Yes,” you lied through your teeth, “I took a tonic.”
The man nods and looks down at your wrists. “Forgive me, I did not want to keep you bound to the bed, Changbin insisted.”
“I understand. I was captured attempting to leave after all.” You grumble, rolling your eyes.
“What is your name?” He asks you after a moment. You eye him carefully.
“Y/N.” You answer warily.
“I’m Felix. The Jarl’s head healer.”
“Pleasure.”
Felix chuckles a bit at the obvious sarcasm in your voice.
“Forgive me if I don’t seem warm, Felix.”
“No, no. I understand.” He sighs, “I need to inform Changbin that you’ve woken up. He intends to bring you before the Jarl.”
The Jarl? No, no, no. Why? What do they want with you? Forced enlistment?
Felix takes one last look at you before turning on his heel and out of the room.
Once the door closes, you pull and pull on the ropes attached to your wrist. Muscles bulging in your failed strain.
“Damn these fucking ropes-“ you grunt out, pulling and pulling until you give up.
Your body flops back on the bed. The soft pillow coming around your head.
They’re going to keep you here.
Your life in Erbus is over. Your life in general is over.
Had you known that maybe you would’ve had another pint of ale at the tavern. Took one last walk through Pinestead Farm.
Voices outside the door bring you out of your head.
“… for her to be physically bound to the bed-“
“She kicked Jeongin so hard in the stomach that he threw up.”
“I understand, but she does not seem too unfriendly.”
“She killed four people.”
“Changbin-“
“Enough, Felix.”
The door opens to reveal two familiar faces. Changbin’s eyes immediately find yours. He’s still wearing the same set of heavy armor.
“I would wave hello but,” you pull on the restraints.
Behind him, Felix’s lips twitch into a smile and it looks as though he’s holding back a bit of laughter.
Changbin’s jaw clenches and he marches over to the bed. His hands reach for the ropes, but he hesitates for a moment. He looks up at you, “Will you behave?”
“Fleeing did not go in my favor previously, I am not that daft that I would try again.” You roll your eyes.
He stands there for a long moment before reaching for the ropes, untying your wrists once more.
As soon as the rope was off the first one, you moved your wrist a bit to stretch it out. Changbin’s muscles tensed up, as if anticipating an attack.
“Relax. Challenging you to hand to hand combat would most certainly be a speedy trip to Ytris, I am not too keen on dying that way.”
He watches you for one more moment before leaning over the bed, untying your other wrist.
You rub the skin after you’re free, it’s certainly raw from the harsh rubbing.
Changbin steps away from the bed.
“Come, the Jarl is waiting to speak with you.”
Your heart thuds in your chest nervously.
Every whisper of the jarl’s cruel nature flies through your mind. His ruthlessness, his general distaste for life. You once heard a rumor that he took all the children from an orphanage and forced them to join his army. Children.
Changbin watches your face impatiently.
Slowly, you sit up and swing your feet to stand on the floor.
“Obviously, I am going to bind your hands again.” Changbin explains once you stand up.
It’s only now that you notice that you’ve been stripped of your light armor and you’re only wearing the light clothes that rest underneath your protective pieces.
“Where are my belongings?” you ask, ignoring Changbin’s statement.
“Relax, we have them. You will get them back soon enough.”
“I want them now.”
“No. Now put your hands behind your back.”
Felix stands off to the side, watching the exchange between the two of you.
“I want my belongings, Changbin.”
It’s the first time you use his name to address him. Changbin’s eyes narrow and he tenses up for a split moment.
Felix interjects, “I will personally see they’re given to you after your meeting with the Jarl, Y/N.”
“Yes, Y/N,” Changbin repeats your name, putting extra emphasis on it, “after the meeting.”
You wait for a long moment, keeping the eye contact between the two of you. “Fine.” You settle, holding your hands out for him to bind your wrists. “Let us get this over with.”
--------------------------------------
The walk to the throne room felt like a death march. With each step you could feel your heart rate picking up. You’ve lost count of how many times your tongue has darted out to wet your lips and pull your bottom lip between your teeth.
Each knuckle on every finger has been cracked at least twice.
You turn a last corner and the room opens up into a rather grand throne room.
A large fire pit stretches down the center column of the floor, two grand dining tables lining either side of the hearth. Various delicious looking foods line the table, cooked meats and vegetables. Wines and ales filled pitchers and mugs.
On either side of the room, balconies overlooked the floor. From your quick glance to the balcony on your right, you were able to see a very tall, hooded figure watching you be marched to the Jarl.
Changbin stood next to you as you walked down the left aisle of the room.
Behind the hearth was a throne, it sat upon a small elevated section of the room that took four steps to get up to.
And on top of the throne, there he was. The Jarl. Bang Chan. Despite being the leader of Miroh, he seems to be in common light steel armor. The armor itself was polished and would probably show your reflection if you stood closer. Curly brown hair hung over his forehead. Chan’s full attention was on a conversation with the man standing next to his throne.
There stood a taller man with brown hair swept out of his eyes. His face seemed to be colder than anyone else’s in the room. He wore black light leather armor, a dagger sitting in his belt, an archer’s glove on his right hand.
The conversation between the two of them seemed to be rather heated.
Changbin grabbed you by the arm and led you up to the throne.
Once you were within listening distance, the two men instantly stopped talking and turned their eyes on you. One of the looks far warmer than the other.
Never in your life did you think you would ever have to look the Jarl of Miroh in the eye, yet here you were, bound and at his mercy.
“It seems the sell-sword is awake.” his smooth voice rang through the room.
As soon as you get in front of the throne, Changbin hisses in your ear, “Kneel.”
You cast him an incredulous side eyed look. Before you could process it, a boot kicks in the back of your knee and you immediately buckle, knees hitting the ground faster than a sack of potatoes.
“Changbin,” Chan starts with a huff, “I have told you time and time again that it is not necessary.”
The guard only huffs and takes his position behind you.
Chan’s eyes fall on you and you can see him scan every inch of your body. Every freckle, every hair on your head, everything is seen by his dark brown eyes.
His head cocks to the side as he scans around your face, almost curiously. Your jaw clenches. What did he see?
“What is your name?” he asks. His voice is much … warmer than you wished it was. It would be so easy to bite back if he was rude.
Where was the man that commanded fire and ruin?
There’s a slight nudge to your back when you don’t answer, Changbin making sure you show ‘proper respect’.
“Y/N.” You state quickly. Your voice is monotonous.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone enter the room from one of the side entrances. When you look over, you see Jeongin. He makes one second of eye contact with you before quickly looking away, choosing to stand in the corner of the room.
“Well, Y/N, it seems we have a slight issue on our hands.” Chan leans back on his throne, keeping his watchful eyes on you.
The man next to him stands motionless, piercing eyes never leaving your form, arms clasped behind his back.
“I would say it is more than a slight issue.” he finally speaks.
“Minho.” Chan says, side eyeing him.
“Why is this case any different from Guatier? For all we know, she could have been lying to Changbin.”
“Minho.” Chan says again, more stern.
Changbin speaks up behind you, “There was no reason for her to lie when she spoke to me.”
“There was every reason for her to lie!” Minho turns his body to face you more.
“You are wrong, Minho.” Changbin bites back at him.
“I still do not understand why we are even entertaining this conversation right now.”
Minho is cut off again by Chan, “ Minho .” His voice booms through the room, sending a chill down your spine.
Ah, there is the infamous Jarl of Miroh.
Minho shuts his mouth and looks away, his eyebrows pulled together angrily.
“She took on four of our guards herself. Changbin spoke of her skill in great detail to us.” Chan continues, looking up at Minho. “Would you not rather that sort of fighter be in our arsenal and not the enemy’s?”
The enemy? Who was the enemy here?
They’re speaking over you as if you’re not even in the room with them!
“Miroh needs her.”
“You should have seen her skill with the blade. I cannot imagine the things she could do if we could train her to dual wield, or even with two handed blades-”
“Do you not remember that I am right here? Do I not get a say in my own fate?” Your muscles strain as you pull at the binds keeping your arms behind your back. The air around you begins to hum and fizzle, your red-hot anger coming off you in waves. “You speak as if I am nothing but a shiny, new sword in your armory! I am a person! I have a life back in Ebrus! You cannot keep me here against my will!”
All eyes were on you during your little speech. The Jarl’s eyes never left your face once. His chin cupped in his hand resting on the arm of his throne.
Minho’s face stayed impossibly stoic, not that you expected anything less from him. Even during his outburst earlier, his expression stayed bored. His arms still clasped behind his back.
Changbin and Jeongin are the only two in the room that reacted in any way to your outburst. The squire’s eyes widened a bit and his mouth hung open just a hair. From behind you, Changbin crossed his arms over his chest.
The only sound to be heard in the room is the flames flicking in the grand heart behind you. Anyone could hear a pin drop.
Three heartbeats pass.
Minho was the first to move. He took calm, smooth, even steps towards you at an alarming speed. Before you could even breathe, he was in front of you, a strong hand gripping your face. Cool fingers pressed into your cheeks.
You stayed kneeling before him, he looked down his nose at you, obviously trying to show he had the authority here. As if you could forget, especially with how the energy hung in the air around him.
“Four. You stole four lives today.” He growls down at you.
His dark brown eyes burned holes through yours. You refuse to be intimidated by him. Mustering up all the venom you had internally, you stare right back at him.
Minho’s grip on your face tightens painfully and you swallow any reaction.
“We are showing you more mercy than you deserve, sell-sword. If it were my choice, your pretty neck would have already had a noose tied around it, your body swinging in the gallows.” His lips curl in a sneer with each word. “You are blind to kindness you do not deserve, woman.”
“I was defending myself,” you spat at him, not breaking eye contact. “Your men struck first. It was kill or be killed, and when I attempted to flee, your guards so lovingly bashed my skull in.”
Jeongin shifts from foot to foot in your peripheral vision.
Once more, Minho’s grip tightens, but nevertheless, you push on.
“Was I supposed to let their sword run through my chest? Allow my head to be severed from my body? Is that the way the people of Miroh show kindness? Forgive me, your worship, for I did not know that my death was a gift .”
This situation was completely backwards.
With each word falling from your mouth, you can see Minho’s expression grow darker and darker. Even with the fear that gripped your heart, you did not allow yourself to be intimidated by him.
“You venomous witch-“
“Enough!” Minho’s insult is quickly cut off by Chan calling out through the room.
The Jarl’s voice halts his advisor’s actions, his open mouth snapping shut at lightning speed. Minho’s grip on your face becomes impossibly tight. His eyes send daggers through yours into your soul.
“Enough, Minho.” Chan calls again and Minho finally releases your face.
Even after he lets go, you can still feel where his fingers held you. There’s no way that it won’t bruise.
Minho gives you one last malicious glance before turning and walking back towards the throne to take his place next to the Jarl.
“It seems we are both at fault here, warrior.” Chan begins, his head moves from side to side a bit, as if weighing the options inside his head.
Your mouth opens to quip back at him but with one quick twitch of his dark eyebrows, it snaps shut.
Chan sits up straighter on his throne, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. “My men were following orders that were previously given to them: to kill any of Guatier’s associates that came through.” You huff, he continues, “We did not realize that you had no ties to him besides that of a mercenary’s job.”
“You said it yourself you did not wish to work with him,” Changbin added, “called him ‘slime’.”
Your nose twitched.
“Because he was slime. But gold is gold and times are tough.” You looked away from the jarl, his scrutiny too much to handle anymore. “I took the job to feed myself.”
The ropes around your wrists dig into your skin as you squirm about. Admitting your financial issues was not something you particularly cared to do.
Chan stays bent forward on his throne. “What was your fee?”
Your eyes snap back to him, eyeing him curiously. “Why? You need to hire my blade?” The sarcasm drips from your voice.
Instead of looking insulted, Chan only laughs under his breath. “Humor me, I am curious. What was your rate, mercenary?”
“Five hundred gold per job, depending on what the details were I may adjust the fee.”
“Only five hundred gold for a fighter of your skill?”
“The jobs I was hired for were never anything special. I would mostly fetch and retrieve items, escort families to neighboring holds, fight off wild animals.” A soft chuckle comes from you, “Never in my life did I need to take on the Jarl of Miroh’s personal guards. Otherwise maybe I would’ve charged more than just five times my rate.”
Even Changbin laughs at your little joke. It lightens the air in the room just a fraction.
Chan’s lips quirk into an imperceptible smile. “I have a proposition, warrior.” He days after a long pause.
Your brows furrow while you stare at him.
Minho’s eye twitches a bit and his jaw clenches.
“I cannot let an opportunity to have a fighter like you slip away from me. Stay here, in Miroh, and become my personal mercenary. I will pay you twice your rate per week.”
Scales were tipping in your head with each pro and con that flew through your mind.
A thousand gold a week? That’s.. that’s insane. You were lucky if you made that in two months!
But these are the same people that wanted you dead no more than five hours ago. On top of that one of your… employers is still staring daggers at you from his position next to the Jarl.
Even more so, if they found out the true nature of your blood, will they just end your life immediately? Send you to live in the slums?
“My lord…” Minho says under his breath.
“She took out four guards like they were no more than drugged animals, Minho.” Chan says without looking at him.
You licked your lips anxiously.
“You can refuse, of course.” Chan starts, “But we would need to try you for your crimes. We do not take too kindly to murder.”
So it seems your decision has been made for you.
With an unsteady, deep breath, you answer, “Then, I accept.”
“No.” Your voice was stern, your eyes didn’t even look up from the plate in front of you. A hefty helping of roasted potatoes being pushed around by the metal fork in your hand.
“I am offering you a hefty sum of gold.” the man’s voice pleaded with you.
He was leaning over the table in an attempt to keep the volume of the conversation between the two of you down.
The tavern was lively, but not as lively as it could be. A bard continued to play his lute across the room in front of a massive hearth. The fire roared and spread heat through the room, warding off the chill of the late autumn air. Several patrons were sitting at the bar and various tables, either lost in conversations or the food in front of them.
Your small table was tucked in the corner, away from the bustle of the normal crowd. It’s not that you preferred the quiet, no, there were nights where you would be leading the drinking songs. But tonight, you just wanted to eat in peace.
An hour before you arrived at the tavern, you had just finished a job that had promised more gold than it delivered.
The life of a mercenary was not as glorious as your child self thought it was. It wasn’t slaying dragons and protecting royalty from assassins; quite the opposite, it was just another way to say ‘glorified messenger’. Bringing packages from one hold in the land to another, staying awake through the night to discover why a farmer’s crops were disappearing.
It was usually a beggar.
Poor sods were usually so hungry that you would turn a blind eye, find a wolf, kill it, and bring it to the farmer, claiming it to be the reason for the missing crops. This way the beggar wouldn’t have their thumbs cut off for stealing.
Not that you were any better than a beggar at this point. Money was tight. The gold you had in your pouch was enough to pay for your dinner and one more pint of ale.
The only difference between you and the homeless on the cobblestone street was the sword on your hip.
“I am well aware of the amount you offer, but you must think me mad to go anywhere near Miroh.”
Miroh . Fellow mercenaries have left for jobs– simple ones– and have not returned.
And yet, this man in front of you has the gall to not only request that you go near the Hold’s borders, but to enter their walls.
A stiff silence sits between the two of you. You bring your fork down and stab a potato, plopping it in your mouth and looking at the man for the first time since he sat across from you.
Greasy, black hair sat on his head, hanging in front of his eyes. The man was wearing a noble's robe; but if you looked closer, you could see how worn the fabric was. Burn holes littered the sleeves and the hem near the ground was absolutely filthy.
He looked to be about middle aged.
“Thrice the amount, then.”
You paused.
Swallowing your mouthful of food, you placed your fork back on the table. Tonguing your cheek and shifting on your seat.
Individually, you cracked each knuckle on both hands, your mind reeling.
“Explain the job to me once more.”
The man let out a sigh of relief, you quickly held your hand up before he began.
“I am not yet agreeing, I want to hear more details prior to anything.”
He nodded, tensing up once more.
“I require your protection as I finalize a trading contract between my company and Miroh. We specialize in the exchange of foreign goods across the water.”
“We would be meeting with the Jarl directly?”
“Nay, he does not deal with petty things like trading contracts,” the man scoffs and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “We would be meeting with someone in his court, Han Jisung. I have been discussing this deal with him via letters for months.”
“If you are only meeting on a predetermined agreement, why do you push for protection?” You ask, picking up your pint of honeyed ale, taking a long sip.
The man’s eyes looked to the side, setting off alarm bells in your mind. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.
“If I am to protect you, I will need to know all the details.”
He shifted on his chair, clearly uncomfortable, clearly hiding something. His tongue poked from his lips to wet them nervously.
“In the past, I may have…” he hesitated, “I may have skimmed from the top of their goods.”
One of your eyebrows raised, mug still in front of your face.
“But that was many years ago. Han Jisung spoke of mending these ties in his letters.” he explains, looking back to your eyes. “Our company is the best in the land. High quality goods for a fair price, they must have realized that in our absence. Miroh simply wishes to use our services once more.”
You place your now empty mug onto the table, looking down at the old wood.
There is no way this is going to go smoothly. Every sense of danger was ringing in your mind to reject this deal.
With the reputation Miroh has, they let a merchant skim their goods and are crawling back ?
Patrons of the tavern begin to sing, surrounding the bard. Your eyes shifted up to take in the happy sight, smiles on all of their faces, happy flushes on their skin from the alcohol buzzing through their veins.
The lute’s strings sounded beautiful to your ears. Life here is alright, you are making it work.
But the almost empty gold pouch at your hip seemed heavier than when it had gold inside it.
“Five times my normal amount.” You meet eyes with the man. His jaw clenched for a moment, considering your offer. He doesn’t seem pleased in the least bit.
But it seems he has no choice.
An entire verse of the bard’s song passed before he reached across the table, extending his hand.
You clasp hands with him.
“At first light we leave for Miroh.”
----------------------------------------------
Gautier.
You learn his name three days into your journey; just as you are being led through the never ending hallways of Miroh’s keep. The stone walls seem… warmer than you expected of the Hold.
Even when you first crossed the border, it wasn’t fires and crying children like you had heard whispers of.
It seemed… better than where you had come from.
Where are all the miserable folk and wounded soldiers? Where are the bandits that supposedly run rampant in these parts?
When you are shown into a room, there are two men already waiting inside. One was much stockier than the other, his arm muscles on display due to the open nature of his heavy armor. Beautifully crafted gauntlets covered his forearms. A large battle axe strapped to his back, a neutral expression on his face.
The other man sat behind a desk, a sneaky looking smile already displayed across his round cheeks. He wore true noble robes made of various silks and expensive threads.
His clothing made Gautier’s look like no more than a potato sack with arm and leg holes.
Both of their eyes flicker to you and Gautier as you cross the threshold. The larger man, clearly his protection, surveys you closely.
He has no doubt clocked every single weapon strapped to your body.
Perhaps save for the one silver dagger you keep tucked inside your boot.
You mirror his movements, scanning his entire body up and down. One battle axe and three throwing knives on his belt. When your eyes meet him again, there’s an imperceptible twitch to the corner of his mouth.
“Guatier!” the smaller man exclaims, standing from his position behind the desk.
“Jisung, it has been a long while, my friend.” Guatier’s entire demeanor changes. This fake mask slides over his face and he becomes a different person. It takes every fiber of your being not to roll your eyes.
Guatier walks up to Jisung and they shake hands over the desk. You remain by the door, arms crossed over your chest.
“I see you have a new guard, Guatier.” Jisung motions over to you as he sits back down. Guatier does not even look back at you before waving him off.
“Do not mind her, she is only hired muscle.”
“Still, you know we cannot have outside ears hearing of our deals.” Jisung leans forward, his voice lowering a bit.
Your eyebrow quirks, you finally break eye contact with Jisung’s body guard to look over at Guatier’s back. He doesn’t even turn to look at you.
A scoff comes out of his mouth. “She will not understand any of what we speak of. Her simple mind knows only battle, it is all she is good for. No complex thoughts to be found in that head.”
Typically, you choose to keep a stoic face no matter what, especially on the job. But, in this moment, you cannot control the anger that flicks across your features.
Oh, the slimy bastard…
Jisung’s eyes look back at you again, his brows furrowed for a split second. He watches your emotions change and the corner of his lips twitch into a half smile.
“Still,” he starts, his gaze stays on you for another moment before he looks back at Gautier, his look darkens for a moment. “Even fools can repeat words.”
Jisung meets your eyes once more. They linger, almost as if he’s looking right through your soul. His expression softens when he lays his eyes on you.
“Changbin,” Jisung says and the guard doesn’t even flinch, but his eyes shift down to the other man. “Please bring the ‘hired muscle’ out to another room so we may conduct our business.”
The guard, Changbin, nods once and walks towards you quickly. His heavy boots thud on the wooden floor with every step.
You look back at Guatier, who only now has decided to turn around in his chair to look at you. Horror and anxiety flashes across his face; but you cannot find it within yourself to feel any pity.
A strong hand grips your upper arm and you’re forcefully led out of the office.
“Now, why don’t we begin by discussing your pre-” the door closes before you can hear the rest of Jisung’s sentence to your ‘boss’.
Changbin’s grip on your arm doesn’t loosen as he leads you down the hall. The grip is borderline painful through the fabric.
Deciding not to say anything about it, you just clench your jaw and let him drag you further and further away from the man you were supposed to be protecting.
Would it be the worst thing in the world if Guatier was killed, though?
Your mind pauses, weighing the options.
No, no it wouldn’t be.
Because he had given you half of the payment up front before you left for the journey.
Still, your honor was on the line for this.
It wasn’t until you rounded two more corners into a more open common area that Changbin’s grip loosened on your arm. You shook off his hold and glanced at his stern face one more before walking away from him.
Four other guards stood on either side of two separate door ways. All looking bored.
“Do not venture.” he grumbles, it was the first time you heard his voice.
“Interesting command given that you led me from my employer.”
Your eyes scan the room around you, it seems to be a library of sorts. Shelves line each wall with books and various items littered along them.
“You work for his company?”
“Nay,” you scoff, “I do not wish to work for that slime. I am only a mercenary, Guatier hired my sword to get him here safely and insure he leaves with his head.”
Changbin only grunts in acknowledgment as you walk over to one of the shelves. Gently, you reach up and spin a glass bottle to turn the label, allowing yourself to see behind you through the reflection.
In the distorted glass, you can see Changbin’s eyes watching you carefully, both hands staying at his side. He’s studying your movements very carefully.
You look away from the reflection, tilting your head to scan over the various titles of books on the shelf.
“Hm,” you hum, fingering at one of the books, “ Spider With Gold , I have not seen this book in many years…” you whisper wistfully.
There’s a shift behind you.
“You are able to read?”
You turn around to look at Changbin, who, for the first time, seems almost bashful. His hands twitched as his sides and he is only able to hold your eye contact for a moment before looking off to the side.
“Aye, scholars should not be the only ones able to read and document history.” you turn back to the bookshelf. “Do you not know how?”
Looking up in the reflection of the bottle, you see Changbin shift his weight from one boot to the other, his eyes boring holes into your back.
“Nay.” he says firmly, “Never learned how.”
“Shame.” you utter softly.
A long, stiff silence settles in the room.
You learned to read at a very young age, your mother made sure to teach you the letters as soon as your brain was able to retain it.
‘The more you read, the more you will know. And the more you know will ensure that no one will outsmart you, my dear.’
Books took up most of the spare space you had in your traveling pack. Every once in a while, when you would get an interesting quest that went into bandit nests, you were able to find one or two new ones to add to your never ending collection.
If you’re being truthful with yourself, it broke your heart that Changbin could not read, he could not enjoy the simple pleasure that reading could bring. Nor could he pick up on sword tricks written down through the centuries.
Just when it feels like the room could not get any quieter, a shrill scream bellows through the stone halls.
Your head snaps up to look in the reflection of the bottle just as a guard raises his sword behind you, intending to strike.
“Wait!”
Everything in your body suddenly comes alive at the impending danger. Your weight shifts and you leap out of the way.
A loud crash is heard as the guard’s sword slices through the wooden shelves.
“Of course.” you mutter, quickly regaining your balance.
Another soldier comes from your right, swinging his sword in an upwards strike, you dodge by spinning to the left. At the same time, your hand quickly unsheathes your sword.
Mid-spin, instincts take over and you raise your sword to clash with another guard’s. Both of your swords swing around in an arc to free them. Instead of completing the arc, you pull back and raise your boot to kick the guard right in the gut.
He lurches forward in pain and you, never missing an opportunity, bring your sword down and slice his head from his neck immediately.
One down.
The first guard seems to have recovered, but only for a moment. He eyes watch as his friend is decapitated; his face drains of all color and eyes snap up to yours.
A wicked smile crosses your face as you take advantage of his moment of weakness. Your sword plunges right through his gut, his mouth immediately coughing up a sick amount of blood.
Quickly, you pull your sword back. There’s a small sense of danger ringing in the back of your mind, so you jump away from where you were standing right before a sword splits the air.
Changbin, flanked by the two remaining guards, is staring at you with a curious look in his eyes. Just by studying his face, you can practically see his mind racing with numerous thoughts.
Why does he look so torn?
His battle ax is clasped firmly in his large hands, knees bent in a perfect battle stance.
With your feet firmly planted on the floor, you take a brief moment to size the three of them up. The guard to Changbin’s right leaps at you first, his sword swinging wildly in short, choppy arcs. Untrained technique, a definite beginner.
You almost feel bad for a split second, poor thing probably never expected this.
Nevertheless, it’s kill or be killed at this moment, and it’s only a matter of time before more guards start flooding into the room.
You raise your sword to block one of the strikes. The sound of metal hitting metal is ear piercing. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the last guard. reaching back for a powerful strike.
Thinking quickly, you grab the younger guard's arm, yanking him towards you and into the trajectory path of the second guard’s sword, stepping out of danger.
The second guard slices into his comrade by accident, both of them letting out shrill screams.
Before the second guard could recover from his accidental killing, you swing your sword in a massive arc and instantly kill him.
Both bodies drop to the ground in a heap.
Without giving yourself time to breathe, you turn around sharply to look at Changbin, who hasn’t moved a single muscle in the last minute. He stood there, wide-eyed, watching as you massacred his fellow soldiers and did absolutely nothing about it.
The two of you make eye contact for a long moment.
Your chest heaving with heavy pants from the exertion, hand tightening around the handle of your sword.
There is only a split second to think about your next move. Maybe even less.
Fear and adrenaline are coursing through your veins.
Why isn’t he attacking you? Why is he just standing there?
Your mouth felt like someone had stuffed cotton into it, sweat dripped down your back.
Changbin’s foot shifted on the floor and you quickly made your decision.
You turned around and ran .
----------------------------------------------
“ Hey! ” you heard Changbin scream behind you as you rounded the corner out of the room.
Which way did you come from? Which way was the way out? Once you get out of the keep, you should be fine.
Your light leather boots made soft thuds on the floor as you sprinted through the stone maze. Sheathing your sword in the process, your eyes wildly scan around for anything familiar.
Changbin’s voice could be heard every few seconds as he chased you through the keep.
To The Void with Guatier, you needed to get out of here. You knew you shouldn’t have taken this job. You just knew it.
When you round one corner, you smack directly into someone, but your momentum knocks them over, your steady balance keeping you on your feet.
The guard stumbles to the ground with a yelp, looking up at you with an extremely startled expression.
“Jeongin!” Changbin yells off in the distance, “Grab her!”
Jeongin snaps his head in the direction of Changbin’s voice, then back up at you. You don’t stick around to see his next move, your legs already carrying you far away from the guard on the ground.
It’s close, the entrance is close, you vaguely remember these hallways. It has to be close.
Once you’re out of the keep, you’ll run and never look back. You will never enter Miroh again, you won’t even come within fifty leagues of the Hold.
A solid hand gripped the back of your light armor, fingers pulling on the leather straps.
With a yelp, you’re yanked backwards and thrown onto the floor. Your head collides with the stone floor with a solid crack .
Pain blossoms from the impact and your vision blacks out for a split moment.
The adrenaline coursing through you keeps you from passing out, you quickly shake your head to clear the confusion.
Jeongin is standing over you with an almost apologetic look. He looks up behind you, then back down at you.
“Do not just stand there! Grab her, bind her hands!” Changbin commands, his voice closer than before.
Panic seizes your body and as Jeongin reaches for you, you kick your foot out on the ground right into his gut.
A loud, pained exhale is shoved from his lungs and he doubles forward, clutching the area you just kicked.
“If you would just-” Jeongin wheezes out in between pained breaths.
You don’t listen, you clamber to your feet. The back of your head throbbing worse and worse with each passing second.
Just as you’re about to take off down the hall again, a strong hand grabs your wrist and turns your arm, trapping it behind your back.
You’re roughly shoved against the cobblestone wall, one arm pinned behind you.
Hot, deep pants are felt on the back of your neck, you notice the hand holding your wrist is clammy.
“By The Six, woman,” Changbin breathes out, mouth close to the back of your neck.
You struggle for a moment, trying desperately to break his hold on you. Changbin only tightens his grip.
“Jeongin,” he practically growls, the guard grunts in response, still cradling his gut in pain. “Fetch me some rope, make it quick.”
Jeongin grunts again and limps off.
Changbin leans down closer, lips right next to your ear.
The heat coming from his body is insane, it feels like his entire front is pressed against your back to keep you against the wall.
Not that you have any fight left in your body, the adrenaline is wearing off and the pain from your skull is getting worse by the second. Each beat of your heart shoots a splinter of pain through your skull.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Changbin basically growls, his breath brushing against your ear.
“If you are to kill me, do it already. Why extend my torture?” You close your eyes, letting your face rest on the wall. When did your fingertips go numb?
“Kill you?” Changbin lets out a chuckle behind you. “And waste a sword arm like yours? Nay, I believe we may have better use for you.”
The world was fading fast, towards the end of his sentence, it sounded like his voice was three rooms away.
“Sir, I have the rope.” Jeongin’s voice was the last you heard before your body collapsed.
Summary: Welcome to Sigma Kappa Zeta, the most popular fraternity on campus. When you, down on your luck and looking for a place to live, see their ad for ‘IN-HOUSE STAY’, you decide to check it out.
Chapter One: Of Breakups and New Housing
You’re sitting on the curb next to several suitcases and trash bags full of your belongings, feeling humiliated as cars pass by. You can’t fucking believe you thought it would be a good idea to rent an off campus apartment with your boyfriend—well, now ex-boyfriend, of three years. It’s not even a full two months into the semester and you both already decided to call it quits. Things had been rocky over the summer to begin with, but you hoped living together would fix it.
You were wrong. And stupid for letting him put only his name on the lease.
So what are you gonna do now? You can’t call your parents, they told you this was a bad idea from the start. You can’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they were right. Your friends are all in the dorms and, sure, you can crash with them for a couple nights but you need to find something for the remainder of the year.
You take out your phone, wiping the tears that fall from your eyes as you start looking for somewhere to live. A one bedroom apartment by yourself is completely out of the monthly budget your parents send. You’ll have to settle on a room or some sort of shared living environment.
Your scrolling stops when you see a post that says ‘FREE IN-HOUSE STAY’. You click on it to read more.
FREE IN-HOUSE STAY
It’s that time of year again. The members of Sigma Kappa Zeta (SKZ) have beds to fill. Stay will be free of charge, however there are stipulations. Further details will be provided in person. Send a direct message if you’re interested and we will provide the interview date.
You’ve heard of the SKZ fraternity in passing, but never participated much in Greek life on campus. The post feels a little sketchy, if you’re being honest with yourself, but you send the email anyways. If you can pocket the money your parents are sending and stay somewhere for free, maybe you can turn this shitty situation around in your favor.
You receive an email the following day that advises you to fill out an NDA and an application complete with a picture of yourself. You also go to a nearby clinic to complete a drug test and various other checks. Your interest in the ad is piqued, but the night spent on the floor of your friends dorm encourages you to pursue it.
Two days later you find yourself standing outside of the SKZ house with ten other women. The house is in a gated community and sits on a pretty large lot, enough room between it and the next that neighbors probably didn’t mind a bunch of college students staying there. It’s a three-story home and not too far from campus, maybe a thirty minute walk.
At 1:00pm the door opens and a tall, kinda lanky boy with a slender face greets you all. His eyebrows and most of his eyes are hidden behind his bangs, but he dons a welcoming smile. He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt with ΣΚΖ written across the chest in green letters.
“Please, come in,” he says, gesturing for you all to enter.
You all huddle in the foyer and he closes the door when the last girl enters before leading you into the living room. There’s a large, navy blue section where you all sit. When he exits the room, you fold your hands in your lap and cross your legs, shaking your nerves out through your foot. as you wait for whatever is about to happen.
You hear footsteps coming down the hall and eight men enter the room. If your life were a movie (it most definitely isn’t, you’re sleeping on a floor, remember?), this scene would play out in slow motion. They exude an air of confidence and nonchalance all at the same time. They’re all of similar heights, with hair color ranging from black to blonde, some are lanky, some are muscular—one is flat-out buff, and they’re all Korean. They’re…handsome? The word doesn’t feel like it suffices, though. Each and every one of them are breathtaking in a way that feels completely unfair and makes you question why you’re even there.
They spread out in a line in front of the TV mounted on the wall opposite the sectional. They’re all wearing the same thing—jeans and the black shirt with their fraternity initial across the front.
“Thank you for coming here today, ladies,” one of them starts to speak with a light Australian accent.
As your eyes focus on him, he looks familiar. He’s in one of your labs. He seemed rather quiet and reserved in class, but here he’s easily taking charge and leading the situation. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment and he offers a tight-lipped half-smile and nod.
“I’m Chan,” he continues. “The is Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin.”
Each member waves as he gestures to them and says their name. Seungmin is the one who had opened the door.
“We’re sure you’re curious as to what our post entails…let me explain.” Chan begins. “Here at Sigma Kappa Zeta, we strongly pursue the strongest version of ourselves. We work hard, study hard, and play hard. We want all of our members to be at their best at all times. We cannot achieve the goals and dreams we have if we are weak in any area. Which brings us to having you here today.”
Your eyes dart to the other men standing in the line, but it’s impossible to read their expressions.
“We are looking for four women to reside in our home. Your duties will be cooking and cleaning for the household, and pleasing the members you are assigned to.”
You can only blink as you stare at him. Assigned to? And did he say please the members? Does he mean fuck?
“We believe that with these essential needs met,” he continues without missing a beat. As if he hasn’t just uttered something completely scandalous. “Our members will be free to flourish and earn our spots next to our SKZ predecessors.”
He stops for a moment and steps forward from the others.
“I know how this sounds. Misogynistic. Throughout the many years of this tradition, it has proved to work in our Stays’ favor as well, though. You’ll have your needs met, less stress and many Stays have reported a boost in their overall happiness and confidence.” He says. “We know you are students, too, and we don’t want to impede on your education or your own personal goals. That being said, it’s not a position suitable for everyone, we know that. We also know, that should you choose to participate, you will have an invaluable sense of community throughout your time here. You will have free room and board, and be allowed time to focus on your own success. Any resources we have access to can be yours as well.”
He claps his hands together.
“Now that you know what this entails, please remain seated if you’re still interested. If not, kindly exit—but we would like to remind you of the NDA you signed.”
He pauses for a beat. Two girls stand and promptly exits the home. You stay rooted in your seat. You’re a decent cook. You can clean. You think you could be a good fit for the position. You’ve also been with the same guy since your freshman year, so the prospect of experiencing something new in any capacity intrigues you. And honestly, right now, a free bed sounds more tantalizing than the floor, doesn’t it? You subconsciously roll out the kink in your neck at the thought.
“Eight of you still here,” he says with a nod. “We’ll call each of you up, you’ll introduce yourself, walk past each member, then take your seat. We will then leave to deliberate. When we come back, we’ll let you know which of you are staying and who you’re assigned to.”
You shift around in your seat and nod your head. Chan steps back in line and calls the first name. You watch as each girl walks in front of the men, wondering what’s going through their head—what are they looking for exactly?
When you hear your name called, your heart begins to race. You stand and announce your name, your major, and year in school. You then walk towards Jeongin and slowly make your way to Chan. It’s quick, but not painless. It’s fucking nerve-racking as they each stand there, stone faced.
When all the girls are seated on the couch again, the men exit the room. You’re all quiet as you wait for them to come back. It takes nearly half an hour.
Chan announces the names. The first girl called is assigned to Jeongin and Han. The second is assigned to Felix and Lee Know. The third goes to Seungmin and Changbin.
There are five of you left on the couch. You begin to feel nervous that you may not be chosen, but the next name that falls from Chan’s lips is yours.
Your try your best to hide your surprise as you stand and step forward, hearing that you’re with Chan and Hyunjin.
“Thank you, ladies, for coming today. If you haven’t graduated next year, we welcome you to come back again.” Chan says to the others on the couch before showing them to the door.
When he returns, the eight of them shift around to stand in front of their assignee.
In front of you is Chan. You can’t help but notice the way the sleeves fit tightly around his biceps, and the veins protruding from his arms. Hyunjin is standing next to him—he’s taller than Chan, but a little more thin. His overall presence is softer. You try not to stare too much.
“We’ll give you a tour of the place, show you where you’re staying and then you may retrieve your belongings and return by 5:00pm to prepare dinner. You will cook for whoever you’re assigned to, and get to know each other over dinner.” Chan continues to take charge.
You’re then led on a tour of the house. The first floor has the living room, kitchen, and a bathroom. The kitchen has two separate stoves, a huge pantry and a ton of cabinet space. There’s even an island with bar stools along one side of it. They then take you all down to the basement where there’s a pool table, an old keg, a bar, TV, and beer pong table.
On the second floor is four bedrooms. They tell you who resides on each floor, but do not allow you into the rooms unless it’s someone you’re assigned to. Hyunjin is on the second floor.
He opens the door to the room and you peek inside. You see that there’s a Queen sized bed, dresser, and desk covered in art supplies. Next to his bed is a twin sized bed, bare of any sheets. Is that where you’ll sleep? You wonder.
“The bathroom at the end of the hall on the second floor is strictly for you all to use,” Chan announces as you all make your way up to the next floor.
On the third floor, you’re allowed to see Chan’s room. It’s significantly larger than Hyunjin’s, with it’s own bathroom. He also has a queen bed, nightstands, a dresser and desk. However, the twin sized bed is further from his own, against the opposite wall. It, too, is bare of any sheets.
After the tour, everyone breaks off into groups of whomever their paired with. You’re in the kitchen with Hyunjin and Chan standing on either side of you. You exchange numbers with both of them.
“So you’re studying to be a Veterinarian?” Hyunjin speaks to you for the first time.
You nod, unable to find your voice. Still somewhat in shock of what the hell is even happening.
“She’s nervous,” Chan says, easily able to read you.
“Don’t be,” Hyunjin says with softened eyes. “It sounds more intimidating than it really is. This is a mutual thing, okay? We help each other.”
“Okay,” you reply quietly.
“Do something simple for dinner tonight,” Hyunjin continues. “Pasta? With shrimp?”
He looks over to Chan who shrugs and nods in response.
“We’re not as demanding as the others—we won’t be expecting full course meals.”
“You got lucky,” Chan adds.
Got lucky? Did you? Or did you just get yourself into an inexplicable situation? They didn’t mention anything about what should happen if you change your mind. Are you even allowed to? Perhaps you should have read through the NDA a little better. First the lease, now this…you’re not the best with contracts, are you?
Chan produces a credit card from his wallet and hands it to you.
“Return with your things by 5:00pm. You can get groceries and bedding with this. Two twin-sized sets.”
You take the card from him and put it in your pocket.
“We’ll see you soon,” Hyunjin says in a sing-songy voice with a smile.
“See you,” you say lightly and try to return the smile.
You’re still feeling awkward about the entire ordeal, but you’re somewhat at ease at how respectful they all seem. You’re not sure if you’ll be forced to do anything you don’t want to…but as you think about how handsome every single man in the house is…will you eventually want to?
————
After going to get groceries and bedding (two sets), you get your belongings from your friends dorm then take an Uber back to SKZ house.
You’re a little early, but the door is open. You place your personal things to the side and go to the kitchen to start on dinner. You’re thankful they chose an easy meal, but go the extra mile to make the Alfredo sauce from scratch. It’s one of the few recipes you remember by heart from your mother. You season the shrimp and cook it up with butter and garlic.
The other girls start to arrive and space in the kitchen becomes severely limited, even with two stoves for you all to use. You start to wonder if they’ll all have dinner at the same time every day because that may prove to be quite a challenge. You all move around each other easily enough, but you don’t really say much.
When the food is done and plated, you send Hyunjin and Chan a text that dinner is ready.
They come into the kitchen moments later, grab their plates, then lead you down to the basement for the second time today.
It’s definitely not a fancy or romantic environment. Sitting at a beer pong table and seated on fold out chairs, but you’re not uncomfortable. Nervous as shit. But not uncomfortable.
You wait for them to eat first. They both nod appreciatively after taking their fist bite.
“You must have a lot of questions,” Chan says, twirling pasta around his fork.
“Ask us anything,” Hyunjin prompts.
You’re silent for a moment, chewing your food. You have what feels like a million questions, and want to get the most important one out of the way first.
“Am I gonna be fucking you both?”
Hyunjin coughs on the food he’s eating and Chan let’s out a soft chuckle. He hands Hyunjin his glass of water.
“Well…yes,” is Chan’s blatant reply.
You expect him to say more, but he doesn’t.
“Like…at the same time or is there some sort of schedule or…?” You trail off.
Hyunjin, finally recovered from his coughing fit replies, “It’s really up to the three of us to decide specifics. You’ll be in either of our rooms, on a rotating schedule. We could do every three nights. Monday-Wednesday and Thursday-Saturday? Sunday will be your choice.”
You nod slowly, more in understanding than agreement at this particular moment.
“This tradition works best when it operates like a well oiled machine,” Chan says. “Always be honest with us. Let us know if you aren’t feeling well, if you have your period—anything.”
“There’s actually an app we can all access if you’re uncomfortable telling us, we can use that.” Hyunjin adds.
“And when it comes to cooking and cleaning, you and the other girls can work out whatever kind of schedule works best for all of you.” Chan continues.
The absurdity of the arrangement starts to feel less worrisome as they talk. The situation itself is still quite insane, but they speak about it so casually that it seems normal.
They allow you to pester them with questions as you finish up the meal. They’re all business majors, Hyunjin’s minor is Art and Chan’s is music. They’re all legacies at Sigma Kappa Zeta—meaning their fathers, and grandfathers for some, had been members too. They have all been on a certain career track since they were born to father’s that are successful business owners in Korea and Australia. They each came to the states in high school, studied at a prestigious boarding school and now here they all are, in college, together.
You can’t fathom having your entire life planned out that way. Perhaps it would take out some of the things you stress about regarding your future, though. Clearly, their parents all want what’s best for them.
They explain a few other rules like—you’re not allowed to date or have sex with anyone outside of the members, and that’s a rule everyone in the house follows. Failure to adhere will result in immediate removal from the home.
After you’ve asked all your questions, you all head back up stairs. The others are scattered throughout the house, some at the dinning room table, some in the living room. Through the sliding glass door leading to the backyard, you see a few of them out there too.
“We’ll handle the dishes for tonight,” Hyunjin tells you, taking the plate and glass from your hands.
“Take your things upstairs, make up your bed in each of our rooms. There’s some closet and drawer space in each for you.” Chan says.
“Where am I sleeping tonight?” You ask.
“It's Sunday. Your choice,” replies Hyunjin. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s really just where you’ll sleep. It’s not like you won’t be able to interact with the other person or anyone else in the house based on where you sleep, okay?”
You nod.
They take off towards the kitchen. You retrieve your belongings and head up stairs. In Hyunjin’s room you make the bed with the dark blue bedding set—it’s adorned with different flower types and feels fitting. You recalled seeing the flowers he was painting on his desk when you made this choice. You’re not sure how to divide up your clothing but decide to place a bit of everything in both rooms.
When you make it up to Chan’s room, you put away the rest of your clothes then make up the bed here too. The set you chose for his room is black with teal and purple nebula on it. He has LED lights lining all four walls, near the ceiling. You thought it might look nice when they’re turned on.
After making the bed, you sit down on and allow yourself a break to think.
You now have to decide who's room you’ll be sleeping in tonight.
___________________________
a/n: yeah, this was a random idea that i'm just gonna roll with. no idea where its gonna go yet, but this will be fun to write. have to set the scene with this first chapter, the smut is coming, don't worry :) also posting on ao3 at the link below:
If you're craving something, he's putting his shoes on and getting his wallet to leave in an instant to get you whatever you ask of him and always bring more back. If you want some fast food he'll quickly get it for you and come back with snacks he knows you love so you'll have them later and won't have to worry about it. You don't feel like cooking then that's completely fine, he'll cook for the both of you. Not just something like Ramen, no, like a whole course delicious meal. You can tell him that he doesn't always have to do these things for you but he does because he's simply too In love with you not too.
• Attention Is Always On You
He's very observant when it comes to you. His attention is always on you even if you guys are in a room full of people and friends, he's always looking to make sure you're still with him every few minutes. If you change something even the slightest about you he'll immediately know something has changed but more than not notices what it is and asks you about it. When you're talking it's obvious that his ears and attention is all on you and nothing else, he listens to you. Venting to him he's a strong listener. Talking about something you love deeply he's a strong listener too because he loves how excited you get together things like this. If it's more serious he's listening to your needs as usual and quickly changes anything that needs to be changed.
• Whatever You Want You Have
It doesn't matter if whatever you request from him seems impossible with his work schedule and so on, he will find a way to do that thing just for you. Even if it takes him a while or a good few hours to days, he doesn't care because he'd go to the ends of this earth if he has to if it means that you'll be happy. Take his clothes, no need to ask. He's more than happy to see you in his clothes or jewelry. Go through his phone, put cute girly clips in his hair, dye his hair a temporary crazy ass color, buy him clothes to wear because you think he would look great in them, embarrass him in public or in front of his friends and family. He doesn't care. If you're happy then it's simply a win in his eyes.
• Holds Your Stuff For You
If you're tired of holding your purse on a date night or in general, he's more than happy to carry it for you. You're starting to get uncomfortable in those heels of yours? No worries, he'll give you his shoes to wear along with his jacket and he'll happily walk barefoot, shirt, heels in one hand and your pretty purse in the other. He doesn't mind. He wants you comfortable even if that means sacrificing his own.
• Looks Out For You
If you're sitting down he's always gonna try and put his jacket or hoodie over your lap. Even if you're wearing shorts or a dress, skirt that are to your knees, he still doesn't want any possibility of not only you being uncomfortable but too sexualized and such. In public he's always making sure you're in front of his so he has an eye on you at all times with his hands on your shoulders, waist or a hand on the small of your back. If you're wearing something revealing he stresses because what if something slips???? Hed never tell you to change because for 1) he's not like that, and 2) you look stunning. He just doesn't want something disgusting happening with these filthy men out in the streets.
F: STAY! Thank you so much, this award means a lot to us and it means a lot to you, so happy new year everyone, and I hope everyone stays safe and healthy and we are to see you soon so thank you so much!
C: Hello everyone. I'd like to take this moment to really reach out to stays all around the world, the new year has just started but there's a lot of things going around. Just know that we're always there beside you and we're always there to help you out thru our music and this award –best kpop artist omg– that's... it's something crazy, it's all thanks to stays so thank you so much once again. Stray Kids everywhere all around the world you make stray kids stay!!!
– GDA 2024 ✧ Global K-Pop Artist Acceptance Speech
