♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Dirty Masseur Yunho х reader
♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: A simple recommendation leads you to a private spa and into the hands of Yunho — a therapist whose presence is as captivating as his massage technique. Under his skilled and attentive touch, you find yourself melting in ways you never expected. What starts as a much-needed escape from stress slowly becomes something deeper, hotter and much more pleasant than a simple massage session.
♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: smut, Office!AU, Private Spa!AU, Non-Idol AU
♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI
♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 8.2k
♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Dom Yunho/ sub reader, hands and fingers kink, erotic massage, groping. finger sucking, fingering, pet names, dirty talk, orgasm delay, pussy slapping, spit kink, overstimulation, praise kink, squirt, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more.
♡ net: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity
♡ 𝔄|𝔑: This idea has been on my mind for quite some time, and now I've finally managed to put it into something more or less enjoyable. Although, for this, I have to thank my wonderful bunnies, who steered me in the right direction. Either way, you're in for the best massage of your life, bunnies, especially under Yunho's warm and skillful touch, which will give you a truly happy ending. Oh, and by the way, in our beautiful bunny kingdom there are already 7k (actually 7.3k, but I always skip pretty numbers) baby bunnies, so consider this your little gift ✨
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more
𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉 - Your love makes all this possible
Last week at the office had been nothing short of hell, and at some point it had even seemed to you that it would never end. The amount of paperwork you had to deal with kept growing, piling up on your desk like dirty dishes in a sink, while deadlines loomed closer with every passing day. And as if that weren’t enough, the new intern had managed to ruin a couple of important documents, forcing you to spend extra hours writing explanatory letters and trying to salvage what could still be saved. All of this required more effort and patience than you had to give, liters of coffee, and what felt like almost a year’s supply of your nerve cells, which decided to leave the chat without explanation. On top of it all, the quarterly report hung over your head like an ominous storm cloud, refusing to be ignored no matter how many times you tried to shove it to the back of your mind.
Your working days gradually bled into long, tiring evenings spent staring at the cold glow of your computer screen in a dark, empty office. At the same time your body was desperately resisting such a tough schedule, answering with a dull, persistent ache that had settled deep into your muscles and refused to ease, while your lower back had grown so stiff from hours of sitting motionless that even the simple act of straightening up felt like a small, hard-won victory.
By the time you finally made it home, you felt completely exhausted, moving through the apartment on autopilot — keys dropped onto the counter, shoes kicked off without care, the dull stiffness in your lower back flaring sharply with every step toward the bedroom. You barely had the energy to undress properly before slipping under the duvet, hoping that sleep would come quickly and mercifully.
Yet even as your body began to loosen, sinking into the softness of the mattress, something else stirred beneath the fatigue. A restless, low-burning awareness of the long drought you had pushed aside for days had begun to make itself known again, rising slowly through your body as an unsatisfied heat that lingered low in your belly, warm and insistent. The quick, hardly enjoyable release you allowed yourself all this time did almost nothing to quiet the restless heat of arousal, leaving you more frustrated than before.
You woke each morning even more drained than the day before, still carrying both the bone-deep fatigue and that low, nagging ache that refused to leave you in peace no matter how you tried to push them down.
As the most frantic period finally begins to ease, your schedule gradually returns to something closer to normal. However, the damage had already been done. The deep fatigue and that low, nagging ache had settled into your body like something permanent, following you into every moment until you could no longer remember what it felt like to wake up without it.
It was during lunch one day, when the accumulated strain had finally caught up with you and the stiffness in your body had become impossible to ignore, that you told your close colleague how exhausted the last week had left you and how much your back was killing you.
Gayoung listened to you intently, nodding her head quietly in sympathy when you mentioned your aching lower back and how your bum had literally gone numb from sitting for so long.
"You know, I think you should try a massage. Something deep and gentle that'll definitely help you relax," she said, leaning in a little closer. "There's this place I go to regularly when the pressure gets too much. It's nothing special, in fact, you've probably never even heard of it, but the therapists there are amazing." A small, meaningful smile played on her lips, as she added. “Ask for Yunho. He’s very good with his hands.”
Jeong Yunho was not at all what you expected when you arrived for your scheduled massage at the spa Gayoung had recommended. He met you at the entrance — tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of tousled black hair that gleamed with quiet richness beneath the soft golden lighting of the lobby, looking more like a model than a mere masseur.
The moment he turned toward you, his face lit up with a bright, boyish smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He radiated a warmth and light disarming charm that immediately put you at ease; yet beneath it all lay something else — a quiet but palpable air of dominance that made it unmistakably clear you were in the presence of a mature, self-assured man, not a boy. His dark eyes slowly glided over your body, lingering with quiet intent as though he could already see every taut muscle and hidden knot of tension crying out for relaxation. His assessment of you was neither hurried nor rushed, but rather calm and deliberate, sending a small, involuntary shiver through you even before he had spoken a single word.
His attentive gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he dipped his head in a small, polite bow. “Hi.” He said, voice warm and pleasantly soft, yet carrying an unexpected depth that felt almost seductive. “I’m Yunho, your therapist for today. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
You managed only a mumbled reply, still slightly dazed by the unexpected beauty of his features. He noticed your reaction but didn’t comment, long accustomed to such things, though the corner of his lips lifted in a faint, knowing smirk.
“This way.” Yunho stepped aside and with a small, graceful gesture, motioned down the softly lit corridor.
He noticed right away, slowed down without saying anything and looked back at you. When Yunho saw your condition, his expression softened into something quietly understanding.
“Long week?” His voice was soft and warm as he inquired.
"You have no idea." You murmured, your voice was quiet and laced with weariness. 'It was relentless, to put it mildly."
Yunho’s gaze stayed on you a moment longer, his eyes tracing the clear marks of severe fatigue and exhaustion on your face. He found himself thinking how out of place such weariness looked on someone as lovely as you. When he spoke, his voice was low and even, wrapping around you with a calm steadiness that felt almost intimate in the dim light of the empty corridor.
“Don’t worry.” With a gentle pressure, Yunho guided you forward, his large palm resting warmly against your lower back. With every step, his hand shifted slightly, the steady warmth of his palm sending a faint trail of goosebumps rising along your spine. The touch was innocent enough on the surface, yet impossible to ignore.“I’ll look after you tonight. Just relax and let me take care of everything.”
The private suite was peaceful and golden. Warm muted light that spilled from recessed coves along the ceiling and the upper edges of the textured walls bathed everything in a soft, honeyed glow that made the room feel smaller and far more intimate than a typical spa suite which you’ve been to before.
A large ceiling fan turned slowly overhead, its quiet blades stirring the air just enough to carry the rich scent of melting wax mingled with something darker and sweeter like sandalwood and amber.
.
On the low wooden side tables stood clusters of thick candles and smouldering incense, their flickering flames reflected in the glossy, dark surface of the heated massage table. Crystal bottles filled with fragrant oils and creams were arranged neatly beside them, their presence somehow making the space feel less clinical and more sensual. The linens on the table were deep charcoal, heavy and soft, the kind of fabric that seemed more fitting for tangled sheets and passionate caresses than for a simple massage.
All in all, the entire space exuded a sense of quiet luxury — peaceful yet charged — as though it had been designed for deep, absolute relaxation in more ways than one.
“You can leave your things behind the screen,” Yunho said, offering you a small, gentle smile. “Then lie face down on the table and make yourself comfortable. I’ll return once you’re ready.” With a polite bow, he stepped out and quietly closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the softly lit suite.
You undressed slowly, neatly folding each piece of clothing with care before placing it behind the screen and returning to the table. The heated surface of the table pleasantly warmed your bare skin as you settled onto your stomach, just as Yunho had instructed. Lying face down and completely naked beneath the sheet, you remained still for a moment, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt.
The intimate atmosphere of the room only deepened the sensation. The soft weight of the linen against your bare skin, the faint scent of oil and melting wax lingering in the air, and the quiet knowledge that Yunho would soon return — all of it made you feel more exposed, more aware of your own nakedness beneath the thin sheet.
The thought of his large hands moving over your body with nothing between you stirred something deeper, a slow, insistent warmth beginning to gather low in your stomach that had nothing to do with simple relaxation.
A few moments later, the soft click of the door opening reached your ears, followed by Yunho’s low voice.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.” You answered, your voice slightly muffled against the table. “You can come in.”
“Perfect.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with quiet care.
You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the soft sounds of movement — the faint clink of glass bottles, the rustle of fabric, and the subtle shift of his presence as he prepared what he needed. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice calm and reassuring as he rested one warm hand lightly on your shoulder.
“I’ll begin now. Try to relax as much as you can. If anything feels uncomfortable or painful at any point, just tell me, alright? I want you to feel completely at ease while I’m working on you.”
“Yes,” you murmured. “I will.”
The soft click of the oil bottle was followed by the slow, viscous sound of warmed liquid being poured. A faint shiver ran through you as the first hot drops landed on your skin, before a thin, steady stream began to spill across your back and trail down the length of your spine. It gathered briefly in the small hollows of your lower back before continuing its slow descent, leaving a warm, glistening path in its wake. The rich, herbal scent of the oil rose to meet the deeper, earthier notes of sandalwood already lingering in the air, wrapping around you in a heady, sensual haze.
The sensation felt strangely intimate. The heated oil slid over your bare skin in a slow, deliberate caress, heightening every small sensation until every inch of you felt more sensitive, more responsive. It was as though the oil itself was coaxing you open — easing not only the tightness in your muscles, but the deeper, heavier tension you had been carrying for far too long.
Then his hands touched you. They were large and strong, the palms broad and the fingers long and slender, with prominent knuckles and veins that stood out beneath his pale skin. You couldn’t stop the thought from rising — how those same long, graceful fingers might feel if they moved lower, slipping between your legs and sinking deep inside you exactly where you needed them most. You tried to push the image away almost as quickly as it had appeared, reminding yourself that this was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. Still, the idea lingered stubbornly at the edge of your mind, refusing to disappear completely.
Yunho’s hands moved over your back in slow, confident strokes, spreading the warmed oil across your skin until it glistened beneath his palms. The oil made everything slick and smooth, allowing him to glide effortlessly over your bare skin as he worked the liquid deep into your flesh with firm, steady pressure. He began at your shoulders, his thumbs sinking into the tight knots with deliberate care, and despite yourself, a soft, broken sound slipped from your parted lips as the sensation melted through you.
He paused for a moment, his hands coming to rest on your softly oiled skin.
“Is this too much?” Yunho asked in a low, gentle voice. 'I heard you make a sound just now...I want to make sure you're comfortable.”
“No, it’s fine.” You murmured, shook your head slightly against the table. “Everything’s alright, really. It’s just… I knew my muscles were tense, but I didn’t realise it was this bad.”
'Mmm...' A quiet, understanding hum escaped him. “That happens more often than you’d think.” Yunho pointed out. “A lot of people don’t notice how tightly they’re holding themselves until someone else touches them.”
Although his words sounded innocent enough, there was a quiet ambiguity beneath them, as though he wasn’t only speaking about the massage, but about another kind of touch entirely — one far more sexual. You turned a little red at the thought and quickly buried your face in the headrest again, trying not to dwell on it as Yunho returned to his work.
His hands began to move again, and this time they felt even hotter against your skin than before. Instead of the focused, targeted pressure from before, Yunho switched to long, sweeping strokes, using the full weight of his palms as they glided in slow, rhythmic waves from the base of your neck down to the middle of your back. The motion was deeper and more encompassing, as though he were trying to soothe your entire body at once rather than chasing individual knots. Every glide was made effortless by the oil, with his skin sliding over yours in a way that felt almost hypnotic.
The relief came quickly, sinking deep into your muscles. You felt the week’s tension begin to dissolve beneath his magical touch, knots you hadn’t even realised were there slowly unravelling with each careful pass of his fingers. Every time Yunho found a particularly stubborn spot and pressed into it, your body gave a little more, surrendering another layer of stiffness you hadn’t known you were carrying.
The pleasant warmth of the heated table beneath you, the soft golden light filling the room, and the low, steady crackle of the candles all seemed to work in harmony with the slow motion of his elegant hands and his soothing presence, gently pulling you deeper into a state of heavy, luxurious relaxation. Your breathing slowed, your body growing heavier against the linen as the last remnants of tension melted away beneath his caressing touches.
Yunho continued working in silence for a while, letting the steady rhythm of his hands speak for him. At some point, his soft voice joined the quiet atmosphere of the room, pleasantly breaking the silence that had settled between you. He casually asked about your week, and when you offered a tired reply, he responded with a soft remark about how demanding office work could be — how it often left people carrying tension in places they didn’t even realise. The comment was light, but it carried the necessary understanding that made you feel seen. Whilst you were chatting, his long, strong fingers never ceased their movement, continuing their careful exploration as they traced the ridges of tension along your spine and the tight bands across your shoulder blades with focus.
Nevertheless, all the while, behind that professional and charming exterior, Yunho’s thoughts were far from innocent.
He was enjoying this almost as much as you were — if not more. He couldn’t deny that, to him, you looked incredibly tempting like that, completely relaxed and defenceless beneath his touch. Your body was so soft and pliant in all the right places, warm and lightly glistening from the oil he had worked so thoroughly into your skin, and every quiet, sweet little moan that slipped from your lips whenever his fingers found a stubborn knot only deepened the heat simmering low in his stomach.
Yunho knew he easily could draw even sweeter sounds from you, especially if his thick cock was buried deep inside that tight, plump pussy of yours. A pussy he suspected had been unfairly neglected, judging by the way you unconsciously clenched your thighs every time his hands slid lower, dangerously nearing to the edge of the sheet.
After a while, a low, almost unconscious hum began to rise from Yunho’s chest, a quiet sound of deep satisfaction that matched the unhurried rhythm of his strokes. The viscous consistency of the essential oil made everything slick and slippery; you could hear the wet, softly sloppy sound of his large palms gliding over your heated skin with every movement, the noise almost indecent in the soothing stillness of the room.
The more he touched you, the more aware Yunho became of your body's response to him: the subtle shifts of your hips, your heavier breathing and your faint moans, which grew louder as you sank deeper into the haze of pleasure and the tension finally left you. It was becoming harder for him to keep his thoughts purely professional, and the low hum in his chest deepened slightly as his hands continued their slow, deliberate work.
As his hands travelled lower, smoothing the oil along your lower back, he eventually reached the edge of the sheet covering your buttocks and paused.
“I’d like to work a little lower.” Yunho’s voice remained gentle and polite when he spoke, though there was a subtle shift in its tone — a barely perceptible hoarseness that hadn’t been there before. “Is it alright if I move the sheet down just a bit?” The tips of his long fingers resting lightly at the edge of the fabric.
You made a small, drowsy sound of agreement, too relaxed to form proper words and too far gone in pleasure to fully grasp the weight of what you were allowing. You didn't think twice about what it might mean to let him see more of your body, because you simply wanted to let these magnificent, talented hands continue to touch you.
He slowly folded the sheet down, as if to give you time to change your mind, before exposing the plump upper curve of your buttocks to the warm air and his dark, hungry gaze. A fresh, generous stream of essential oil was poured over your skin, thick and glistening as it spilled across the roundness of your ass. His large hands followed at once, smearing the warm, viscous liquid over your flesh before sinking his fingers into the soft, supple curves with a pressure that was just a little firmer than necessary.
You hardly noticed the shift in intensity. The relief moved through you in slow, luxurious waves as he kneaded the firm muscle with focused dedication, his palms gliding and pressing in deep, rhythmic motions. Your body felt heavier now, more pliant, the last remnants of rigid tension melting away beneath Yunho’s touch as if by magic, leaving you soft and yielding under his hands.
As Yunho’s hands travelled lower, the conversation between you began to shift as well. His questions grew more personal, each one well-thought-out and laced with a certain undercurrent that made them feel heavier and intimate than before. You answered them almost without thinking, offering him whatever he seemed to want while your mind remained soft and hazy, lulled by the steady rhythm of his touch and the slow, pleasant warmth spreading through your body.
When his fingers pressed especially deep into a particularly sensitive spot on your lower back, a low, helpless moan of pure pleasure slipped from your lips before you could stop it. A rush of unexpected heat bloomed through your body, and you felt a slow trickle of mucus spill from your little hole as your pussy clenched around nothing. It was so embarrassing, your body was betraying you in the most undeniable way, and there was little you could do with it. Instinctively, you tried to press your thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the growing tension between your legs, but the movement only made the slickness between them more noticeable.
Yunho noticed the changes in your condition right away. He repeated the movement with the same deliberate pressure, his thumbs sinking firmly into the small of your back just above the swell of your ass.
“Does it hurt here?” His voice was low and smooth as warm honey as he spoke, the sound wrapping around you while his oil-slick fingers parted slightly as they glided with unhurried precision over the soft, full curve of one cheek and then the next. “Or here?”
“No…” Your reply came as a soft, awkward murmur, as you slightly shifted beneath his hands. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just… a little more sensitive there, I think.” Your voice betrayed you by coming out softer and more uncertain than you had meant.
He didn’t respond right away. The corner of his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile as he continued his unhurried kneading, his touch never faltering. He knew exactly what kind of sensitivity he was coaxing from your body, but for now, he allowed you the fragile excuse, his large hands moving over your skin with the same steady, patient care.
Yunho’s gentle hands continued their unhurried descent, his large, warm palms gliding over the backs of your thighs in slow, deliberate strokes. Without asking, he eased them apart a little wider so he could reach the tight muscles of your inner thigh, the movement quiet yet unmistakably intentional, as though he were testing the limits of what you would allow.
A faint flicker of self-consciousness stirred within you as your body was opened beneath his hands with such ease, and though you tried to remain still, your muscles tensed involuntarily at the sudden vulnerability of the position.
Yunho noticed this subtle shift in you, but he didn’t stop. His touch lighter for a moment, giving you time to settle and get used to it, before he poured another generous amount of warm oil and continued.
At some point the sheet had slipped away without you noticing, leaving you completely bare beneath his hands. Yunho’s gaze unabashedly lingered openly now, taking in the sight of your naked body and the soft, seductive curves of your figure. From where he stood, he could see the faint, glistening hint of your swollen pussy, already slick and shining with your arousal.
He poured more fragrant oil directly between your legs this time, letting the warm liquid spill thickly over your pretty pussy and coat your plump labia and delicate folds in a glistening layer. The sight of it made his jaw tighten and though he tried to keep his breathing even, you could hear a barely audible, raspy groan as his cock twitched visibly against the front of his trousers.
His hands continued their slow ascent along the backs of your thighs, each stroke gliding higher than the last. The oil made his touch impossibly smooth, and with every upward pass, you became more aware of your own body — of how deeply the relaxation had settled into you, leaving you sensitive in a way that felt almost unbearable. A deep, insistent warmth had begun to gather low in your belly, and with each brush of his fingers, your skin seemed to flush hotter, sensitive.
Between your legs, a slick, liquid heat was steadily gathering, growing more insistent the closer his hands came. When his fingertips finally brushed the delicate fold where your inner thigh met the edge of your pussy — just the lightest, most deliberate graze through the warm oil — a soft, broken sound slipped from your throat before you could stop it.
One of Yunho’s hands came to rest on the back of your thigh, his long fingers tracing the same path once more, slower this time, as though deliberately testing the limits of your restraint. He could feel the way your body twitched beneath his touch, the heat radiating between your legs growing more pronounced with every passing second. Though his voice remained soft, still wrapped in that warm, boyish tone, something darker had begun to stir beneath it — a low, velvet hunger that made the air between you feel heavier, more charged.
“You’re holding so much tension here too.” He whispered, the calloused pad of his finger resting lightly against that sensitive place. “Right here.” His thumb stroked once, slow and deliberate, over the slick, swollen flesh between your legs. “Would you like me to go deeper?”
A part of you wondered, fleetingly, what the consequences of this moment might be — whether crossing this line would change something between you. But the thought was fleeting, pale in comparison to the raw, aching need that had been building inside you for far too long. Your pussy was so eager, so desperately empty after weeks without being properly filled, that any lingering doubts dissolved beneath the heat of your own desire.
When you didn’t pull away — when your only response was a shaky exhale and the helpless clench of your thighs — something in Yunho settled. The boyish smile faded into something darker, hungrier. His free hand came to rest between your shoulder blades, broad and heavy, pinning you gently but firmly to the table as though he had no intention of letting you escape what was coming.
“I know techniques that reach places most people never touch.” He said, his voice lower now, darker. “Inside. Where you’re really aching.” His thumb brushed over you again, slower this time, the pressure just firm enough to make your breath catch. “No pressure. But I think you need it tonight. I think you need someone to take care of this properly.”
Your hesitant, breathless “yes” was the only answer he needed.
The moment the word left your lips, something in Yunho shifted. The last traces of politeness and professionalism fell away like silk slipping from skin.
His hand pressed more firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. With his other hand, Yunho poured a fresh, generous stream of warm, fragrant oil directly onto the curvaceous curve of your ass, letting the thick, glistening liquid spill slowly between your cheeks and over your cunt.
It flowed in warm rivulets, coating your already slick folds and clinging to the peachy, soft halves of your cunt before dripping in slow, heavy drops onto the heated table beneath you. The sound was wet and completely shameless in the stillness of the room.
“Stay just like this for me, pretty.” He said, his voice lower now, rougher, the dominance no longer hidden. His large hand moved over your skin in slow, possessive strokes, spreading the oil as his fingers parted you without hesitation. “Let me take care of you the way you need.”
The sheet had long since been discarded on the floor, and you lay face-down on the heated table, completely naked, your legs parted just enough for Yunho to see everything. He stood behind you, tall and broad, devastatingly handsome in the golden light, his gaze dark with unrestrained hunger as he took in the sight now fully bared before him. Your body lay open and glistening, your delicate folds parted and slick with oil and arousal, the soft, flushed flesh of your pussy on full display in the most lewd and inviting way.
“You’re shaking already, princess.” Yunho dragging two long fingers slowly through your slick labia. “And I haven’t even started the real massage yet.”
His hand — large enough to cover your entire cunt— slid between your thighs from behind and pressing it possessively right against your soft little mound.. He didn’t move at first. Yunho simply held you there, his palm cupping your swollen pussy while his long fingers curled over your plump, soft labia, all smooth and slippery with oil, feeling how hot and wet you already were.
Then he began to grope you in earnest. He squeezed gently at first, rolling your puffy outer lips between his elegant fingers, massaging them slowly, almost thoughtfully, as though he were learning the shape of your cunt. His palm ground in lazy circles against your clit while his fingers spread and squeezed your labia, tugging them lightly, feeling how soft and slick they were. Every so often he would deliver a light, wet slap to your crotch, the sound filthy and sharp, making your flesh jiggle and sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.
The sight of your glistening folds, now even more swollen and slick from his touch, seemed to stir something rough in him. Yunho’s breathing grew heavier as he spread your ass cheeks apart with both hands, opening you completely for his gaze.
“Look at these pretty little holes.” A low, appreciative sound rumbled in his chest. “So tiny and tight… it’s almost a shame they’ve been left empty for so long. But don’t worry, baby. I’m going to take such good care of both of them.” He spat directly onto your pussy, purring contentedly, seeing the warm saliva mixing with the oil and your own wetness, making everything even messier.
His fingers returned at once, spreading the mess over your folds. You gasped, your back arching as he pressed them against your clit and stroking it with devastating precision.
“That’s it, good girl.” He praised, his voice low and filthy. “Spread those pretty legs a little more for me. Let me feel how badly this sweet little pussy needed to be fucked.”
You moaned helplessly, your hips twitching as you gave in to his touch, your body melting under the overwhelming sensation of being so thoroughly handled.
“Fuck… this is exactly the kind of pussy I like.” Yunho groaned, his voice thick and low with unrestrained arousal. “So plump and swollen already… so fucking slippery. Look at how it’s dripping down my hand, baby. You’re making such a mess for me.” He kept you pinned beneath his hand, completely at his mercy, while his fingers worked over your cunt with slow, deliberate greed.
Yunho squeezed and massaged your soft, puffy lips between his long fingers for some time longer, before spreading them open only to watch your empty hole flutter and clench around nothing.
You couldn’t help but give in. A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as your thighs parted a little wider of their own accord, your body surrendering to the filthy pleasure of his touch. Yunho noticed immediately. A dark, satisfied smile curved his lips as he slipped his hand beneath your hips and lifted them slightly, angling you higher, presenting your dripping cunt to him like a sweet offering.
The very next moment, two long, slender fingers pushed between your folds and sank deep into you in one smooth, merciless thrust. Yunho groaned at the way your walls gripped him so tightly, immediately curling his fingers hard against that sensitive spot inside you while his palm ground down against your swollen clit.
He fucked you with expert precision — deep, steady thrusts that dragged along every sensitive inch of your walls, mixed with slow, grinding circles that made your breath hitch. Every time he pulled back, he spread his fingers just enough to stretch you open before sinking back in.
“You’re so fucking dirty for me already.” He rasped, his voice rough with lust. “Dripping all over my hand like a desperate little slut… and I like it even dirtier, baby. I want this pretty cunt messy and loud for me.”
He pulled his fingers out just long enough to spit directly onto your pretty, slutty pussy again, before he shoved three fingers back inside you. This time he fucked you harder, faster, his wrist twisting with every thrust so his knuckles dragged deliciously against your velvety walls. His thumb rubbed merciless, tight circles over your throbbing clit, and with his other hand he pressed firmly against your lower stomach, making sure you felt every deep, filthy stroke inside you.
Your moans grew louder, more desperate, your hips rolling back shamelessly to meet every thrust of his hand. The heat in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, your thighs beginning to tremble as your orgasm built with dizzying speed.
Just as you were about to fall over the edge, Yunho suddenly pulled his fingers out of you.
“Oh, no… please…” You were weeping loudly at the sudden emptiness, but Yunho gave you no time to protest. His hands were already moving, flipping you onto your back with effortless strength. Before you could catch your breath, he caught your legs and pushed them up toward your chest, folding you nearly in half and spreading you wide open for him.
“There we go.” He breathed, his eyes dark and hungry as they dragged over your glistening, oiled pussy. “Now I can really see what I’m working with.” His fingers returned to you at once, sliding slowly over your fluttering folds, teasingly parting your labia with the tips of his fingers.
“This is much better, isn’t it?” The touch was lighter now, almost lazy, but no less devastating in its precision. “Now I can reach so much deeper… and I can be far more thorough with you.” His voice low and rough with arousal as he looked down at you, with obvious pleasure watching as thick, sticky strands of your mucus, mixed with his saliva and essential oil, stretch from his fingers to your plump snatch as he pulls it away from you.
He proved it immediately.
His skilful fingers pushed back inside you, and from this new position — with your legs folded up and spread wide — the angle was devastatingly different.
He curled them hard against your front thin wall from the very first thrust, dragging over that sensitive spot with deliberate, merciless precision. His palm stayed pressed firmly against your swollen clit, grinding in slow, heavy circles while his fingers fucked into you deep and steady.
The new angle made everything feel unbearably intense, overwhelming in the most exquisite way. He could reach places he hadn’t been able to before, and he took full advantage of it — alternating between deep, punishing thrusts and slower, grinding movements that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your moans grew louder, more broken, your body trembling in his hold.
Sometimes he would pull his fingers almost all the way out, caressing the soft, stretched rim of your tiny hole with his calloused fingertips, only to push them back in with a sharp, wet, slurping sound that made your face burn with shame and arousal all at once.
‘I'm close...’ You could feel your orgasm building again, faster this time, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.
Your thighs began to tremble in his grip, your walls fluttering desperately around his fingers as you teetered on the edge.
This time, Yunho didn’t stop.
The orgasm crashed over you hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurred at the edges as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you like an avalanche, your body seizing and shaking beneath him.
You barely registered the broken, sobbing moans spilling from your lips, too lost in the overwhelming rush. He fucked you straight through it — fingers pounding into you at a relentless pace, his thumb rubbing your clit in tight, merciless circles, dragging every last tremor of pleasure from your overstimulated body.
But even after your trembling began to subside, his fingers didn’t leave you.
“It’s too much…” You whined, overstimulated and trembling, instinctively trying to squirm away from his hand. “Yunho, I...I can’t…” You gasped, your voice soft and shaky.
Yunho only pressed his large, hot palm more firmly against your lower stomach, pinning you down with effortless strength, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“Still not.” Yunho growled, his voice dark and thick with hunger as he drove his fingers back into you at a wild, punishing pace.
You cried out, the pleasure bordering on unbearable, your body jerking helplessly beneath him.
Another orgasm rose far too quickly, your walls clenching desperately around his fingers as the heat inside you coiled tighter and tighter. This time it hit differently — deeper, more violent. Your back arched sharply as you came again, and this time you squirted hard, a powerful rush of wetness spilling out around his fingers, soaking his hand and the table beneath you in a hot, shameless flood.
Yunho let out a guttural, drawn-out moan at the sight, the sound low and primal, as though it had been torn from deep within his chest.
“Here we go, baby. ” He rasped, pulling his fingers out only to rub them rapidly over your pulsing clit and sand overly sensitive folds, splashing liquid everywhere as you kept squirting. “Fuck, that’s it… look at you, making such a pretty mess for me.”
When your body finally stopped trembling, he slowly removed his fingers, glistening with your release. His dark eyes dragged over your wrecked form as he brought those same fingers up to your parted lips, brushing them teasingly across your mouth before sliding them inside, letting you taste yourself on his skin.
“We still have forty minutes left before the end of the session, darling.” His cock, rock-hard and straining against his trousers, pressed heavily against your cheek as he rocked his hips forward. “So… what do you want next?”
He pulled his fingers from your mouth, letting them trail down your throat before sliding them back between your legs, lazily pushing it inside your used cunt.
“Should we keep going right here?” He asked casually, fucking you with slow, shallow thrusts. “Or maybe… here?” Yunho withdrew his fingers again and pressed the slick tips against your delicate, unspoilt asshole instead, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around the tight ring of muscle. “I can be so gentle…” he murmured, voice dropping lower, “or I can finger this tight little ass so deep you’ll feel it for days.”
He brought his dripping fingers back up to your lips once more, pushing them into your mouth so you could clear up the mess you made, while at the same time rocking his hips forward, letting you feel the full, heavy length of his huge cock pressed against your cheek.
“Or maybe...” He continued, voice low and filthy/ “I should massage that pretty throat after all that moaning… help you relax it from the inside with something hot, thick, and much bigger than my fingers.”
You moaned around his fingers, overwhelmed and desperate, your thighs twitching as you instinctively tried to press them closer together. But there was only one answer that truly made your body ache.
“In my pussy.” You breathed when he pulled his fingers from your mouth, your voice hoarse and needy. “I want you in my pussy.”
“That’s a good girl.” Yunho praised, his voice low and rough with approval.
Yunho climbed onto the table with effortless grace, settling between your spread thighs. His hands moved to his waistband, and he pushed his pants down just far enough to free his hard cock and the sight of it made your breath catch in your throat.
He was thick, far thicker than you had expected — with a heavy, flushed shaft that curved slightly upward in a way that promised ruin. The broad head was flushed a deep, angry red, already glistening with precum that slowly gathered at the tip before dripping down the thick length. Prominent veins pulsed along his cock, standing out starkly against the flushed skin, and below hung a pair of full, heavy balls, drawn up tight with arousal. The sheer size of him made your stomach tighten with a dizzying mix of nerves and desperate, aching want.
Yunho wrapped one large hand around his cock and began stroking himself slowly, deliberately, spreading the precum along his length until it shone wetly in the golden light. His eyes stayed locked on your exposed pussy, dark with hunger, as though he was already imagining how perfectly it would stretch around him.
He leaned in closer and dragged the thick head of his cock through your slick folds — once, twice, then again and again. Each heavy slap against your plump flesh sent wet, filthy sounds echoing through the room. He teased you mercilessly, letting the fat head catch against your swollen and still extremely sensitive clit before slapping it down again, watching with dark satisfaction as your body jerked with every impact.
“Look at you.” His soft voice was thick with lust now. “Twitching like a desperate little thing every time I slap this pretty pussy with my big cock. You want it that badly already, princess? Do you want to see how far I’ll stretch this tiny, tight fuckhole until it swallows me whole?”
He slid the head between your labia once more, this time holding it there, rocking it slowly against your clit without pushing inside. With his other hand, he used two fingers to squeeze your outer lips together, making them plumper so they licked the thick head lewdly with every movement. The sensation was obscene — your soft, slippery folds clinging to him with every slow, torturous drag, increasing stimulation.
Yunho kept teasing you like that, alternating between heavy slaps of his cock against your pussy and long, torturous strokes that never quite gave you what you needed. Your hips began to move on their own, chasing him, silently begging. You could feel how wet you were, how desperately your empty cunt fluttered around nothing, aching to be filled.
"Please... I need this so much... I want your dick so bad..." A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as you spread your legs a little wider, giving in to the need that had been burning inside you for far too long. "I'll be a good girl, I promise... You can use me however you want, just fuck me. Please..."
Only when your soft, desperate whimpers turned into broken pleas did Yunho finally give in.
He pressed the broad head of his cock against your entrance and began to push inside. Even after everything his fingers had done, the stretch was intense. A sharp sting accompanied the thick intrusion as your walls were forced to open around him, but the burn was quickly drowned beneath the overwhelming feeling of being filled.
Yunho didn’t rush. He sank into you inch by inch, groaning low in his throat as your tight heat swallowed more of him. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he stayed there for a moment, letting you feel every thick, pulsing inch of him deep inside you. Its length was so huge, so thick, that the distinct outline of his massive cock was visible against your lower belly.
Then he started to fuck you.
One of his large hands pressed firmly against your lower abdomen, holding you in place and pressing on the obvious bulge that appeared every time he entered you, while the other kneaded and squeezed your breast, fingers tugging at your sensitive nipple.
He began with deep, rolling thrusts — long, deliberate strokes that made you feel every ridge and vein dragging along your walls. Gradually, he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward harder, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room as he fucked you with growing intensity.
Your moans grew louder, more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock as another orgasm began to build fast. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, Yunho’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding.
“Not yet.” He ordered, voice strained but firm. “Hold it. Don't you fucking dare cum without me.”
Yunho kept fucking you through the agonizing edge, slowing his thrusts just enough to keep you trembling on the brink without letting you fall. His movements grew deeper, more punishing, his hand pressing firmly against your lower stomach so he could feel every thick inch of himself moving inside you.
Only when your whole body was shaking and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes did he finally slide his hand down from your breast to your clit, rubbing you with merciless precision.
You came with a broken cry, your entire body seizing up as the orgasm crashed over you in violent, overwhelming waves. Your back arched sharply, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic, desperate spasms as pleasure tore through you with almost brutal intensity.
Yunho groaned deeply, the sound low and guttural, raw with pleasure as your cunt milked him through your climax. He kept thrusting, fucking you straight through it, and only moments later he followed — burying himself to the hilt with a low, drawn-out moan as he spilled inside you in thick, heavy pulses.
You could feel every hot spurt of his cum flooding your insides, so much that it began to leak out around his cock even before he was finished.
When he finally pulled out with a totally obscene, loud slurping, you were left trembling and boneless, your body still twitching from the force of your release. A thick, creamy load of his cum slowly spilled from your used, fluttering hole, trickling down between your cheeks in warm, glistening rivulets.
Yunho watched the sight for a moment, dark eyes heavy with satisfaction, before dragging two fingers through the sticky, viscous mess. He gathered the mixture of your release and his own before bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean with a low, pleased hum.
'Now that...' He said in a husky voice thick with lingering pleasure '...is what I call a really good massage.'
At the reception desk, Yunho casually leaned against the counter with that same warm, boyish smile he had greeted you with earlier, though now there was a darker, more satisfied glint in his eyes as he looked at you.
“So…” He began, tilting his head slightly, causing a few silky strands falling onto his face, giving him a more hot look. “...was everything to your liking? Do you feel better now?”
You paused for a moment, taking stock of your body. To your surprise, there was no trace of the aching stiffness or tension that had plagued you for days. Instead, there was only a deep, pleasant soreness — the kind that lingered after being thoroughly and expertly used.
“More than.” A shy little laugh escaped you as you reached out and lightly swatted his arm.
Yunho’s grin widened, turning more confident, more knowing.
“I’m glad.” He said, his voice dropping just a fraction. “You know, we have other ways to help you unwind too, if you’re ever interested. The sauna is particularly good after a massage… very relaxing.” He gestured casually toward the rest of the spa. “Next time...”
But before he could finish, the door to one of the other private rooms opened. Another therapist stepped out, followed by his client, and your gaze drifted toward him almost instinctively — and lingered.
He was absolutely stunning.
Where Yunho carried a bright, approachable charm, this man radiated something sharper, more dark and magnetic. His dark hair fell slightly over his face, framing sharp, expressive features and intense, alluring eyes that held a devilish mischief even in stillness. His build was lean but powerful, and the easy confidence in the way he moved made it impossible not to look. There was something almost feline about him — graceful and sensual, yet laced with an underlying dominance that made your stomach flutter.
Yunho followed your gaze and let out a low, amused chuckle. He tapped the counter lightly with his fingers, drawing your attention back to him. When you looked at him again, he was wearing a knowing smirk, the tip of his tongue briefly brushing over his lower lip.
“So then…” He said, his voice dropped several octaves, sounding more sultry and seductive. “...next time, we can try a different kind of massage. One I usually do together with San."
Heat rushed to your face so quickly you were sure it was visible. Still, despite the blush, you found yourself nodding.
“I’d like that.” You said, quieter now. “Can you… sign me up for another session?”
“Of course.” Yunho replied, his smirk softening into something warmer, though the dark glint in his eyes remained hinting at something a bit more naughty . “I’ll make sure to set something up for you.”
You left the spa a short while later, your body feeling lighter than it had in weeks or perhaps even months. There was still that deep, satisfying ache between your legs and in your muscles, but it no longer felt like exhaustion. It felt like a promise.
And as you stepped out into the evening air, you were already thinking about when you’d be coming back for the next session.
hiiii just wanna say your ateez works have been my comfort reads for a while and I wanted to request a fluffy omegaverse for ot8, something like omega reader nesting in weird areas of their dorm because certain spots smell like the boys: like the kitchen is drenched in wooyoungs smell for example
hello nonie!!! that's such a nice thing to hear, i'm glad you enjoy the stories I write :)
thank u for the request. I love this idea and I hope you liked what I wrote!
wc: 1.7k
genre: poly ateez, ateez x fem!reader, omegaverse, alpha!ateez, omega!reader, a/b/o dynamics, a lot of scent talk, nesting, mentions of upcoming heat, sappy affection, pet names, ateez are suitably dramatic
masterlist // requests: open
--------------------------------------------
The first time, Hongjoong nearly kicked you. It's early morning and he hadn't got to his bed yet, music and beats still running through his head. he'd transferred from the studio at KQ to the one he had at home, and was prepared to settle in for what would end up being 48 hours without sleep.
his mission to get a coffee - the only thing sustaining him right now - was cut short by the way his house slippers caught on your blanket.
Hongjoong squinted down at it, the soft strands of the fluff tickling the sides of his bare feet. he recognised it instantly. of course he did. it was one of your favourites, the throw always curled around your body when you got too cold. it took a second in his chaotic and half asleep haze to identify the lump wasn't just a blanket but you as well.
strands of your hair stuck out the top of the blanket cocoon you had made, head resting back against the bottom of the kitchen counter. despite the strangeness of the situation, Hongjoong couldn't help the immediate noting of how pretty his omega was when she slept. Soft, relaxed, bottom lip pushed out into a pout that he wanted to kiss away.
he found himself smiling fondly as he crouched down, hands moving to brush loose strands of hair from your cheeks. He whispered your name and tapped your cheek.
you sniffed, shifted and angled your head into his hand, seeking the touch of your alpha even in your slumber. Hongjoong's heart did a leap - if it were possible to fall in love with you all over again, he might have just done it.
he tried again, voice a little louder, touch a little firmer, until your eyelids began to flutter.
"...joongie?" you asked, voice heavy with sleep and confusion.
"hello baby girl," he murmured.
you looked at him through heavy eyes and tried to blink away the tiredness. "I didn't think you'd be back tonight..."
fuck, you sounded so surprised when you said it. not accusing, not upset, just pleased. his alpha whined a little, unhappy that he'd left his omega alone for so long. "thought the change of scenery would help," he admitted and ran his scent mark over your cheek, "what are you doing on the floor baby?"
you untangled your arms to hold his hand there, fingers warm and claiming as you dipped your head to nuzzle at his pulse point. you yawned. "smells like woo here," you admitted, shy but honest.
Hongjoong immediately wanted to lower himself and beg for forgiveness. it was comeback season and it was busy. songs that were supposed to be finished had been sent back with a list of changes. more and more photoshoots and filming schedules were put into their calendars. they'd signed on to do a showcase and that meant extra practice. the days seem to stretch on and on with no end in sight.
they'd apologised, warned you in advance. You'd smiled and promised you understood - "just look after yourself, okay?"
and then in the middle of all that, was you seeking the scent of your pack because you missed them so terribly. god, what a shitty fucking alpha he was.
"woo's bed smells like him too," Hongjoong reminded, "and softer."
you shook your head. "its not the same without him there," you confessed, "none of your rooms are."
his alpha whimpered. Hongjoong might have let it slip out.
"come to bed with me," he said as he urged you to your feet. you followed obediently, let him gather you close and tug your blanket around your shoulders.
"don't you have work?" you asked.
he did but there was no way it was going to get done tonight. not with your words in his head, your scent fresh around him and that hopeful light in your eye. "I was just getting water before I sleep," he lied, "so come with me."
you didn't argue with him, let him lead you across the house - half empty with their pack mates on other sides of the country for work - and into his room. the covers were still messy from the last time he'd slept there and you slid into them as if they were your own.
they were, he supposed, just like he was.
You slept with your face pressed against his scent gland, against the mating mark you'd put there. Hongjoong held you tight, anything to make up for lost time.
-
hongjoong: everyone better get their asses home as quick as possible
hongjoong: our girl needs us
-
jongho had never wanted to get home faster in his life. the message from hongjoong sat in the group chat - the one specifically reserved for work, not pack related things - and any follow up message went unanswered. the flight from jeju to Seoul was only an hour and yet it felt like a lifetime, his alpha pacing and tugging at his control.
he barely held back asking his manager to break the speed limit.
you had been theirs for nearly three years and yet he still felt like it was all so fresh when he thought of you. it was like he was still fumbling, trying to find his place with you and desperately afraid of fucking it up.
jongho looked at the group chat again. estimated arrival times and demands for answers still sat without response. he'd be the first one to arrive, the others on later flights because of their schedules.
of course, his mind jumped to the worst - to hurt and pain and death - and he felt sick. but that couldn't be, right? they were all busy but something like that - Hongjoong would have called. his manager wouldn't be humming songs playing on the radio under his breath. the world wouldn't continue turning.
so he tried to breathe through the initial panic, told himself that he was going to curse the pack alpha out for making him nauseous with worry, and assure himself that you were all in one piece.
he barely said goodbye to his manager, stumbling out of the car with his overnight bag slung over his shoulder, and took the steps up two at a time.
and there you were, on the corner of the sofa. your legs were tucked underneath you, a familiar blanket over your feet and clothes that were definitely Mingi's judging by the size on your body. your messy from sleep and your eyebrows were narrowed in concentration as you read something on your phone.
jongho's chest hurt as it always did at the sight of you.
your face lit up as soon as you saw him. "jjong!"
he dropped to his knees in front of you. his hands slid around, desperately seeking for signs of pain or injury, while his eyes jumped over your face. perfect, unblemished and mildly amused by his wandering limbs. he sniffed but couldn't detect any pain - only your sweet honey mixed with the tinges of delight that he was back in front of you.
your own fingers slid up the plains of his chest, hooking in the chain that hung from his neck. "I thought you weren't going to be back until tonight?"
"hongjoong-hyung said you needed us," jongho said softly, "so I came."
he watched the happy surprise dance across your face before it melted into embarrassment. "I didn't," you murmured, shook your head and ducked it low to hide the flush rising on your cheeks. "it could have waited."
jongho let his fingers smooth the creased the fabric at your waist. "nothing waits with you," he said, patient, honest, "what do you need?"
you ducked your head, the top bumping against the centre of his chest. his alpha rumbled at the contact and he dropped his head to press a kiss to the back of your head instinctively.
"I missed you," you whispered, "nothing smells like you anymore and I'm nesting so I was looking your scent and - did you know that the gym still smells like you and sannie?"
understanding hit him then. the tension he still held in his shoulders let him on the next exhale.
"where's hongjoong?" jongho asked patiently.
you smiled shyly. "getting supplies before pre-heat hits properly," you said.
jongho hummed in understanding. "do you need help making your nest?" he asked, "somewhere not on the gym floor."
the tips of your ears went pink. "help me?"
he kissed the curve of your lips. "yeah gorgeous, whatever you need."
your eyes dancing over his shoulders and jongho didn't even need you to ask. he was already shrugging his coat off his shoulders and tugging the jumper off his body. the way you hugged it close, eyes dilating and the way the tension left your shoulders was answer enough.
"Wait," you hesitated, "you said us? Does that mean the others too?"
you looked so adorably excited.
"will be with you in an hour," he promised.
you scrambled onto your feet. "okay, nest. I gotta get it ready. Ready for you."
it was all omega talk, a blabber about a safe place for your alphas to enter. the usual signs that you were about to start your heat. You never spoke that like that normally, never referred to any of them as your alphas in. normal conversation. still, it made jongho's alpha whine in delight and he watched, fond, utterly in love.
their managers would have a field day about the change of schedules, he was sure, and professionally, jongho knew it would cause more trouble later on. right now though, he didn't care. not with his omega reaching for him, his scent mixing with yours and your fingers interlocked with his.
he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand and nudged his nose along the insight of your wrist. "tell me what you need me to do baby," he murmured, "I got you."
-
jongho: no one is hurt or dying, beautiful is nesting
san: he couldn't have said that???
wooyoung: he made sangie cry
yeosang: you cried too!
seonghwa: why didn't he answer?
jongho: Hongjoong let his phone battery die
mingi: it is acceptable to cuss out our pack alpha?
yunho: he's gonna pay for my medical bills from this HEART ATTACK HE GAVE ME
hongjoong: I was half asleep!
hongjoong: it wasn't supposed to be so dramatic
yeosang: have you forgotten who your pack mates are?
You sigh exaggeratedly, throwing your head back against the car seat.
“Min, I’ve told you three times - no! I’m not gonna lay there for hours. I have my own exams to prepare for, I don’t have time.”
“But-”
“No ‘but’ Min. Go find another girl to do it, I’m sure there’s tons who’ll wanna say yes.” You take a sip of your coffee before an idea pops into your head. “What about that girl in the library who’s always eyeing you like candy? I’m sure she’d say yes in a heartbeat.”
The corner of his lips curls into a scowl. “Nah, she’s not right for my project.”
You shake your head, adamant. “Uh-uh. Not happening Min. Sorry. I really don’t have time.” A little guilt eats at you. “If you want I can ask around?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, broken only by your occasional quips at each other.
Four years of friendship have made you and Mingi so comfortable with each other that you can easily sit in silence, just as much as you could chat all through the night. Communication isn’t always easy though - he’s stubborn when he wants something, knowing what buttons to push and pawns to play to make you cave.
This time, you can’t though. This is final year exams, and whilst you know his exam is just as important as yours, that’s just it. Your exam matters too. As much as you wish you could help him, you just need to put your foot down on this one - you have your own problems to focus on.
You’ve barely locked the door to the dorm when he blocks your path to the kitchen.
“You haven’t found a client yet, have you?”
“What, for my PT exam? Nah, not yet.”
Whilst Mingi needs a live subject for his art exam, you’re in desperate need of a client for your own. You’re training to become a personal trainer, and your exam requires you to train someone for four weeks. The problem is that everyone you know has their own exams, and you’re too shy to ask strangers.
“What if you train me?”
You look at him like he’s grown a third head. “Why would I train you?” Your eyes roam up and down his body for a moment. “You’re already built like a god, you don’t need it.”
His cheeks flush the slightest shade of pink at your words. You’re not blind. Of course he’s built to perfection. But it’s never affected you the way others would be. The body to you is a collection of muscles, bones and anatomy. It’s functional, and impressive, and full of power. But you’ve never drooled at men for being built like him. You can recognise the hard work, but you don’t really find it sexual. He’s always teased you about it.
“I haven’t been in the gym in weeks. I’m out of practice.”
You scoff, moving past him to drop your things on the couch.
“Come on, think about it.” He says as he follows you until he’s mere inches from you, forcing you to tilt your head up to look at him. “You need someone to train, I need someone to paint. We can help each other out. What matters is that you find someone and get results, isn’t it? It doesn’t actually matter who?”
You take a moment to think about it. He does have a point…
“Two hours each every week, minimum. That’s all we need anyway. It’s enough time for us to do what we need without sacrificing too much.”
You purse your lips, the pros and cons listing themselves in your head. He wiggles a little closer, like he’s forcing you to not think about it too much, and you give in.
“Okay, fine. Let’s do it.”
He starts smiling and doing a celebratory dance but you stop him. “Min, you need to be serious about this though. You need to actually show up to the gym. This is important to me.”
“Hey - that was one time, two years ago, and I really thought she was the one…” He sighs dramatically.
“Mingi!”
“I’m just kidding. I promise you I won’t blow you off. I know this is important to you, and so is my art exam for me. We won’t blow each other off.” He wiggles his eyebrows, leaning down against the back of the couch, caging you in. “Although if you wanna blow me I won’t say no.”
You turn around to grab a pillow, throwing it at him with full force. He doesn’t even try to duck, too busy clutching his stomach laughing to care.
Fast forward to three days later, you laying on the bench, whilst he hovers over you, barely focusing on your explanation of why his elbows need to be 45 degrees out and not 90 degrees.
You put down the weights, sitting up in frustration. “Min, I know her ass looks great but I need you to focus. I can still back out of our deal, you know?”
His eyes whip back to you, and you see them linger an extra second on your chest as a bead of sweat runs between them before they snap back to your face.
“I’m focusing. My elbows need to be at 45 degrees because I’m trying to maximise fiber activation and minimise excessive front delt movement.”
He smirks at the furrow in your brow when you realise that despite being frustrating, he wasn’t ignoring you.
“Fine. Then show me.” You swing your leg over the bench, getting up and motioning for him to take your place. “I’ll get the thirties.”
He starts to protest but you ignore him, bringing the weights one by one.
He does his best to not look at your cleavage when you lean over him to help him hold the weights. You can’t help it, making sure to hover a little longer, a little lower, just to tease him.
You’re not an idiot, you know he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking. But he’s Mingi. Your roommate, your best friend, and most importantly a bit of an idiot with a constant above average amount of testosterone coursing through his body. He’s perpetually horny, and you look good. It’s just science.
The first couple of sets are clean, you’ll give him that much. He wavers a little at the start of the last set though, and you immediately step in to spot him, like you’ve been training to. You don’t even think about it, it’s just safety, but he drops the weights instead, one of them bouncing off and landing close to your toes.
“Min what the fuck, you almost got my foot!”
He pushes you away, sitting up with heavy breaths. “Your tits were in my face!”
You turn away, hands on your hips, trying so hard to be annoyed, but you just end up laughing to yourself. You try to stifle it, but it grows louder and louder until you’re crouching down, unable to catch your breath.
“I don’t see what’s funny y/n.”
“You… Yo-” The words refuse to come out between your choked breaths, though you try your best to reign it in, long enough to speak. “You’re gonna paint me naked and you can’t deal with my boobs being in front of your face in a sports bra?”
His face drops and you resume your laughing fit, unbothered by the other gym goers giving you sideways glances.
It takes a few minutes to catch your breath, but you remember he’s not just here for the fun of it and you actually have an exam to pass, so you throw him an olive branch.
“Would you like me to wear a tshirt? Would that make you more comfortable?”
“Yes. Yes it would. Please.”
You shake your head but ultimately decide to be the bigger person, reaching in your bag for your favourite band tee.
“Alright big guy. Pick those weights up, I want another full set since you never finished the last one. Let’s go.”
To his merit, he finishes the session perfectly, not making any comments or getting distracted by your body. You get back to the dorm, both a little sweaty, but energetic - him from getting a good workout in, you from realising he can actually be right for your exam.
“I’ll go take a quick shower now and then meet you at the studio. What do you want me to wear?”
Your question is innocent but his cheeks turn crimson immediately as he scratches his neck. “Well, you… You’re kind of supposed to be naked for it.”
The realisation dawns on you and you snicker. “Right, oh my god, sorry. Genuinely forgot about that part. All good, I’ll just wear some lounge clothes?”
He nods, relieved that you’re so comfortable with all of this. “Yeah that’s perfect. Thanks. I’ll see you in twenty at the studio.”
“See you in twenty!”
You watch as he looks around for a moment, trying to remember what he was going to do, before a light goes off in his brain and he goes into his room to shower.
Boy is this gonna be fun.
————
The room is empty, lest for a brown armchair and a cream pillow positioned in front of a blank canvas where Mingi is preparing his brushes and paints.
“Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”
He stands up awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, deciding to tuck them in his pocket.
“So… this is my studio. Well not mine, but, like, I use it often, and I have it booked for the rest of the day. So… yeah.”
You drop your bag next to the armchair, taking in the small room.
It’s odd, when you think about it. His personality is loud, and certainly eccentric enough to be considered artistic, but you’ve never actually seen him in his environment. You’ve seen him sketch and doodle at the dorm, he’s shown you some of his work - you even went to an exhibition he took part of outside of college. This is different though. This is… intimate. Like you’re seeing a part of him you’ve somehow never seen in your years of friendship. It feels almost uncomfortable - knowing that the man you thought you knew so well has this side of him that’s been completely hidden from you. Well, it’s not like he hid it on purpose. You’ve just never asked.
“It’s your area Min, you tell me what you want from me.”
He chokes slightly but recovers.
“I’m gonna need you on the armchair.” He starts, laying down to demonstrate. “The subject is boredom, so I was thinking you could lay across like that, and be kind of looking towards me but not fully, like when you spas out.” You laugh at his quip. “Here, give it a try and I’ll guide you so you know what it feels like when it comes to the actual thing.”
You do as he says, trying to replicate what he demonstrated. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel weird to lie down like that in front of him. The way he looks at you is completely professional though, and you’re mesmerised by this new facet you’re finding out about.
His hands adjust your legs, bending one to rest against the back of the armchair whilst he shifts the other slightly so it can swing off the arm. He grabs your hips and pushes them up on the seat and you try to ignore how it felt to be moved like that, as if you weighed nothing. He continues adjusting your position, moving your arm exactly as he envisioned so it lays in your hair whilst your head hangs off the chair lazily. He hooks a finger under your chin, adjusting the tilt of your face until it’s perfect. You can’t take your eyes off of him and his furrowed brows, noticing the slight shade of pink decorating the apples of his cheeks.
When he’s finished adjusting you, he takes a step back to check it from his seat, and there’s a moment of silence. Your heart is beating just a fraction faster, something you realise has never happened in his presence. Well, maybe at the very beginning of your friendship, but it certainly hasn’t happened in a while.
He clears his throat, rubbing his sweaty hands on his sweats.
“Okay, umm…” He looks around before pointing to the corner of the room behind the easel. “You can leave your stuff there. We don’t exactly specialise in live art so I’m afraid we don’t have changing rooms…”
You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine changing here - or, well, you know, stripping or whatever.” You laugh.
You sit up, already passing your shirt above your head and he whips around, looking at the corner of the ceiling to give you some semblance of privacy. The air is colder than you anticipated and goosebumps decorate your skin as you take off your underwear. Maybe it’s the fact that you know your best friend is about to see you naked, although that idea’s never bothered you before.
So you push the thought aside, making your way back to the couch and laying exactly like he just showed you.
“I’m good Min.”
He takes a deep breath before turning around, slowly, dramatically despite his best intentions. And when his eyes land on you…
That’s when he realises his mistake.
Not because you’re not what he wants for his project, but because you’re exactly what he needs. He doesn’t know what exactly pushed him to beg you to be his subject, because he can’t tear his eyes off of your body, and now he knows that’s all he wants to look at forever. He had his idea of what you looked like - you’ve been friends for years, he’s seen you in bikinis and tight dresses. But this - this is so much better than what he imagined, which in turn makes it so much worse…
Your skin looks so soft, your curves are heaven, and the way your eyes are watching him - he knows you’re studying him and that he’s failing whatever test you’re categorising him in in your mind, but he can’t stop.
“Are you gonna paint, ever?” You tease, and he chuckles, low, though it’s more breathless than he intended.
“Sorry sorry yeah. I just… you look good.”
“Thanks. Make sure that shows in your painting.”
It’s a lame joke given his talent, but the intended effect still lands and the atmosphere lightens in the room. Slightly. You don’t chat, letting him do what he needs to do, but when he looks at you, examining you for his sketch, you can tell he’s still tense. It’s like he’s trying not to look, and it makes you laugh inside.
Of course you understand it - he’s a good looking man, you’re a good looking woman, you’re both young and free to do what you want, explore connections. But… it’s Mingi. Where he sees sexuality in you, you see hard work in him. The body to you is an amalgamation of muscles, tissues, joints and bones, all working in one way or another to keep us alive. If it wasn’t for your sensitivity to blood and gore, you would have loved to go into the medical field - probably surgery. Personal training was the closest thing next to that to you. Understanding how the body works and helping people become a stronger version of themselves is your way of doing good.
So when you look at someone like Mingi, whose muscles are well defined and who obviously takes great care in how he looks, you don’t see the sexual appeal first. You see the work he put into it to get there. You think about which exercises he would have done to get each muscle, if he prefers running or swimming, if he’s an arms or abs guy.
Mingi is the opposite. He sees everything with an art lense. Bodies are a mix of intricate lines, like a giant fingerprint - every one is unique, and he likes to study them. He’s a ladies man but he never got a bad rep for it. He treats every woman with respect, because as fleeting as they are to him, they’re a work of art, and he treats them as such. At least from what you’ve heard from them. Inside the dorm, it doesn’t sound very respectful.
You laugh to yourself, making him look at you with a questioning look.
“What’s so funny?”
You shake your head, attempting to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Come on, tell me. I’m painting but I can chat. It helps, actually.”
You sigh, looking at the ceiling but he clicks his tongue. “Don’t move.”
You bite your lip to muffle a smile. “Sorry.”
“So? What made you laugh? Was it me?”
“In a way, yeah.”
His brow lifts, curious.
“I was thinking about how differently we see bodies. How I see it as functional and you see it as art. How you always treat the girls so respectfully, as word on the streets would have it.”
“And that’s funny because…?”
“Because I hear so much screaming and crying and begging when they’re over that I was wondering if you coerced them into spreading these rumours.”
You can’t help it, breaking into a new fit of laughter.
“Are you jealous?”
“Huh, what? No! Of course not. I just thought it was funny!”
“You’re not so quiet yourself miss ‘oh god please please please fuck yes’” He mocks in a high pitched voice, making you laugh even more.
“Is that supposed to be me?”
He nods, smiling to himself at your reaction. “This is, like, your go to phrase.”
“Okay, what else do I say?”
You’re genuinely curious now - you really thought you were quieter, but how loud exactly are you?
“Your second favourite is just crying. You cry a lot - whimpering to be specific. I gotta say, sometimes it gets to me.”
You scoff. “You perv!”
“It’s not my fault you like to let the entire dorm know when you’re about to cum!”
You both laugh at first, but then it settles into silence, his eyes trying not to look at you too closely.
“I’m sorry, I’ll try to keep it down next time.”
He opens his mouth to say something but decides not to. Curiosity points its nose but you push it down - now isn’t the time.
Time stretches, quiet, heavy, and you start to slip into sleep. You try to stay awake as much as you can, but exam season is kicking your ass and you accidentally fall asleep, awakened by your foot slipping off the arm a little.
“You okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned.
You shake yourself, putting your foot back in its original place. “Sorry - yes. I nodded off. Sorry.”
He puts his brush down, pulling his phone out. “Shit, I didn’t realise how long I’d been painting. It’s been three hours.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. We can just… let’s stop for today. I’ve done enough and you clearly need rest.”
“No no, come on, keep going I’m fine.”
“Y/n. There’s no point in continuing to paint if you’re gonna jolt every two seconds. I’d rather we pick it up another day.”
You consider arguing with him to continue what he’s doing but he’s right. “Yeah, okay. Can you pass me my clothes?”
“Of course.”
He walks to the armchair with his eyes closed, arm extended holding your clothes and you chuckle once again.
“You’ve just spent three hours looking at me naked but you can’t look anymore. Is that your limit, three hours?”
“Shut up.”
“Come on Min, don’t be ridiculous. How many women have you seen naked before?”
“Many. But you’re different. You’re y/n. Behind my canvas it’s fine. Up close it’s… weird.”
You click your tongue, offended. “Gee, thanks.”
“No, I-”
“Hey, it’s fine, I get it. I’m like one of the guys or whatever. But calling it ‘weird’ isn’t very nice Mingi.” You finish putting your clothes on, standing up and grabbing your bag.
“I’ll see you at the dorm.”
“Y/n don’t take it like that it’s not-”
You don’t hear the end of his sentence as the door slams behind you.
You don’t know what’s gotten into you.
Usually you would have been able to give it back to him, like your usual back and forth, but this time it struck a nerve. Sure there’s probably hotter than you out there, but you’re proud of your body. You’ve worked hard to get to where you are, and you have curves, but you love these curves. And no one you’ve met or been with has ever had an issue with them - because if they did, you never have let it get anywhere.
Maybe that’s why Mingi’s words stung.
As usual, you decide to deal with stress the best way you know how to - by smashing a workout and a cupcake within the space of two hours. When you return to the dorm, your mood is considerably better, and you opt to follow that trend with another shower. You just didn’t expect to bump into him with just a towel around you.
“Oh, sorry - I, umm…” He doesn’t know where to look, turning around to leave your room, but you’ve had enough.
“Hey!” You shout as you run after him, yanking him by his t-shirt. “What’s your problem?”
“What do you m-”
“Don’t play dumb Mingi. You know exactly what I’m referring to. Why can’t you look at me?”
He scratches his head, unable to look at you still. “Wow, two ‘Mingi’s in one day, huh? Must’ve really struck a nerve…”
You cross your arms in front of you, unamused. “You called me being naked ‘weird’, and just now you couldn’t even look at me. What’s the deal? I need an explanation and I need it now. I’m not leaving until you spill.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have a choice. Talk. You know how I am when I get angry. You don’t wanna be the reason for it.”
“No, no I don’t.” He winces. “In my defence, you completely took my words out of context at the studio. I never called you weird. Or your body. I meant…” He sighs. “I meant that with the canvas in front of me I could pretend it was just for my exam. Being right in front of you when you were naked was weird be-”
“There it is again!” You scoff.
“It was weird because it didn’t feel like it was for my exam anymore you idiot! And right now, I can’t look at you because you’re all wet from your shower and all I can picture is you naked and wet. You’re my best friend. I’m not supposed to do that!”
You stand there for a moment, taking in his words, before a smile breaks out on your face. “So… you were being extra awkward because you think I’m hot?”
He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well yeah, I have eyes!”
“Okay, but, Min, it’s nothing new. You’ve seen me almost naked more times than I can count in the last four years. And same goes for you! Except that one time where I actually caught you naked with that girl but all I saw was the back so I guess it’s dif-”
“Your point being?” He interjects.
“My point being that this shouldn’t be weird. And it is still for your exam, whether the canvas is between us or not. You’re not gonna see me naked outside of that room, and that room is only for your exam, therefore I’m only naked for your exam. That’s it! And remember - you’re the one who begged me to do it.”
“Urgh, don’t remind me…”
“But I will remind you.” You take a step closer, looking up at him under your lashes and letting your towel fall a fraction lower on your chest. “That’s what makes it fun.”
His breath hitches, eyes glued to the water beads decorating your skin, before you turn around, satisfied that the issue is resolved and you can be back to teasing him as usual.
The few days following this go off almost without a hitch. For the most part, the awkwardness is gone, but he does seem a little distant this morning after you both went out clubbing and you brought home a guy. You really tried to be quiet, but maybe you weren’t as quiet as you thought.
“I have some free time this afternoon Min. Maybe we can get a studio session in?”
He barely looks up from his phone, mumbling. “Yeah sure. Just let me know whenever.”
“Damn, was I extra loud last night or did you just wake up being mister cranky pants?”
“Didn’t sleep well from the workout, I’m fine.”
You study his face, knowing there’s more to it, but knowing also that you’re not getting anything out of him when he’s like that, so you just sigh.
“Let’s go now in that case.”
“‘kay.”
You get to the studio only a few minutes later and sit on the armchair whilst he gets everything ready, observing him. You didn’t get a good look last time, but his apron looks good on him - it cinches his waist in a way that reminds you how well proportioned he is. It’s easy to forget it when he mostly wears loose or oversized clothing.
“You’re staring.”
“Your waist is smaller than mine. I’m lowkey jealous dude.”
He looks at you from under his lashes, snorting to himself. “Your waist is perfect as it is.”
“I know.”
You act all confident and cocky, but somehow that compliment made your stomach flip. He often compliments you, but this one stuck.
“I’m all set, so whenever you want.”
“Cool.”
You jump off the chair’s arm, moving to the corner to strip, and you notice that this time he doesn’t turn away like before. He doesn’t look either, but his eyes do wander towards you, making you smile to yourself. He’s not nearly as stealthy and smooth as he wishes he was.
When you get on the armchair, you struggle to find the position again, shifting multiple times, before you huff from exasperation.
“Min, I’m clearly struggling here. A little help would be nice?”
He clears his throat, taking a second before getting up, making his way to you. If you thought seeing him tower over you last week was weird, seeing him do it whilst you’re completely naked is on another level. You’re not quite shy about it, but more… aware. He’s trying not to look, but it’s almost like you want him to? He adjusts your knee, making sure his eyes don’t dip down between your legs and your breath hitches ever so slightly.
“You need to, umm. Arch… arch your back a little more.”
You do as you’re instructed, keeping your eyes on him and his on yours, and there’s a beat of silence and tension that has your thoughts racing too wildly for comfort.
“G-great. You look perfect like that.”
You nod, licking your dry lips - a movement he catches - before he goes back to sit on his stool.
That was… interesting.
Just like last time, you proceed in silence - him sketching, painting, observing, you laying, breathing, observing.
Your back is starting to grow stiff due to the upper body workout you did this morning - and the ‘workout’ you got last night - and you shift for a moment, groaning as your muscles spasm. He notices instantly, brush stilling in the air.
“What’s wrong?”
“My back.” You mumble. “It kills.”
“Do you want us to stop?”
You shake your head. “No, I think I just need some water and to sit for a minute.”
“Of course. I’ll go grab you some, don’t move.”
He opens the door carefully, slipping out into the empty building, and you take a moment to breathe, sitting up into a relaxed position. It can’t have been more than thirty minutes since you started, and you need to make it at least an hour or he won’t ever finish this.
You decide to sit on the edge of the armchair with your arms closed for focus, hands behind you, stretching. The relief is immediate and you sigh with relief, moving your head side to side to loosen the knots.
The door closing makes you jolt.
“Here’s your water.”
You take it with a smile, humming despite yourself when the cool water flows through your oesophagus. Who knew being the subject for a live nude painting was such hard work.
“Better?” He asks, looking at you weirdly.
“Much. Thanks Min.”
He grimaces. “Don’t call me that when you’re naked. It’s weird.”
You roll your eyes despite yourself. “What is it with you and our relationship suddenly being weird when I’m naked? It’s not like I’m calling you some terms of endearment while we’re having sex!”
The way he’s side-eyeing you hard right now would have you believing otherwise.
“Is that what you’re thinking of when you paint me? Because I gotta tell you,” You start jokingly as you get back into position, “that’s not very professional of you Song Mingi.”
“Okay, that’s even worse.”
You laugh. “If I can’t call you ‘Min’ or ‘Song Mingi’ then what the hell can I call you. ‘Mingi’? No.” You answer for yourself, settling comfortably back into your designated position. “That’s only when I’m mad at you, which I’m not.” A smirk tugs at your lips as the idea forms. “How about ‘Sir’?”
His head whips up so fast his bangs lift a little. “Absolutely not. You’re not calling me ‘Sir’ whilst you’re naked. Or ever. Just - call me ‘Hey’ or ‘You’. That’s good enough.”
You shake your head in disagreement. “No no, I like ‘Sir’. It feels professional, which, after all, you are. Right?”
You’re pushing it a little, completely aware of it, but it’s just too fun to stop. He can give it back as well as he takes it, but you do often have an edge on him. Maybe he just goes easy on you sometimes, but right now, you don’t think that’s what it is. He just looks flustered, out of his depth, outplayed.
Another idea pops into your head, even more devilish than the last. The hand that was resting lazily against the front of the armchair comes up, slowly, caressing the path between your breasts, making its way further down your stomach.
The moment he notices you move, he stops, staring at the movement, breath suddenly growing shallow and pupils dilating. You don’t look away from him, completely absorbed by his reactions.
“Stop that.”
You ignore him, continuing to trace your fingers down to your core. It’s only to annoy and tease him you think, not at all because you’ve been pulsing there for the last almost hour of his eyes roaming over your figure.
It’s weird, because he’s been your friend for the longest time, and objectively you know he’s good looking. But that thought never crossed your mind.
You like sex, and you like men, but you never bothered too much about the physical aspect of them much. You appreciate the human body, and can recognise when someone has put work into it, but if a guy is nice and fun, then yeah, you’ll take him back to yours for the night. Not two of them have looked like each other, and Mingi’s always teased you about how you’re trying them all out.
But right now, having his eyes examining every inch of you with so much intensity, and being forced to look back at him, you notice the way his jaw clenches when he looks at certain parts of you, the way his leg is bouncing up and down with nerves, how he’s gripping his brush extra hard. And in this moment, seeing just how taut his muscles are at the sight of your hand travelling closer and closer to that space between your legs, it makes you want to try him out.
“Y/n stop it. Now. You can’t move while I paint, you’re gonna ruin the lines.”
You let your hand fall back down on the side of the armchair. A chuckle escapes you and he looks away from the way your breasts move.
“Sure Sir, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Y/n I swear to god stop calling me ‘Sir’.”
“Or what?”
“You don’t wanna find out.”
“Maybe I do.”
He just stares at you dumbfounded and you hold his gaze. You can’t pretend to not be affected anymore. His presence in the room makes him feel bigger than he already is, and the space feels so small, like oxygen is lacking - like it’s pushing you towards each other.
You get up before you can do something you’ll regret, putting your clothes on in a hurry and leaving without a word. He just watches you walk out, the image of what you almost did burned in his mind.
You stay in your room the rest of the day, desperate to avoid him. It was wrong of you to suggest what you did, wrong of you to feel attracted like that, and so wrong of you to toy with him in that way. You’re best friends, but this was blatantly inappropriate. There’s no excuse for it, and you can’t bear to face him.
But you also can’t get the image of his dilating pupils out of your mind. How his muscles tensed, the veins on his forearm popping out from the effort, his thick lips slightly parted as he panted, watching your hand move further down.
Before you know it, your hand is right where it left off, except that this time, you satisfy the urge you had earlier. Your fingers desperately circle the bundle of nerves that was pulsing before and small cries fall from your lips. You slam your hand on your mouth - he doesn’t need to hear this. It’s wrong to even be doing it.
Except that the images playing in your mind as your finger moves faster feel so right. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have seen him with that girl, because it ruined the image of your best friend, but gosh, imagining yourself instead of her feels so good…
The coil is getting tighter in your stomach as you think about the way he’d fill you up - how you’d be the one he makes cry and scream, how you’d beg him for more and how he’d give it to you. Your orgasm washes over you before you realise it, gushing out of you as your body convulses. You try to stay quiet but a cry or two pass your hand, and you hope for your friendship’s sake that he isn’t home.
You continue to ignore him as much as you can for the next couple of days, only interacting when needed.
Unfortunately, you had a PT session scheduled for this afternoon, and you can’t cancel it yourself as part of your exam - only the client can. And god you wish he would’ve. But he’s loyal and a good man, and you have an agreement, for which he’ll show up to no matter what.
That hour and a half is torture for you. You try not to engage with him unless giving him instructions or explaining things, and he can tell you’re being weird. You can’t look at the way his veins pop from the exertion without thinking back to what you did, or hear his grunts as he pushes through every exercise you give him without thinking that’s how he’d sound burying himself inside of you.
Your body is on fire even though you’re barely doing anything, but you can’t take your top off. You can’t think of the way he’d look at your cleavage the way he usually does like he wants to bury his face in it, because with the state you’re in right now, you might just let him.
As soon as he finishes his workout, you grab your bag and are about to leave when he holds on to the strap, wiping his forehead with a towel at the same time. You try not to look at the beads of sweat running down his face and neck, averting your eyes. Gosh, the irony - it makes you feel worse about teasing him about it the other day.
“Y/n, what’s going on. You’ve been weird since the last studio session, and we’ve got another one in two hours. I need to know if I did something because it’s too late for me to find another subject and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and drop out.”
You shake your head, still unable to look at him. “You didn’t do anything. Don’t worry about it - I’ve made a commitment, I’ll be there. I promise.”
You try to offer him your most comforting smile, but it lacks sincerity when you can’t look him in the eye for it.
He lets go of your bag, grabbing onto your wrist instead and you jolt, which he notices.
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
You stare at his hand for a moment, before wiggling yourself free, leaving him behind once again as you mutter under your breath. “Not about this.”
The nerves you feel as the minutes tick by make you wonder if you can do this. You’ve done it twice now. You know how it goes. But this time feels different. Nothing’s changed about the situation. What’s changed is the way you see him. And he can’t know that. He won’t. You promise it to yourself. For the sake of your friendship, of his exam - for your own sake - he can’t know.
You hover in front of the door for a moment, staring at the handle like it was laced with poison, before finally turning it.
He’s sitting by his canvas, shoulders slightly slumped, and you notice instantly that he’s wearing a tank top underneath the apron. Of all the days, it had to be today.
“Would, umm… would it be okay if I kept my underwear on today? Or does that prevent you from painting me right?”
His brows furrow, confused by your question.
“Well, y-yeah, you can. I guess.” He stands up, coming towards you despite your clothes already having been discarded. “What’s wrong?”
His question almost sounds like a statement, like something you know you need to answer him for, but your throat is dry. You feel more exposed in your pale yellow set than when you’re naked, and the feeling of his eyes roaming with deliberate slowness over your body sets your skin on fire.
“I told you. It’s nothing. I’m having one of those days where us women feel a little self conscious.”
He takes a step closer and you back up, the back of your knees hitting the chair. “You’re lying through your teeth. I’m not painting until you tell me.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can. We tell each other everything. So spill. Now.”
“Urgh! You wanna know? Fine. Until last week, you were just Mingi. My best friend who’s always horny and who I tease about it and about a million other things. Then I went and pushed things too far. I made things awkward, and uncomfortable, and now I…”
He’s stepped even closer now, closing the gap between you until you’re forced to tilt your head up impossibly high to look into his eyes.
“Now you what?”
Your voice is small and breathless as it comes out. “Now I want you.”
Time stops.
His eyes stay locked onto yours like he’s absorbing the information, occasionally flickering to your lips. Your chest is heaving, too aware of the importance and irreversibility of what you just said. That’s why his words are unexpected, barely above a whisper.
“Kiss me.”
“W-what?” Maybe you heard him wrong.
“If you want me, I need you to kiss me.”
Your mind is blank, the words repeating on a loop in slow motion inside your head. All you can see are his perfect plush pink lips, the way they’re slightly parted for you, and you know without a doubt you need to taste them.
Carefully, you bring your hands up his arms, slowly shifting them to his neck as his whole body shivers, breath hitching at your touch. Your lips are so close to his now but you hesitate for a second, wondering if you’re doing the right thing.
Except that you don’t care. If this is wrong, then let it be right for a moment.
The moment your lips touch his, you know it’s over for you.
The swarm of butterflies inside your chest erupts without mercy at his taste. His hands wrap around you instantly, the direct contact on your waist feeling like electricity coursing through your bones.
He’s gentle, letting you guide the rhythm, but there’s an edge of desperation in his restraint. Tiny whimpers escape him with every kiss and they have your head spinning - so much so that you feel the need to break away, his lips chasing yours for a second more.
You’re both panting, your forehead leaning on his chest as you try to come to grips with what you just did.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper.
He pulls away, grabbing your chin so you’re looking at him.
“Why?”
You bite your lip. “All of this is so inappropriate… I shouldn’t have done any of it.”
His groan is loud as he throws his head back, before pushing you down to sit on the armchair. He leans down to your level, his hands now moving to your legs, and you shiver.
“I wanna see you finish what you started last week.”
You blink up at him. “What?”
You move to close your legs from the shock but his grip on them is strong, keeping them anchored right where they are.
“I want to see what you would have done if I hadn’t stopped you. What you did that night.”
His voice is breathless but steady, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of everything - his hands on your legs, his eyes on your body, his proximity to your core.
“I wasn’t actually going to… wait, how did you know?”
“I heard you. I heard how you breathed, how you sounded, I knew. And yes, you were going to. I stopped you because… because I know you don’t see the body like everyone else. To you that’d have been nothing. To me it would've been catastrophic.” He swallows thickly. “But now I’m begging you. Please, let me see you finish what you started.”
Your chest is moving fast in shallow breaths and you feel too exposed, but you can’t quite bring yourself to cover up.
“I thought it would ruin the lines?”
There’s no bite to your statement, as badly as you wish there was. Because right now, the only thing you can think of, is how much you wish he’d move his hand higher and do it for you.
“It did. It ruined the line between us.”
You gulp at the realisation of what he means.
“You’re smart. You know the effect you have on me. You know how long I’ve loved you. Four years is a long time y/n.”
Your mouth hangs open in shock. “I - no. I didn’t. I mean… I knew you liked my body, but I just - I figured I just looked good, I… You love me?”
He sighs, sitting back on his heels, practically kneeling at your feet. “I’ve always tried to keep a distance, let you have your fun with other guys - as if I wasn’t dying to be the one making you cry my name at night. But you pushed that line when you did that. And now I need to know - I need to see it.” His pleading eyes look up at you with so much heat. “I need you so much more than you want me.”
Your hand travels closer to your core like it has a mind of its own, goosebumps rising wherever your fingers graze.
“You asked me to be the subject. Practically begged me. You pushed the line...”
He chuckles lightly but there’s no humour there. “And you obliterated it. We’re both guilty.” He bites his lip as your hand stops momentarily. “Please - I can’t stop thinking about it since that day, can’t stop picturing it in my sleep, or when I hear you through the walls... I - I need to know.”
His eyes are glued to your hand, inhaling sharply the moment you slide it beneath your panty line and make contact with your clit, his hand gripping your leg with bruising force.
Your back arches, head thrown back against the furniture, pleasure washing through you. Each pass of your fingers makes your breath hitch, and he devours you with his eyes. None of his fantasies ever came close to what’s in front of him.
“Tell me what you thought about that night.”
You open your eyes, lids heavy from pleasure as you try to form a coherent thought.
“Y-your eyes. How you looked at m-me.”
“What else, baby?”
The pet name has you whimpering. “Your hands. How your veins popped and h-how they’d f-feel inside me.”
His fingers tighten on your leg, making sure to keep them spread.
“I th-thought about the time I caught you and mmh what it’d feel like if that was me inst-tead.”
Your jaw hangs loose now as you look at him, pressure coiling low in your stomach. His own face is flushed from your words and seeing you, and it makes you burn with need.
“P-please Min.”
You don’t need to ask twice - his free hand is already moving to push your underwear aside, rubbing two fingers over your slick before pushing in. He can’t help a moan at the sight of your face. You feel so good, so perfect, and the fact that he’s touching you like this feels like he’s stuck in a dream. There’s no way you’re actually letting him finger you.
And yet, when you grab his wrist, for support, lifting your leg onto the arm of the chair, pinning him into place, he knows this is real. The woman he’s been desperately in love with for the past four years finally sees him for the desperate fool he is, and she wants him back.
“Need to taste you baby. Please?”
His voice is broken and needy, making you even more eager. “Yes, yes fuck need your mouth so bad.”
His smile is almost devilish as he lowers to your core, replacing your fingers with his thick lips and tongue. Your cries increase in pitch at the feeling, your body contorting at the pleasure. No wonder you would hear the girls cry and beg through the walls - and that’s just his mouth and fingers.
“Oh m’god Min - mmh fuck right just like th…”
This is probably the best day of Mingi’s life.
He’s lost in the only pussy he’s ever cared to know, tasting it, lapping it up, coating his fingers with its juices - this is what heaven tastes and feels like. The best part is how he’s only just gotten started and you’re already crying his name.
“Fuck baby so good. Cum on my face, please.”
His long fingers hit that spot inside your walls and you come undone, back arching off the couch in the most beautiful way.
This is art. This is beauty. You and your body. Your natural curves and the ones he creates.
He doesn’t waste a single drop of you, making sure his tongue catches every bit of it, delighting in the slight flush on your chest.
When he’s done, he pulls away, catching your eyes as you follow his every movement, pleased but far from satisfied. Yet one thing keeps replaying in your mind.
“You’ve loved me? All this time?”
He nods, wiping his lips with his thumb and licking it clean.
“Why did you never…”
“You’re my best friend before anything.” He kneads the inside of your thigh absentmindedly. “I’d rather have loved you from afar than risk losing you.”
“B-but…”
What can you even say to that? It must have been torture to love you and be treated as nothing but a friend, seeing you parade all these men around. The girls he brought home probably only a filler for his ache to be with you. You realise he hasn’t properly dated once in those four years. You always thought that was just the player in him, but what if there was more to it?
Guilt gnaws at your insides and you grab his face, pulling him into you. He doesn’t fight the kiss, taking every opportunity he can to have any piece of you while it lasts.
You sigh. “I love you. Not - not in the way that you love me, but I love you. And I’d… I’d like a chance to try seeing if maybe one day I could. It’s a lot to ask, I know, but I-”
“Yes.”
“Wait, Min, just think about it. You don’t have to ans-”
“I don’t care. If this is the one chance I have with you, I’m not taking time to think about it. Four years y/n. That’s a long fucking time to be in love with someone who has no idea. And if it doesn’t work out…” He swallows like he doesn’t want to think about it. “If it doesn’t work out, you’re still my best friend. That won’t change. I’ll still love you, but the same way I do now. Except,” he chuckles to himself, “this time I won’t have to wonder what it’d feel like to show you how much I love you.” He looks at you, pleading. “So try. See where this goes.”
“I don’t want to hurt you if it doesn’t work out.”
“Just try. Don’t think about the consequences. I’m a big guy, I can take it. Let me love you the way I’ve been dying to - the way you deserve.”
“Okay.”
Simple, uncomplicated.
There’s fear of ruining what you already have, but the desire to try is so much stronger. It’s not just about desiring him or his body, it’s about trying to see if your best friend can become even more to you. He’s the one person you trust more than yourself, the one you can count on when you need someone. He’s reliable, and funny, and caring, and so much more than his body - this is what you always look for in a man. Why you never looked at what was right in front of you, you have no idea.
“Show me how much you love me.” You whisper.
It takes a second for it to sink in, and he just looks at you like you’ve spoken binary to him. But when it does… the smile on his face is more heart warming than any you’ve ever seen on him - on anyone. You’ve just given him the one thing he’s always wanted but could never have.
His lips crash into yours, violently, starved. There’s none of the restraint he had earlier. The walls are down, the gates are open. You asked him to show you love, and he has so much to give you.
His hands don’t know where to touch first, exploring every inch of you he can reach. No part of you is safe - not your legs, not your hands, not your back, or waist, or hips, or hair - not even your ears, which he takes great care in sucking on once he finally decides to leave your mouth. Your entire world is spinning on its axis, and right now that very axis is the six foot tall blonde sitting between your legs, trying to make up for the last four years.
You try to hold on to him as best as you can but he moves too fast, and all you can do is let him. You can’t keep up with a man who's been dying to taste you since the day you met, whose only fantasy he can remember is calling you his. It’s a wonder you never realised how down bad he was for you, but that made him love you more, somehow. Because despite the ache of not having you, you always treated him the same. Maybe you would have taken a step back if you had known, even moved out, maybe you wouldn’t have. He counts himself lucky he never had to find out.
He traces his tongue on your collarbones down to your chest and your body responds to him automatically, arching into him. Your hand runs down his chest, and the clothes suddenly feel too much.
“Off. Off, please.”
He doesn’t resist, skilfully untying the apron and passing it over his head along with his black tank.
For the first time since you’ve met, you look at him. Really look at him.
You run your fingers down the ridges of his abs, around the soft skin of his chest, squeezing his shoulders lightly. Taking him in. And for the first time in your life, you see someone as more than just a collection of carefully worked parts held together by muscles and skin - you see the beauty in it. The art. The craft.
He lets you touch him, head thrown back and hands gripping his thighs in undisguised pleasure. Oh the nights he dreamt of this. He’d stay on his knees forever if you kept venerating him like this.
“Mingi.” You start, but he cuts you off, shaking his head at the ceiling.
“No Mingi. Mingi’s for when I did something bad.”
You smile at him as you sit closer on the edge of the chair. “Mingi.”
His eyes snap to yours and he gulps.
“You’re beautiful.”
If he wasn’t thinking of burying himself inside of you right now, he would have cried. But all he wants to do is worship you and the ground you walk on for being so incredibly perfect.
His head dips to your stomach, kissing the soft supple flesh, leisurely making his way up towards your chest. He rubs his thumb over your breasts before looking up at you. How much sweeter can he be to ask for permission when he’s stared at you naked for hours now? You bite your lip as your fingers play with his hair and nod, letting him undo the clasps and slide the garment down your arms and off your body.
His tongue swirls on the painfully hard peaks, sucking and nipping at them in tandem, delighting in being able to touch them after so long spent trying not to look. Your tiny breaths as you tug a little harder on his strands bring him closer and closer to losing control. It’s almost painful now, how hard he is, but it feels wrong to jump the gun when he could take all the time in the world memorising every inch of you.
He reaches between your legs again, wrapping his fingers around the lace, once again stopping to look at you for approval, which you give without restraint. You’re throbbing now, aching to feel him there. He slides the fabric down your legs, rubbing over your core like he did earlier, and a satisfied moan passes your lips.
He continues kissing your skin, sucking on your breasts as his fingers work their way inside you, a slow, maddening rhythm that has you seeing stars.
“You don’t know how badly I wanted to do that last week when you teased me.”
He kisses your neck, angling your face away for better access. At this point you don’t know what feels better between his words and his touch, but you know you need him, in any way he’s willing to give himself to you.
His rhythm grows quicker, hitting that gummy spot in your walls and you start losing your mind, tears welling up in your eyes from pleasure.
“Fuck, Mingi…” You bite your lip to not scream, the shaking in your legs making it difficult.
“Go on baby, scream my name.” He whispers in your ear.
The sound of his low, gravelly voice undoes you and you cry out his name as you cum again, your head thrown back against the chair whilst he continues to finger you through it.
Your first instinct when you regain some clarity is to just grab his face and kiss the shit out of him. Your tongues dance around each other with need, exploring and tasting what you’ve both been missing for so long, whether you knew it or not.
“I need your cock Min.” You moan between sloppy kisses, reaching your hand towards the tent in his sweats. “Need you so bad.”
He pants in your mouth as soon as you palm him, even through the fabric.
“Slow down baby or I won’t last.”
“I don’t care. Fuck me over and over if you need. Whatever you need.”
He grunts, fingers gripping your waist with bruising force. “You can’t say that to me.”
You pass your hand past the waistband and whimper when you feel how hard and big he is. You can’t help looking down at it before looking back at him under your lashes, jaw dropped.
“Please?”
He didn’t realise you’d be the death of him, but that’s exactly what looking at your doe eyes when your small hand is pumping him feels like.
He grabs your hips, sliding you further down the chair and pulling his bottoms down until they pool at his ankles, before lining himself up with you.
Your heart is beating out of your chest with anticipation when he grabs your chin til your eyes meet his. That’s the moment he starts pushing in and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He takes his time - for both of your sakes - knowing his size needs adjusting to.
“Breathe baby, you need to relax - I c-can’t get in otherwise.”
He grunts between gritted teeth. You do your best but your entire body is stiff from the stretch and your hand is clamped down on your mouth to stop the screams threatening to burst out.
He stops moving for a moment, chest heaving, hooking your leg on his arm to open you up more. His thick lips find yours, distracting you from the pain, and he resumes pushing in the last couple of inches until he finally bottoms out.
He caresses your cheek, moving hair out of the way to kiss your neck, showering you with praises at how well you’re doing for him. You can barely hear him, too absorbed by the incredible feeling of fullness.
When he moves, it’s slow, deliberate, rolling his hips with precision. He’s not fucking you, he’s loving you. He could just pound into you until you were nothing but a whimpering, crying mess for him. And he absolutely will do that if you give him the chance. But for your first time together, he needs it to be special. He wants to take care of you, make you feel good before anything. Show you exactly what you’ve been missing all this time, even if you didn’t know it.
“So tight… Y’feel so good, my perfect girl.”
His words make you levitate as much as his veins grating against your walls. You wish you could reply, but the words are lost somewhere in the room.
“How’d you feel baby? Is my cock making you feel good?”
You nod frantically, biting your lip and pulsing involuntarily around him.
“Mmh yeah, you’re squeezing me s-so hard, greedy lil thing.”
“M-more.” You finally manage. “Harder.”
He chuckles breathlessly. “You want more, huh?” His thrusts become a little rougher at your command, the sound of his thighs slapping your ass filling the room. “Think you can take it?”
“Y-yes.” You gasp, high pitched.
He’s losing control, slowly but surely. You’re just perfect. The perfect woman, with the perfect body, taking him so perfectly, asking for more.
He’s hitting even deeper now and you practically feel him in your throat. You try to breathe but only manage shaky, broken gasps. It’s a sound he’s sure to reply over and over in his mind.
“Oh m’god Mingi fuck.” You cry out, a tear falling from your eye.
Your nails are etching red lines in his back, the sting only encourages him to keep going. One hand on the back of the chair and the other gripping the side of your neck, he tries his best to prolong it. But when you wrap your legs around his waist, the angle is just too good.
“I’m not cuming til you do baby.” He states, almost more as a promise to himself than to you.
He lets go of the armchair to reach between your sweat drenched bodies, finding your clit, already sensitive to his touch. You can’t hold back your whimpers as he circles it in synchronicity with his thrusts.
“Yes yes yes don’t stop ah.” You babble between your tears.
Your fingers slide to the nape of his neck, pulling his face down to yours. You’ll be damned if you don’t kiss him when he makes you cum.
Both of your moans and whimpers mix into one in the space of your mouths. Your legs are shaking as his hips start to stutter, and the pressure finally snaps in your stomach with a scream that rips through the room. He can’t hold back anymore, spilling everything inside you. His whines and slowed thrusts carry you through the orgasm a little longer, until he halts, his lips kissing your neck to no end.
So this is the “post-coital bliss” people talk about.
Laying on top of each other, trying to catch your breaths, scratching his back mindlessly whilst he peppers your skin with kisses and looks up at you with sparkling eyes, his sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead…
“Explain to me how exactly I never thought of you like that and missed out on the best sex of my life hands down?”
He laughs, resting his chin on your chest. “Because I never told you, and you’re too good a woman to think of your friends like this and cross the line.” He leans forward to peck you with a smile. “Worth it though.”
You ruffle his hair gently and he all but purrs against you. “I never knew you were such a softie.”
“I wanna paint for a living. How did that not give you a clue?”
---------
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genre: rock band!ateez x anatomy tutor!reader, meet-cute, college au, fluff, crack
length: 4.0k
c/w: swearing, everybody is bad at flirting
synopsis: you help tutor a group of freshmen for their upcoming exam as a favour for one of your friends. but for some strange reason that you cannot quite make out, none of them seem to know any of the content.
a/n: surprise ! guess who’s back !! i do be a little rusty after months of not writing, but i think this is still a very ✨me✨ fic. i will be slowly going through all my messages, asks and notifications soon. thanks @sorryimananti-romantic for not giving up on me LOL
181A.
you peer through the glass door of the booked study room after confirming that it is the same one your friend, daeun, had texted you earlier this morning to go to.
it was a last-minute request. she had promised some of her freshman friends to help them revise for one of their upcoming practicals–musculoskeletal anatomy, a first-year course notorious for its high fail rate–only to be called in to her part-time job to cover for a sick coworker. reaching out to you with a bribe of bubble tea for a week, you had agreed to help out instead.
if it had been any other subject, you would have flat out refused. but anatomy had been the only course you had actually enjoyed studying during your first year, so here you are on campus trying to find the right room.
a frown knits your eyebrows together at the sight of a crowded room. you swear daeun had only mentioned two freshmen, but then you notice the picture of an exposed forearm on the shared display. you spot one of the boys pointing repetitively at the screen right where the humeral head of the brachioradialis muscle is most prominently visible from the skin’s surface, then the others follow along to either pull their own sleeve up or the sleeve of the person next to them to probe the same area with their fingers. they stare intensely lost in deep discussion as they practice what looks like surface anatomy identification.
there may be more people than you had expected, but everything else checks out so you assume their friends have just joined the original two you were meant to help tutor. you are not going to complain either, not when they are all unarguably cute and hot; a room full of blessed eye candy. except you know to remain rational, the knowledge that they are freshmen telling you that you can admire, but that is it.
your sharp knock against the door is purely out of courtesy before you push it open to let yourself in. all eight pairs of eyes glance up to look at your entrance with a mixture of confusion and surprise but you easily wave them off.
“i’m a little earlier than the time daeun said, though i’m pretty sure it won’t make much of a difference. we can start straight away since you guys are already studying,” you announce, pulling out one of the empty seats closest to you to make yourself comfortable.
the guys have a couple of notebooks and laptops scattered around the table. however, you cannot find a visible copy of the lecture slides they are currently revising. it dawns on you and you confirm, “you’re just practicing surface anatomy on random pictures online, right?”
your eyes flicker between the boys one by one as you wait for a response. the only movement in the room comes from your hands digging out your own study material from your backpack, the rest of them still frozen with varying degrees of forearms exposed, until you make eye contact with the boy to your left with long, wavy bangs.
he immediately breaks out into an impish grin to answer, “yeah, we are.”
“wooyoung, we’re–”
“we can’t quite figure out the answers on our own arms,” wooyoung quickly interjects. you are unable to try and work out what his friend was going to say because he has already continued with a shoved forearm in your direction paired with the question, “can you help?”
nodding, you gently take his hand in yours. “we can start with the distal arm and make our way up proximally. the bone structures are easy to identify because they only ask you the most prominently palpable ones.”
you feel the rest of the boys gradually gravitating closer, some unspoken blanket of hesitation slowly lifting as you touch the protruding structures on the boy’s elbow you are holding. you ask, “what do we call these landmarks?”
wooyoung’s answer is instantaneous, tone proud and utterly confident in himself, “bones.”
“no, you dumb fuck,” comes another friend’s hissed response, mono-lidded eyes narrowing with judgement. “it’s the elbow.”
your mouth opens slightly, closes, then opens and closes once more. they are not wrong…but they are most definitely not right, either.
the silence you are met with from the rest of their friends is also frankly a little concerning, considering their practical is in a few days. but just as you begin to wonder what their chances of passing are, a gentle voice answers, “the landmark most commonly known as the elbow is the olecranon process of the ulna.”
“shit. of course seonghwa would know,” somebody mutters.
said man steps forward, bending down a little to palpate the other two protruding landmarks on the sides of wooyoung’s elbow as he continues, “this one is the medial epicondyle of the humerus…and this one is the lateral epicondyle.”
you nod, now feeling a bit of reassurance that they know something, and instruct, “have a go at finding those three landmarks first.”
the boys listen well and you mostly watch whilst listening to ensure they are not making any errors, until somebody taps you on the shoulder with a gruff, “dude.”
turning around, you find yourself face to face with an elbow. it belongs to the same person who had confidently answered ‘elbow’ and you realise he would easily tower over you if you were to stand next to him, even more so from where you are seated right now.
“what’s this called again?” he asks earnestly, pointing at his elbow in case his question is not obvious enough. “the o-leprechaun process?”
you bite back a laugh to correct, “the olecranon process.”
“you’re a leprechaun, mingi,” somebody cackles, having overheard the exchange.
mingi immediately raises a hand to his eyebrows, dramatically looking back and forth around the room as if he is searching for the speaker. “sorry, can’t hear you, hongjoong. must be because you’re the actual height of a leprechaun.”
a chuckle escapes you as everybody else breaks out into guffaw, and hongjoong grumbles under his breath, “fucking walked myself into that one.”
“i think you meant you hopped yourself into that one.” the tallest of them all–yunho, you hear them call him–snickers wickedly at his own comment as he breaks out into an awful interpretation of a leprechaun jig and it sets off a fresh bout of laughter that can probably be heard throughout the library despite the sound-proofing of the study room.
their easy banter dissipates any initial awkwardness that may have been left and you take the opportunity to prompt them with the next task, “this time we’re going to palpate the superficial muscles. we’ll start with the brachioradialis, flexor carpi ulnaris and flexor carpi radialis.”
“the fuck are these names? dinosau–”
“can you uh…” seonghwa smoothly interrupts whilst scratching the back of his neck, “remind us which ones those are again?”
well, shit. if even the supposed star student does not know, you might have to take things back a step. you wonder, “do you guys know your muscle attachments and movements?”
“nope,” wooyoung gracelessly replies before he coughs and hastily corrects, “i mean, we could always do with some revision.”
oh boy. several steps back it is.
you rummage through your bag for your whiteboard markers as you sigh resignedly, “alright, everybody take out your notebooks and pens. we’ve got a lot to cover today.”
and that is how you spend the next three hours going through what honestly feels like the entire anatomy course. by the time you have to head off for one of your own lectures, you are at least somewhat confident that they will all pass the practical–even if you reckon that wooyoung and mingi will just barely scrape by.
so when it comes to your afternoon class, you dip first, trusting that they will continue to revise the summarised content you have set out for them. you pull out your phone for the first time since you entered the study room, only to turn the display on to a multitude of missed calls and unanswered texts from daeun.
your feet slow to a stop as you open up her messages until you are simply standing in the middle of the footpath halfway across the campus. the dirty looks that everybody else shoots at you as they step around you is easily ignored in favour of something that is rapidly becoming a huge fucking question mark.
did you find them okay? thanks again for doing this <3
lmk if you’re running late
hey, yohan’s just let me know that you’re still not there yet. you alright?
it’s been half an hour where are you
hellooo??
i told them sth came up for you but text me back asap to let me know you’re ok are you alive ???
unless you took hallucinogens with your frappe latte this morning, you swear to the fucking gods on earth all the way to fucking neptune that you just spent three hours tutoring a ragtag bunch of freshmen. they were taking notes and asking questions–even if they were kind of stupid ones half the time–and they were actively listening and learning.
but if your friend has texted asking why you have not followed through with the favour you agreed to, then who the fuck did you just spend the last three hours tutoring? and most importantly, why the fuck did they just let you?
there is no other explanation other than the fact that you were simply an idiot. a confident one at that.
you had spent all night tossing and turning over conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory, wondering just how the mix-up had managed to occur, but to no avail. determined, you had woken up early and made your way to campus to retrace yesterday’s steps to the same study room.
that is where you find yourself now, looking at the number beside the door, 181A, and the one daeun had texted you.
118A.
well, fuck. is it too late to transfer universities, preferably to one that is in another state?
just as you feel the need to shrivel up on the spot and bury yourself six feet under, the door to 181A swings open. you are utterly mortified to make eye contact with one of the boys you recognise from yesterday. white noise permeates your brain as you both blink awkwardly at one another before some small part of you that is desperate to survive starts urging you to run away.
“what’s wrong, yeosang?” a voice sounds from within the study room.
yeosang stumbles over his friend’s question with an unintelligible mumble. fortunately, he is one of the quieter ones in the group, which means your chances of skedaddling the fuck out of here are pretty good.
unfortunately, the majority of them are not quiet. several heads pop up from behind yeosang, curiosity well piqued by his lack of response, and you physically recoil when you hear a cheery, “hey! it’s anatomy girl!”
it triggers a chorus of excited “anatomy girl!”s from those who have not already gathered at the door. before you can react, somebody tugs you into the room by your wrist, another pulls a chair out for you, a set of hands guides you to sit down and another closes the door behind you, all in the span of blinking your eyes thrice. it briefly crosses your mind that the level of efficiency and teamwork with which they operate would make them excellent criminals.
“you’re here again!” wooyoung cheers, the same impish grin on his face as yesterday now suddenly making a lot more sense.
you cross your arms in an attempt to regain some control, but mostly to draw attention away from your flaming cheeks. “you guys aren’t daeun’s friends,” you confront.
“we suppose not,” the boy standing beside wooyoung arches one of his dark brows playfully as he teases, “but we can change that.”
“san, you can’t just say that so shamelessly,” yunho berates, before dropping his voice an octave lower to flirt instead, “better yet, how about we be your friends?”
somebody smacks the back of his head with a solid whump and ignores the resulting petulant cry of “jongho!” to apologise to you, “sorry, we really should have told you the moment you walked in yesterday.”
damn right, because who the fuck just sits there for three hours getting tutored on something they do not even study? but also, you acknowledge, “i really should have made sure you were the right people first. my bad.”
“it’s okay, it was an honest mistake,” wooyoung reassures, beaming at you brightly as if he was not part of the reason why the confusion happened in the first place.
you scowl, only half-heartedly, “why were you looking at your forearms anyway. anyone in my position would’ve thought you guys were doing anatomy too.”
“we–uh, actually, um,” hongjoong’s eyes flicker as if he is considering whether to tell the truth or not. he unconsciously fiddles with his own sleeve as he admits, “we were discussing whether it would be more attractive to show off our forearms or cover them up.”
“huh?” you respond unintelligently.
seonghwa hurries to clarify with context, “performance outfits. we were discussing performance outfits for our upcoming band music festival.”
that is the exact moment your eyes finally decide to survey the study room. there are a variety of instrument cases scattered along the floor and propped against the walls; guitars, basses, and even what you are quite sure is a whole goddamn keyboard.
“were…were these in here yesterday too?” you ask vaguely.
“...yes.”
daeun has told you multiple times before that you have zero situational awareness, but you had no idea it was this bad. how you managed to miss the fact that they are a band is probably more impressive than concerning at this point. but then–
“how the fuck did you guys know some of the answers?”
at your tone of bewilderment, seonghwa sheepishly looks at you to confess, “some of us did anatomy too. we just couldn’t remember much.”
makes sense. “i assume neither of them two did anatomy,” you banter, nodding at wooyoung then mingi.
the former’s jaw drops and he whispers conspiratorially, “how did she know?”
mingi leans down to reply with the same volume, eyebrows creased together, “i have no idea.”
you wink at them both cheekily and everybody else snickers. out of curiosity you ask, “so what was the final verdict on your performance outfits?”
“haven’t decided,” yeosang shrugs. “as someone who’s seen all our forearms, what do you think? show them or don’t show them?”
you look up and pretend to think. in all honesty, with visuals like theirs, their forearms are going to be one of the last things anybody appreciates during their performance. but you humour them anyway, because frankly–
“show,” you state decisively. “definitely show them.”
–their forearms are too hot not to.
as it turns out, they are all closer to you in age than you had originally thought.
most of them are fourth-years like you, jongho in the year below, and hongjoong and seonghwa currently completing their masters. their degrees are simply to appease their parents whilst they pursue a career in music, and you cannot blame any of them for their lack of interest in studying.
“i’m bored.”
“it’s been six minutes, wooyoung,” hongjoong deadpans.
the younger is unfazed. “your point is?”
“some of us actually have to do well in this assessment block to pass,” yeosang reminds, “you included.”
wooyoung splays himself across the floor of their practice room with the distressed cry of a beached whale, kicking his laptop aside and out of sight. after spending the last two days in the library, the boys had decided on a change in scenery and invited you along to study with them for your upcoming exams in their usual band room instead.
‘study’.
barely enough time has passed for the nine of you to boot up your laptops and spread out your study material before wooyoung has already lost motivation. it does not help either when yunho suggests, “i think we need a break.”
mingi perks up from where he has been leaning against an amplifier, wearing out the corners of his notes from folding them over and over again, to agree, “i second that.” he tosses his paper onto the floor.
“guys–” hongjoong begins with exasperation, only to be cut off by wooyoung and san’s unison response of, “i third that.”
the oldest of the group also attempts to chime in with rationality but is easily drowned out by the others’ excited chatter at the prospect of not studying. a hearty laugh comes out of you as chaos begins to unfold, genuinely wondering how they managed to sit through your three-hour anatomy session if this is how they usually are, and you close your laptop with an amused shake of your head.
“an attempt was made,” you suppose.
it catches the attention of wooyoung, who immediately yells with faux authority and dictation, “the council has spoken! ‘tis time for a break!”
there is an immediate flurry of movement as the boys begin to unzip their cases left and right and connect cables from god knows where they pulled them out in order to start tuning their instruments. amplifiers crackle to life and the practice room suddenly swells with a choir of different keys and pitches that somehow blend together into disorderly harmony.
the assorted sight of them holding their guitars or basses, behind their keyboards or seated at the drums is a stark contrast to the playful and mischievous nature of their boyish friendship, and an even further contrast to your original impression of them as studious freshmen. right now, their charm and attractiveness radiates from their confidence and freedom of expression, impromptu strings of notes and beats flowing seamlessly between the eight of them even though they are simply messing around and warming up individually.
you have said it before, but you are going to say it again with the knowledge that they are not freshmen: goddamn they are hot.
hongjoong catches you eyeing them and he smirks, “checking us out?”
your immediate reflex is to scoff and lie with confident coyness, “the others, yeah. you? definitely not.”
“i’ll have you know that i’m the most popular in the band,” he challenges, smugness only growing at your pretence, only to set off indignant and sarcastic responses from the other boys at his comment.
“do you know how to play?” jongho asks you through their squabble, absentmindedly plucking the strings of his own bass.
you shake your head, adding, “i’ve always wanted to learn, though.”
“if you want, we can teach you,” seonghwa offers with a sweet smile. he unplugs his guitar from the amplifier and settles down on the floor beside you, handing the instrument over to place it into your lap.
you support the neck of the guitar with your left hand and hover the fingers of your other hand over the sound hole, having seen more than enough media growing up to mimic holding the instrument properly. you begin to feel conscious under the numerous gazes that now fall upon you, but then seonghwa is scooting closer and drawing your attention once more.
“may i?” seonghwa gestures towards your fingers to ensure you are comfortable with him touching your hand. when you nod, he gingerly places the pads of your fingers along the strings as he teaches you the most common chords, explaining as he goes through, “this is C…G…D…”
a shiver runs down your spine, not from the feeling of seonghwa’s gentle touch, but from the feeling of somebody quite literally breathing down your fucking neck.
before you can turn to see who it is, wooyoung’s voice sounds right beside your ear to unhelpfully comment, “yeah, use those–uh, use those abductor digiti minimi and abductor pollicis brevis muscles.”
“bro, she has to flex her fingers,” yunho corrects. “that’s the–um, flexor pollicis brevis and flexor digiti minimi brevis.”
“or maybe the flexor digitorum superficialis,” san suggests, looking at his own fingers as he flexes them as if that will give him the correct answer.
“what the fuck?” you jerk backwards with a mixed laugh of disbelief and surprise to find the content you had taught them days ago being regurgitated, and somewhat correctly at that. “why do you guys remember this?”
they look extremely proud of themselves, like children who have received praise and an extra sticker on their behaviour chart for doing their work well. you are beginning to think that that might actually be an effective method to motivate them to study, when mingi leaps on the opportunity to exaggerate a wink and flirt, “cause we had a hot tutor.”
“give her a break,” seonghwa chuckles as he pretends to wave the boys off. then, leaning in closer so that only you can hear, he earnestly whispers, “he’s not wrong, though. they’ve never sat still for three hours before.”
you giggle, “i can tell.” even though you have only known the boys for a few days, you are unable to recall a moment without some sort of chaos occurring. “i can only imagine how much energy you guys have on stage.”
yunho’s ears perk up. “do you want to come see us perform?”
“yeah! you should come–” “–please, please, please–” “–the weekend as well.”
they pounce on you physically and verbally with uncontainable enthusiasm and you fight for air through your laughter. “which weekend is this?” you confirm, somehow having caught the information over the commotion.
“the saturday in two weeks.”
“we’re playing a half-hour set in the afternoon, so if you’re down, we can hang out afterwards too.”
“there’ll be food trucks and drinks. we’ll pay for you!”
“plus, we have free tickets to the actual festival.”
“and all our exams will be over by then.”
it was never going to be a hard decision to say yes–you only needed to make sure their performance did not clash with a prior engagement. however, it is utterly endearing and absolutely hilarious how quickly they back each other up in hopes of persuading you to attend.
nodding, you agree, “i’ll go.”
san instantly whips out a small piece of paper from the front compartment of hongjoong’s guitar bag, shoving it into your hands with a beam. “your ticket,” he explains.
“you just have these lying around?” you distractedly question, flipping it over to look at the details of the ticket. you assumed that any free tickets they received from the festival would have long been given away to friends and family, considering how popular they seem as a band.
“hongjoong bought this one specifically for–”
“–just in case we missed somebody,” hongjoong interjects, wrapping an arm heavily around yeosang’s shoulders to stop him from finishing his sentence.
you are too busy gaping at the type of ticket in your hands. “vip reserved seating? isn’t this the best type of ticket?”
“express entry, private bathrooms and front row seats amongst many other perks,” jongho confirms.
it does not matter that hongjoong and yeosang’s brief exchange just moments before had gone unnoticed, because you sure notice now. there is no way a festival would give out tickets like this one. “front row seats to admire you guys perform, huh,” you coquettishly comment.
the boys smirk knowingly in response and san cryptically rolls up his sleeves with a vague response of, “nope, there’s more to it than just the performance.”
because as much as you have figured them out, they have also figured you out.
“not just front row seats to admire our performance…they’re front row seats to admire our forearms too.”
► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - king!San x fem!reader ◄
► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - historical and royalty au, cursed trope, angst, slow burn, tension, San is cold and a bit mean but only in the beginning, magic, generalised dark themes, not-so forced proximity, engagement, sacrifice, power imbalance, San got so darn sweet here it was driving me insane, downbad!San (stand up, my guy) ◄
► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!! vomiting (San was unwell), slight mentions of blood (from injuries) , kinky smut, possessive!San, making out, nipple play, exhibitionism, pussy eating, fingering, rough sex, cum on mouth and face, cum play, choking on cum, standing up sex, cowgirl, missionary, breeding kink, clothed sex, dacryphilia, degradation, marking kink, slight sadism and masochism (just squint), creampie, unprotected sex, (DO NOT DO THIS) ◄
► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 30.8K words (sorry Topaz) ◄
► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - San ruled a kingdom buried in snow, rumoured to be cursed, where people cannot leave once entered. The snow was harsh, unforgiving, never melted, and it only took but never gave. He was cursed king with a cursed land, and you were engaged to him not out of love, but to steady the crown that nobody respected due to fear. He treated you with coldness and formality, reinforcing the rumours that he was incapable of warmth, let alone affection. But as the truth of the curse unraveled, so did your understanding of the man you were meant to marry, and now one question remained - is San the cursed one or was he the one who cursed the land? ◄
► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - This is my submission for the KSS Frost & Fire Exchange event for @sanjoongie (surprise!) who made that beautiful moodboard and wrote me a fic in return. I really tried my best here and I'm sorry it got so long, your moodboard looked a little too good to not have crazy plot in there. I genuinely hope you like this, I'm actually terrified ah.◄
► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @0rangemilk @ginger-mingi @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos @juicy-red @cheolliehugs @sunnysidesins @jjongbearshoney @midnightrebel1028 @mallielovssyou @jenluvzen @lovebuggjoy @mingiblossoms @crybabydollette @mustardmilkshake @asesinas @minyunsan-kitten ◄
He was a king with a crown of gnarled bones.
At least, that’s what they all said. An eye isn’t an eye because you look at it - it’s an eye because it looks back at you and we don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.
“What of the other kingdoms?” His voice traversed the vast hall, echoing against the stone walls of the Great Halls. He was impassive, nonchalant, but make no mistake, for his presence blanketed the entire expanse of the room.
You stood obediently off to the far side of his throne, almost unseen, but there nonetheless, just patiently waiting until the meeting was done. It was hard not to stare at the enigma that was Choi San. It wasn’t that he called for everyone’s attention just because he was the king, rather, he demanded it.
He didn’t need it either. He just had it. Even a sliver of his shadow had everyone’s attention. Hell, even his footsteps sounded different from the rest. San wasn’t domineering nor commanding because he wore a crown. He was dominant because the air bent around for him.
“Word travels fast, my liege. I reckon it’s already reached the kingdoms up north like that of Wonderland and Horizon,” Park Seonghwa reported, reverence in his tone as he addressed his King. “I could send the troops to check out their militia and perhaps where their loyalties lie.”
Your eyes momentarily fleeted towards Seonghwa. The High Marshal was an honourable and proper leader, a skilled military man who led the kingdom’s armies in multiple battles and wars not many have had the guts to, and you knew he had San’s utmost respect. As if sensing eyes on him, he briefly met eyes with you, smiling in courtesy, before training them at San once more.
“No need,” San droned, raising one hand, halting motion that meant to stop even your inner thoughts. Such was the power he wielded. “The risk is too high for so little reward.”
He paused, tilting his head to the side, looking out the large window that overlooked the vast majority of the castlegrounds that were covered in nothing but thick snow. Melancholy was clear in his eyes, though he tried to cover it up with something steely.
He stood up from his throne slowly, deliberately as his eyes scanned the entirety of the room, leaving no space from anyone to breathe under his suffocating gaze. His fur-lined cloak that draped over his shoulders shifted with him, following his every movement as he began to walk off, the finality of his steps leaving no room for anyone to argue with him.
“Rest up, Seonghwa,” he said, the words low but echoing, as if the castle itself carried his voice forward for him. “The troops as well. You’ve done me well.”
Seonghwa blinked before inhaling sharply. He trudged forward, brows furrowed. “Your Grace—”
“I said,” San murmured, barely audible, but it was there. Everyone heard it, and the air shifted into something sharp as his voice tilted into a quiet warning. “Rest up.”
You gritted your teeth, composing yourself to stop the shiver that threatened to travel up your spine. This…you will never get used to this - to him. His words drifted through the Great Halls and they held weight enough to crush whatever protest Seonghwa thought he could muster.
San continued forward, not bothering to look back as his footsteps got closer and closer until he was almost in front of you. Immediately, you bowed, bunching your dress up in your fists as you lowered your head slightly.
One would expect that as the king’s betrothed that he’d give you the same curtsy, or at least acknowledge you, but the way he completely ignored your existence was what you got. You were used to it. You had anticipated it, even. What a pity on your end, really.
As San passed you to walk away, his eyes briefly met yours, and by God, were they cold and indifferent. His gaze was earth-dark, not empty and not grounding, like land that dried up anything that grew on it.
What you weren’t expecting, however, was for him to stop halfway to address you. You tensed, this has never happened before. You tried to hold eye contact, but couldn’t. You couldn’t stand the way he stared at you because it always made you flinch. It was dark and dangerous.
“What are you doing here?” San questioned tersely, voice carrying a hint of irritation he tried to hide with courtesy. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
Hongjoong was your guard. “Your Majesty,” you mumbled through the intimidation. “Forgive my impudence. I was merely wondering if I could invite you for a cup of tea—”
“Answer my question,” he interrrupted, cutting you off cleanly like a blade that just hit fresh grass. His eyes were narrowed, unblinking and unyielding.
“My King,” Choi Jongho, the King’s royal advisor, whispered subtly. “Perhaps we ought to calm down, the people are looking our way—”
San lifted one finger, effectively silencing his own advisor with a subtle threat that carried the promise of ruin as if he’d already planned his end if he let one more word out. All while his eyes were still on you. “Hongjoong,” he repeated. “Where is he?”
You swallowed, your tongue suddenly heavy. “Hongjoong didn’t need to accompany me,” you said carefully. “I was on my way to see you, Your Majesty, so I dismissed him.”
San stilled, and so did you. He wasn’t pleased with your answer, but he didn’t look the least surprised by it. In fact, he didn’t even care. “I see,” was all he said, and the way he uttered it sounded more like an afterthought rather than an acknowledgement.
Then, he started walking past you again. It wasn’t dramatic, he had just already decided you were not worth another second of his attention. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to bow to him once more as heat and shame traveled to your face at his blatant dismissal of you.
It wasn’t because you feared him. You stopped fearing him a long time ago, and if you were being honest, you never had any reason to fear him or be intimidated by him to begin with simply because he barely acknowledged your presence, anyway.
“Do not loiter around the Great Halls,” he spoke, cold and uncaring. “Next time, send a message if you have something you wish to tell me. You serve no purpose being idle around here.”
You were used to his disdain he reserved solely for you, but still, that stung more than you let on. It was the way he said it, too, that made you feel worse. It was meant to haunt your thoughts, the kind that followed you even after he was gone.
You stood there, hands clasped, head bowed, letting the echo of his footsteps fade down the corridor. You felt a hand to your shoulder and it was Jongho. He gave you a tight-lipped smile that was meant to comfort you, squeezing your shoulder once as his eyes shone with that familiar pity that everyone also gave you when the king talked down on you like he always did.
“Don’t take it to heart,” he said with a small sigh, eyes on the corridor that San had turned. “He’s…it’s not like that, he didn’t mean it like that.”
You hummed, nodding out of courtesy. “I suppose,” you mumbled, barely audible. “Just like the tens of thousands of times he’s done it.”
Because you did try, you always did. You tried doing your part to get along with the man you were going to spend your earthly years with in this castle, and you had hoped foolishly that he'd meet you halfway all the time, but all you’ve been getting was contempt. Mingi stayed silent, for even he cannot deny that you were right.
“Let me accompany you to your chambers, my lady,” he kindly offered. “Supper will commence shortly. I would suppose you’d like to rest for a bit before then.”
“There is no need,” you mumbled quietly, smiling softly. “I can find my way back. And I’m going to have to decline supper for tonight, my appetite has gone away. Would you be so kind to send our dear chef my regards? Yeosang’s food is always splendid, just not tonight, I’m afraid.”
Jongho frowned, hesitant, before sighing. “As you wish, my lady. I bid you a good night.”
You curtsied quickly, turning the other direction to walk away. However, instead of going to your chambers, you chose to turn to another hallway, opting to take a walk to clear your head and your muddled thoughts.
The massive window at the end of the corridors always fascinated you. It was where you went when you had to think and today was no exception. You glanced outside, watching as endless snow fell from the sky. The hallways felt colder to you. San felt colder. Much colder.
A couple of months ago, you wouldn’t even dare dream stepping inside a palace, much less the one that San ruled. You still remember the first time you arrived and the first time you laid eyes on the man you were about to wed, but always put a wall in between you.
Poverty and famine had struck the lands where you were born and raised. You were used to it - born into it - but at least there was once a time where you lived on a quaint farm with your parents. But alas, famine chooses no one. It takes and takes, and your parents were no exception to that fate.
And you tried to sustain the farm, tried your very best to make the best of yourself under the dire circumstances you were handed, but it wasn’t enough. Drought had struck the land, crops died, and plague had seemingly struck what little poultry and bovine you raised. It was painful, but you had to leave your farm and village all together. You weren’t going to die along with it.
It wasn’t easy; none of it was. You had just lost both of your parents and your hometown all in the span of a month and you were a lone traveling girl looking for the next best thing without falling prey to thieves and vagabonds looking for their next victim.
But there was only so much you can take. Food was scarce, begging wasn’t an option any longer, and the streets weren’t the most conducive place to sleep most nights. Winter was coming and the chills weren’t helping your sore feet and empty stomach.
Giving up wasn’t so terrible back then because at least, you could tell your maker that you had at least tried to survive - that you were a fighter who was just given a bad hand in life.
If you were going to perish from fatigue and hunger, though, you at least wanted to go where the air wasn’t thick with grief and suffering. If this was the end, you wanted it to be somewhere that at least looked like peace, even if you’d never quite managed to feel it.
And then, you remembered that there was a nearby kingdom that was rumoured to be surrounded with so much snow, it was impossible to see through it. You’ve never seen snow before. With your remaining money, you bought a horse and settled for the journey onto this unknown kingdom.
“Just a moment,” the man you bought the horse from stopped you just as you were about to leave. “Where did you say you were going again?”
You hesitated, not because you were keeping your journey a secret, but the look in this man’s face seemed to tell you that he knew and was just confirming if he heard you right. “That kingdom that’s nearby here,” you finally answered. “The one in the snow.”
His eyes widened in shock before they drooped with something akin to alarm and trepidation all at once. “Oh, dear child, must you go? Are you not privy to the curse that lay in that land?”
The Kingdom of Utopia, but nobody called it that; they say that if you utter even the kingdom’s name, then the curse that befell there would be placed upon you. Such a beautiful name for a place no one can speak out loud.
Such a contradictory name for something that was anything but utopia.
Because the snow never melted. Not in the summer, not under the brightest suns. Snow covered the entire expanse of the land and it made inhabiting it near impossible. Some believed that the snow swallowed flames, and some believed the kingdom had been punished by the heavens themselves. No one knew the truth, and no one dared to go and find out.
“If that is the case,” you wondered out loud as you loaded what little of your belongings on your newly purchased horse. “Then why don’t the people just leave if it was so cursed?”
“Because they can’t,” the man answered, shivering slightly, though not because of the breeze that passed. “Once you get in, there is no way out. The snow is so thick and harsh that your soul would be gone from your body way before your foot can even attempt to step out. The people are trapped in there, my dear. I suggest traveling somewhere else.”
You were startled out of your memories when you heard a cough behind you. You turned around, expecting to find a servant who was wondering what the future queen was doing loitering around the halls, but you sighed in relief when you saw who it was instead.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Wooyoung chuckled, bowing his head slightly in curtsy. “Sir Hongjoong was a tad bit worried when you didn't come back to your chambers, my lady.”
You smiled in fondness. “I just wanted a bit of space, is all,” you said with a small shrug. “I needed time to think about certain things.”
A certain someone, you didn’t want to say, but Wooyoung already knew. His smile dropped slightly, eyes shining with sadness only you knew what for. “I know you’ve heard this all before,” he began. “But you have to extend a bit of understanding towards His Majesty. He’s…been through a lot, my lady. I implore you to forgive him.”
“I am far from angry at him,” you softly replied with a sigh. “I…just wish he’d drop his walls with me once in a while. It was my fault, I was the one who bothered him.”
“Nonsense, my lady,” Wooyoung quickly spoke, shaking his head vigorously. “You are his betrothed, you are allowed to bother him. Worry not, it’ll get better in time.” He extends a hand to you. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers, then?”
You nodded, putting your hand on top of his. Everyone always rushed to defend San whenever events like earlier happen, and you get it, Utopia did have its reputation and rumours after all.
But that’s all there was to it - rumours. Tales that are passed through taverns and alleyways to spook or entertain a wandering traveler. It wasn’t to frighten you. You’ve experienced the true horrors of what an actual curse is, and it took away everything you loved and held dear.
These were the thoughts that you couldn’t help but think the entire time Wooyoung led you to your room; your journey where it all began and why sometimes, you couldn’t even be mad at San whenever he deliberately dismissed you.
The entire journey, you were beginning to doubt everything. The biting chill of the snowstorm that hit your skin was almost painful . You’d think that the cold would’ve numbed you by now, but no. The more you traversed the land and the nearer you got, the more prickling it felt. It was like the snow was slowly sloughing your skin off until it reached your bones.
The kingdom was near enough where you didn’t have to stop and camp, but it was too late to go back by then. Grief and stubbornness lead you to where you were, knee deep in so much snow, your poor horse had a hard time crossing through it. Your fingers throbbed, your jaw ached, and your eyes watered from the sting of air that wished to carve itself into you.
Maybe they were right, because this was no ordinary weather - this was the land, itself, warning you. Coldness like this was meant to resent anybody that dared challenge it, and you were the fool who looked it in the eye and took it, anyway.
By a long shot of miracle, somehow, you managed to make it, though you were barely hanging on to the fact that you at least wanted to see if you could find a place for your horse to stay. It was your fault that it was put in this situation anyway. If not for your foolishness, it would have still been in another kingdom where it was warmer.
You were falling apart, you could tell, your senses were beginning to dull, and your already weakened state wasn’t helping at all. You found an empty alleyway, and the moment you hit the wall, your knees gave out, puffs of visible breath leaving out your mouth.
This was the end, you could feel it. You took this time to actually look at your surroundings now that you’re not moving. It was hard to regret it now that you’re here. Snow was beautiful, there was no other way to describe it. The texture of it felt funny in your hand, too. You were expecting it to feel fluffier. Still, it didn’t diminish its beauty and you didn’t mind.
You could see the castle walls from where you slumped, the pale outline of it through the white haze, where it housed the darker side of the rumours you’ve been told right before you traveled.
It was the king. Choi San. He was the centre of the rumours right where it all began, the very reason why they say Utopia was cursed. Some say that he was a demon who brought on the snow to isolate his kingdom. Most believed that the land that the castle was built upon was sacred and that the Choi clan did not heed the warnings and sent this was the punishment - that the snow itself was the everlasting famine destined to freeze everyone in it.
But the cruelest rumour of them all was that San, himself, might have been the source of the curse. People say that he sold his soul for eternal youth and immense power so long as the kingdom around him froze.
You didn’t care, not anymore. All you wanted was to see something pretty before you went and this was more than enough for you. “Go on, pretty girl,” you whispered back then, patting the horse and encouraging it to find shelter. “You don’t belong out here. Go before you freeze.”
You shivered, feeling the cold even in your memories as Wooyoung opened the door for you with the practiced elegance of someone born to serve royalty. He helped you unfasten the heavier layers of your gown, and laid out your nightgown with gentle efficiency.
He turned away as you changed, always respectful and always giving you space, and when you slipped beneath the thick fur-lined blankets, he moved around the room to tidy what the maids had missed.
You watched him idly, noticing the flowers he was fixing in the embellished vase on your nightstand. Winter heathers. You knew of them from the occasional winters that hit your old village, the soft lilac bells that bloomed in spite of the frost that covered them and survived.
Something in the sight of them warmed you. This was one of the few things that made this cold kingdom bearable - there was always a different arrangement of flowers each night that Wooyoung fixed for you. “Thank you,” you murmured, smiling. “They’re beautiful.”
Wooyoung stilled for a heartbeat before offering you a soft smile. “I only arrange them, my lady,” he said lightly, brushing a petal with the tip of his finger. “I do not choose them.”
You lifted your gaze toward him, curiosity sparking. “Rest well, my lady,” he dipped into a graceful bow, opening the door to depart. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”
You lay still, the soft weight of the blankets warming skin that had once been thinned by cold wind and hunger. It was strange to experience all the good things that life was now offering you. Back then, you were ready to close your eyes for the last time; content with surrendering because fighting had simply become exhausting.
But fate, as always, had a way of intervening before you took even one more step toward surrender. You remembered watching as the horse trotted away. Satisfied, you tried to close your eyes, but you were confused when you saw a figure standing where your horse was.
And you were even more confused when they started bundling you up with multiple layers of clothing that felt heavy on your tired body, like the luxurious blankets covering you right now. It wasn’t enough to stop your teeth from chattering, but it was enough to keep you at bay for now.
“You’re not supposed to be out here. You’re almost at death’s door,” they mumbled, tucking the thick wool coat snugly on your body, sympathy lining their voice. “Where is your home? I will take you there. The storm is about to turn into a blizzard soon.”
You peeled your eyes open, realising that the person talking to you was a man. He was tall, decently good-looking, with eyes that naturally radiated tenderness as he stared at your pitiful form. And even in your state, you could sense that he was no ordinary man.
“A mage. Who would’ve thought?” You laughed to yourself feebly, staring into his surprised eyes. “And I’ve no home. I am but a wandering traveler who has given up on life.”
He paused, pity in his eyes that observed your face for any signs of jest and deceit. He sighed deeply, dropping down to a squat to meet your gaze. “Though I am curious as to why you’d choose to be in our lands, it doesn’t have to be like that. I can help you.”
You hummed, shaking your head. “I’m going to have to decline, kind Sir,” you sincerely declined. “If you want to help, maybe help my horse. I would hate for her to freeze in your lands.”
It was then where his face completely fell into utter despair at your words. He took his fur-lined head covering, gently putting it on you. Your heartstrings tugged seeing this random stranger’s act of kindness towards someone like you.
“Oh, you poor child,” he clicked his tongue, pursing his lips, his calculating eyes turning just a tad bit sharper. “Even in dire circumstances, you care about an animal rather than yourself. You’re something special. I’ll help your horse if you let me help you.”
“What’s the catch?”
He tilted his head, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “Smart girl,” he chuckled. “I have a proposition for you. We are desperate for help, you see, and I believe you’re the perfect person for it.”
He gets up, dusting the snow that had begun to line his pants, offering his hand to you. “Just know that even if you say no, I will still help you find food and shelter. Contrary to what the outsiders say…we’re not heartless monsters. How far would you go?”
You stared at his outstretched hand. Your heart was divided. This man didn’t give off any malicious aura and something deep in you told you to walk into the light he was offering. “Anything,” you said. “You’re asking a person who has nothing and everything to lose.”
His brows lifted with respect, a flicker of impressed astonishment softened the sharpness of his gaze. “Anything?” He repeated, quieter this time.
You nodded once. “Anything,” you confirmed. “Why me?”
His expression warmed, the corners of his mouth lifting with a kind of earnest admiration. “When I touched you earlier, I saw a small glimpse of your past,” he said, his eyes glowing unnaturally golden and fiery that it felt like looking straight into the flames of the sun, surprising you. “You’ve lost everything, yet you still chose to fight. That tells me everything I need to know about you.”
He extended his hand a little nearer. “One condition,” you said, taking his hand without hesitation. “What might be the name of the mage who decided to help a poor soul like mine?”
“You may call me Yunho,” his smile deepened with a touch of relief as he wrapped his bigger hand around yours, warmth instantly flooding your body. “Now, shall we change your fate?”
After a warm meal and even warmer clothes, you were all set. What you didn’t expect was for Yunho to take you inside the castle, leading you directly where you knew the ruler of the land would be. You stiffened and Yunho took great notice of this.
“I know this might be surprising, but I promise you, no harm will come to you. Not while I’m here,” he gently explained. “And I know that the rumours about My Majesty don't really help, but please believe me, none of them hold any merit. He’s not like that.”
But you didn’t have time to think about it, because Yunho was already opening the ornate doors of the throne room, his hand on your lower back as he led you inside. You wanted to ogle at the glory and beauty of the room, but your world stilled at the sight before you.
San.
He was seated upon his throne, looking every bit the ruler whispered about in fearful legends. The way he sat - still and predatory - gave the unsettling impression that he saw far more than what lay before him. His throne was illuminated with torches, yet somehow, he shone far more.
Your breath caught in your throat, not with fear, but with awe. He was enormous, both physically and imposingly so, his broad shoulders wrapped with wool and fur that was so white, it looked like he made it out of the very snow that covered his entire kingdom. His long legs were crossed, one elbow leaned on the armrest, a finger to his temple as he stared on.
He didn’t move, didn’t even blink nor shift his posture when you and Yunho entered. And he was unfairly handsome. With his sculpted jaw and high cheekbones that complimented the way his raven hair was pulled away from his face, he was the epitome of royalty. And his eyes - God, those eyes - they were dark and unreadable.
It was then that it hit you - you thought that storm outside was cold, but it was nothing compared to the man sitting before you.
“Jeong Yunho,” he said, his voice monotonous yet a lot more melodious than you thought. Such a juxtaposition, it was difficult to explain. “What is the meaning of this?”
He gazed at you once, but didn’t bother to greet nor acknowledge you, and you were completely fine with that. You didn’t know how you’d respond. Yunho bowed his head slightly. “I believe I have found the solution to our plight, San,” he gestures to you. “This is Y/N, she will help us.”
You raised a brow not only at the lack of title when Yunho referred to San but also at the mention of your name you knew for a fact you didn’t tell him. Silence enveloped the room before San spoke again. “She is not of this land,” he scrutinised flatly. “Why should she?”
The air tightened around you. You had no idea how he knew you weren’t from here. San uncrossed his legs, the gesture itself regal in all its glory, placing both his elbows on his knees before leaning forward. “Does she even know,” he continued, his gaze lingering on you for another second still devoid of warmth. “What she’s helping for, Yunho?”
He wasn’t challenging you, nor was he doubting you. He simply found your presence illogical and out of place, like you weren’t even supposed to be entertaining any of this. You fisted your dress, side-eyeing Yunho with nervousness because the king wasn’t wrong - you actually had no idea what you were doing here. God, you were such an idiot.
But what made it worse was San's indifference. You weren’t the only one surprised - he was too, it seemed. You weren’t the only one who’s given up every possibility out there.
Because San needed a bride, a queen to rule beside him. Not out of romance or even lineage, but more for desperation and legitimacy. San sat on the throne, yes, but he was but a king in title only. No other kingdoms wanted to acknowledge a king and a kingdom without a queen.
It was an ancient law older than the snow that blanketed the land, and the surrounding nations used that as justification to dismiss Utopia entirely, and used San’s half-recognised reign as a shield to reject him. They needed allies, an alliance, treaties, aid when the need arose, trade routes to sustain the people and their living - and they needed a queen to make it happen.
Yunho knew this. Everyone in the castle knew this. And it wasn’t like they didn’t try, because they did. They searched high and low both in and out of the kingdom and even the country as a whole just for that missing key to make San completely legitimate.
The problem lay in San’s complete isolation and rumoured reign. Princesses from neighbouring countries outright rejected the offer, noble daughters chose to flee to distant relatives, even regular people of foreign countries didn’t bother with a reply, and they all said the same thing - no one wanted to associate themselves with the cursed king and his frozen kingdom.
But there was one type of cruelty that cut deeper than the rest, because even the people of Utopia refused to marry him. Not the nobles, not the merchants, not the commoners. They simply didn’t want to share the fate of a king rumoured to be the heart of the snow.
And you - you who had simply wanted to find a beautiful resting place - you were never meant to be an option. Yet, here you were, standing before a king whose crown was true and real, but whose authority was hollow without any respect.
“You will be taken care of, treated fair and just with all the respect you deserve to have,” Yunho calmly explained albeit the hidden desperation that lined his eyes. “Please, Y/N, we really need your help. The lack of allies will always pose a danger to our people and the snow…our food supply can only rotate so much because we have no functioning farms.”
You bit your lip, thinking. Hours ago, you had completely resigned to your fate and now, you were being offered a second chance in life you would have completely leapt at had it been given to you weeks prior. It wasn’t even because you were chosen, it was because you were the only one who stepped willingly into the snow when everyone else fled from it.
But, at what cost and to what extent? On one hand, you meant what you said earlier - you had absolutely nothing to lose, but this time, you had everything to gain. But at the same time, you were about to bind yourself to a king nobody wanted to associate themselves with.
You lifted your eyes to look at the said king, almost jumping out of your skin when you saw that he was already staring back at you. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t even particularly expressive. He was simply looking; assessing and measuring something only he understood.
Though the intensity of it spiked anxiety in you, you found it fascinating. He was being handed the solution to his problems as a king on a silver platter and yet, he wasn’t the least bothered by it. Like he had truly given up and didn’t care for what was to come anymore. Exactly like you.
Your spine straightened before you even realized it. “Alright,” you whispered. “I’ll do it.”
Relief washed over Yunho’s features so strongly he almost looked emotional. “Thank you,” he breathed out, grabbing your hands. “Thank you so much, Y/N. You have no idea how much this means to us and the people of Utopia. We will be forever in your debt.”
He turned to San, practically pleading for approval with his eyes, but the latter didn’t move. He didn’t even look like he was breathing - he just stared at you.
And stared. And stared some more. He stared at you so long that the air completely became awkward and your legs actually started to ache from how long you were stared at. He stared at you long after the sun had started to sink into the horizon. It was long enough that Yunho started to fidget uncomfortably, letting out an uncomfortable laugh to break the silence. “Uhm, San—”
“Silence,” San muttered. It wasn’t even loud. In fact, he said it so flatly that it was almost astounding. “I’m thinking.”
You tried to swallow down the uncomfortable knot forming in your throat. You had no idea what he was thinking about, or why it took so long, or what he saw when he looked at you. But eventually, after one final, unreadable sweep of his eyes over you, San spoke.
“Once you stay here,” he said. “You can never leave. Literally. The snow will prevent you. Are you sure you want to surrender yourself to me?”
To me. The way he said it made your pulse spike. He wasn’t threatening you, by all means - in fact, it even sounds like he was giving you a way out. He simply stated it as an inevitable truth, as if stepping into his world meant stepping into his possession by default. You were about to belong to him, body and soul, and something about that made your insides feel hot and heavy.
“Does this mean I’ll never see what lies outside this kingdom anymore?” You asked, throat dry.
San’s eyes clouded with the first emotion you’ve seen in him ever since meeting him - hesitance, and dare you say, perhaps a little of hope somewhere in there. But, it only lasted for a second before his eyes flashed back to that indifference.
“You won’t survive it,” he said plainly, turning his head a little to stare at the never-ending snow that fell from the darkening sky. “No one does, and believe me, people have tried.”
Your chest tightened at the insinuation. The people have tried to flee and fail. Still, you have made up your mind. “I am willing.”
He leaned back on his seat, face unreadable, before settling into that stance where he was staring at you again. And after a terrifying heartbeat, he nods stiffly. “Very well,” was he all said before you were dismissed.
And true to his words, you were welcomed. Quite warmly, if you may say so, compared to the harsh winters that the kingdom enveloped you in. You were treated fairly like you belonged here, just as Yunho had said, given your own chambers and even your own personal attendant, Jung Wooyoung - a male since unfortunately, not one family wanted to send their daughters to even work in the palace, but that's alright for you. You loved Wooyoung, and he loved you.
You were even assigned a personal guard, Kim Hongjoong, a valiant man who had sworn his life serving you. A good man, a genuinely good one. A feast was held in your name, of the woman who had finally agreed to marry into the frozen kingdom. The chef, Kang Yeosang, personally made sure to serve your favourite dishes, which you appreciated.
Indeed, you were treated like a future queen. Or the woman destined to be cursed with the one and only Choi San.
He was a king with a crown of gnarled bones. The irony of it all lay in what everybody believed in, because we don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are. San wore a crown, but he was no king in his people’s eyes.
Except for his closest confidants and the ones who lived in the palace, the people who saw San saw differently. They followed but you can see the fear in their eyes. They have been so conditioned to believe that the reason the snow never stopped and why they can never leave was because of their own king, and that’s what they choose to see.
And as for San, you barely saw him, never really spending time with him other than talking about diplomacy and Utopia’s upcoming legitimacy as a kingdom. There were no gentle introductions and no attempts at familiarity with one another.
San never sought you out for anything beyond what was politically required. Every meeting he held with you was purposeful, efficient, and centered only on matters of state, and every time he did talk, he never really did look you in the eye, voice always teetering on that formal and clipped tone as if you were nothing more than an ally - which in hindsight, you were.
“You may do the wedding planning in whatever way you wish, including the theme if that pleases you,” San explained one afternoon, hands clasped behind his back as he stood near a window. “I do not expect you to be the perfect queen right on the get go, and that is fine.”
He stated it like a transaction, not a life-altering commitment. “Yes, Your Highness,” you mumbled, discomfort crawling under your skin at how stiff this entire exchange was.
Another time, he spoke to you about Utopia’s fragile diplomatic standing. “You will help stabilize the kingdom by simply existing by my side,” he said without malice, just pointedly, eyes on political letters he’s yet to send. He slides one to you, handing you a quill. “Sign this.”
You swallowed, grabbing the quill from his hand, freezing right after. Usually, he’d go back to whatever he was doing after making you do something politically inclined. That and he always kept you at a careful and deliberate distance every time, anyway.
However, this time, you took such a long time doing what he told you to do that he paused, gazing up at you with those sharp eyes. “Is there something the matter?” He asked, tone courteous and polite, but hollow and impersonal. “Something not to your liking?”
You avoided eye contact, not out of fear, but of shame, cheeks reddening against your will. “That’s not it, Your Majesty,” you mumbled, embarrassed. “I-I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to write. I never had the opportunity to practice. My parents needed help with our farm back then.”
There was something so incredibly embarrassing and belittling about admitting your illiteracy in general, let alone in front of somebody as articulate and well-spoken as San. You sighed, rolling on your bed, the shame still fresh in your memory. It was a stark reminder of who you really were before Yunho found you in that alleyway - a peasant who struck gold.
San did not respond at first, only staring at you, arms crossing over his chest, shoulders sinking back into his chair. Then, he turns his head slightly to his left, to Jongho who you forgot was with you back then. “Call Mingi,” he instructed flatly. “Effective immediately.”
Jongho comes back with another man in tow, someone you’ve seen with San once in a while during his meetings. San gestured vaguely in your direction. “I have a task for you,” he said. “Teach her basic literacy, and teach her well. Include the laws of the land if you must and other foundational studies.”
It was said so bluntly that you felt heat rush up your neck. But it wasn’t his tone that bothered you the most, it was the way he spoke as if you weren’t even in the room, as though you weren’t standing right there. Then he added, “A queen must at least be able to sign her own name.”
You gritted your teeth, reaching over to touch the winter heathers on your nightstand gently to forget how San made that sound so harsh. “You are dismissed,” he ordered, flicking his fingers at you, already turning back to his documents, already forgetting the sting he didn’t even know he imparted at you.
You followed Mingi out into the hall, quiet and a little stiff. “Don’t take it to heart, my lady,” he murmured with sympathy as he guided you down the corridor. “His Majesty has a way with words that makes everything sound harsher than they actually are.”
You let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh. “I noticed.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Mingi continued gently. “He simply didn’t know how to soften his words…especially around you. That doesn’t mean he sees you as lesser.”
That, you believed in. You still do. You didn’t take it personally then, and you still didn’t take it personally now. You couldn’t because he was right - this was simply how San was. However, one thing he never did, no matter how standoffish he was, was belittle you.
San was the type of man who matched your pace but kept a respectful gap, enough that your sleeves never brushed whenever you walked beside him, always keeping you at arm’s length.
There were times where Yunho would try to leave you alone with him to build rapport, but San would just squint his eyes as if he had just been told something so insulting. “Unnecessary,” he would dismiss with a cold edge that cut deep. “No need to deceive ourselves into thinking this union would be more than anything but political. I have better things to do.”
He was brash, that much was true. And yet, despite all that, he never treated you poorly. He never raised his voice, never belittled your inexperience or mocked your illiteracy and never crossed any boundary you hadn’t explicitly offered.
None of this was meant to be romantic, and you reminded yourself of that often. Still, there were moments where his distance stung in ways you hadn’t prepared for. As cold as the kingdom was, there was something even colder about being wanted only for what you could fix.
You sighed, blowing out the candles plunging the room into darkness, the soft scent of winter heather relaxing your senses as you sank deeper into the pillows, your thoughts drifting away as your eyes started to slowly close.
You tried your best to fit in, but sometimes, it was hard to offer warmth to a man who was determined to stay frozen.
You supposed that Wooyoung mentioned that tomorrow was going to be a long day, because he was absolutely right in that regard.
You had made up your mind to stay and read in your chambers all day, but imagine your surprise when Jongho delivered a letter to you, the surprise growing bigger when you realised that San personally wrote it, almost passing out in ultimate shock when you read it and saw that San was inviting you for supper.
There you were, not knowing how to fully react as you sat at the end of the long table directly across San, who sat on the other end. You’ve never had a meal with San alone. Meals usually composed of you along with other nobles to discuss politics and diplomacy issues regarding the kingdom, but never like this.
You cleared your throat. “Your Majesty.”
His gaze lifted, sharp and immediate, like he had been waiting for you to speak all along. “Yes?”
You faltered, already shrinking under the weight of his gaze on you. “I would like to thank you for your generosity,” you said, sounding small in the vast dining hall. “I wasn’t expecting a summon, is all.”
San set down his silverware. He didn’t seem offended, it was more like he was choosing what not to say. “Should I assume,” he began, tone neutral, yet biting. “That a simple supper with me is too much to ask of you?”
Visible shock fills your features, your eyes widening slightly before controlling them just like Wooyoung and Mingi had taught you. “That is not what I mean, Your Grace,” you tried to explain, but he didn’t relent.
“We are to be bound together soon,” he huffed, not softening a bit. “I would like to reduce the unfamiliarity at least even though this is nothing out of necessity. Nothing more.”
Your chest tightened at the bluntness, at the clinical way he spoke his words. Everyone’s words suddenly echoed in your head - that San never intended cruelty, that he simply spoke sharply naturally, but sometimes, it was difficult to grasp. It was difficult to not let the words sting you.
A sigh left your lips, picking up your fork to resume eating. But before you could do so, you saw him pick up a plate that was in front of him, and with a flick of his wrist that was far too sharp to be gentle, pushed it towards you. It stopped directly in front of you and all you could do was stare at it confused before you lifted your gaze towards him.
“Well?” San raised a brow as if daring you to waste his time by not moving. “The food isn’t going to serve itself. Eat.”
You stiffened. The sentence sounded harsh, unnecessarily so, and it was so him. But then, so quietly you almost missed it, you heard him mumble under his breath, “The fish is still warm. I am sure it will please you.”
He didn’t look at you after saying it. He simply resumed eating while all you could do was stare at him, not knowing exactly what to feel. Hesitant, you took a piece of the fish, not expecting much, but the moment it touched your tongue, your breath stilled.
Because it was perfect. You didn’t mean it was perfectly seasoned or cooked, but because it was cooked and tasted exactly the way it was made back in your village before disaster struck. You never thought you’d ever experience this again and you didn’t know what to make of it.
A strange, aching warmth bloomed in your chest, so vivid you almost forgot where you were and who you were with. “How? This is…” you trailed off before you could stop yourself. Home, your mind automatically supplied, this tasted like home.
You gazed back at him, heart leaping when you saw he was already staring at you. His lips were pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed as if you were bothering him by asking. “Jongho had mentioned once that your village had plenty of fish,” he stated flatly.
You lowered your gaze to the plate again, heart thudding. “It’s very thoughtful of you,” you murmured absentmindedly, confused because you would have never mentioned something that personal to Jongho. You clearly remembered telling Wooyoung, though.
San scoffed under his breath, his dark eyes sharply lingering a moment longer on you than usual before he started eating again, effectively ending the conversation, leaving you wondering if he was uncomfortable rather than indifferent about the whole marriage aspect between you.
Nothing eventful happened the entire supper. There was no warmth, but there wasn’t any coldness either, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did feel a little too hollow for your liking. The only thing in the air was the clinking of utensils and their scraping every time they hit the plate.
Dinner ended quietly just like you expected it to. “Thank you for the meal, Your Grace,” you stood, bowing your head politely at him. “I will be taking my leave now. I bid you good night. ”
You were about to make your way towards the door, careful not to step on your heavy lace-lined dress, when San’s voice rang through the hall. “Wait.”
You froze, not expecting it. The command cut cleanly through the room, it wasn’t loud nor urgent, but it sounded firm and absolute that your body halted by itself before your mind could catch up. You looked back at him, startled at the sudden call.
San hadn’t moved far; he stood with one hand resting on the back of his chair, posture regal even in stillness. His chin lifted imperceptibly toward the center of the table. “Take those,” he said.
You blinked, confused. He sighed, brows furrowing as he moved his hand this time to gesture towards the table again, perhaps irritated at the aspect of having to repeat himself. “The flowers,” he insisted, annoyed. “Take them. The arrangement, take all of them.”
You slowly turned your head, your eyes training to what he was pointing out. You raised your brows in mild surprise. Lenten roses. You didn’t even notice them earlier, too focused on San and the fish you ate with all delight.
“They will wilt if they are left here, and they would have been plucked out for nothing,” he spoke bluntly with that clinical precision you’ve come to know him for as if everything was nothing but a trivial matter. “If you appreciate them, take them. Otherwise they serve no purpose.”
You walked back to the table, trying not to flinch at San watching your every movement. You couldn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest as your fingers lightly touched the edge of each petal. You’ve always loved flowers, especially here where everything was white and barren. The flowers brought colour and joy.
You lifted the vase carefully, gathering the flowers in your arms. “T-Thank you, I will take care of them,” you whispered quietly, not knowing what else to say.
San didn’t reply. He only gestured one curt nod, already returning his gaze to the falling snow outside the window. There was something in his eyes then, something you couldn’t fully gauge, but before you could think about it, he was already walking away, closing the door behind him, leaving you to think about what you thought you heard him whisper before he left.
“I am sure you will.”
You left the dining hall with the lenten roses cradled gently against your chest, their subtle fragrance following you down the corridor, smiling to yourself, careful not to tug on the petals as they brushed against the material of your dress.
It was how Hongjoong saw you, the gallant knight beaming as he approached you. “My, what seems to make my lady smile like this?” His eyes looked at the flowers in your hands, eyes twinkling with understanding. “Those are beautiful. May I hold them for you while I escort you to your chambers?”
You smiled wider, appreciating the kind words. Hongjoong was one of the first people you met when you settled in Utopia. He was gentle, reliable, fiercely protective, and you found yourself being attached to him quickly. “How was supper with His Majesty?” He asked.
“It was good, thank you,” you answered truthfully. “A little stiff, and he’s…well, he’s him.”
Hongjoong nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean,” he exhaled, pausing a little in thought before he continued. “My Majesty…he’s carrying a lot. I would lay my life on the line for him. I know it’s hard to believe, my lady, but I can assure you he means well. He’s a good man.”
“It’s quite alright, Sir Hongjoong, I understand,” you said, pursing your lips. “I am here for one purpose only and I will fulfill it. What Your Majesty and I have is nothing short of political. He’s very decent to me so far, and I suppose he’s not required to go beyond that decency.”
But as you put the roses on your nightstand, replacing the winter heathers that have started to wilt, sometimes, you couldn’t help but imagine a different scenario; one where San’s eyes weren’t shrouded in frost, one where he might be that warmth in the midst of the snowstorm.
The thought of it made the tips of your ears red, heat spreading through your cheeks down to your neck. Snap out of it, you thought. The king was good-looking, devastatingly so, and admittedly, had the situation been different, he was actually your type.
Unfortunately, the lenten roses have also started to wilt. You would never admit that you noticed each stage of it, that every morning you checked the vase before you checked the mirror. You wouldn’t admit that it bothered you. Enough time had passed where you noticed that something had changed, both for good and bad reasons.
“I know it might not seem like it because, well, the snow,” Wooyoung chuckled weakly one morning, looking at the window with worry. “But Christmas always seems to bring out the best in people and we tend to celebrate it the best we can. I promise you’ll love it, my lady.”
The snow began to fall harder; harder than you’ve seen it. Christmas time apparently always brought the harshest storms, but it didn’t stop everyone from decorating the entire castle with the familiar hollies and tapestries that brought a little colour and life in the usually grey castle.
“I believe it,” you smiled, hanging some ivy and a couple of ribbons in your chambers, which Jongho had so kindly brought. “Do you…think the king will let me decorate his chambers?”
Both Jongho and Wooyoung froze, looking at each in worry before the latter cleared his throat. “Best to avoid His Highness during this time, my lady,” he said quietly. “His mood is particularly…delicate at this time of the year, especially.”
You raised a brow. Apparently, the storms weren’t the only thing that was harsh during Christmas. “What? Why? Does he not like Christmas?”
“It’s not that. He’s just crankier and unapproachable, that’s all,” Jongho admitted, avoiding eye contact. “Best not to test him, my lady.”
You tried to celebrate with everyone, noticing that everyone seemed to look forward to your presence every time you went around the castle. The servants seemed to be brighter in spirit, more than the usual, their smiles wider, the merry tunes of Christmas filling in the hallways that actually made you forget about your worries. You were actually happy for once.
“It is because Christmas actually gives the people a reason to like the snow,” Mingi patiently explained one day in the middle of your lessons. “And the queen’s presence gives the people strength, a pillar to look up on in the king’s absence.”
You weren’t good with reading and writing yet, but you were getting there. Christmas wasn’t an exception for you to skip out on your studies. Not that you minded, Mingi was a wonderful mentor and you genuinely did enjoy learning from the knowledgeable man.
“May I know the reason why His Majesty is to be avoided during this time?” You asked, holding your quill just like he taught you. “Everyone seems to refuse to talk about it.”
Mingi turns silent. After a while, he gently grabs your quill, handing you a book instead. “Shall we move on to economics, my lady?” He suggested, changing the topic, his eyes silently begging you to let the conversation go.
You faltered, mildly surprised at the blatant avoidance of the topic. You tried, you really did, not to think about San and respect what everyone kept saying, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the elephant in the room. You nodded slowly, taking the book, and that was that.
Of course you’ve noticed that San was nowhere to be seen. The throne room was avoided like it contained the plague, itself. His study was left untouched and even Seonghwa didn’t dare enter it even for more military planning. The servants paled, pretending they had urgent business elsewhere, which always prompted either Yeosang or Jongho to personally deliver his meals.
Nobody was telling you anything. Whether it was because you were an outsider or they were doing it for your protection, you didn’t know. You were left in the middle of it and you couldn’t help but feel something twist deep in your guts.
Because this wasn’t normal avoidance. This was fear. It wasn’t the terrified kind, no, but the quiet, heavy, and trained kind - the kind that people develop after years of knowing exactly what triggers a man, and what doesn’t. And you didn’t know what to feel about it.
And of course, this was when you found yourself thinking of him even more. You asked yourself multiple times what happened to him and what made him dislike Christmas. At first, you thought it was because the snow fell harder on the already cursed, snow-covered land that people blamed on him, but seeing how the people acted, it was more than that.
Sure, San had always been especially cold and distant, his walls high and impenetrable, but he was never cruel and never raised his voice at anyone. He had always been intimidating, but you genuinely didn’t understand why this time was different.
What could make an entire palace walk on eggshells around their king? Why did everyone act like Christmas turned him into something dangerous?
Oh, how you wished you knew the answer to this before you started roaming around the castle, hugging your arms to yourself, absentmindedly walking aimlessly with all these thoughts.
Was it the storm that was making San hot-tempered, or was it San’s temper that was bringing on the storm and making it worse?
A heavy gust of wind rattled the castle walls and the frames that were hooked on them, snapping you out of your thoughts immediately. You looked around in worry, realising that you had ventured a bit too far in your absentmindedness.
Your anxiety rose when you also realised that you were near the currently forbidden area - San’s chambers. You’ve never even been in this section of the castle before and you sure as hell weren’t going to start now. Panicking, you quickly turned around to leave.
It wasn’t until you heard it, something spine-chilling enough that it made you stop in your tracks not to listen, but out of surprise and horror. You didn’t have to think hard or even turn around to know that the sound was coming from San’s room.
“Fuck. Fuck. M-Make it stop, please…”
Moans and grunts of pure, raw pain were to be heard all over the corridors, the sound of it echoing ghastly around the walls and bouncing in its agony. You paled, caught off guard, not knowing exactly how to react at what you were hearing.
You jumped up when a loud crash followed by a deep, menacing growl on top of pitiful whimpers resounded after. It was horrifying to listen to. You couldn’t help but put your trembling hands on your mouth, eyes widening at the prospect of San hurt, or worse, someone hurting him in the privacy of his own chambers. He sounded like he was getting tortured.
Panic arose in your head, but even then, you had to force yourself to think. What were you going to do? You had absolutely no idea what was happening behind that door and that, alone, terrified you.
Not the sounds, but the idea of it. What could bring a man like San - the controlled and measured king you knew, the one with walls so high, you couldn’t see through it, the man who barely blinked at his adversaries - down to something feral and desperate?
Do you run? Do you get Jongho? Seonghwa? Yunho? Anyone who knows what to do? And you were going to do exactly that. You pulled your skirts up, ready to sprint for help, but once again, you heard a noise. Something about the primal emotions in his tone tugged at your heartstrings. He was choking, the sound of it wet, low, and trembling.
But most of all, he sounded alone. He sounded terrified. You couldn’t leave him. Not like this. So against your better judgment, against every warning, against everybody who swore you shouldn’t even think about approaching San, and against the fear stuck in your throat, you moved towards his door, your hand already pushing it open.
Nothing could ever prepare you for the destruction that lay all over the room the moment you entered. Everything was in shambles and disarray. Your heart almost wanted to leap out of your chest as you inspected the room, trying to look for the reason why you were even here.
You didn’t see San. But you could hear him. You tried to follow his pained grunts, your feet moving to what you assumed was the bathroom, your insides turning upside down when you realised that he wasn’t just groaning - he was wretching his guts out.
The closer you got, the more distinct the awful, guttural noises became. Your fingertips brushed the doorframe, almost whispering to announce your presence so as to not startle him, but you stopped halfway when you dared to look inside.
San was on his knees, trembling and bracing himself on one arm, his head lurched forward as he gurgled out the contents of his stomach, or the lack thereof. Your heart squeezed painfully seeing the great, cold king of Utopia reduced to such a state.
His usually prim appearance was nowhere to be seen, his hair disheveled and sticking to his skin, damp with sweat, his shirt open to reveal his sculpted chest that convulsed violently as he heaved and coughed so hard that you thought that something inside him was about to break. His other hand clutched the locket he always wore so tight, veins started to pop from his arm.
But that wasn’t the thing that bothered you as much as it worried you. It was his eyes. They were wild, red, and bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days - like he hadn’t been himself in days. Your heart cracked, not being able to stop the whimper that crawled up your throat.
His neck snapped up in your direction so quickly, you were terrified for a second, and he froze, eyes widening at the sight of you trembling uselessly by the doorway. For a split second, you saw something in those eyes other than coldness. You were the last person he expected to see.
And he tried to say something to you. You saw his lips part and you saw him process that you were here, in a place you absolutely shouldn’t be, but before he could do so, his body seized again, bending forward brutally to clutch his chest, shoulders curling inward against the pain.
You watched him stand up, feebly supporting himself by gripping the edge of the sink as his quivering legs tried to support his weight. He stared at you with those hazy eyes, almost glaring, using the back of his hands to wipe his mouth. “What are you doing here?” He snarled. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
Your body seemed to snap into action, step forward to try and help him. “Your Majesty—”
He slaps your hand away, but it was more of a poor attempt at it, limping past you with great effort. “I asked you a question,” he barked, angrier than you’ve ever seen him, slightly making you flinch. “You shouldn’t be here, didn’t anybody in this godforsaken castle tell you?”
He said it with such contempt, looked at you with so much scorn and disdain that you almost ran away with your tail between your legs, but when his trembling intensified, breath stuttering like his lungs couldn’t remember how to breathe, you made the split decision to surge forward, anyway, gripping his arm to help him walk.
“You’re not well, Your Grace,” you whispered, almost pleading. “Please, let me help.”
A small gasp leaves your lips as your hands wrapped around his bicep. He was warm, warmer than you expected, like sitting in front of a hearth to seek comfort. And he paused, staring at you. Truly staring with something unreadable in his eyes before he shoved you, or tried to.
“Don’t,” he tried to shove you again, his palm weakly trying to rip your hands away from him. His breath hitched, body swaying dangerously to the side before he leaned on the doorframe, eyes boring onto you sharply. “Leave,” he growled, jaw clenched, rage evident in his tone. “Just leave. You’re useless to me.”
It stung that even in his state, he was still pushing you away. You didn’t understand what was happening, and you had a feeling that you still won’t anytime soon, but when he started to stagger forward, you lunged forward to try and catch him before he hit his head on instinct. You didn’t need to know for now. San needed your help.
“Your Majesty, I’m begging you,” you pleaded desperately, pushing up on him and pulling him slightly to help him out of the bathroom. “Stop fighting me, please.”
“And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” His hand fisted weakly in the front of your sleeve, as if to shove you away again. Instead, it simply trembled there, powerless.
You didn’t answer, grunting as you guided him towards his disheveled bed. He relents, albeit begrudgingly, sinking onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes glassy with exhaustion. You immediately get to work, finding something to use to wipe his sweaty skin and grimy face to relieve some of the tension that was troubling him.
The bed sank under your weight, and for a second, you hesitated a bit, but when you saw San breaking out in more sweat, the hesitation left. Gently, you dabbed the damp towel all over his skin. You stared from his temples, smoothing his hair out, wiping the residue off his lips as well, down to his neck, careful not to irritate him with the temperature.
You got all the way down to his chest, finally looking at it up close and being mildly surprised at the dark lines that littered all over it. They were black in colour, resembling tree branches that covered his entire torso. They didn’t look natural. Rather, they looked infected and cursed.
It was when San seemed to realise that you were looking at them. You flinched when he suddenly grabbed a blanket to cover his chest, harshly snatching the towel away from your hands to brutally throw it across the room.
It was a sudden burst of fury that seemed to sap all the remaining energy out of him. “Get out,” he rasped, voice shredded raw. His hand flew to the locket around his neck, one that you always thought was just a trinket or an heirloom. “Yunho,” his voice cracked. The moment he mentioned the mage’s name, the locket glowed brightly, pulsing with unnatural energy that made your skin prickle. “Yunho.”
It was magic. You knew it was. Nothing natural glowed like that. And the lines that were strewn all over San’s skin…those weren’t natural either. But they weren’t the angelic magic Yunho had.
Yunho burst in through the doors not even a minute after, panting and looking like he ran a marathon just to get here. His eyes widened in horror the moment they landed on the way San convulsed and shook under the sheets.
“San? Good Lord, San, what—” he began, eyes dropping into something that resembled agony, pity lining his features at the sight of his king suffering under whatever was happening to him. He was about to rush forward, but immediately halted when he saw you.
His eyes went even wider, horror and disbelief flooding every inch of his face. “Y/N, my lady,” he exhaled in utter shock, not even expecting to even see anybody, much less you of all people, to be sitting on San’s bed. “W-Why are you here?”
San grunted in pain once more, prompting Yunho to rush forward, assessing his king and the damage that he endured. Yunho’s face crumpled. “My lady,” he said over his shoulder without looking at you, tone gentle but firm. “Please. You must leave. Now.”
If there was anyone who knew what to do, it was Yunho. You watched him for a moment, watched his hands hover over the king’s body as they glowed blue, the magic flowing from his veins to transfer them to San. He was healing him, you reckoned.
“You must not speak of this to anyone, my lady,” Yunho said quietly, looking at you briefly before his eyes glowed into that familiar fiery light you remembered from when you first met. “And I know you have questions, questions I’m afraid I cannot give you right now, but for now…”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You quickly got up, hastily walking towards the door to let Yunho do his work in peace, but before looking back at San for one last time before leaving. He looked a bit better. His face was still ashen and pale, but at least he was now sleeping.
And it hurt. It was the precise way that Yunho knew what to do - it meant that this was a regular occurrence for San. This happened year by year. And you weren’t privy to what he was trying to tell you.
Pretend you didn’t see anything.
Days passed in a daze, long nights where you lay wide awake on your bed where sleep refused to visit you, hours spent where you did exactly the opposite of what Yunho expected of you - to forget what you saw in San’s chambers that day, all of the grizzly parts of it.
It just wasn’t possible. How could you just erase what fear you felt when you saw him on the floor? How could you forget the way his bloodshot eyes looked at you like you were the anomaly for finding him in that pitiful position? The way they widened in disbelief when he saw you just before gagging helplessly again?
And when you weren’t seeing him in your head, you were hearing him amidst the silence of your room. The sound of him vomiting was wet and brutal, the unpleasant hacking and heaving of his stomach as he retched out was all you could hear. You could never forget it.
And the only thing louder than the awful sound was the realization that San had been suffering like this alone.
He was all you could think about, and frankly, you were worried. You couldn’t concentrate on your duties and studies, your mind often flying towards the king you swore your life to, wondering if he was eating, worried if he was still in pain or if he was sleeping well.
A gentle cough startles you out of your stupor and you look up, finding Seonghwa’s gentle eyes trained on you. “My lady? Are you still there?” He asked. “You seem to be…distracted. We could always continue this discussion next time.”
You blinked, shame crossing your features. You were currently with the marshal, who took time off to discuss basic tactics to you as per San’s request for additional knowledge. Redness creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed that you were wasting Seonghwa’s very limited time.
“I am terribly sorry, Sir Seonghwa,” you sincerely apologised, bowing your head slightly. “I must be in a doozy. I’m afraid that my mind is elsewhere.”
He immediately waves his hands in flustered protest. “Please don’t bow to me, my lady. And this might be impudent, but,” he paused, looking around to see if the coast was clear, his voice dropping into a faint whisper. “Would this happen to be about what happened to His Majesty a week prior?”
Your brows raised in surprise. “You know.”
He sighed, deep from within his chest, before getting up to lock the door. He, then, gives a grim nod. “Only those closest to him do,” he admitted, crossing his arms, jaw tightening. “Including Wooyoung. He was His Majesty’s favourite scribe before he was assigned to you.”
You stared at him, having more questions than answers. And he knew this. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I was the one who had to haul Yunho out after he was done healing him,” he explained with another sigh. “It takes a lot out of him, you see. Magic has to come from somewhere, and mages usually use their own energy.”
“Then, what is going on with him?” You pressed, unable to hide the urgency in your voice.
But Seonghwa only exhaled, long and pained, and shook his head. You could see it that he wanted to tell you. His heart was far too gentle, too earnest for secrecy, but the loyalty he bore to San was carved into him more deeply than any oath. “If I were permitted to speak of it, my lady,” he said softly, “I would tell you everything I know. It’s not my place.”
There was one question that was bothering you the most, however. One where you were afraid of the answer. The question left your lips before you could stop it. “Is he sick?”
He shook his head with confidence without a hint of doubt or hesitation. “No,” he refused immediately. “It is not a disease…at least not the type you’re thinking of.”
Your stomach turned, not liking that answer at all. Seonghwa paused, leaning closer, his eyes filled with genuine worry. “You may not be queen yet, but I have already sworn my life to you, my lady, and I am saying this out of pure love and concern for you as your loyal servant. For your sake, do not return to his chambers.”
His voice dropped into something more hushed and it sent shivers prickling down your spine. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear. Do not go back there.”
The snow started to let up after a few days, if only a little bit. While the kingdom was still covered in a white haze, the storm had subsided enough that everyone could at least walk out, including yourself.
“How curious,” you pondered while out and about on the castle grounds, hugging the fur-lined coat closer to your body. “I’ve been told that the storm was going to last another week or so. Today is a beautiful day, though, don’t you think so, dear Wooyoung?”
Utopia was a very beautiful kingdom even though the entirety of it was only white. “Yes,” Wooyoung replied, the corners of his lips lifted up tightly with what seemed more like force than mirth. “How curious, indeed.”
His eyes didn’t match the smile. They dropped almost immediately, dimming with a soft, far-off melancholy, his mind clearly somewhere else in thought. By the time you looked fully at him, he had already blinked it away, the tight smile still lingering. “Shall we go to your classes, my lady?”
You nodded, letting him lead the way. Today, you were determined to do well, but the moment you got in the library, you were met with a sight you were not expecting.
Because there was San currently in a deep conversation with Jongho. There were times that Mingi wasn’t available, so Jongho would substitute him more often than not, and once a week or so, San would supervise your progress. Today was supposed to be one of those days.
This was the first time you’ve seen San out and about, both since he’d secluded himself and since that day you accidentally walked by his chambers. You felt your heart going haywire at the sight of him. Both men haven’t noticed your arrival and you took this time to observe your king.
It was almost unfair how striking San looked when he was fully focused on something, especially whenever he held a quill to write something or handle paperwork. The sharp downturn of his brows, the lean line of his jaw, or the way his lips pursed into a small pout.
But it was unjustly unfair for him to still look this handsome even while clearly still recovering. And just like that, any attraction towards him went in the back of your head for now. He was pale, his eyes lined with bags that were purplish and almost black in colour, lips lacking in colour that made you worry. He was rigid, obviously trying to stand a little straighter than usual.
So much so that you were tempted to walk up to him to ask him if he was doing alright, but you knew better. Just then, as if sensing eyes on him, Jongho lifted his head and gave you a soft, pleased smile. “Ah, my lady, just. “My apologies. I didn’t notice you were here.”
San paused for a split second, jaw tightening, before ultimately deciding not to lift his head to greet you in acknowledgement, his attention solely on the paperwork as if you weren’t even in the room.
The entire lesson went by like that. It was the most awkward session of your life so far because while San didn’t acknowledge you in general, this was different. Usually, he would chip in a thought or two, ask you random questions that pertained to the subject, but this time, he was silent. You wouldn’t even know he was there if you didn’t see him earlier.
After half an hour, he got up and left. That in itself wasn’t unusual either, San never stayed the entire lesson anyway, but at least every time he left, he would politely, albeit stiffly, say his goodbyes to you or pass a small comment about you doing well on your studies.
And despite everything - your fear, your confusion, your unanswered questions - you felt your chest tighten. You watched him walk away, your spirits dampening at each step he took. Jongho took notice of this. “Did you want to run after him?” He asked. “He’s…well.”
You shook your head. But it didn’t stop there. Unfortunately, this continued for days. You would see him in his office, in the throne room, just him doing his regular kingsley duties like nothing ever happened, but he never acknowledged you. Not once. He didn’t speak to you nor even looked your way. You were like a ghost at this point, worse than strangers.
He was deliberately ignoring you, you soon realised. San was avoiding you like the plague, and of course, you knew why, but this didn’t stop you from thinking about him anyway. The more the days passed, the paler and more sickly he looked, and you couldn’t help but worry.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to check up on him. It was how you found yourself standing by his chambers again, knocking lightly on the door, whispering your arrival. When nobody answered, you breathed in, pushing the door open and hoping for the best.
Thankfully, there were no retching sounds to be heard. But unfortunately, the sight that met you was worse than you could have imagined.
There was San seated on his bed, shivering and trembling violently, one hand fisting the sheets he used to cover his entire body, while his other hand was pressed against his face, but it did nothing to hide the sight that made your stomach turn and your knees almost buckle down.
Thick streaks of red seeped from his fingers as blood seemed to spill from his nose, staining the smooth expanse of his pale cheeks. His breath came out in sharp, ragged wheezes, teeth clacking against each other to fight the cold tremors that plagued his body, and every breath he took, blood trickled from the corner of his lips, down the sheets.
Globs of red covered the sheets that it was hard to imagine that it was once white. You had never seen anything so grotesque in your life. “S-Sire?” You choked out, barely able to breathe.
He jerked at the sound of your voice. He lifted his head and your hands numbed, because his eyes weren’t just bloodshot - the white parts had entirely become red, like they were tinted with blood. For a moment, he didn’t even recognize you.
But the moment he did, it was like something primal in him came alive. “What the hell are you d-doing here?” He roared, feral, so loudly, you felt your bones rattle. You gasped at the intensity of it, caught off guard. “Get out.”
You closed the door behind you. “Your Maje—”
“Get out! Fucking hell, just get the fuck out!” His voice boomed. It felt like cold water was splashed on you. The expression he held on his face was one of delirium and ferality, and this was the first time you’ve actually heard San lose his temper like this or even raise his voice.
He lurched forward, body spasming, getting up to charge at you, the rage on him impalpable. Blood dripped onto the floor in steady beats from his nose. “I told you to stay the hell away from me,” he snarled, shoulder rising and falling in ragged breaths. “Why must you—”
Everything happened so fast. His arms gave out entirely, body pitching forward. You rushed to catch him before he hit the ground, hands sliding under his shoulders. “Please, you’re hurt and you’re bleeding,” you gasped despite every instinct screaming that you should run. “I can’t—”
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” He lashed out, swinging his arms. You yelped when he accidentally hit your shoulders, making you stagger backwards. “You stupid, stupid girl,” he spat. “Are you deaf or just highly incompetent? How foolish could you be? What part of…” he trailed off, wincing in pain. “What part of leave do you not understand?”
And maybe he was right. Maybe you were stupid. But it didn’t stop you from limping towards him anyway. “Please,” you whispered, hands up in surrender. “I want to help—”
“I said don’t come near me!” He barked, grabbing another nearby vase and throwing it on the floor in sheer anger. “You just never listen, do you? You think barging in here in a place where you’re explicitly forbidden makes you brave? No, it makes you a burden, you reckless—”
He cut himself off with a guttural groan, one hand flying to his throat as if he couldn’t breathe. That was it for you, you weren’t going to just simply watch. You surged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Enough,” you breathed, voice trembling with resolve. “Just…stop.”
His arm jerked up to push you away, but it was no use. “The nerve of you, I am your king—”
You narrowed your eyes, not even letting him finish his nonsense. You grabbed his shoulders and with one pull, you hauled him forward with practiced force. Even through the haze, you saw his eyes widen with surprise, genuinely stunned at the show of strength as you dragged him towards the bed and laid him down whether he liked it or not.
“You are forgetting who I was before all of this,” you murmured calmly, trying to ease him onto the sheets. “I am a farm girl. I grew up carrying heavy sacks of grain and meat, Your Majesty. It was all I knew. You would’ve known how calloused my hands were if you touched them more.”
He wanted to argue, you could tell, but more than that, there was a look in his eyes that made you pause. He looked at your hands, then back at your eyes with a brow raised, and there was something in there. He looked mildly offended. Now, you didn’t want to assume, but if you were being honest, his eyes were clearly telling you he did, in fact, know.
You looked away, turning around to stop the butterflies in your stomach. You worked quickly, grabbing a basin and some towels and putting them on his nightstand and of course, he tried to resist at first, but eventually, the fight in him left and he went still, surrendering to your help simply because he had no strength left to give.
You wiped the blood from his eyes and cheeks, cleaned the streaks along his neck, cool cloth brushing over heated skin and every so often, he twitched or groaned. You urged him to sit up, finding the first shirt you found in his dresser to change his bloodied shirt, careful not to look at the dark lines that marred his chest for fear of him lashing out on you again.
You had to replace the water in the basin three times, spilling the now reddened water over and over again until his skin was free of blood and water no longer stained red. He stared at you the entire time you worked, emotionless, not saying anything.
“Are you comfortable, Your Highness?” You whispered, gently smoothing his damp hair away from his face.
He hummed hoarsely, nodding subtly, but he didn’t look away. He watched you with those hollow eyes you were used to and usually, it unsettled you, but instead, your stomach fluttered. He was too handsome for someone who had nearly collapsed in your arms. It wasn’t fair.
Suddenly, he grimaced, seizing as his entire body began to spasm, shivering even though it was pretty warm inside his chambers. You didn’t know what to do, so you didn’t. Instead, you quickly sat on the bed, gently positioning his head on your chest to let him borrow your warmth even though you weren’t sure it was going to help, holding him tight.
He stiffened, but gave up the fight once again once he probably realised how warm you were, how gentle you cradled his feeble body as your hands steadied his head. An uncalled memory striked your head. This reminded you of how your mother would comfort you when you were ill.
Without thinking, as if on instinct, you fingers began to comb his hair, swaying your shoulders to rock him tenderly like your mother used to do to soothe you. “It’s alright,” you hushed, finding the right rhythm to rock his quivering body. “I-I got you…”
You didn't know when the stinging behind your own eyes started, but you continued to rock him, anyway, hoping he didn’t feel the tears that fell from your eyes on his skin, or the way your voice cracked once in a while as you hummed a soft lullaby to accompany the soothing motion. You really didn’t know. All you knew was that it hurt to see him like this.
Eventually, the tremors eased, and finally, San went still, his head growing heavy on your chest as sleep finally caught up to him. His light snores filled your ears as whatever was causing all this loosened its grip on him temporarily to let him rest.
And you didn’t move, not until you were sure he was truly asleep. You didn’t want to anyway. And in the stillness that followed, your heart tugged painfully. This was the closest you’ve ever been to San and it was unfortunate that it had to be in these circumstances.
You didn’t realise how long you’d been sitting there, lost in your own thoughts, staring at his sleeping face. You were exhausted, your body was also becoming a little weary as the adrenaline came crashing down on you. You needed air.
You shifted, carefully lowering his head on his pillow so you could get up and let him have this rare moment of peace, but before you could get up, you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. Your breath stilled, mouth opening slightly in surprise.
And if that wasn’t enough, he tugged on it, too. It was weak and clumsy, but you felt it, anyway. He didn’t open his eyes, but his brows furrowed. “Stay,” he rasped, barely a whisper, voice rough with sleep, raw with excess use and fatigue.
Your breath came out ragged as you stared at his hand around your wrist, holding onto it as if you were his lifeline. And by God, you felt something then. Your chest fluttered warmly at first, before turning into heat that was too dangerous for your own good. You could barely breathe, it was like he had your heart in his hand, squeezing it slightly instead of your wrist.
You bit your lip, hesitant. Was he even coherent enough to know what he was asking for? You didn’t want to take advantage of it, but the thing was, you couldn’t bear to leave this room knowing that you were going to worry about him the entire night, anyway.
It was when he opened his eyes, barely halfway, but enough where you could see the familiar sharpness in them. “Stay,” he repeated, firmer this time. He wasn’t asking you, he was demanding you.
You nodded, lifting the covers and sitting back down on the bed, and the moment you did, he shifted instinctively towards your warmth, making your heart flip. Not even a minute later, his breathing evened out again and you let these warm, fuzzy feelings lull you to sleep.
But the next morning, all those feelings died. You were startled awake by someone shaking you violently. At first, you didn’t realise where you were, the unfamiliar setting of the room sending your head into a frenzy, but all of it came back to you when you saw San staring at you.
He looked somewhat better - better than you’ve seen him in a while, really. In fact, he was already in his royal attire. And he looked angry. Maybe that’s why his brows were furrowed together, face reddened in a way that only unbridled fury could bring.
You quickly got up, ready to tend to him in case he was still feeling unwell, your eyes automatically checking if there were specks of blood to be found on his shirt, relieved to see that there wasn’t any. “Your Highness,” you began, voice still thick with sleep. “Did you need—”
“Not another word. I don’t want to hear you, and I don’t want to see your face, you hear me?” San spoke with calm, deliberate venom, not giving you a chance to even finish your sentence. “Do you understand me? Or are you perhaps too stupid to?”
You were stunned into silence. His words landed like a slap to your face, each one of them precise and intentional. “P-Pardon?” You couldn’t help but let out, genuinely surprised at how scathing he sounded and it stung worse than anything last night.
He scoffed, tilting his head in mock fashion, a derisive smirk on his face. “You think you’re exceptional now that you’ve stayed here?” He seethed, eyes snapping to you with such lethal coldness, it halted the air in your lungs. “What, you think tending to me makes you important?”
This time, you were actually shocked, hurt filling your chest as you stood up to try and explain yourself. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” you breathed out. “I was just trying to help.”
“Oh, please, spare me,” he scoffed, eyes like cold glass. “You deliberately refused to listen to me when I told you to get out and not come back. You were like a stray animal that refused to get kicked out.”
He enunciated his words clearly, ensuring each word landed exactly where it would do the most damage. And he succeeded. You blinked, hurt prickling your chest. “This isn’t fair,” you said. “I was genuinely worried for your well-being. You know that’s not true.”
“No? Tell me, then. What do you call throwing yourself at me during my weakest moments?” He kept trudging forward and you kept staggering backwards, stopping when your back hit the wall, San effectively trapping you. “Or maybe you were just that desperate, crawling into my bed like some pathetic little thing.”
The words hit like a slap, You knew he was a little cruel in ways he didn’t mean, but this time, it was different. He meant every single thing. Of all the things he did and didn’t do, this was the one that genuinely hurt you the most. You shook your head quickly, eyes stinging, not even knowing what to say to that one.
You could have any other insults any time of the day, but being accused of being a desperate whore will be one you will never, ever accept. You grew up with absolutely nothing, almost gave up your life with less, but the one thing you refused to let go and get trampled upon was your dignity and integrity.
Bile rose from your throat as you tried to breathe through the pain in your chest, the pain so physical that you wanted to fold in on yourself. You looked up, ready to excuse yourself, but when you looked at San, his eyes were wide, mouth open, expression aghast with regret.
You realised, then, that you had already started to cry, hot tears falling in torrential streaks down your eyes, You choked, getting dizzy at the whiplash at the speed of how your mind caught up and it was when an agonised whimper left your throat before you could stop it.
“I-I didn’t mean what I said,” he backed up, raising his hand in an attempt to touch you but stopped himself at the last minute when he realised how deeply he shattered you. “Oh, God, I did not mean any of that, I did not mean to diminish your integrity like this—oh, God.”
But the damage was done. You hadn’t even realized you’d spoken those words aloud. All colour drained from San’s face and he looked so frightened by his mistake that it hurt to look at because he wasn’t even this frightened when he was bleeding out from his eyes and mouth.
“Y/N, stop, don’t cry, don’t, please,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse, almost breaking. “I didn’t mean those, I swear to you. Listen to me, I am so—”
You flinched at the sound of his voice, and that alone made him visibly flinch in return. You shook your head again, because you couldn’t hear this. Not right now. Not when his words were still ringing in your ears like a fresh wound.
You were determined to get away, but he held onto your wrist. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, raw and guilty. You tried to free yourself, but he held on. “Y/N, please,” he swallowed. “I won’t keep you, but let me call someone to send you back. You can’t…just wait, please.”
He held onto the same locket on his neck, the heirloom glowing slightly as San whispered to it, his hand never letting go of your wrist, not even when Hongjoong came in, eyes widening in concern at the scene he witnessed.
San’s hand finally loosened around your wrist, fingers trembling as they slipped away from your skin. “Take her,” he ordered the knight. “Use the hidden passage and let Wooyoung tend to her.”
He didn’t look at you as Hongjoong led you out. He couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the floor as if it physically pained him to lift them and you didn’t look back as you walked out of the room he had shattered you in, letting the door close between you like a final, heavy blow.
To say that you were still upset until the next day would be an understatement. Because how dare he? How dare he just say those words like he had every right to? Oh, you were mad. And it wasn’t even because you were looking for any sort of thanks for what you did; it wasn’t your fault you were worried about him.
You touched your chest as you brooded in front of your vanity mirror. It was, however, your fault for feeling something there. Something you didn’t want to think about when he held your wrist and told you to stay.
You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought, just in time to hear gentle knocking on your door. You sighed, pursing your lips, turning around to see a sheepish looking Wooyoung standing by the door, his hands behind his back. “I told you I did not want to be disturbed today,” you said.
“I know, my lady, but it is of utmost importance that I am here,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “I have something for you.”
Your frown turned into pleasant surprise when he finally brought his hands in front of him, a smile spreading across your face when you saw what he held. In his hands was the most gorgeous bouquet of purple hyacinths wrapped together with a thin strip of ribbon and lace.
“Oh, how lovely,” you gasped, excitedly taking them from him, bringing them closer to you and breathing them in. “They’re particularly difficult to find around, how did you acquire them?”
“I didn’t. They’re not from me. His Majesty had them curated especially for you, my lady,” Wooyoung replied softly.
Your fingers stilled around the stems of the hyacinths, the smile on your lips faltering, your expression of joy slowly being replaced to that of visible shock. “What?” You murmured before you could stop yourself. “He did? Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lady. He personally gave them to me for you. He even instructed me to arrange them properly,” he said, his expression softening, all traces of mischief gone. “He would’ve come personally, but didn’t think you would want to see him. Not after yesterday.”
Just when you thought that San couldn’t send your mind into shambles even further. Your mind spun, refusing to comprehend that the cold king of Utopia would even do something like this. You brought the flowers to your chest without realizing it, pressing them lightly against your heart as if to steady it.
“Thank you,” you said softly. “I’ll put them in the vase, myself.”
Wooyoung exhaled, releasing a breath you didn’t even realise he was holding. When he turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. It was relief, tinged with sadness.
As you put the delicate flowers in the vase, it was hard to miss how carefully they were picked just for you. Each petal was perfect, free from bruising or any kind of marring. But more than that, why had he sent them anyway?
You had a vague idea. Behind all the walls he was putting up, was proof that San was actually capable of feeling regret. Somehow, that just hurt as much as the words he said because he knew what he said was wrong, yet, he chose to hurt you at the moment.
You reached out and brushed your fingers against the petals of the hyacinths. You weren’t completely ready to forgive him, but for the first time since yesterday, your anger wavered.
The next day, you woke up with a brand new bouquet that was even bigger than the one the day before. This time, they were forget-me-nots, which was fascinating to see in a bunch considering how tiny they were.
“Again?” You murmured, fingers hovering before gently touching one bloom. Wooyoung can only shrug, turning around before you see him smile.
San must be more remorseful than I thought, you pondered. You put them with the hyacinths, the anger in your chest still not subsiding, but simmering at least. And you thought that was that, but no, the flowers did not stop there, because San kept sending flowers for one week straight.
By the third day, they were white tulips. You stared at the pure and pristine blossoms, biting your lips, no longer just surprised, because there was something else accompanying it that made your chest oddly tight. You were flustered, and not just that, you couldn’t help the heat on your face that stayed for what felt like hours after receiving the brand new bouquet.
And you wanted to stay angry, you really did, because no matter how many flowers he sends, the words he said can never be undone anymore, but how were you supposed to do that when he sends avalanche lilies the fourth day so plenty, they spilled all over the place? The other flowers haven’t even wilted yet and here you were with new ones.
You stood in the middle of your chambers, struggling to find a place to put the vase that was overflowing with so much of the lilies. You turned around, helpless looking at a smirking Hongjoong who held another vase of the lillies. “I’m running out of places,” you laughed under your breath, equal parts overwhelmed and intimidated by how many flowers there were.
By now, the servants had stopped pretending not to notice. News had spread that the stoic and impassive king had been sending his would-be queen flowers everyday. The giggles and murmurs brought life to the castle and it was ridiculous how all of this had you smiling like you were a teenager all over again.
“These are lovely,” Mingi commented, laughing at the overwhelming amount of flowers in your chambers when he came for your usual classes. “Well, I have a delivery,” he handed you another bouquet, mischief in his eyes. “More to add to this garden of yours, I suppose.”
You felt your face warm up at his teasing remark. “I have no idea what you mean,” you mumbled, feeling your body buzzing with excitement as you took the bouquet of snowdrops from him. You held onto them the entire class and never let them go.
By the sixth day, you were awoken to the calming scent of lavender. You smiled without realizing it, opening your eyes to see Wooyoung and Jongho giggling to each other as they arranged the lavender all over your chambers, not knowing you were already awake - not knowing that you had begun to look forward to each flower that San sent your way.
Then, the seventh day came and this one was delivered a little differently. It had been nighttime by then and you were already starting to feel disheartened since there were no flowers yet, but as you were reading your book, Yeosang came in carrying a tray of food that had you salivating.
Not only that, they were generous heapings of food that you could tell were your favourites, and Seonghwa was hot on his tail carrying a modest but breathtaking bouquet of pink camelias. Yeosang laid all the dishes properly, not-so-subtly wiggling his brows at you playfully.
“His Majesty specifically asked for today’s supper to be special,” Yeosang said, his mouth curving into a knowing smile. “Catered to you, my lady. I hope the fish is to your liking, His Highness said you enjoyed it the last time you had it.”
Seonghwa placed the bouquet on your lap. “Looks scrumptious,” he commented, gesturing to the food. “His Highness was especially pleased when we told him we discovered a river that had trout in them while we were roaming the area. Immediately thought of you, my lady.”
Your throat tightened. You looked at the bouquet, fingers brushing all over the pink petals and they felt tender and more earnest than the other flowers he sent you, somehow more personal than the rest.
And then you stared at the feast for a little while longer when the two men excused themselves, tears threatening to fall from your eyes before you dug in, heart warm and as full as your chambers that were overflowing with flowers. You had to think about it at first, why this particular bouquet seemed to tug at your heartstrings the most more than the other ones.
The simplicity of it made it your favourite, but it wasn’t because of that - it was because all along, it seemed that San had been paying attention to you.
Seven different flowers for seven days straight, and not a single word. You wondered if this was San’s way of speaking when words failed him.
But that wasn’t how you usually handled things. No, you were the confrontational type. The very next day, you made up your mind to seek San, yourself. You didn’t want to let things fester, but the truth was, you wanted to see for yourself if the flowers meant something to him.
You found San in his study where you knew he usually was at this time of the day. You took a deep breath in, that little fear in the back of your head overtaking you, a bit scared that he was going to push you away, and rapped lightly on the door. When no one answered, you opened it slightly, peeking your head in before entering.
San didn’t even notice you, let alone hear your knock, busy with his paperwork. Your heart lurched as you stared at him. He looked better, the colours on his cheeks and lips were back. You cleared your throat to catch his attention.
San looked up, shock flickering briefly across his features before he schooled them back into neutrality. Still, he set his pen aside immediately. “Y/N—my lady,” he whispered breathily, standing up from his chair. “Please, come in. I’d hate for you to not feel welcome,” he paused, a slight frown marring his handsome face. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
“I’m alone,” you do as told, carefully closing the door behind you. “I wanted to thank you,” you said, straight to the point, voice steady despite the way your heart fluttered. “For the flowers.”
For a moment, he said nothing, most likely not expecting you to bring it up. “Were they to your liking?” San asked, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it though his face still retained that sharpness you’ve come to know him for.
You nodded with an affirming hum. “I did,” you replied with genuine sincerity. “They were very beautiful, all of them.”
His gaze dropped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he audibly swallowed. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he replied, low and careful. Gone was the flatness in his tone, replaced by something just a little warmer. “Very pleased.”
“I will be cherishing them, Your Grace,” you smiled softly.
That earned you a look from him that lingered and remained unguarded. His eyes softened in a way that felt almost dangerous, one that had you holding your breath because you have never seen San’s eyes be this expressive not only towards you, but in general. And now that you knew he was capable of doing such a thing, you didn’t know what to do.
You broke eye contact first, not being able to take the intensity of his gaze. “W-Well, I’m afraid I have taken too much of your time,” you cleared your throat, lowering your head to hide the redness of your cheeks. “I shall be taking my leave—”
“Wait,” he stopped you, startling you a bit and apparently even himself. There was a long pause and you could only blink in anticipation. Finally, he exhaled. “About that night,” he began and your breath hitched. He noticed and his eyes glazed but only for a bit before going back to being impassive again. “The words I spoke were cruel, words I should have never said to you.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away, forcing himself to look you in the eye even though this was taking a lot out of him. “And for that, I am very sorry. I hope you can accept my sincerest apologies.”
And when he bowed low, that was all you needed to see. It wasn’t flowery and it wasn’t anything grand. But it was San, a king who was so used to being bowed to instead of the other way around. You felt the weight of his apology settle deeply in your chest.
“Also,” he continued when he stood up straight again. “Thank you for taking care of me the way you did, especially for staying and cleaning me up even though I gave you every reason not to. It was wrong of me to intentionally hurt you after all those.”
“I forgive you,” you reassured him. “Though I was very much hurt, everyone deserves a second chance. You do, too.”
Another silence fell, but this one was different. It was a little awkward because you’ve never really been alone with San without the entire exchange being political, but at least it wasn’t cold or heavy. Rather, you found yourself not minding it much. The silence was comfortable.
When he finally spoke again, his tone had softened further, almost hesitant. “It’s a lovely day outside the castle grounds,” he turns his head towards the windows before training them back on you, eyes fainltly dubious but fairly hopeful. “Would you do me the honours of walking with me and lending me your time, my lady?
You were stunned into silence. The way he asked it, the way his gaze lingered as though he were bracing himself for rejection. Your heart betrayed you before your mind could catch up. “I would love to, my king. ”
There was a very faint curve that tugged at the corners of his lips. It was very subtle, almost invisible but it was there, as he exhaled a soft sigh of relief. Then, he extended his hand, not breaking eye contact, and how can you reject him when he was actually offering and not demanding?
You began to lift your hand, but you stopped midair when you realised that you had no gloves on. San remained quiet, though you can see it on his face as realisation dawned. Your hands weren’t soft and dainty, all traces of femininity gone from all the years of farming.
“May I?” he asked gently, his voice lowered as though the moment itself deserved reverence.
At your nod, he gingerly reaches for your hand, his touch warm and surprisingly comforting at the lightest of contact. He hummed under his breath, stealing yours when he brushed his thumbs over the thick callouses of your skin and something burst inside your ribs.
“You have beautiful hands that have been through a lot,” he murmured. “You should be very proud of them. As I am.”
Your heart swelled painfully, emotion rushing in far too fast when he stilled his thumb, pressing them on your skin and that’s when you felt it - his own scars. Callouses met callouses, strength met strength, and instead of shame, you felt seen. He shifted closer and with an ease that felt almost intimate, linked his arm with yours.
If you were being completely honest with yourself, you wanted to scream. Your face was as red as a tomato - probably even redder - trying your best not to be too stiff as San adjusted his pace to match yours as you began to walk through the snowy grounds of the castle.
And by God, he was trying his best. San still felt rigid beside you, his steps a little measured and deliberate, but not because of duty, but because of consideration for you. This was the same man who always kept space between you, who never so much as let your sleeves touch during formal walks, and now he was walking with you like you were equals.
“I know I should have asked this before,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, looking your way, and you just had to blush - one because the way the sun hit the high points of his face made him look ethereal, and two, he was really, really trying and it was endearing. “But how are you liking Utopia? I…know there’s not much here. You can be honest—oh, wait.”
You frowned when he slowed. It was when you noticed that you were about to pass a narrow path, and not only that, the wind also started to pick up, the bite of it hitting your face rather painfully. Without saying anything, he angled himself to shield you from both the wind and the path so your dress wouldn’t be caught in the dirt.
You stared at him in awe, your cheeks warm and your pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with trepidation. He gazed at you, shoulders tense as he waited for your answer. “It’s quiet and the snow doesn’t pretend to be king, and I think that’s why I like it. Utopia doesn’t promise warmth. It promises survival, if you’re willing to stay and try.”
San stopped walking, turning fully to you, actually staring at you as if it was the first time he’s actually seeing you. Respect further softened his eyes, awe flickering in them. “I see,” he drawled, throat bobbing when he swallowed. “Yunho was right all along. Thank you.”
You wanted to ask him what that meant, but he continued walking then, aimlessly with no ending point in mind. He asked you more questions, like the books you read or what you did in your free time. He didn’t speak a lot, but when he did, he was very gentle with his words, very regal and proper. You reckoned that this was just how he was in general as a person.
And he listened to everything you said, never interrupting nor dismissing you. The walls were still there, unmistakable and tall, but you could see where he was pressing against them from the inside, trying to make room for you.
“And your lessons?” He asked earnestly. “Are they too difficult? I’m afraid I might have put too much pressure on you.”
“They are,” you admitted. “But nothing I cannot handle—”
“Your Majesty.”
You both turned around, not expecting to see Jongho whose voice cut through the moment. His brows were both slightly raised, eyes pleased as he inspected the both of you and San - walking side by side, arms linked - head nodding in approval, though it is replaced by sheepishness when he realised what he just walked into and interrupted.
San stilled, his eyes narrowing into slits as he stared at his advisor. The tenderness he had didn’t just disappear, it completely snapped out of existence as if the gentle man you were with the entire time was just an illusion. His body snapped into rigidity, face dropping into that impassive and unreadable coldness you were so used to seeing in him.
“Yes?” San gritted his teeth, tone sharp and clipped. It wasn’t apprehension–inducing, rather, the immediate change fascinated you.
“We have a budgetary meeting to be held half an hour from now, Your Highness,” Jongho meekly replied.
San sighed, mumbling quietly under his breath. “Send all the heralds. I shall be there,” he nodded, ever the king he was.
He turned, releasing your hand with visible reluctance. You didn’t think that the change in him could be more startling, but you were wrong. The hardness melted away, eyes warming, voice dropping into something gentle and almost apologetic when he started to speak to you.
“I apologise,” he pursed his lips. “It slipped my mind that I had prior commitments before this.”
You shook your head. “It’s quite alright, Your Highness. You have priorities you can’t ignore.”
“I hope that I may ask for your time again,” he added, and in a drastic turn of events, he lifted your hand to his lips, planting a brief, innocent kiss to it before he let go. “Soon.”
And that’s how he left you, standing still with your heart racing with cheeks so red, it would’ve been enough to melt the snow around you. You realised, then, that Choi San might have been far more dangerous like this compared to when he was much colder.
So maybe you were curious about San. You wanted to know the things he liked, what he did in his free time, and what made him tick. You chalked it up to boredom on your end, however, there was genuinely one thing you wished to know more than anything.
“Oh, hello, Y/N,” Yunho greeted with the warmest of smiles the moment you entered San’s study, lowering his glasses and setting aside the notes he held. “I’m afraid San isn’t here today. He’s currently with Seonghwa to inspect some disturbance up north of the territory.”
Now that you think about it, maybe this was the best case scenario. Yunho was easier to talk to than San, and from what you’ve seen, the two seemed to go way back. Maybe he could answer your questions better.
“You would be correct,” Yunho chuckled, crossing his arms with a smirk. “I’ve been with the Choi clan before San’s grandfather was even born, so you could definitely say we go way back.”
It was your turn to raise your brows. You raised them so high, you wouldn’t be surprised if they reached up your hairline. “First of all, you could read minds,” you blurted out stupidly before you could stop yourself. “And second, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.“
At that, he laughs heartily, his entire body rattling as the melodious sound of his contagious laughter bounced around the study. “So I have been told,” he chortled. “And you caught me at the most opportune time, too. Well, since you’re here, I could try to explain some things to you since there seems to be a lot in your mind.”
Yunho reached for a piece of paper, crumpling it into a small ball in his hand. At his touch, it began to glow, and when he opened his hand, tiny silver butterflies fluttered lazily in the air. He smiled when you gasped in awe, then at the flick of his wrist, they disappeared, a light drizzle of glitter left in their wake as proof of temporary life.
“Is this the same power you use to heal San that night?” You asked bravely, not sure if you were even supposed to ask but decided to go for it anyway.
Yunho hummed, eyes dropping at what you were trying to ask. “Very clever way of prying information out of me, I’ll give you that,” he chuckled. “But yes, you could say that.”
And just like that, the air turned a little more serious. You hesitated for a little bit before asking again. “His Highness…what was that that night?”
Yunho exhaled slowly, the lightness draining from his expression as he turned fully toward you. “You weren’t meant to see that,” he said quietly. “You weren’t meant to be there at all.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves, bracing yourself. “What you witnessed,” he continued, choosing his words with care. “Is something that predates you, me, even this kingdom as it stands.”
Your heart dropped then and there. Not because of fear, but because you were hoping to hear something else that did not confirm the fact that, indeed, was suffering all this time. “So,” you started, trying to steady your voice. “The rumours about him being cursed...”
“You saw the markings on his chest,” he said instead, eyes steady on yours.
Your breath hitched. He didn’t deny it. “How it began and what caused it,” he continued, turning his head to stare at the light snow falling from the sky through the window. “That is San’s story to tell. What I can tell you is that we’re trying our best to stall it. I would use my powers and San would lend me his energy since it takes a lot out of me to do this.”
Your shoulders slumped before you could stop yourself. “But today…?”
“Just me,” Yunho said gently, and then smiled knowingly. “You look disappointed.”
You flushed instantly. “I-I was just curious.”
“Right,” he drawled, his smirk widening. “Well, a little birdie told me that you two were getting cosy the other day walking around the castle grounds.”
“We are to be married soon,” you defended yourself weakly. “Surely, it’s fairly normal to familiarise with each other before then, don’t you think?”
“Mhhm. And surely, San didn’t have to send you different flowers everyday and make a show about it,” he laughed. “They were quite difficult to find, too. He was so adamant about them.”
You pouted, cheeks burning. “He was being remorseful. I’m sure you’ve heard what happened.”
“Sure, but what about the ones before those?”
You paused, caught off guard. That definitely caught your attention, because unless you were remembering wrong, you were positive you’ve never received anything from San before. And Yunho, it took him a minute, but his eyes widened in genuine surprise when he saw that you had no idea what he was talking about.
“He’s been giving you flowers long before the recent ones, Y/N,” Yunho carefully explained. “Do you not remember? Wooyoung would either arrange them for you or you’d already have them before you woke up. I know because I’d make them and transport them in your chambers.”
The room spun before you. Of course you remember those flowers, they were the only source of happiness and comfort you had for the longest time since they were the only colour you’d see in contrast to the greyness of your surroundings. And to think that San has been sending them to you all along had you dizzy.
“I-I had no idea,” you breathed out. “I genuinely had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Yunho sighed. “But it’s not your fault, he’s not a very showy person, as you can already tell,” he paused, locking eyes with you firmly. “San is a good man, just a little more reserved and closed off especially with what he’s been through. Here, take this.”
He proceeds to pluck a book from the shelf behind him and give it to you. “Read it when you’re alone, but for now, just know that that man you saw that night was not and will never be a representation of who San is as a person.”
You remembered the blood, the tremors, the way his voice had broken despite all that fury. Your throat burned. “I know,” you said. “I just genuinely wanted to help him, that’s all.”
“And he knows that,” he replied softly. “But you have to understand, he hates being seen like that because that’s not him. He has a habit of saying things he doesn’t mean because he’s so used to enduring things alone simply because he’s long forgotten how to ask for help. Like that morning when he made you cry.”
You cringed internally, not wanting to remember the hurtful things he had said, but waiting to see where Yunho was going with this. “There’s no excuse, and he’s already tormented himself for it, but the reason why he was angry…tell me, did you go through a secret passage?”
You raised a brow in mild surprise, nodding in confirmation. “Right. You had basically spent the night with him. Unmarried. He didn’t want the nobles seeing you and shaming you for it.”
You froze, the realisation striking you harder than you expected, but Yunho wasn’t done yet. “Unfortunately, fear can look like cruelty sometimes,” he smiled, forlorn. “You’d be surprised at how soft San actually is if you paid attention. Him assigning Hongjoong to you was probably the biggest telltale sign, Y/N.”
You were torn between knowing and not because you were terrified that once you knew, this would forever change the way your heart beat. Still, you looked up anyway, listening.
“Hongjoong was Seonghwa’s lieutenant,” Yunho gently explained. “His best fighter. San trusts very few people with his life. By placing Hongjoong at your side, he didn’t just give you protection, he created a hole in his own defenses.”
Suddenly, memories clicked into place with painful clarity. San’s sharp tone whenever Hongjoong wasn’t with you like that one morning when you asked him for tea. Still, you didn’t want to believe it. “I-I don’t understand.”
“He’s not angry when he sees you alone without Hongjoong guarding you. Never was,” he said, gauging your reaction carefully. “He’s worried you’ll get lost. Terrified, even, that you’d lose your way and accidentally find yourself out in the snow and freeze to death.”
Silence followed. You only hoped that Yunho couldn’t hear how your heart betrayed you by beating too loud inside your chest. “Pay attention to him next time, yes? Pay attention to his eyes. He’s got that look in them he doesn’t even know he has when he’s staring at you.”
The moment you got out of there, you quickly ran to your chambers, opening the book that Yunho gave you. At first, you were confused because there was nothing but illustrations of flowers and their names, but when you looked closely, your blood ran cold. This wasn’t just a book - Yunho handed you a floriography book. The study of flowers and their meanings.
You swallowed, knowing exactly what Yunho was trying to tell you without outwardly speaking of it. You turned the pages of the book, racking your head for flowers that San had given you prior to the recent ones. And then you remembered the winter heathers. Your fingers quickly scanned the book, until you found them.
Winter heathers, known to thrive where other plants cannot. Symbolises independence and self-reliance. When given, it is meant to say: Your beauty stands out even in the coldest times.
You almost dropped the book with what you just read, fumbling it clumsily in your hands. You couldn’t believe it, was that how San looked at you even back then? And, then you remembered the lenten roses he made you take that one dinner.
Lenten roses carry quiet strength, consolation, and comfort with every petal. When given, it is meant to say: Your strength endures even in the deepest winter.
San made them seem like an afterthought back then, something whose potential he did not want to waste. You turned the page with a shaky exhale, desperate to find more meaning in the all flowers he’d given you.
The first one was the purple hyacinths. You will never forget that one because that was the first of many that he gave you.
Purple hyacinths: I bloom with remorse and I ask for your forgiveness.
A breathy exhale leaves your throat. The flowers were his way of speaking to you when words failed him. Your fingers lingered on the illustration longer than necessary, a dull ache spreading through you before you turned the page again.
Forget-me-nots: I cannot forget the hurt I put onto you.White tulips: I ask for forgiveness and hope we can begin again.
It was unsettling, how the sincere meanings of the flowers were earnestly making their way into your way, inching earnestly in every corner. You were about to turn the pages again when your eyes narrowed at the small text at the bottom.
Oftentimes, different flower combinations convey messages. For example, purple hyacinths, forget-me-nots, and white tulips together mean: I know I hurt you, I haven’t forgotten, I’m sorry.
By now, breathing was lost on you and each page you turned made it difficult to do so. You were so confused because the Choi San you had in mind was someone who viewed you as a person he needed for his kingdom’s legitimacy - someone dispensable and someone he didn’t need to get to know as a person even though you were going to spend your life with him.
Avalanche Lily: I bow in humility for my mistake.
Snowdrop: I hope for a new beginning with you by my side.
Lavender: I can’t stop thinking about you, near or far.
Pink Camellia: I long for you tenderly, and I long to be near you again.
Or so you thought. Now, you didn’t know what to think. You thought you knew who San was. A hollow laugh left your throat because all this time, you had mistaken his walls for apathy. San had never been cold - he’d been soft all along. You just haven’t learned how to read between the lines yet.
You pressed your lips together, but the sting only grew worse, creeping into the corners of your eyes. You blinked once; twice too late. A tear slipped free, landing on the page. You sucked in a shaky breath, hastily wiping at your face with the back of your hand.
You shut the book, setting it aside to do something you’ve never done before - embroidery. That night, you spent the majority of it embroidering San’s initials on a small handkerchief, taking the time to be precise and make it look at least decent considering it was your first time doing it.
You didn’t know what possessed you. All you knew, the more you sewed, your fondness for San kept growing tenfold. By the time you were done, you had probably pricked your fingers a thousand times, but you smiled, proud of what you’ve done, hoping he’d see the beauty in what you’ve created, just like he saw the beauty in you when you couldn’t even see it in yourself.
You had been contemplating on how you were going to give San the handkerchief that you embroidered. The adrenaline had worn off then and now the thought of giving it to him had you embarrassed all over, anxious whether giving it to him will be too forward.
But you didn’t have to think too hard. You were about to head out for a walk when a knock on your doors interrupted your plans. “Y-Your Highness,” you breathed out, surprised to see San on the other side. “What brings you here?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer, just staring at you like he couldn’t believe that you actually opened the door for him. His composure was perfect, face emotionless and almost cold, but after that conversation with Yunho, you noticed something immediately - it was the way his gaze flicked away before settling back on you.
You wanted to melt into a puddle of endearment then and there especially with how red the tips of his ears were. Oh my goodness, you thought with quiet astonishment. He’s shy. He’s so shy and he’s trying to make himself look like he’s not.
“I was wondering,” he cleared his throat. “Hoping, if I can ask you for your time again? I would like it if you joined me for tea.”
Well, you certainly weren’t expecting that. For a moment, you hesitated, your mind reminding you of that one time you tried to invite him for tea and coldly rejected you. But this time, as you stared at his hopeful face, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your tummy. He was trying, he really was, and you could feel it.
“Lead the way, Your Grace,” you smiled before you could second guess yourself.
You felt the butterflies multiply when you linked arms with him again as he led you through the halls to one of the smaller dining rooms, opening the door for you before you could reach for them, stopping shortly by the door in awe at what you saw.
The table was beautifully set, but what caught your attention was the large array of tea laid out in neat rows. You looked at him, brows lifting in quiet disbelief.
San cleared his throat, gaze immediately dropping to the floor as if it held something fascinating. “I wasn’t sure which you preferred,” he said, straightening his back in an attempt to save face even though the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him. “So I asked for all of them.”
You had to purse your lips together tightly in order to not laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. “I see,” you chose to say, pulling the chair so you could sit down. “Thank you, Your High—”
“No, wait, allow me,” he stopped you, gently prying your hand away from the chair so he could pull it for you to sit down. Your cheeks were redder than his by this point. “San.”
“P-Pardon?”
He sat across you. “Please, call me San,” he repeated, eyes soft, tone warm. "This might be too much to ask, but will you please do me the honours of letting me hear my name from you?"
He was right - it was too much to ask because you didn’t know how to say his name without giving your true feelings away. But his gaze never wavered and he waited patiently like he’d wait forever to hear it from you without demanding it.
“San,” you said at last, softly, as though speaking it too loudly might break something fragile between you.
The effect was immediate. He tilted his head as he stared at you, face still that same cold, indifferent king that had people trembling with fear at the mere sight of it, but his eyes told a different story. They twinkled, bright and sincere with genuine contentment.
You broke eye contact, afraid you might explode on the spot with how hot you felt, reaching for a random tea blend without even looking to give your hands something to do to distract yourself. You were about to lift the teapot when you felt San’s hand lightly stop you.
“Let me do it,” he offered, grabbing the pot to serve the both of you. Your eyes widened, aghast at what you were witnessing. He was the king, for God’s sake. You were about to protest when he shook his head. “I insist. Please, I want to do this for you.”
“You truly didn’t need to do all this,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.
“I want to,” San replied simply. “If it brings you even a moment of comfort, then it was worth it to me.”
As if that wasn’t enough, you watched as he put a small dollop of honey in the tea instead of the usual sugar cube. You wanted to cry. Yunho was right all along, San did pay attention more than you thought because you did prefer honey in your tea over sugar. He slid the cup towards you with both hands, watching as you took a sip.
“Is it good?” He asked expectantly. “I hope it’s warm enough and not too sweet.”
You smiled, taking another sip, not missing the way his eyes shone. “It’s perfect.”
The conversation naturally flowed from there, especially now that you knew a little more about San. Whenever he noticed that your plate was almost empty or you were almost done with your cup, he would take it upon himself to refill them for you, all without looking away from you as you talked.
And he listened, truly listened to everything you said as if the words you uttered were the gospel, itself. He was empathetic, too, eyes dropping into something somber when you mentioned the plague that took your parents from you, transforming into respect when you told him how you endured alone before settling your way into Utopia.
“I used to enjoy tea with my parents,” you said absentmindedly. “Do you enjoy tea?”
He stared at you, opting not to reply, but the fondness in his eyes was unmistakably there. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it’s like his true goal in life was to leave you breathless. You suddenly remembered what you had in your hand the entire time. Your finger tightened around the handkerchief anxiously. “San,” you murmured. “I have something for you.”
His brows knit together as you placed the folded handkerchief into his palm. He unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning his initials, tracing them as if they were sacred. He was about to say something, but closed his mouth when he touched the tiny detail you sewed next to it.
He narrowed his eyes to inspect what it was, and when he did, he looked up, eyes wide. Not exactly startled, but in disbelief yet soft and warm in a way you’ve never seen before. “An edelweiss flower,” he murmured. “Do you know what it means?”
You nodded, a serene smile gracing your face. Of course you knew what an edelweiss meant. You had spent countless hours looking for a flower whose meaning you wanted to convey; spent an exorbitant amount of time studying it so you could embroider it neatly onto the cloth.
My feelings match yours and I will brave the cold with you.
For a while, he did nothing, staring at the handkerchief with unreadable eyes, hands tightening around it once or twice as his mind traveled elsewhere. But then, he smiled fully and openly, unable to stop himself. That was probably the moment the world stopped for you, because that smile…you will never forget it for as long as Utopia stood on its grounds.
Without a word, he reached across the table and took your hand, warm and sure, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like it belonged there. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, as a genuine, helpless smile reached his eyes.
You didn’t need to say anything either as your fingers laced with his. You’ve already told him everything you needed to as the both of you sat quietly in the room, letting the tea grow cold, the snow falling gently outside bearing witness upon you two.
Things went back to normal after that, but at the same time, some things have definitely changed between you and San especially after that afternoon tea session.
For one, you had tea with him at least three times a week, most of it because he would literally clear his schedule out just to make time for you. Secondly, and probably that made your heart beat wildly, the flowers never stopped. San would still send one every single day without fail.
You had no idea how he was acquiring them, especially because he had sent some flowers that you knew could not survive the harsh snow of the kingdom, though Yunho’s exhausted demeanor and tired, sunken eyes should have been an indicator to you.
There were some things whose change was gradual, however. San and you went back to your duties, especially the politically inclined ones. It definitely sent you for a whiplash since you were slowly getting used to the sweetness he’s been showing you lately to the point that you had forgotten how utterly intimidating San was as a king and a ruler.
But the thing that would immediately make you blush that most was when the rare, inopportune moments where he would give you a subtle smile and nod in between those sessions.
The change definitely wasn’t immediate, but it was there, just like Yunho had said. It wasn’t something you noticed on the get go since San had gotten so busy again that you began to assume that he barely noticed you.
But this time, you actually tried to really pay attention like Yunho said because this time, you started to notice that he actually did watch you. And once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. Which begged the question - had San always been like this and you were just gullible?
The first instance was when you were with Mingi at one of your classes, San supervising in the background as usual as he did his own work, quill in hand, signing document after document. As Mingi lectured away, something tugged at you. And you didn’t mean to do it, but in the soft blur of your peripheral vision, you saw it and your breath hitched.
Because San was already looking at you, quill still in hand. And that was the thing, subconsciously, you knew he had a habit of pausing once in a while, but you didn’t know it was because he was watching you.
And it should have unnerved you, especially because he literally stared at you the entire study. His expression was neutral, yet alert as he literally stared at everything you did with that look in his eyes, and he stared long enough that you felt it all the way down your spine.
The second was when you were with Wooyoung when you were looking at a catalogue of some winter apparel since you needed more. As you were fitting in some of them, you noticed a shadow lingering in the reflection of the mirror. San was silent, literally almost invisible if you weren’t paying attention, which was how he probably got away with it before.
But there he was, arms folded as he stared at the way the coat hung on your shoulders. You tilted your head curiously, looking back at him and making direct eye contact. Strangely, San looked away, pretending that he wasn’t even staring to begin with, eyes drifting to the window to watch the snow outside as if he’s never seen them.
You had to commend the effort. You bit your lip hard, trying not to burst out laughing, but Wooyoung didn’t even bother hiding it, laughing so hard that he had to clutch his stomach and lean against the clothing rack for support. “I never thought I’d see this day come,” he cackled. “Oh, that was a tragedy if I ever saw one, my lady. I’m surprised it took you this long to notice.”
You felt heat rush from your cheeks to your neck. So, apparently, everybody knew San had been fondly watching you from afar all along except for you. “I don’t know what you mean,” you squeaked. “San–uh, His Majesty wasn’t staring. Perhaps, just inspecting what’s proper for me.”
“Of course not,” Wooyoung smirked, eyes dancing. “His Majesty was simply…deeply invested in the structural integrity of winter apparel.”
San cleared his throat softly from where he stood near the window. When he turned back, his expression was back to that menacing and domineering one, even shooting Wooyoung a warning look, yet his ears were unmistakably pink.
“That coat,” he cleared his throat. Before, you would have mistaken it for something that lacked emotion, but now, it was clear that it was restraint. “It fits you. It keeps the wind out.”
You mumbled your thanks and his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary, soft and fond, before he turned away again, pretending very hard that the snow outside was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
But the most damning thing was when you were in a council meeting, one that was held in the Great Halls along with the other nobles, both comrades and the usual ones who opposed royalty in general.
San sat on the end of the meeting table while you sat on the far end, the regality dripping off of him effortlessly. He looked distant and dangerous, face painted with so much calm. From the outside, he was the very image of intimidation, the untouchable king straight out of everyone’s nightmares. Even the ones who loathed royalty kept their voices measured.
But you knew better. Now you did. Because his eyes were on you, measuring and assessing, and no one suspected a thing. It was subtle enough that anyone else would’ve missed it, but not you. No, never you. You were used to feeling his eyes on you now; craved it at this point, even.
Because how can you not when he held the handkerchief you gave him like it was the only thing that kept him going in this dreaded meeting? Ever since you gave it to him, he never not had it with him. He took it everywhere, displayed it on the breast pocket of his royal garment even if it looked so out of place.
“Three deaths in three days. Always the lowest. The poorest of the poor, never the blessed,” San’s eyes narrowed, dark and brooding. “What does that tell you?”
One councilman shifted. “That they don’t know how to stretch what they’re given, Your Grace.”
“Wrong,” San said flatly without looking at him. “It tells us that someone is using the food budget for the poor and pocketing them. Shadows don’t stay in the dark forever, gentleman. ”
You watched as his hand held the handkerchief a little too tightly in his hand to rein his anger in. People often mistook his stillness for indifference. In truth, his mind was racing, trying to figure out what his next response was going to be.
Everybody in the room froze, but not you. Even when San looked like he was about to explode, he still had the handkerchief in his hand and he didn’t just hold it - he also adjusted it, smoothing the creases with his thumb. It would have been comical if you weren’t so touched.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he began, hand gesturing at each person, the same hand that held the cloth. “Come nighttime, there will be an internal audit of every noble who even breathed in the fund’s direction. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear. If you are not…well.”
His mouth curved, humourless, setting the handkerchief on to the side to brace his hands on the table to lean forward. “You are going to learn what it’s like to starve under my watch. Just like the people who you had stolen from.”
The councilman nearest to San, however, thought it was a good thing to try and change the topic. “T-That’s, uh, quite a fine piece, Your Grace. Unusual for king to keep on hand, though,” he stammered, his hand already reaching for the cloth San had set aside. “May I—”
“Don’t.”
It was just a word and it made everyone’s breath still, including yours. A loud thud resonated around the room when San’s hand deliberately came down over the cloth. San lifted his gaze then, and whatever lived behind his eyes was cold, sheer, ancient anger.
“If you touch that,” San sneered. “You will discover how merciful starvation is compared to what I’ll do to you.”
The man recoiled, stuttering apologies, and for a fleeting second, San’s eyes met yours. He nodded, a silent reassurance. He folded the handkerchief neatly and tucked it into his coat, close to where his heart would be if he were brave enough to admit that’s why he put it there.
“Meeting adjourned,” he murmured. “Before my patience is tested further.”
No one needed to be told twice. You stood up amidst the rush of the people trying to escape San’s brewing wrath, but as you do, you felt your dress suddenly getting yanked backwards, gasping softly when your balance faltered, Hongjoong barely able to stop you from falling.
A councilman, one of the few who looked down on your modest background as a farm girl, accidentally stepped on your gown. Irritation flashed on his face and without even apologising, he steps aside, causing your shoe to come undone from your foot to slip a few feet away.
Heat flooded your cheeks. Your gasp had caught people’s attention, and by now, everyone’s eyes were on you. Before you or Wooyoung could bend down to retrieve your shoe, San was already there, hand on your waist. You blinked at how fast he was considering you were far.
“Are you alright?” San whispered tenderly as if the room didn’t just witness him almost unleashing his fury earlier.
More heat crawled up your face, though this time it was for a different reason. “Y-Yes,” you said. “My shoe, I just need to—”
You couldn’t even finish that sentence. San was already kneeling in front of you, your shoe in his hand while the other still steadied you. “San–Your Grace,” you hissed in mortification, panic creeping in instantly. “Please, get up, this is embarrassing. Y-You don’t have to…”
Your sentence died in your throat when San looked up at you, a slight smile on his face, expression soft in a way only you will ever get to witness. “I want to,” he reassured in spite of the way the room silenced at the exchange between you two.
Because the Choi San was on his knees. The King of Utopia was kneeling. Your head spun as you watched him brushed away the imaginary dust on your shoe before guiding it back on your foot, touch gentle and almost reverent like you were worthy of lowering himself for.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room. One scandalised councilman spoke out. “Y-Your Grace,” he stammered, incredulous. “This is unbecoming of you. A-Are you doing what we think you’re doing?”
San raised a brow, turning his head slightly. “Yes,” he replied as he adjusted your shoe, ensuring it fit comfortably before rising to stand again, arm snaking around your waist and pulling you close. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”
No one answered - no one dared to. You stared at San, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at what he had just done. This wasn’t some sort of show to assert his dominance in court, this was a deliberate message he was sending to everybody who was here to witness it.
You were to be respected. You were to be protected. You were his future queen. You were his future wife and you were utterly his. It was strong, because San’s words were the law and they were absolute. If the nobles defied this unwritten rule, they’ll get what’s coming for them.
Your heart swelled painfully as San glanced back at you, his expression still hard and fearsome, but his eyes, his eyes always told you a different story. You couldn’t help the genuine smile that crossed your face as he led you out, because you were more than alright.
It wasn’t that you were treated badly to begin with, but ever since that day in the meeting room, you could tell that everybody looked at you differently. It wasn’t anything remarkable and you would have missed it if you weren’t looking up close.
The thing that made it obvious to you was that it didn’t come from the people who already knew you; it came from the nobles that used to oppose you. Every time you passed them, they all had varying looks of respect, uncertainty, and acceptance. There was no in between. It was odd.
“Is it wrong that this feels more unsettling than outright disdain?” You chuckled while you were having tea with San again, sipping on the tea he had chosen for you this time.
He hummed, not really replying immediately, but you caught it - the tiny smile he tried not to show when you closed your eyes and sighed in contentment after that sip. “When you’re used to something, the change might be unsettling at first,” he said, words wise yet concise.
“I would suppose so,” you whispered quietly. You knew he heard you considering that he was seated close to you. Now that you think about it, the more tea sessions you have, the closer he keeps sitting towards you. You definitely weren’t complaining.
Tea times with San were the highlight of your day. The both of you didn’t even do much, just basked in each other’s presence, but it was peaceful and it just felt right. San still didn’t talk much, his face still dark and indiscernible, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer, almost fond with adoration.
The air around him wasn’t any lighter, but it was gentler, and they became warmer the moment his eyes would meet yours. He poured the tea himself, adjusted the cup so the handle faced you, nudged a small plate of sweets closer without saying anything. His facade never broke, expression still carved in stone, but his actions always said otherwise.
Every so often, his gaze would drift to the window, where the snow had begun to fall just a little faster than usual. Nothing alarming, just enough to notice. His jaw would tighten once in a while but every single time, he would turn his undivided attention back to you.
The contrast would make your chest ache both with warmth and something you couldn’t name yet because even when the world outside unsettled him, he always turned back to you.
Until he didn’t, and the snow began falling at a rate so alarming, no one even dared to look at the windows for fear that the snow would swallow the entire palace this time. Tea times lessened and San would look more fatigued, more worn down somehow that you actually had started to worry if he was going to get sick.
The thought of him being in that position again where he could barely help himself. You didn’t even want to think about it. Today was one of those days where San had to cancel tea with you and you were left in your room, staring at the snow from your windows falling at a troubling rate.
It was one of those things that unfortunately, you couldn’t do anything about. Such was the curse of Utopia. That is, until you noticed the situation from beyond - the servants getting sick from the cold, worries from other good nobles of commoners passing from severe frostbite, vendors having to pause their livelihood from the severe storm.
You had to do something about it. One good thing that came out of San's fondness of you was that when it came to politics, he actually listened to you, took your points into consideration in what to do even if he’d end up doing something else along the way.
“You are my soon-to-be wife,” he’d say. “My other half and the half of the kingdom’s future, not some ornament hanging beside me. I also reckon two brains are better than one.”
It was how you found yourself being led by Jongho to the meeting room, the same one San defended you from. You were about to enter when Jongho’s arm shot up in front of you in alarm, distress clear on his face.
“W-What’s the matter?” You asked, now worried as well.
Jongho put his finger on his lips, using his other hand to push the door open very, very carefully, and you immediately understood why. Now, you’ve never heard San raise his voice before, but you wish you never did.
“Y-Your Majesty,” one of the few good and brave nobles, stood near San, with a pleading look in his eyes. “It is for the best, look at our kingdom, it’s buried in snow. If we don’t give her—”
“No,” San snarled, both hands slamming against the table with abnormally inhuman strength. The sound echoed violently, nothing like the controlled authority you were used to. “I said no.”
“But, Your Grace, the snow will swallow Utopia whole—”
“Heed our request, sire. This is what Lady Y/N is here for—”
“It is for the greater good, one sacrifice for the greater good of the entire kingdom—”
Several nobles spoke at once, but San wasn’t having it. His shoulders were tense, breath heavy, until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough!” He growled, swiping everything on the table down to the floor. “Enough. I do not want to hear it, I refuse to hear any of it.”
Nothing was left untouched in his fury - scrolls clattered, ink spilled, quills broke. The room went deathly silent. Even Jongho didn’t dare breathe beside you, and you couldn’t even begin to think why you kept being mentioned in the conversation.
“This is non-negotiable, do you hear me?” San snapped, voice raising another octave as he was hunched over the table. “If I see any of you attempt to even touch a hair on her head…if I hear any of you so much as talk about doing it…”
He paused, chest heaving in the severity of his own anger, a deep, unsettling laugh crawling up his chest. “I will end you. I will erase your bloodline. I will kill you.”
The threat, itself, should’ve made you nervous, but something else made your heart pound, instead - San’s entire arm and neck area. Dark, cursed branches of blackened veins creeped from his hands, all the way to his arms and neck area, spread across like a rotten disease. The same ones you saw on his chest one time.
An involuntary gasp leaves you, prompting San to turn his head towards you, and you stopped breathing completely when you saw his eyes. They were dark - literally and figuratively. They were entirely black, no whites left as darkness seemed to swallow both his eyes. And they were now staring at you.
When San realised it was you, however, his anger seemed to vanish instantly. When he blinked, his eyes were back to normal and only the branches on his skin remained. “Y/N,” he exhaled, uttering your name out like it was the only thing he needed to breathe at the moment.
Suddenly, San begins coughing, normally at first before they turn into worrying wheezes that had Yunho, who you didn’t even notice was in the room, swiftly striding across the room to pat him on the back. “San, calm down, please,” he placated. “The snow’s already weakening—”
“Take over,” San cut off, harshly pushing the mage’s hand away, as he made his way straight towards you, gesturing to a rigid Jongho. “Call Seonghwa. The three of you take over me.”
You didn’t protest when he grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. You certainly didn’t protest when he started leading you to his chambers, temporarily letting go of your hand to open a door on the far side of his room to reveal a narrow staircase. And you trusted him.
That trust turned out to be well-deserved when you realised that you were on top of a tower, overlooking the entire kingdom, but that wasn’t what starstruck you - it was the stars above, beautiful twinkles of faraway clusters that overlooked and saw everything.
San didn’t say anything, just leaning over the balcony. All you could do was stare at him - the darkened branches that littered his hands and arms, the unreadable look on his face that was scrunched deep in thought, the way the locket around his neck glowed and pulsated wildly brighter than the stars. You could even feel heat emanate from it from where you stood.
You didn’t realise that you were lost in thought, not until you were enveloped in San’s scent, felt the warmth of fur and wool wrapped around your shoulders as he draped his coat all over your shivering body. “San,” you started, fisting the coat closer. “You’re going to get cold.”
He shook his head, snowflakes falling from his hair as he did so. “I don’t get cold,” he murmured, pointing at the locket. “You were staring at this, it prevents me from feeling chills,” he explained, voice tilting in amusement. You were about to touch it, but he held your hand to stop it, alarm on his face. “Don’t,” he quickly said. “Just…don’t.”
“Why?” You bravely asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped the locket around his fists and you saw in real time how the curse on his skin started to slowly disappear. You were rendered mum. You had so many questions, so many things you wanted to know, so much information you knew you were missing, and a lot of anxiety over being left behind on a secret you knew you had no right to.
In a blink of an eye, the wind and the snow died. It stopped so suddenly that it gave you a whiplash. It wasn’t normal, you knew it wasn’t, especially when San didn’t even look the least surprised about it. If anything, he looked relieved, like he was expecting it to happen, even.
And then, he coughed, his chest heaving at the force of his cough. Your eyes widened a little when you watched a thin trail of blood slipped from his nose, widening a bit more when San barely reacted, just wiping it with the back of his hand. “S-San,” you whispered.
“I know,” he replied calmly, almost tired. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, unbothered by the unnatural stillness around you. “It happens when I push too far.”
Push what?
The question burned on your tongue - the snow, the curse, the locket. You opened your mouth to speak, but he didn’t let you. “Do you think,” he interrupted suddenly, voice low, “That I am doing the right thing?”
You blinked, stunned at the sudden, albeit clever, diversion. “What do you mean, San?”
Your heart broke for him. There was no king to be found in San’s eyes. He was just a man who looked impossibly tired. “This. All of this,” he lifted his hand, gesturing at the entirety of the kingdom. “What if all of this was for naught? That I’m failing my own people with my own bare hands without meaning to?”
“No, you’re not,” you answered quickly. “You can’t do this to yourself, San. You can’t fault yourself for the unpredictable. Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to and that’s alright because that’s out of your hands.”
He turned to look at you then, really looked at you, and scoffed good-naturedly in disbelief, like what he was seeing in you was too good to be true. “I’ve thought of abdicating,” he confessed. “Many times. That, perhaps, Utopia would be better off without me.”
You didn’t say anything right away; you couldn’t, because what could you possibly say to that? “There’s no right answer,” you finally replied. “No one has the right to fault you for doing what you thought was right at the moment. The only thing we can do is hope for the best.”
San’s jaw tightened. “You’re,” he breathed out, stepping closer, snaking his hand around your waist, trembling as if he was trying to stop himself from doing something. “Insane.”
You swallowed, heat traveling on your skin, training your eyes on his locket so you wouldn’t see the way his eyes darkened. “You’re a good king, San,” you said honestly, steadying your voice.
“How so?” San rasped, his voice deepening in timbre, rattling your core.
“Do you remember the first time we met? That day in the throne room?” You asked, trying hard not to waver as you felt yourself being pulled flush onto San’s chest.
“Of course, I do,” he hummed, tucking your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering behind your neck. You shivered at the sensation. “I could never, ever forget that day. Why?”
“Because you knew I wasn’t from around here,” you answered like it was obvious. He frowns, confused. “You knew I wasn’t from Utopia because you care about your people, so much so that you remember all of them well enough to know that I’m not one of your subjects.”
He clings on to you just like you were clinging on to the sound of his heavy breathing. Your faces were so close to each other's; one wrong step and your lips would meet. Time was at a standstill. You could drown in him and you'd never want to rise again.
His hand on your waist had your heart thudding against your ribcage, and you never realized how empty your chest was, how deep it really was, until you were this close to him. "Y/N," he whispered, his breath laboured and shaky. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly. "God, help me..."
There was no way you were meeting his eyes right now. He was right here close to you, so close, doing what he was doing and you letting him do it, and just leaning towards it. His hand held your chin and gently lifted it forward to meet his eyes. You bit your lips in apprehension and his eyes followed the movement. You knew you were done for when he mirrored you.
"W-What are you doing, San? Woah, this is dangerous," you stammered when you felt him back you up on the edge of the balcony. “I might fall.”
"Don't worry. I'll catch you when you fall."
Your heart felt heavy. "I believe it," you whispered, voice so small you weren't sure if he heard it.
But he did. The way he looked at you, how could you hold back from wanting to kiss him? If you leaned forward, you could capture his lips easily. "Don’t look at me like that," he begged, his voice between a plea and a demand. "I don't want to be reading this wrong right now, please."
"I don't know what to say," you squeaked. "It's not that easy—"
"I can make it easy for you," he said, his voice dropping an octave. You watched as he took the locket off, throwing it haphazardly on the ground. You watched him grimace in slight pain at parting with the locket, but he didn’t seem to care. "I need you to kiss me."
He didn’t give you a chance to reply. San immediately steals your breath out of you. He captures your lips in a kiss so deep, his chest comes crashing with yours and you had to hold onto him for support. You fervently kissed him back, tilting your head as your breaths mingled. When you start moving with him, he sighed in relief and you couldn't help but do so as well.
San kissed like he needed you to breathe and live. You could barely catch up, but you kiss him anyway. He brings a hand around your waist and the other behind your head to keep you close to make sure you were really here, like this heated kiss wasn't enough.
It was so easy to lose yourself in the kiss, after all, this was San. Your hands found their way on his head, your fingers slowly entangling themselves on his hair. You felt a bit bold, the rush of the kiss fueling you on. A low growl sounds from the back of his throat before he pulls away, sealing his lips on your neck, instead, to give it little kisses and kitten licks.
You felt his hands roam over your sides, going higher and higher until you felt them stop on your chest area. And when he cups both of your tits in his hands through your clothes, you couldn’t help the airy moan that escapes your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes through your skin.
All you could do was helplessly whimper when you felt his teeth graze your earlobes, his hands toying with your top. And that was all he needed to know before he began to lower your sleeves, pushing your top down to expose your nipples that automatically hardened when the cold air hit them and he wastes no time touching them.
“So sensitive,” he chuckled, his fingers plucking at your nipples. “I've always wondered how these would feel. Would drive me mad whenever I thought about it. ”
You choke back another moan when he rubs his thumbs over the stiffening nubs. “A-Ah,” you gasped. “I've never noticed you looking…”
San responds by pinching a little harder. “But, I was,” he said, relishing the way your face twisted in pleasure as his hand started to massage your inner thighs. “From the moment Yunho brought you in…God, you were a vision, Y/N. Why did you think it took me a while to decide if I should take you as my bride?”
San takes one of your nipples into his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about Utopia,” he said, tongue encircling your nubs as his other hand started to lower your undergarments. “I was imagining all the ways I would take you. Imagining how I would bend you over my throne and take you right there and then.”
Something explodes inside you at that revelation. “Please,” you beg, not really even know what you were begging for. “Please, San, I want you.”
He hummed, the vibration traveling straight through you. He released your nipple, giving it one last lick before he started to lift your dress, about to kneel, when you stopped him. “H-Hold on,” you stammered, slightly scandalised. “S-San, here? W-What if someone sees?”
He smirked dirtily. You faltered, you had never seen such an expression on San’s face. It was obscene. It was everything. He doesn’t respond, bunching your dress up in his hand and pushing them to you, making you grab it, before throwing your leg up on his shoulder as he kneeled down. You gasped, holding onto the balcony for dear life.
His eyes were locked on you, a predatory grin on his lips as he watched your mouth open to let out a silent scream when his latches on your inner thigh, sucking on the sensitive skin. It was painful, very much so. “S-San,” you moaned out, feeling pleasure at the same time, pushing his head away in a poor attempt to halt him. “Stop, it hurts—”
“Does it?” He tilted his head sarcastically, clenching his teeth on your skin.
“Y-Yes—”
“Good.”
That seemed to spur him on, the pain scrunching up your face as he sucked even harder, almost drawing blood to the area before moving on to the other thigh. Something about the pain triggers you, and before you knew it, you were pushing his head in, coaxing him to bite and suck harder to the point that the pain was more pleasurable than torturous.
“Say it,” he chuckled darkly, marking you, bruising your entire thigh area over and over again. “Say you’re mine or I stop.”
“N-No,” you sobbed, pushing your thighs together to keep his head in. “Don’t stop, please.”
And he laughs, sadistically so, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy. “Who knew you’d be a pain slut? Just my luck. Look at you, already so wet for me,” he growled, rough and low, teasing your entrance before he pushed a finger in, making you gasp and clench around him.
Your hands slap your mouth shut, trying your best to prevent the lewd moans that threaten to slip past your lips. “You can be loud. It’s okay. We’re alone out here. No one’s going to hear you,” he reassured, not bothering to slow his fingers down. Let go, Y/N. I want to hear you.”
He thrusts his fingers faster to prove a point, obscene wet sounds filling in the entire space along with your breathy moans. “God, you’re dripping wet,” he groaned, his fingers plunging deeper to reach that spot that had you screaming out loud. “I bet you want my cock in here. To stretch this greedy little pussy and make you completely mine, don’t you?”
You arched your back, weak to his onslaughts, the thigh on top of his shoulder shaking helplessly. “San, p-please, that feels so good,” you whimpered.
"Fuck, listen to that," he murmured, the squelching sounds growing louder as he worked you relentlessly. "Your cunt's making such filthy noises. It's begging to cum, isn't it? Go on, soak my hand. Show me what a slut you are for this."
And you could feel it, your orgasm building slowly. “Let me help you out, hmm? Let me,” was all you heard before your vision completely blacked out. You felt San’s tongue flat on your clit, his fingers curling inside you as he laps you up, his tongue stroking your clit over and over again.
All you could do was scream, focusing on that tingly feeling on your abdomen the same time San kept alternating between pumping you with his fingers and his tongue swirling on your clit, slurping dirtily every time your drooling pussy would occasionally squirt on his face, just taking it all in, greedily swallowing your slick.
With a cry, you shattered all over San’s face, blubbering nonsense and begging at the same time as you clenched all over his fingers, all while he talked you through it. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Cum for me, yes.”
You panted heavily, the force of your orgasm literally rocking you. San withdrew his fingers, carefully letting your legs down, before grabbing the back of your head, forcefully stealing a bruising kiss from you, his teeth clashing angrily with yours. He pulls your head back, twice the force and effort, that it had your neck snapping backwards.
“Kneel,” he demanded. Your knees thudded on the floor, as he shoved his pants down, his thick cock springing freely in front of you. It was veiny, the tip already leaking with so much precum. “Open that filthy mouth for me,” he snarled, fisting his cock to slap it against your cheek.
You did as told, leaning forward to take the entirety of his cock in your mouth, but San had other plans. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping it so tightly that the shock of it forced your mouth to open even wider, and that was when he rammed his cock in your mouth without warning.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned low in his throat, pulling on your hair so hard that it had tears pricking your eyes. The pain only made you clench, and your tears made San thrust harder. “This is what you’re made for. I own every holes you have that I can fuck.”
You felt the tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag, but he didn’t stop. You had to hold on to his thigh for balance, your saliva dripping pathetically from the corners of your mouth, as he fucked your mouth violently, not stopping and forcing you to take every inch of him. The brutal pace makes your throat burn and tears start streaming down your eyes.
“That’s it, fuck,” San growled ferally, grabbing your hair to pull you back enough to inhale air before slamming back in. “Choke on it, get used to your jaw being stretched out. God, look at you. Your throat’s so fucking tight…”
You struggled to breathe, throat sore, but he only fucked harder, his balls slapping on your chin with each thrust. Your efforts seemed to spur him on and he pushed your head deeper until your nose hit his pubic bone. Your eyes widened, letting out a sound between a whimper and a groan, and you retched around him. You could tell he was loving every second of this.
The sounds of your struggles, your nails digging helplessly on his skin, combined with the lewd slurps of your mouth sucking his cock unleashes something in San. His thrusts grew erratic, grunts turning almost animalistic, and the roughness of him mouth-fucking you just made your pussy throb, aching to be used by the same cock abusing your throat.
“I’m gonna cum, just stay like that—fuck,” San held you still, cock buried to the hilt, as his cum explodes down your throat, pulling away just in time so he could mark your tear-stained face with more cum. He stepped back, admiring how absolutely ruined you looked.
And you stayed kneeling, mouth open as cum began to spill from your mouth, looking up at him reverently in a daze. You were about to close your mouth to swallow, but San stops you, wrapping a hand around your throat. “Ah, ah, ah, you naughty girl,” he said, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. “I didn’t give you permission to swallow. Get up.”
He squeezed your throat, guiding you up as he held it. Your eyes widened in surprise, holding onto his arms all while his cum was still in your mouth. “Mmph,” you let out in panic when he squeezes. You couldn’t breathe even through your nose, but thab t’s exactly what San wanted.
“Go on,” he taunted, effectively cutting off your air supply with one strong squeeze of your throat. “Take a deep breath. Choke.”
You couldn’t take it anymore. You gagged, coughing and choking violently on his cum. Filthy, disgusting gurgling sounds of his thick semen filled the air along with his mocking laugh. “Fuck, yes,” he sneered, fingers scooping the remnants of his cum that was scattered all over your face along with the ones dribbling on your neck back in your mouth. “Gurgle my fucking cum, yes.”
It was hellish, almost. The feeling of San’s cum going down but getting stopped halfway every time he squeezes your neck had you gurgling pitifully on it. You were starting to get a little dizzy from the lack of air, lightheaded from the restriction San’s hand had on your throat. You could feel your eyes rolling from the back of your head and it was when San let go.
Your legs buckled at the sudden rush of air to your head, knees thudding back down the floor as cum spilled out from your mouth, chest heaving as you panted hard. You barely felt yourself being lifted up. “Shh, you’re fine. Deep, easy breaths for me,” San soothed, wiping his stickiness off of you with the sleeves of his shirt. “Jump.”
You didn’t even process what he said, your body automatically doing it before your mind could follow. San caught you, your legs locking on his waist as your hands wrapped around his neck while his hands steadied you at your ass to keep you from falling. “Good girl,” he murmured.
His dark eyes locked onto yours and the way he gazed up at you with so much emotion and adoration behind the lust, like you were his entire world, sent shivers up your spine. San leaned in, tenderly compared to his brutal onslaught earlier, but you turned your head, avoiding his kiss. “San,” you croaked. “M-My mouth has your cu–”
A low growl rumbled from his throat. “I don’t give a fuck, don't you dare pull away from me,” he snarled, his voice laced with possessive fire. “You’re mine, Y/N, cum and all. Every inch of you belongs to me. Kiss me or so God help you for what I’m about to do to you if you don’t.”
Before you could protest, his hands cupped your cheeks with rough urgency, thumbs pressing into your jaw to force your face back to his. The kiss was filthy, dominant, and possessive. You melted into it, your core clenching with arousal at how he owned you completely.
You felt his hardness poking your hole, making you squirm, but San held you tight, holding you up with just one arm in an incredible show of strength. “I’m not done with you,” he said, lining himself up. “I’m going to fuck you now, alright? Hold on tight.”
You threw your head back as the both of you moaned the moment San breached you, not even bothering to ease it in and completely burying himself up to the hilt. He moved slowly at first, trying to find a comfortable position as he pulled you down a bit so he could thrust up in you.
“Oh, you’re so tight like this,” he groaned. His words made you clench, a feral snarl sounding at the back of his throat as his fingers dug into your ass as you did so.
He was lifting you by the ass and dropping you down and all you could do was bite the flesh of his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming. San’s self control was slipping, especially when the next bounce had him bucking his hips just as he dropped you onto his cock. Soon enough, he was pistoning roughly in you, the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs obscene.
“San, a-ah, S-San, mmm,” you keened, your tits bouncing wildly as he filled you up with speed and force behind each thrust.
And just as he was wildly fucking into you up and and down his cock, he suddenly paused, a low growl vibrating from his chest. You were confused, but then, he kissed you again, this time, devouring you as you felt him walk, carrying you back inside as he climbed down the stairs into his chambers all while he was still inside you.
He still didn’t pull out as he sat down on the bed, taking off his shirt to get completely naked, laying down and positioning you on top of him while you were still dressed up. San looked up at you expectantly and you tried riding him, but your legs were jelly, already exhausted. He narrowed his eyes at your poor attempt at taking his cock.
“Tired already? I barely even started,” he scoffed, slapping your tits, making you whimper. He smirked as beads of sweat started to roll from his forehead down to his chin. His hoarse voice betrayed his pleasure, his grip on your hips getting tighter. “Come on, give it to me. Show me how much you want this cock.”
You bit your lip and sucked on it in anticipation. San raised his eyebrows at your refusal to move even though he could see how red your face was from all the work. "Don't play with me, Y/N. It's not a good idea," his fingers dug on your skin even harder and you were pretty sure it would leave marks the next day. "Move."
"S-San, please, I can’t," you pathetically whimpered.
His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits before he lifted you by the waist and then roughly slammed you down, effectively impaling you on his cock. You screamed out loud when you felt him hit that sweet spot. "San, please," you whimpered, your shaking hands finding their place on his toned chest.
You felt him tense underneath from your touch, it made his cock twitch inside you and you couldn't help but bite your cheek in the pleasurable sensation. All of a sudden, San grabs the top of your dress, and with a sharp tug, rips it open, a satisfying rip echoing in the quiet room. You were sure you looked insane - a ripped top with your skirt still on.
“Figured this would help,” he laughed darkly. You gasped when he suddenly grabbed your shoulder and pulled you down. "Now fuck me, and you better fuck me good or you're not getting up from this bed."
You whimpered when he grabbed a handful of your hair and roughly turned your head towards his to capture your lips in a rougher kiss while his other hand firmly held your ass and pushed it down to deepen his cock inside you. "San, yes, you feel so good i-inside me," you moaned out after he had driven deeper in you, head swimming in pleasure.
“You’re so cock dumb that you need my help fucking this dick, huh?” San mocked, his own moans mirroring yours as he guided your hips back and forth.
Your answer was another breathy moan. You were growing lax in his grip, just letting San do whatever he pleased. Nothing was stopping him now from jamming his cock into your pussy and every thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, but she still found the ability to scream out.
“This pussy is mine to use, yeah? Look at you, so tired but still taking my cock so well.” He palms your tits, his possessive gaze locked onto your pleasure-filled face. “God, you’re all mine, Y/N. Mine. Don’t stop now, you’re doing me so well.”
The feel of him, the scent of him, how deep you felt for him, just him…it was so overwhelming. And San can see it, the exhausted haze in your eyes as he fucked up at you. With a low grunt, he wraps his arms around your waist and flips you over in one fluid motion, pinning you on the mattress, your legs spread wide for him to admire.
You whined when he pulled out, slowly taking all of your clothes off until you were left bare and nude for him. You flushed red in embarrassment, but that soon turned into something when you saw the look in San’s eyes as he paused, drinking the sight of your naked body.
The way his gaze roamed your entire form with softness and tenderness left you breathless. Tears pricked behind your eyes at the way he lightly trails his hands all over you, reverence clear in his touch. His thumb swipes your tears away, his eyes shining with devotion that cut through the lust, adoration swelling in his chest until it physically aches him.
“You’re beautiful. So, so beautiful, Y/N. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmured, roughly but tenderly. He cups your face gently, savouring the vulnerability as if owning you felt like the deepest and greatest honour for him. “You’re so…God, fuck, I don’t know what to say. I just want to…”
His tenderness can only last so long. He shifts forward, gripping your thighs to spread them wider and without warning, slams his hips forward, burying his cock back in you in one brutal thrust that makes your back arch off the bed. “Oh, God, San,” you moaned out. “S-San—”
“That’s it, take me. Take all of it,” he snarled, pulling out almost fully before ramming back in, the wet slap of your bodies echoing. He pounds into you relentlessly, balls slapping against your ass with each drive, leaning in to kiss you passionately.
He pulled away so you could both inhale once. It only took one look in each other's eyes before you were both tangled into each other once more. It felt good - it felt comforting like you were getting embraced by some unforeseen grace and wrapped you in its bosom even though you felt like his cock was about to split you into two.
You tense, mouth gaping open when San bites and marks your collarbone. “San,” you cried. “Mmm, t-too much.”
“Tell me how my thick cock ruins you, how you crave to be bred,” he panted. You tighten around him to an alarming degree and you feel him smirk against your skin. “Oh? You like that? Want me to breed you?”
“Yes, San, yes,” you gasped, arching your back. “I-I want you to b-breed me, please.”
”Then I'll fill you up, mark you inside out, until you can't walk without feeling me.”
It’s all you can do to claw at his back, relishing the feel of his cock pumping into you. Every time San thrusts, he grunts, every roll of his hips into yours hits that spot inside that makes you see stars. And you just take it, because this was San. You’d do anything for San.
You grabbed his face so he could look at you. "Cum inside me," you were breathless, but it was like you stole his breath with how his cock seemed to harden even more inside you, if that was possible.
San’s eyes visibly darkened and he started pounding into you wildly. It was hard enough to make the bed creak obnoxiously as his cock plunges into you even deeper than before. Mindblowing pleasure started to ignite your insides, blanking your mind as your screams went up a pitch, cumming around his cock.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Y/N, fuck,” he gritted his teeth, groaning lowly as you felt the warm gush of his cum spurt inside you. You could feel his cock pulsing, and with a few last desperate thrust of his hips, he was finally sated.
He collapsed on top of you as you both panted, riding out your highs. You felt him give your skin little kisses here and there, all while he stroked your hair repeatedly like some sort of mantra. “Y/N,” you’d hear him whisper reverently. “Oh, my Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N…”
He rolls off of you, making you groan as you feel warm liquid gush from your pussy, one that he silently wipes off with a wet towel before laying down next to you, scooping you up carefully so you could rest your head on the crook of his shoulder. You stay like that for a while, just basking in the afterglow, when San suddenly breaks the silence.
“Do you really like Utopia?” He asked, almost idly like an afterthought.
You blinked in surprise, not expecting such a random question. “Of course I do.”
“How much?” His gaze finally found yours. “Enough to fight for it? Enough to lead it, if one day you had to?”
Your heart stuttered inside your chest, but you chalked it up as nothing. After all, sex sometimes made people think of hypothetical scenarios and you decided to humour San with this one. “Yes,” you answered honestly. “Utopia needs someone to love it even though it’s cruel.”
He exhaled, visible relief loosening in his shoulder, his lips curved faintly. “Perhaps,” he murmured, kissing your forehead lightly. “You might be the queen Utopia actually needs.”
San had disappeared. Vanished into thin air the next day.
When you woke up the next day, you were completely alone, San’s side of the bed gone cold. You didn’t think anything of it, he had duties as king and he couldn’t just stay in bed for you all day, but when got back to your chambers with a worried Wooyoung and a panic-stricken Hongjoong arguing with Jongho about San’s whereabouts, it was when your entire world fell.
“There is no way Your Grace would do that,” Jongho pressed, walking back and forth in the throne room, anger in his tone, dismay and doubt on his face at each passing second. “He just went for a ride. That’s all. Sometimes he does that after the curse—”
“Jongho, it’s been over half a day,” Hongjoong insisted, irritated at the taller man as he raised his voice up a notch, making you flinch. “Hell, the fucking mage doesn’t even know where he is. He did not go for a ride and you know it.”
“So, what?” Jongho yelled back, the usually composed adviser slowly losing his cool. “Are you telling me that His Majesty ran away? Is that it? Are you even hearing yourself?”
You took a step back, dread filling your entire chest. Just the night before, you had laughed softly at his questions, brushing them off as speculation, never once suspecting that his questions weren’t meant to be hypothetical at all. You quickly ran off, ignoring how Hongjoong kept calling you back and pleading for you to stay put. You needed to get out of there.
The entire palace was in shambles, the servants and nobles all scrambling but failing to contain themselves at the thought of their missing king. Some of them were genuinely worried for San, but there were a select few who feared of the said curse completely annihilating the kingdom now that San was missing.
You didn’t heed any of them, worriedly looking for San even in the most obscure of places. Your panic rose every time you were met with an empty room, holding back tears as you imagined all the worst possible ways of what might have happened while you were asleep. You probably looked pathetic, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to see San again.
An idea pops in your head. Yunho. Having no other options left, you quickly ran to the mage’s quarters, not caring how unladylike you looked as you sprinted down the hall. He didn’t even notice you come in as he was speaking urgently to Seonghwa, his expression grim. When Yunho noticed you, whatever composure he had shattered.
He quickly dismissed Seonghwa and ran towards you. The poor man was so distressed, sunken bags of purple splotching his skin, whatever magic in him getting sapped little by little by how much effort he was putting in finding his king and your eyes fell, feeling for the man. “Yunho,” you breathed out. “A-Are you alright?”
Your chest wanted to cave in itself, panic clawing further up your skin. If magic cannot even reach San, then what will? “I-I was with him last night,” you swallowed, spitting the admittance out even if it embarrassed you so.
Yunho puts two and two together, brows shooting up in surprise, but chose not to comment on what you were trying to tell him, and you were thankful about it. You told him everything, minus the sexual details - San’s insecurities about being king, him thinking about abdicating at one point, all the way to the questions about you leading Utopia if the time came.
Yunho swore under his breath, a sharp, uncharacteristic sound. “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “It might be the curse.”
“I need to know, Yunho. I think I’ve held off for far too long,” you pleaded, eyes burning. Yunho looked hesitant, but you pressed on. “I’ve respected your silence as an elder, respected San as the authority, and I respected Utopia as a whole since I’m not of this land and maybe I didn’t have the right to know. Please. Tell me. I need to know, I’m begging you.”
Something in your face must have touched something deep in the mage, and finally, he gives a slow nod. He exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging like the weight of centuries had finally caught up to him. “You’re going to need to sit for this one,” he murmured, gesturing towards a chair.
You didn’t need to be told twice. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, bringing his palms up, a small glow of light emanating from it, to touch your forehead as you felt yourself being transported into a memory. “While I cannot tell you, I could show you. Close your eyes.”
The world tilted on its axis. At first, you were confused because you saw a castle, a very familiar looking one at that and it was when it hit you - it was Utopia, only this time, there was no snow. It was lush and green, alive and well. You quickly realised that this was Utopia far before the snow started to swallow the kingdom, long before it had turned inhabitable.
And on the front of the castle grounds was a man in armour, standing proudly over an anguished woman, screaming at the top of her lungs in despair as she cradled the bloody body of another man who had long passed, her grief so raw that it split the sky open.
You gasped in horror at what you were witnessing, even more so when you looked closer. The man in the armour, he looked like San, only this one was far younger, and his eyes; they were unkind. Psychopathic, almost, not capable of empathy as he embellished the blood-soaked sword he had presumably used to slay the now dead man on the ground.
“You killed him,” she mourned, her tears falling in torrents, voice breaking as her blood soaked hands tried hard to seal the fatal wound, but to no avail. “You killed him, you monster!”
But the cruel man didn’t care. He didn’t say anything, just watched with wild, possessive eyes. You gasped when the woman looked up, her eyes glowing red in fury, the magic exploding from her so strong that even you could feel it from this memory.
“May your kingdom know only the cold that took him from me,” she seethed. She rose slowly to her feet, and when she stood fully, her magic surged again, this time, stronger and final.
For the first time, the man in armor reacted. “What are you doing?” He barked, stepping forward with unease as the temperature dropped around him. You watched in horror as a sudden blizzard filled the entire space and palace. “Stop, you cannot—”
“May your bloodline rot beneath endless snow,” she cried. You felt it, the cold slamming into you as snow immediately blanketed the kingdom of Utopia. “Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne and be claimed in return will the winter break.”
Then the vision shattered. You gasped, eyes flying open, Yunho’s hand still resting against your forehead, his expression heavy with regret. “W-What was that?” You blurted out in disbelief at what you just saw. “Who was that? H-He looks like San, who was that woman?”
“He does, because that was San’s father,” Yunho sighed, panting to catch his breath from all the energy he exerted. “There was a beautiful forest witch who lived in the woods that he saw hunting once. He immediately fell in love with her, or rather, obsessed. It was disgusting, San’s mother died from heartbreak when San was only a newborn.”
Yunho dragged his hands down his face in defeat. “It was greed in its coldest form. The witch’s heart already belonged to someone else, and in a jealous rage, San’s father killed him. In front of her, no less. It’s why Utopia’s cold and desolate. The snow is a manifestation of her grief.”
“And when the former king died, that cruel bastard,” Yunho continued, his voice rough. “The curse didn’t fade…it passed. San absorbed it instantly.”
Your chest tightened, stomach twisting into something painful as your nails dug into your palms. “I-I don’t understand,” you uttered. “What do you mean it passed? Are you telling me that…”
You trailed off, not even wanting to continue. May your bloodline rot beneath endless snow. The words were still clear in your head like a ringing siren. Yunho nodded grimly when you looked at him. “Not only did she curse the kingdom as a whole to eternal coldness, but also the entire Choi bloodline for that very same greed that killed her lover,” he confirmed.
Anger filled your veins at the man who had pretty much cursed his son for greed he couldn’t control. “At first, we didn’t understand what was happening,” the mage spoke, a faraway look in his face as he recalled a memory he’d been wanting to forget. “The snow just never melted and storm after storm claimed hundreds of lives. San’s father didn’t live long enough for me to study the curse. However—”
He paused, swallowing audibly, looking towards the floor. “There was someone who did live long enough,” he whispered, voice cracking. “And he’s been missing for half a day now. He was but a child back then, Y/N. I-I just…sorry, I need to collect myself.”
A cold realization slid down your spine. San. You imagined a boy growing up under a weight no one should have to carry, a vessel for sins he never committed. That was the part that hurt the most to you because it was no wonder there was always something distant in his gaze, walls you could never get through, because he was always bracing for the cold no else could feel.
“I tried everything back then, you know?” Yunho finally spoke after a long silence, decades of desperation still lingering in his eyes. “I tried every magic I knew even if it almost killed me, but the snow just would not melt. But San…he loved Utopia even if the entire kingdom condemned him.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, letting him continue. “Utopia’s bound to its ruler. The Choi clan. The witch was smart enough to kill two birds with one stone - completely end the bloodline with the one thing that could outlast generations while erasing the entire kingdom.”
Your breath caught. “The snow.”
Yunho nodded. “Ironically, San was the one who realised what the curse actually entailed. Have you noticed that he never wears anything thick? He never gets cold when he’s outside with you, have you noticed that?”
You stayed silent, the puzzle pieces connecting slowly. Just last night when you were out on that balcony, he gave you his coat, even admitting outright that he never got cold. “He said the locket prevented him from being cold,” you murmured to yourself more as an afterthought.
“That was half the truth, yes,” Yunho said. “The reason is because the curse wasn’t meant to destroy the land outright - it was meant to bury it. ”
A chill crawled up your spine. “Then why hasn’t it yet?”
Yunho looked at you then, eyes dark with something close to reverence. “Because San wouldn’t let it. San absorbed the snow. Literally. Accidentally discovered it one Christmas evening when it stormed so bad, the snow was waist deep. It was the magic trying to reclaim Utopia completely. He got so sick, we thought we were losing him.”
The realization hit you hard. “So when there’s a storm—”
“He’s at his weakest,” Yunho finished. “Because he’s burning himself out to keep the snow at bay. Holding it back long enough for people to survive another day. The dark marks along his skin, they were the curse in itself, but more so just a side effect of him straining and pulling the curse inside him so the storm would stop, at least, for a while.”
The pieces slid together with a sickening clarity. Christmas was winter time and therefore where storms are the strongest. No wonder he hated it. No wonder he had isolated himself, it was so he could suffer in silence. And you were none the wiser.
You remembered how he’d convulsed, vomiting helplessly, blood streaking from his nose as if his body were tearing itself apart from the inside. And then, days later, the storm had stopped as if nothing had happened. It hadn’t passed - San had just taken it. He had been protecting his people all his life and nobody even knew it, choosing to be condemned just to keep them alive.
And suddenly, you understood why San never stopped watching the skies; why even if he was with you or preoccupied with other people or in the middle of an important meeting he would always look out the windows. “The locket?” You asked weakly.
“I made it for him,” he said quietly. “Years of San absorbing the snow had not been kind to his body. I wove magic into it so a part of the curse is in that locket. When the storm hits, it absorbs the curse before it reaches him. Not all of it, but enough to keep him alive until...well.”
His voice turns somber. “Without it, he wouldn’t survive the storms. Not anymore. And believe me, we tried transferring the curse to an enemy at one point by making them wear the locket, but it was too strong. Whoever touches it instantly perishes.”
You looked at him more closely, the way his jaw tightened as if holding back years of grief. And suddenly, you noticed it. This wasn’t just sorrow, this was something deeper. “You raised him,” you said softly. “You love him.”
He only nodded, once, eyes shining as he looked away. “He wasn’t just my king, Y/N. That’s my boy,” he wavered, emotions finally coming through. “And he deserved something good for once. Which is exactly why you’re here, we needed you. Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne. The moment I saw you in that alleyway, I knew you were a kind soul, Y/N. Utopia becoming a legitimate kingdom with a queen was only half the reason.”
Yunho proceeds to explain that while it was true that they needed a queen, the reason why San was marriageless until now was because of what the curse said. It wasn’t hard for San to force someone into a marriage or use something to bargain to find a queen, but it would be useless because the curse required someone to enter into the marriage willingly. And that was that, they thought that by you being here willingly, winter was going to fade.
But it didn’t. Nothing had changed and everyone was back at square one. “The problem was,” Yunho continued, exhaling shakily. “There was the other half of the curse. One that San absolutely refused to acknowledge. Be claimed in return will the winter break.”
You halted at the insinuation, freezing like snow had been piled on top of your head. Your mind automatically raced with scenarios you didn’t want to think about. Yunho’s silence had pretty much confirmed everything you needed to know. To be claimed in return. They were going to kill you, use you as a sacrifice to balance the curse so the snow would finally stop and winter would come to an end. A willing queen and a king to give her up.
“There was no way in hell San was going to let anything happen to you. You saw it yesterday. He didn’t just reject it, he lost control,” he said firmly. “There was never a doubt in his mind.”
“So, what now? Where do we even find him?” You asked, chest aching painfully. “There must be a solution, Yunho, something we could do to completely reverse this curse. I could hit the library for information, anything at this point. There has to be a way.”
“Well, yes, there is…” Yunho trailed off, freezing as blood completely drained from his face. Whatever he just thought of had him off kilter so bad, he got up from his chair and knocked everything off the shelves in the process.
Before you knew it, he hurriedly bolted out of the room in sheer panic, leaving you to chase after him, the adrenaline boosting you because Yunho was fast. “Yunho,” you chased after him, ignoring the burning sensation in your lungs and the sudden cold that hit you when you realised you had chased him all the way out to the horse stables. “What’s—”
“I know where he is,” Yunho gritted his teeth, already preparing to mount a horse. You could tell he was trembling in fear, swallowing the panic that had overtaken him. “San’s planning to sacrifice himself. The land is bound to him, and his death would end the curse. Quickly, Y/N, hold my hand. We have to find him now.”
Terror filled your lungs, nodding anyway as you mounted, hands shaking so badly Yunho had to steady you before he started to ride away. The cold air hitting your face as the horse moved and blurred your surroundings did nothing to quelch the fear building at the pit of your stomach. All you could think was San and hope that you weren’t too late.
Every second felt like it was tearing something vital from your chest, tears freezing at the corners of your eyes as you rode harder, faster, praying to see the man who had long decided that no curse was worth your life; that he would rather lose himself or let Utopia freeze than forever lose you.
The thought had you keen internally. Please, you begged, tears falling down your face painfully as they automatically froze before they even had the chance to form, gripping the saddle until your knuckles burned. Please don’t let him think he has to disappear for us to survive.
“W-Where are we going?” You screamed into the air, teeth chattering from the cold.
“The witch’s shack a little further up north where she lived with her lover,” Yunho replied, snapping the reins forward to make the horse go faster. “Her power’s concentrated there.”
It didn’t take long for you and Yunho to end up in a clearing where the trees were a little less condensed but the snow and wind were so strong and thick that it was almost impossible to see through it. But your breath hitched, anyway, because the moment you got past the haze, you saw him clear as day as if he was a beacon shining even from afar.
San. He was standing still in front of a quaint little shack, unbothered by the elements around him, just staring up at the sky with his eyes closed and you hated it. Absolutely detested the sight, because it looked like he had already resigned to his fate and was just waiting for the right moment to execute his plans.
And he was ready. You watched in panic as he raised his hand to his neck, holding the chain of the locket to take it off, but your body was already careening forward. You pushed yourself, jumping off of the horse before it even paused, ignoring Yunho’s panicked calls and the way your leg ached when you fell particularly hard.
“No!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, running like a madwoman through the thick blankets of snow even though your lungs were thinning in air and your legs were aching for reprieve. It was ear-piercing and blood-curdling enough to catch San’s attention, startling him to a halt and turning around, eyes widening when he saw your pitiful form run up to him.
And by God, he looked devastating. You wanted to tear up, it just wasn’t fair for him to look this breathtaking and ethereal even as the snow surrounded him, melancholy wrapping him in its grace as he stared at you with hollow, empty eyes. “San, please,” you begged, sobbing at this point. He looked like his soul had already left him long before his earthly body expired.
He smiled, the lines on his face softening and you abhorred how peaceful it made him look. This was the most at peace San had ever looked and you hated it. “My sweet Y/N,” he croaked, the trembling in his hands betraying the true fear he actually felt. “What are you doing here?”
You yelped, trudging forward in failure when you tripped over a rock you couldn’t see hidden by the thick snow. You pushed yourself up with shaking hands, tears blurring your vision. “Don’t,” you sobbed, words tumbling out broken and raw. “Don’t you dare look at me like that. Don’t you dare make that face like you’ve already decided.”
You felt Yunho behind you, steadying you, providing you warmth with the little magic he had left, opting not to say anything. This was between you and San at this point. And San, he just shook his head. “I have exhausted all options,” he said. “I am exhausted. Please, just let me go. I think I have suffered long enough that it should be alright if I could rest a bit, don’t you think so?”
He said it so quietly amidst the oncoming storm and that scared you more than if he’d shouted. Your chest cracked open at the gentleness of it, at how he said it like a plea instead of a decision. “No,” you cried, tears freezing at your lashes. “Not you. Not now. Not ever.”
San’s eyes softened. “Y/N—”
“You’d already come this far, why now? You can’t do this to the people who care for you. Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho, and especially Yunho. You can’t do this to me. We’ve barely just begun, San, you cannot leave me like this. There has to be a way—”
“Don’t you get it? This is the only way,” San snapped, not out of anger, but more so in desperation, hoping for you to understand where he was coming from even if it meant it was for all the wrong reasons. “The curse ends here. With me. I am the last of my bloodline so with me gone, the curse perishes alongside me.”
“You know damn well that that’s not true,” you snapped back, the frustration giving you a newly found rush of adrenaline that temporarily overtook the cold and the pain in your leg. “I came here willingly, San, and I’m just as willing to do my part to be a sacrificial lamb—”
“No,” he immediately turns down, fire in his eyes so intense it could’ve been enough to melt the snow around him. “I didn’t fight this curse this long to sacrifice someone else in the name of balance, especially not you.”
“So, why won’t you fight for yourself this time?” You asked, voice breaking. “For us?”
“I am,” he said hoarsely. “This is the hardest battle I’ve fought yet. You think I don’t want to stay? You think I don’t want more tea sessions with you even though I despise tea? To stay long enough to finally see my kingdom be warm and green with you by my side?”
Something about that almost confession broke something inside you, and that was the most devastating part of it all. Almost. Just enough to finally tell you how he truly felt about you, but not enough where he was willing to stay long enough to tell you the entirety of it. “Don’t go, San,” you looked at Yunho helplessly. “Tell him, please…”
But the mage stayed mum, conserving his energy to keep you warm from the blizzard even though tears of devastation were already falling from his eyes. San’s voice dropped to something raw. “My throne without you is meaningless and its future built on your death is no future at all,” he admitted before his eyes hardened with finality. “I’m sorry, YN.”
It all happened fast. In one moment, San was lifting his hands to take the locket off, and in the next, you were rushing to him, deliberately knocking him off to tackle him on the ground, momentarily distracting him. Without thinking, you took the locket off of him, putting it around your neck. It was all it took for all hell to break loose.
Yunho’s spell shattered instantly in his state of shock and San’s eyes widened impossibly so as he realised what just happened. Everything was a blur, your ears ringing as you began to tumble down. San screamed your name, the sound of it so raw, primal, and animalistic that you could hear him even when you could barely comprehend the world anymore.
He immediately caught, cradling you in his arms as your vision started to blur out. “Y/N, oh God, what the fuck did you do?” San cried, frantically shaking you as if that would get rid of the curse. “Y/N, why? Why would you do that? Why?”
Your body jerked against his, your chest tightening to a degree where it felt like it was about to cave in on you. Suddenly, you felt this overwhelming cold over you and San’s grip tightened impossibly so. “Yunho,” he called out in panic. “Her hands, oh God—”
Black lines bled through your skin, exactly like the ones on San’s chest. They crept from your hands up your arms all the way towards your throat. Yunho staggered forward, horror breaking his paralysis. “The curse,” he said, voice shaking. “I-I think it’s binding to her—”
San wasn’t listening. He was sobbing now, forehead pressed to yours, tears streaking down his face as he begged you to stay awake. “Look at me,” he pleaded. “Please. Don’t you dare leave me, Y/N, please—”
The last thing you saw was San’s face, utterly broken, grief carved into every line of it as he clutched you to his chest like something already lost.
Warmth you’ve never felt before led your consciousness to awaken. It felt abnormal, like you weren’t to feel it and for a moment, you thought you were back at your parents’ farm - sweat clung to your skin, seeping out of your pores as natural heat from the farmland permeated all over the place.
Instead of the humble shack made out of wood and concrete, you were met with arched windows draped in sheer gossamer curtains. The bed beneath you was impossibly soft, and you were confused for a second. This wasn’t the farmlands, and this wasn’t warmth from the sun-baked earth you remembered.
You had to get up because the sweat was starting to irritate your lower back and you scrambled upright, you had to squint, covering your eyes as sunlight suddenly streamed from the windows. Now that you think about it, your lower back hurts too, like you’ve been laying down for quite some time and the long sleep hurt more than felt restful.
You reckoned you should change out of your dress. It felt a little too thick for the weather. It was a nice day, perfect for a walk when you looked out your windows. The birds were singing outside, the trees were a lovely shade of green and multiple colourful flowers littered the entire palace grounds—
You paused, horribly so. You blinked in a daze, rubbing your eyes in a daze and looked again. No. It was still bright outside, no blankets of snow covering the entire grounds like you knew Utopia to be. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - warm, vibrant, alive. And you staggered, remembering everything all at once - the curse, the locket, San.
Suddenly, the door opened and there stood Wooyoung, looking like he was frozen in time, skin pale as if he had just seen a ghost. Whatever he had been holding slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor, forgotten entirely.
Before you could even say hello, he spun on his heel and shouted down the hall, voice cracking with panic and disbelief. “H-Hongjoong,” his voice cracked before he cleared his throat. “Hongjoong!”
Hongjoong burst in, breathless, eyes wild. “What? What happened—”
The second he saw you standing there, he froze as well before his knees gave out beneath him. He dropped to the floor without shame, head bowing as his hands pressed together. “Thank the Heavens,” he whispered hoarsely, emotion flooding his voice. “Oh, thank the Heavens…”
Neither of them waited a second longer. “I-I’ll inform the mage—” the knight said before leaving.
Wooyoung bolted out as well, shouting at the top of his lungs as he ran down the halls, voice so loud you were sure the entire palace could have heard it. “Your Majesty, Your Majesty!” The young man hollered, voice brimming with emotion. “Your Majesty, she’s awake!”
And in the chaos of it all, you could hear it, feel him approaching your chambers without even looking, the sounds of panicked footsteps as they got closer and closer and there he was - the man that made your heart beat at the mere thought of him, right in the flesh.
San’s hair was disheveled, like he had run his hand through it so many times in frustration. Your heart was torn between joy and hurt because San looked utterly worn down. The bags beneath his eyes looked darker than mere shadows and he resembled more of a shell of a man whose sleep had long abandoned him.
And now he was staring you at like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, torn between wanting nothing but to hold you versus protecting himself from nightmare and heartbreak just in case this wasn’t real; that maybe he was hallucinating and you were only a figment of his imagination that he wanted so, so bad to manifest.
He flinched, not daring to breathe or blink. Slowly, he began to move closer to you, hands shaking as they hovered over you like he was afraid touching you would make you disappear. Just as suddenly, his legs gave out, knees thudding on the floor as his trembling arms wrapped around your thighs, head buried in your dress as he embraced your form.
“S-San,” you let out in surprise, hands automatically finding their way on his hair. “Please–”
“Don’t,” he spoke, begged, voice raw and muffled. “Please, j-just let me have this.”
When your fingers twitched, he gasped like he’d been holding his breath for as long as you were in that deep slumber and your touch just made him remember how to let air back into his lungs and life into his soul. It was how everyone else caught you and San and there was no dry eye in that room and at that moment.
Seonghwa and Jongho left first after, relief shining in their eyes, both bowing respectfully before they let Yeosang in, the kind-hearted chef holding onto a smiling Mingi. The taller had to lead the former out to give you and San privacy. Only Yunho was left, tears glistening in his eyes.
“Don’t do that ever again. Don’t you ever do that to me again. You don’t understand,” he exhaled. “Y/N. I thought I lost you, you were asleep for so long, I-I just…”
You tried to speak, but your throat burned. You sat down to his eye level, unwrapping his arms around you, grabbing his face between your hands. “San,” you said hoarsely. “Look at me.”
And he did. And by God his face, he looked wrecked up close. Eyes red-rimmed, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “I’m here,” you continued, tears slipping free. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re both here. Together.”
Something in him broke. He finally pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you, his restraint shattering all at once. He buried his face in your hair, clutching you like you were the only solid thing left in the world before grabbing your face to kiss you. His lips were warm with promise and relief neither of you dared named yet but felt settled deep in your chests.
A pointed, awkward cough cut through the moment. “Ahem.”
You both froze, pulling away to see Yunho standing a few steps away, one brow raised, amusement swimming behind his concern. “I’m still here,” Yunho said dryly.
You broke out into a breathless laugh first and it was all the three of you needed to make light of the situation. San guided you to the bed to let Yunho examine your body. “You’re perfectly healthy,” he said in disbelief even behind the relief. “A miracle, I tell you. You were reckless and I ought to smack you in the head for what you did, but so far, so good.”
It was when they told you everything that happened after you passed out. They couldn’t wake you up so they had no choice but to bring you back to the palace. San had to look away, jaw tight, when Yunho narrated how the king never left your bedside. But what truly surprised you was that about a week later, the snow started to melt and storms just halted completely.
“J-Just like that?” You asked, not able to stop your surprise, looking outside in confirmation and the scenario was still the same. Utopia looked utterly alive and if you closed your eyes to breathe in, it felt free. “How long did I…sleep?”
Both of them looked at each other before Yunho looked back on you. His expression softened, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Almost four months,” he said quietly. “It’s spring now.”
But something still boggled your mind, something far darker than you didn’t want to acknowledge but had to know. “But how? I don’t understand, is this how it ends? Just like that? Is Utopia free from the curse? Is…” you trailed off. “San free?”
Yunho went quiet for a moment, then slowly repeated the words that had haunted the kingdom for generations. “Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne,” he said softly. “And be claimed in return, will the winter break.”
You stayed silent, confused, but listened. “For the longest time, we misunderstood that last part as loss, that we needed a pure and kind heart as a sacrifice to stop the snow. But the magic never asked for death. It wanted reciprocation.”
You let that settle in, shaking your head because you still didn’t understand it. You felt San’s grip tighten around your hand and you turned to look at him. He had a soft smile on his face. “My father,” he spoke softly. “He was greedy. Just wanted to possess a love that never belonged to him. To enter willingly to claim the throne and be claimed in return…it was never about sacrifice. It was about being chosen back.”
The words landed like a final piece snapping into place. “In short,” Yunho finished. “To love and be loved in return. A queen of pure heart who was willing to accept a bloodline of rotten rulers with all she had and a king who loved with all his without asking for anything in return.”
The words settled heavily in the room. You had to admit, it was all anticlimactic; something you read as a child in those fairytale books your parents could barely afford selling grains. Love. Such a convoluted word yet powerful enough to bury a kingdom if need be.
It was all you could think about long after Yunho had left, leaving you and San in your chambers as the both of you laid down on your bed, his arms wrapped around you, just basking in the silence and the general presence the both of you offered each other. It was all you needed, and you were all he needed and more.
Maybe that was what it really was. Even if it was anticlimactic, it was reality, and what you felt for San was real. It ran deeper than the curse that held him for the longest time, and it certainly went beyond the reckless endangerment you put your life in when you wore the locket for him.
“Are you mad at me?” You blurted out dumbly, not knowing what else to say.
San didn’t answer you right away. He exhaled a small laugh through his nose in disbelief. “Yes. Very much so,” he said honestly. Your heart tanked, guilt swirling in it, but before you could spiral further, he tightened his arms around you. “But,” he continued gently. “What I feel for you will always be stronger than my anger. ”
All the breath from lungs left you, his words suddenly becoming the oxygen you needed to live. You wanted to choke from all the emotions that were clawing up your throat, and you looked at him - really looked at him. You breath caught because there was no trace of that king nor that man who was bound by a curse he never deserved. He was just San. His eyes were warm, devastatingly soft, watching you like you were something precious.
“I lost myself while you slept. You just looked so…gone,” he admitted quietly. “And it terrified me more than the curse ever did. A part of me died when you wore that locket.”
Your throat burned. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I swear, and honestly, I still don’t know what I was thinking. I just knew I didn’t want you to leave me.”
He didn’t answer; chose not to. He smiled, staring at you with fondness in his eyes and it was such a San thing to do. He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, memorizing you in a way he’d never done before. The way he looked at you made your chest ache.
“I’m underselling this, aren’t I?” He suddenly said, his thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against your arm. “What I feel for you, I mean.”
You felt his forehead rest against yours, breath warm, steady. “I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you,” he said. “I’d have brought you back one way or another. Find another witch to curse me just to drag you back. I loved you, Y/N. And you were gone. I loved you. And you slept.”
Your chest ached, full and fragile all at once. You couldn’t speak. If you did, you were certain you’d fall apart. His thumb stilled on your arm. “And I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low, rough around the edges.
You were confused. "For what?"
"That you thought you couldn't come to me," he whispered. "For letting you believe that the only way was to carry what should have never been yours."
He turned to you, his eyes shining with sincerity, his heart on his sleeve as he was about to pour his emotions to you. "It breaks my heart that I didn't do well enough for you to know that," he kissed your hand, his lips lingering longer. "I'm the one safe person you can always turn to, Y/N. Had I known it was going to come to that, I would’ve told you and let you choose what to do."
"Are you saying that you would have been okay if I solved everything myself?" You asked nervously. “That you would have let me help had you told me the curse beforehand?”
"Are you asking me to be okay with it?"
You didn’t reply immediately. "I want to know what my future husband thinks," you admitted shyly.
He raises a brow in surprise, the redness on the tip of his ears betraying his flustered emotions. “Yes,” his thumb brushed under your eye, tender. “The answer is yes. Your happiness has been the most important thing to me ever since I met you. I hope you know that.”
"I know it now," a tear fell from your eyes. And then multiple of them followed. "And now is all that matters."
He wiped your tears away with his free hand, looking at you like you were the only constant thing in the world that finally stopped freezing long before his kingdom did. “You’re beautiful even in tears,” he murmured.
"You can't just say things like that," you sniffled, smiling through your tears anyway. "I-I have nothing to offer you, San, I'm just a farm girl and I have no idea how to lead a kingdom. I don’t have any merit."
You had no idea where all your insecurity was coming from, but it was there. "No," San whispered. "You can give me everything. The people too. Look around you, Y/N."
And you did and that’s when you saw it. Random things you knew weren’t in the room - a hand stitched shawl, flowers in ornate vases, carved wooden charmed wooden carvings, multiple letters stacked against one another in one corner of the room. Your room was filled to the brim with gifts.
“They’re from the people of Utopia,” he said, following your gaze. “They’ve been giving you gifts. I told them everything. About the curse. About what you did. About how the snow stopped because you refused to let me disappear.”
Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. “To them, you’re already their queen,” he continued. His eyes shone warmly, shining softly and earnestly as a good king should who truly loved his kingdom like San did. “ You lead by caring enough to try. Every day, even when it costs you. I know I did.”
Then he smiled, that soft, devastating smile meant only for you, and reached into his palm. A ring rested there and your tears started falling downwards at a faster rate as he took your hand in his. “Let’s do this again, please. No more duties, no more curses. Just us choosing each other, if you’d let me.”
The room felt impossibly still as he held the ring up to you, hope trembling just beneath his calm. “To the person who braved the cold with me,” he began. “Would you spare me the torment of being without you and marry me?"
You couldn’t speak, nodding fervently as you covered your mouth to stop yourself from sobbing out loud. The breath he let out was shaky, broken by a smile so full it almost hurt to look at. When he slid the ring onto your finger, the cold felt like nothing more than a distant memory.
In that moment, with no more snow falling and no curse left to fear, it felt like the world finally, truly began again for the both of you. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in. The kiss was nothing short of gentle, longing melting away between your lips.
And as the last remnants of fear had unshackled itself from the cold grips of despair, the curse was unbound. And at last, San felt free - truly free for the first time in his life.
SUMMARY: after the illegal hybrid ring you were in got shutdown you were put into a facility with other hybrids, a handsome man who was visiting said facility stumbles upon you and is infatuated by you, and it seems to have him leave his hand out to you with the promise that he will treat you right and give you a life full of love, comfort, happiness, you deserve. Only thing is not only will it be just himself but his other 7 lovers as well. Will you be able to let go past insecurities and let them in? Or will you push them so far away that they’ll see that ‘rabid’ hybrid you know yourself as?
RATING: +18
TAGLIST - CLOSED
GENRE: hurt/comfort, hybrid!AU, happy ending, fem!reader, suggestive, slow burn, raccoon hybrid!hongjoong, swan hybrid!seonghwa, golden retriever hybrid!yunho, doberman hybrid!yeosang, jaguar hybrid!san, wolf hybrid!mingi, fox hybrid!wooyoung, brown bear hybrid!jongho, black panther hybrid!reader, special feature coming soon 🤫
WARNINGS: drugs, death, fights against hybrids, lots of ptsd, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, rabid hybrid, injected with drugs, physical abuse, drinking, stereo types about social groups, suggestive, fxm, mxm, cursing, malnourishment, heavy trauma, more to be added….
WORD COUNT: 9.5k more to come
START DATE: march 5, 2026
END DATE: -
𖤝 CHAPTERS 𖤝
prelude | one | two | three | four | five | six | etc…
featuring — ateez members x gn!reader ( masterlist )
summary — an imagine of what the ateez boys are like when they have a crush on you (moments where their feelings shine)!
contents — fluff, no warnings.
hong ⊹ joong
hongjoong is one who tries to play it cool, but his crush on you is increasingly obvious through the little things he does.
it starts with how he’ll always offer to help you with your creative projects. “need help brainstorming ideas?” he’d casually ask, even if he was buried in deadlines for ateez’s next album. when you hesitated, worried about wasting his time, hongjoong would reassure you with his signature grin. “don’t worry. creative energy comes back tenfold when i’m around you.”
then there are his thoughtful gestures. during a movie night with the group, you mentioned offhandedly that you loved a specific snack from a bakery across town. the next day, hongjoong casually hands you a bag of those snacks, acting as if it was no big deal. “i passed by the bakery on my way here,” he said, but you caught the faint blush creeping up his neck when you thanked him with a warm smile.
his crush shines brightest during practice sessions. if you stop by the studio, hongjoong will suddenly become hyperaware of your presence. he’ll glance your way between moves, a small smile tugging at his lips whenever he caught your gaze. his energy would shift — he’d dance with more precision, his voice more vibrant as he rapped or sang, almost as if trying to impress you.
one evening, after practice, you complimented him. “you’re so dedicated, hongjoong. it’s inspiring to watch.”
hongjoong froze for a moment before chuckling softly, scratching the back of his neck. “it’s easy to work hard when the right person’s watching.” his words slipped out before he could stop them, and he quickly looked away, his cheeks burning red.
you laughed, your voice light and teasing. “who’s the lucky person?”
hongjoong’s lips quirked up into a smile, but he didn’t answer directly. instead, he picked up his notebook and pretended to jot something down. “maybe you’ll figure it out one day.”
seong ⊹ hwa
seonghwa’s crush on you is evident in the way he pays attention to the smallest details about you. while others might call him a perfectionist, with you, it wasn’t just about doing things well — it was about making sure everything he did for you was flawless.
whenever the group invited you over, seonghwa will quietly take charge of ensuring the space was comfortable for you. “the lighting’s too harsh,” he’d mutter, adjusting the lamps until they cast a warm glow. if he knows your favorite snacks, he’ll make sure they were prominently placed on the coffee table. “oh, these? i just picked them up randomly,” he’d lie, hiding how he’d gone out of his way to find them.
his crush also comes through in his protectiveness. if you were out together with the group, seonghwa is the one subtly checking to make sure you were warm enough or have a drink in hand. one rainy evening, you forgot your umbrella, and seonghwa immediately offered his. “i don’t mind getting wet,” he said, though you noticed how he pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he walked beside you.
during a late-night karaoke session, seonghwa’s feelings slipped through his usually calm demeanor. when it was his turn to sing, he chose a ballad — a soft, emotional song about unspoken love. his eyes flicked toward you as he sang, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart skip a beat.
afterward, you clapped enthusiastically. “that was beautiful, seonghwa. you put so much feeling into it.”
he smiled shyly, looking down at his lap. “it’s easier to feel a song when there’s someone… special in mind,” he admitted softly, his voice barely audible over the music.
yun ⊹ ho
yunho’s crush on you is impossible to miss, given his naturally outgoing and playful personality. he isn’t shy about spending time with you, often using humor and charm to mask how nervous he actually is around you.
he’ll find excuses to be near you during group hangouts. if you are sitting on the couch, yunho will plop down next to you, grinning as he stretched his long legs. “hope you don’t mind me stealing some of your personal space,” he’d tease, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you just a second too long.
yunho’s crush is also evident in his habit of subtly showing off around you. whether it is effortlessly spinning a basketball on his finger or nailing a complex dance move during practice, he’ll always glance your way afterward to see if you were impressed. when you compliment him, his grin will widen, and he’d laugh it off. “ah, it’s nothing. just a little something i’ve been practicing.”
one day, while the group was playing video games, yunho handed you the controller and coached you through the game. “here, press this button — no, not that one!” he laughed as your character stumbled on-screen. his hand covered yours briefly to guide you, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight flush on his cheeks.
later that evening, yunho found himself alone with you as the others stepped out. “i have fun when you’re around,” he said suddenly, his usual playful tone replaced with sincerity.
“me too,” you replied, smiling warmly at him.
for a moment, yunho considered confessing, but instead, he just grinned and nudged your shoulder. “good. then i’ll keep making sure you have fun.”
yeo ⊹ sang
yeosang’s crush on you isn’t as overt as some of the others — it is in the quiet moments, the subtle glances, and the small gestures that spoke volumes if you were paying attention. he isn’t the type to shout his feelings from the rooftops, but that doesn’t mean his emotions aren’t strong.
he always seems to notice the little things about you. if you mention being cold, yeosang will quietly drape his jacket over your shoulders without a word. when you compliment a particular drink once, he makes a mental note and starts bringing it to you whenever he has the chance. “i thought you might like this,” he’ll say casually, but his lips would twitch into a small, satisfied smile when you accept it with a grin.
yeosang’s crush would shine through during group activities. if you are participating in a game or challenge, he’ll subtly cheer you on, his quiet encouragement just for your ears. “you’ve got this,” he’d say, his tone calm but sincere, his eyes lighting up when you succeed.
one evening, while everyone was busy chatting, you caught yeosang watching you. when you met his gaze, he quickly looked away, his ears turning pink. later, he approached you with a hesitant smile. “you look really happy tonight,” he said softly.
you laughed lightly. “i am. it’s nice being here with everyone.”
yeosang’s expression softened. “it’s nice when you’re here, too,” he admitted, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. before you could respond, someone called his name, and he quickly excused himself, leaving you wondering if you’d heard him correctly.
san ⊹
san’s crush on you is impossible to miss — he wears his heart on his sleeve, and his feelings shine through in everything he does. he isn’t shy about being affectionate, always finding ways to be close to you, whether it is playfully slinging an arm around your shoulders or giving you a big, warm hug just because he can.
he was your biggest cheerleader, always hyping you up no matter what. “you’re amazing, you know that?” he’d say with a bright smile, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. if you ever doubted yourself, san was the first to reassure you. “you’ve got this. i believe in you more than anyone else.”
san’s crush also manifested in his protectiveness. if you were out together, he’d instinctively walk on the side closest to the street or make sure you were comfortable. one time, when someone made an offhand comment that upset you, san was quick to defend you, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare intensity. “hey, watch it,” he said firmly, his jaw tight as he stood by your side.
during a quiet moment at a group hangout, san handed you a small, handmade bracelet. “i made this for you,” he said, his cheeks tinged with pink.
“you made this?” you asked, surprised.
he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i thought it’d suit you.”
when you put it on and smiled at him, san’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his heart practically melting at how radiant you looked.
min ⊹ gi
mingi’s crush on you is both endearing and awkward — his feelings make him nervous, but he can’t help the way he lights up whenever you were around. he’ll stumble over his words sometimes, his usual confidence replaced with a shy energy that only seems to surface when he is with you.
“hey, uh… how’s it going?” he’d ask, his voice a little higher than usual. if you teased him about being nervous, mingi would laugh it off, scratching the back of his head. “me? nervous? nah, i’m just… uh, thinking about something.”
his crush shows in the way he always tries to make you laugh. whether it is cracking silly jokes, pulling exaggerated faces, or doing a random dance move, mingi loves seeing you smile. “there it is!” he’d say triumphantly whenever you laugh, his own laughter following shortly after.
one time, while the group was practicing, you walked into the room, and mingi immediately straightened up, putting extra energy into his moves. he’d steal glances at you between steps, his lips quirking up into a proud grin when he noticed you watching.
later, when everyone was taking a break, mingi handed you a water bottle. “you must be thirsty after watching us, huh?” he joked, though his cheeks flushed as you accepted it.
“thanks, mingi. you’re really thoughtful,” you said with a warm smile.
his eyes widened slightly, and he looked away, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “ah, it’s nothing. i just… i like making you happy.”
mingi’s honesty caught you off guard, but before you could respond, he jumped up, clapping his hands. “alright! back to practice!” he said, his voice a little too loud, clearly trying to cover up his embarrassment.
woo ⊹ young
wooyoung’s crush on you is impossible to miss — it radiates from him in the way he teases you, how his voice softens when he says your name, and the subtle yet intentional ways he finds to touch you. he is naturally flirty, but with you, his charm carries an extra layer of sincerity that he can’t hide no matter how hard he tries.
“are you blushing? don’t tell me you’re falling for me already,” he’ll tease, his signature grin lighting up his face. but the moment you tease him back, wooyoung’s confidence would falter just slightly. “i’m not blushing,” he’ll mutter, averting his gaze while his cheeks turn a telltale shade of pink.
wooyoung always finds ways to include you in the group’s activities, dragging you into dance challenges or asking for your opinion on his outfits. once, during a karaoke night, he deliberately picked a romantic ballad and sang it while making exaggerated gestures toward you, earning playful groans from the others. “what? i’m just serenading my biggest fan!” he’d joke, though the way his eyes linger on yours betrays his true feelings.
but beneath all the playfulness, wooyoung’s crush revealed itself in quieter, more thoughtful moments. when he noticed you were tired, he’d bring you snacks or offer you his jacket. “you take care of everyone else so much,” he said softly one evening, placing a warm drink in your hands. “let me take care of you for once.”
it was during one of these moments that his feelings slipped through more clearly. you had been talking about your day when wooyoung suddenly blurted out, “you’re seriously incredible, you know that?” he froze for a second, realizing what he’d said, and then quickly tried to cover it up with a laugh. “i mean, obviously — anyone with eyes can see it.”
though he tried to act nonchalant, the way he looked at you told a different story — one of someone utterly smitten and hopelessly drawn to you.
jong ⊹ ho
jongho’s crush on you is quieter but no less meaningful. he isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but his actions always speaks louder than words. if he had a crush, it would show in the way he pays attention to you — remembering the little things you say, noticing when you are feeling off, and always being there to lend a hand.
“here,” he’d say, handing you your favorite drink before you even asked for it. when you looked at him in surprise, he’d shrug, a faint smile playing on his lips. “you mentioned it once. i thought you’d like it.”
jongho often finds himself stealing glances at you, his gaze softening whenever you aren’t looking. if you catch him, he’ll quickly look away, his ears turning red. “i wasn’t staring,” he’ll insist, his tone calm but the slight awkwardness in his voice betraying him.
when the group is together, jongho will naturally gravitate towards you, whether it is sitting next to you or offering to help you carry something. one time, during a group outing, you struggled to open a bottle, and jongho immediately stepped in. “give it here,” he said, easily twisting the cap off and handing it back to you.
“thanks, jongho,” you said, smiling up at him.
he nodded, his expression unreadable, though his ears were tinged pink. “it’s nothing. i just didn’t want you to hurt your hand.”
despite his reserved nature, jongho’s crush shines through in the rare moments he let his guard down. during a casual conversation, he suddenly said, “you’re different from anyone i’ve ever met.”
the comment caught you off guard. “different how?”
he hesitated for a moment before meeting your eyes, his gaze steady but gentle. “just… special. in a good way.” his words were simple, but the weight behind them made your heart flutter.
though he isn’t one for grand gestures, jongho’s quiet devotion and thoughtfulness makes it clear just how much he cares — without him ever having to say the words outright.
notes: i am so soft for them, it’s not a joke anymore
