Between Spells [p.sh, j.wy]
☾ Pairing: Witch hunter! Seonghwa x Witch! f! Reader x Witch hunter! Wooyoung
☾ Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, witch au, M for mature
☾ Warnings: Mentions of violence, light violence, mentions of death, brief description of death, weapons
☾ Word count: 9398
☾ Summary: Witch hunters aren't meant to care for you. And yet, here you are, drawn to two unlikely hunters who show you that safety and warmth will always be possible.
This is for @lapydiaries Witch Hunt Anniversary Event! It was a doozy to write, and even now there is so much more I wanted to add to this. The prompt chosen was "A witch was wronged by other witches, and hides among hunters to get their revenge {Agate Prompt}" and I hope I did it justice!
Also I beg, please tell me of any typos. I was using Microsoft Word and i haven't touched that in literal years so I am very unused to it :(
No beta we die like men (i went through it briefly for spelling errors)
You wake to the smell of iron and smoke.
For a moment, you think you’re still running—boots pounding behind you, spells crackling too close to your spine—but the pain is different now. It’s like someone has wrapped it carefully instead of letting it bleed. And judging from the bandages around your waist, someone has.
You try to sit up, but strong hands stop you immediately.
“Don’t,” a voice says. Calm, low, and unbothered. “You’ll reopen it.”
You freeze, opening your eyes. At first, all you see is firelight and stone. You blink quickly, shaking away the shadows when a narrow room comes into focus. A sword leans against the wall, polished and close enough to reach. There’s a mark of witch hunters branded into the heavy iron.
A mix of fear and relief churns in your stomach. You’re not dead, so they don’t know that you’re a witch yet. But you know what you’ve done will soon spread. Then their kindness will not matter. The bandages are bound tightly, clean and precise. Someone knew what they were doing, and you need their skill to heal properly. The metal bullets that tore through your skin bind your magic still.
The man beside you notices the way you overthink and pulls his hands away. “I won’t touch you,” he promises, voice soft. “You’re safe. For now.”
That’s when you see him properly.
He looks like a hunter in all the obvious ways. Dark clothes, disciplined posture, the kind of stillness that comes with years of practice. But his eyes are not what you’re used to from the humans. They’re too gentle, too understanding, like he’s already decided something.
“Why?” you whisper. Your throat burns.
He considers the question, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he offers you a knowing smile. You don’t pry. You don’t dare to. And before you can say anything else, the door creaks open.
“Oh. She’s awake.” The second voice is brighter, but sharper. A little too casual. Another man steps out, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. His gaze flicks from your face to the bandages and back again. “Are we keeping the stray?”
The man beside you doesn’t look away. “Wooyoung.”
“I’m just saying,” Wooyoung continues, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside. He moves gracefully, but you can tell from his gait that he never truly learned how to be still. “Most people who lay bleeding in the forest tend to be what we don’t want in our houses.”
Your pulse spikes. Before you can stop it, heat curls in your chest, magic stirring instinctually to protect-
Wooyoung sees the glow in your chest and his smile vanishes. The air changes. “…Oh,” he breathes out. “That kind of stray.”
The shout is usually what follows after the revelation. Or the blade.
It never comes.
Instead, the man beside you exhales, slow and measured, like he expected this. “She’s injured and frightened. That’s all that matters.”
Wooyoung scoffs. “You say that like that’s all we need.”
“It’s enough,” the man replies. There’s something you sense in his voice that tells you it’s all he’s willing to say on the topic anymore.
Wooyoung studies him for a long moment. Then his gaze slides back to you, sharp and unreadable. “You got a name?”
You hesitate. “You don’t have to answer,” the man beside you reassures. That, more than anything, breaks you.
Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them, and you turn your face away, ashamed of the weakness. But no one presses.
Wooyoung just clicks his tongue and looks up at the ceiling, the long line of his neck smooth and unmarred. “Great,” he mutters. “Now I feel like an asshole.”
The hunter beside you finally stands, tall and imposing. He adjusts the blanket around you with meticulous care, still not touching skin. “My name is Seonghwa,” he says, “You’ll stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do next.”
Wooyoung hovers near the door, watching you like a lit fuse he hasn’t decided whether to cut or not. “Get some rest, witch,” he adds, quieter than before. “You’re not dead yet.”
When the door closes and the fire crackles low, you stare at the empty space. You don’t know why they’re helping you, or what they’ll do once they know exactly what you’ve done. But for the first time in a very long time, no one is asking you to explain yourself.
And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous mercy of all.
-
The next morning, you’re awoken by the creak of the door opening to reveal a shadowy figure looming in the light. You don’t know when you fell asleep, and you hardly remember last night, your magic flaring in your chest before you remember and it dies down. The hunter—Seonghwa—watches with thinly-veiled amusement, his eyebrows rising. “Short term memory loss is a sign of a concussion.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice. “We can get that checked.”
You shake your head quickly, ignoring the dizziness that follows. “I don’t have a concussion,” you decide, wanting to avoid any poking and prodding. “Everything is superficial.”
He regards you a bit more seriously this time. In the morning light, you see him a bit better. He’s handsome, almost impossibly so. But there’s a smattering of scarring around his eyes. Silver. Magic burns.
“If you were hurt by witches, why have you helped me?” The question springs out of your mouth unbidden. You cringe back, ready for a bullet through your heart, but Seonghwa just chuckles, as if he’s likened you to a kitten who is learning to hiss.
“You were already hurt,” he says simply. “Leaving you like that wasn’t an option.”
“Even for Wooyoung?” you pry a little more. “He didn’t seem exactly thrilled to have me here.”
Seonghwa just smiles slightly wider, shaking his head. “You’ll have to ask him. I won’t pretend to know what goes on in his head.” He takes a small step forward. “Now, let’s take a look at your wounds. I wrapped them with salve, but I’d like to make sure they’re not infected.”
You can’t decline in your state, but even if you could, you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you shift over to give him easy access to your ribs. Slender fingers skirt along your sides, and you hold back your squirming.
“No infection just yet,” Seonghwa says softly. “Looks like you’ll just need some rest. Thankfully.”
You nod, tugging your tunic back on before shying away from his presence. “You’re a strange hunter,” you mumble.
“He really is.” You jump and whip your head around to see Wooyoung grinning at you like a cat that swallowed a canary. “Sorry, sorry.” He doesn’t look very sorry at all.
Wooyoung steps closer, assessing you with a sharp eye. “So, now that you’re all patched up and Seonghwa yelled at me for scaring you, why don’t you tell us how you ended up bleeding out on our doorstep?”
Immediately, you freeze. If you tell them the truth, they’re sure to kill you. But even if you lie, news will spread like wildfire.
Neither Wooyoung or Seonghwa push you to answer, however, and instead wait patiently for you to gather your thoughts. And it’s that specifically that makes you spill your guts. “My coven betrayed me,” you say softly. “Maybe I deserved it. I saved a hunter. But it quickly spiralled out of control. It was…horrific. I don’t know how I survived.”
You shudder at the memory, and Seonghwa rests his hand on your lower back in an attempt to comfort. And somehow, it works. “…It’s not your fault,” Wooyoung murmurs so softly that you almost miss it. “How were you supposed to know your choice, your kindness would cost you?”
The two hunters exchange silent looks. The silence is palpable, and you shift nervously as you wait to hear the outcome of your future. And then, Seonghwa speaks.
“You can say,” he speaks slowly but surely. “You’re not a threat. And…and we understand your situation more than you’d expect.” They don’t explain, but you know when prying is ill-advised.
“Just…don’t use magic. For now,” Wooyoung adds. “They leave residue. Hunters will track it down. Especially if they already know your signature.”
All you do is thank them and hope your past doesn’t come to bite you in the ass.
-
You’ve been at the hunter’s home for a while. Although the hunters warn you against going outside without them, you find plenty to do inside. You organise their kitchen, cook warm meals when they come back late and reeking of blood and magic, and you make sure the fire stays lit and the paper wards posted around the house remain strong. It feels almost like home, but each time you settle in, you immediately pull away again. It’s not right to carve out your place in a house in which you don’t belong.
Even if they let you have your own room. Even if Seonghwa smiles and lets you do what you wish. Even if Wooyoung seems to know exactly what you want before you even say it. And in return, you learn about them.
You know how Seonghwa organises the herbs, makes sure everything is in its place. You especially know how his eyes shine when he’s happy, and the way his voice stutters when he’s trying hard not to laugh at Wooyoung’s antics. He’s fiercely protective, but reserved, and you admire him for the way he is able to keep a clear head.
And Wooyoung…he always has a retort on the tip of his tongue. He gets into more trouble than he’s worth, Seonghwa always says, and yet there’s nothing Wooyoung wouldn’t do to make sure the both of you are smiling. Even you, the outsider. He cares more than he lets on.
One evening, you elect to eat dinner with them, rather than in your room. The stew was too hot, and you burned your tongue, but you didn’t even mind. It was the first time in days that you’d eaten until you’re full, without listening for footsteps between every bite. The cabin smelled like herbs and smoke and comfort. Safety.
Wooyoung sat across from you, chair tipped back slightly, watching you over the rim of the cup. “You eat like someone’s going to steal it from you.”
You frown. “You don’t?”
Wooyoung grins and winks. “Not anymore.”
Seonghwa shoots him a look over his shoulder from where he was cleaning a knife at the counter. “Don’t tease her.”
“I’m doing none of the sort,” Wooyoung protests. “I’m observing.”
“You’re hovering,” the taller hunter corrects, lips pulling up into a smile.
Pointedly, Wooyoung ignores him and leans forward, elbows on the table. “Tell me, are you always this quiet? Or are we just not worthy of conversation yet?”
You huff a quiet laugh. Both men freeze. “…What?” you ask tentatively, your smile fading slightly.
“Nothing,” Seonghwa says gently, something warm in his eyes. “Just that it’s nice to hear you relax.”
Cheeks warm for no reason you want to examine, you duck your head and stir your bowl shyly. The fire crackles softly, the cabin feeling small in the best way. Your shoulders are no longer tense, your hands no longer trembling. You take another bite and swallow, before lifting your head to speak.
Wooyoung’s chair legs hit the floor, hard, the sound cracking though the room. Your brows furrow. He isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring at the wall behind you—no—past it. Through it. His posture changes in an instant, easy slouch gone, body pulled taught like a wire. Seonghwa stops and follows his gaze, the knife in his hands still.
“What?” you ask. And then you feel it.
The air shifts.
You almost didn’t notice it at first. The fire grew still, the atmosphere heavy and thick. A faint tremor ran through you, not quite fear.
Wooyoung stands slowly, his posture too straight. “Probably nothing,” he says, but his voice has lost its warmth.
Seonghwa sets the knife down with too much care. “I’ll check the perimeter.” He glances at you. “The traps.”
He begins to move towards the door, where Wooyoung already is with his hand braced against the wood and head tilted like he is listening to something far away.
You swallow hard. “I don’t like this…”
Wooyoung glances back at you, his expression softening slightly. “Hey, you’re fine,” he reassures weakly, his hand curled into a fist.
He pulls the door open slightly, and the temperature in the room drops despite the summer heat. You feel it immediately. Pressure, like invisible threads pulled tight. The two hunters step outside, peering around the tree line. Seonghwa’s fingers twitch. A small motion, a flick of the fingers, like brushing ash away.
Then the pressure snapped. Gone.
You can see the way Wooyoung’s form relaxes, his breath being let out. “See? Nothing,” he says lightly as Seonghwa files back in and shuts the door.
“It didn’t feel like nothing,” you counter, the furrow between your brows deepening slightly.
Seonghwa moves back to the counter, picking up the knife again. “The woods change often. Sound carries. Animals move through.”
You stare at them. They’re lying. Pretending so well it almost words. But you know what magic feels like. Something- someone was in those woods. Your skin still buzzes like you were in the middle of a ritual circle.
But why would they lie?
-
The thought wouldn’t leave you, weeks later.
It sat at the back of your mind all morning, quiet but persistent, like a splinter under skin.
They were too calm, too aware. Too fast.
You remember that night well. The way Wooyoung had reacted before anything happened. How Seonghwa stilled at the same time. The way the air around the house shifted before you noticed it.
You tried to shake it off, but your instincts had kept you alive this long.
Something is wrong.
Seonghwa is at the table, repairing a leather strap with steady hands. Wooyoung is on the floor nearby, back against the wall, carving something into a small piece of wood. It’s an act, and you watch it for far longer than you mean to.
Wooyoung notices first. Of course he does. His eyes flick up mid-carve. “You okay?”
You nod, stilted. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t believe you. And neither does Seonghwa.
“You’ve been quiet recently,” he pries gently.
The words are thick in your throat, and you swallow hard. “Can I ask something?”
They both turn slowly to face you, and you almost back out. “That night,” you say, forcing the words out, “when we heard something outside…you weren’t surprised. Alert, sure. But you were ready for it.”
Wooyoung snorts. “We live here. We’re used to it.”
“That’s not what I mean. I know what it feels like when magic is nearby. I’m a witch.”
Wooyoung’s expression shifts. A flicker of something you can’t place. Seonghwa holds your gaze. “Then you’d know if we were the same.” His words are certain, grounded, and you falter.
“But—”
There’s a loud crash, then a heavy metal snap from outside, and you flinch hard. Wooyoung jumps to his feet instantly. “Damn it,” he mutters, heading for the door as he pulls his jacket on.
Seonghwa grabs a bow from the wall before following. “Stay inside,” he directs you, but when he exits, you rush to the porch anyway.
A deer had gotten tangled in a snare near the edge of the clearing. It thrashes weakly, rope twisted around its leg. Wooyoung swears under his breath and runs towards it, Seonghwa following at a slower pace. They murmur nonsense the whole time Seonghwa works the rope loose.
The moment the deer pulls free, it bolts, and Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath, falling backwards into the dirt. You let out a startled laugh, and Wooyoung glares from his place on the ground. “You making fun of me?”
“You’re fine,” you call back, a smile on your face. Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head as he helps Wooyoung up.
They look normal. Breathing heavy, mud on their clothes. Just two men in the woods dealing with a stupid snare. Your chest loosens. You’re just projecting. Letting fear twist everything, too scared of your past repeating itself. You’re a witch. You’d know if they were too.
You have more important things to worry about, anyway.
-
“Why do you always look like that?”
One late evening, Seonghwa had made a trip to town, and Wooyoung stayed to keep you company. Or keep an eye on you. Maybe both. You turn your face towards where he sits at the heart, poking at the fire with the poker. “What do you mean?” you ask tentatively, moving to sit in the armchair.
“You always look like something- someone is going to burst through the door and everything that is good will end.” His words give you pause. They’re true. And he knows it. “What made you run?” Wooyoung asks after a moment’s hesitation.
“Everyone runs from something,” you reply lightly.
“I’m not asking everyone.”
Your foot twitches. Maybe you are about to bolt. But something about the way he speaks—clean, not hidden behind an easy smile and a joke—makes you want to answer. “I made a mistake,” you say slowly. “One you don’t get to undo.”
Wooyoung’s jaw tightens. “Did someone hurt you?”
Your lips twitch into a melancholy smile. “Something like that.”
He exhales through his nose, frustrated, but he nods. Accepts it, for the most part. “You don’t trust us.” It’s not an accusation, just a statement.
You meet his eyes. “I don’t trust anyone.” This time, it’s the truth. “It doesn’t come easy to me anymore. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”
Wooyoung frowns. “But you stayed,” he says quietly. “If someone comes looking for you…”
“They usually do,” you shrug like it’s a well-known fact.
A short laugh escapes Wooyoung’s lips, mirthless. He looks at you like…like you matter. You ignore it. “You won’t be alone,” he finishes softly, his hand clenching into a fist before he forces it to relax.
You tilt your head. “That’s a bold promise.”
“Yeah. I know.” Wooyoung’s gaze remains serious, and then the playful smile returns. “When have I never kept my promise?”
You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he wants you to say. “Well, there was that time you told Seonghwa you would go to town and get some ingredients but forgot. And then there was that time…”
-
After that day, things change. They stop watching you like you’re about to bolt, and you no longer look around your surroundings like you want to bolt. You no longer feel the need to notice every little whisper of wind that passes by, especially when you have other things to notice now.
You wake one morning early, earlier than usual, feeling the urge to make tea. The sun still hadn’t risen while you sit in the kitchen, watching the clouds move across the sky. Then you hear them chatter.
Seonghwa is crouched beside Wooyoung, leaning close over a small scrap of parchment. His fingers brush against Wooyoung’s hand lightly, so gentle it made your chest tighten. Wooyoung’s eyes soften, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’re not sure whether to interrupt or look away.
A soft laugh escapes Wooyoung. Quiet, almost shy, quite unlike how you know him, and Seonghwa tilts his head, meeting his gaze with a small, patient smile. You blink, your stomach doing a little flip. They care about each other, clear as day. Really care.
The realisation hit. They move together so naturally, it makes you ache in longing. It wasn’t just friendship, but love. True, unequivocal love.
As if drawn to it, you shift towards them, and the floorboard creaks. Their heads snap up, eyes wide as they both freeze. Seonghwa’s hand lingers mid-air, like he had been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Wooyoung’s smile falters, and the calculating glint you are used to returns to his eyes, despite the flush creeping over his cheeks.
You clear your throat, setting aside the intimacy you noticed and instead giving them the space they deserve. “Tea,” you explain, gesturing to the kettle that has just begun to boil. “Want some?”
Both men straighten instantly. The gentle tension vanished, replaced by normalcy, but your heart had already noted the truth. You couldn’t unsee it. And as they took seats on either side of you, you told yourself it was nothing. But the tiny, quiet ache in your chest said otherwise.
They love each other. And you wish you had it.
-
The home is quiet in the late evening, fire low, dishes done, the world outside reduced to the wind blowing through the trees.
You sit on the floor, back against the couch, mending a tear in your sleeve with clumsy, uneven stitches. Your tongue peeks through your lips in concentration. Wooyoung notices first, his lips twitching as he holds back a smile. He’s sprawled on the rug on his stomach, chin resting in his hands as he watches you like it’s a show.
“That’s tragic,” he says. “You’re practically committing crimes against fabric.”
Seonghwa sighs from the couch, but there’s a smile in it. “Don’t bully her.”
“I’m not bullying her. I’m witnessing.”
You huff, glaring at him with no real heat behind it. “I didn’t exactly have a peaceful, domestic upbringing, okay? No one taught me how to sew properly.”
That makes them both go quiet for half a second. Not laced with pity. Just a new awareness.
Wooyoung rolls onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. “Okay, c’mere.”
Frowning, you shuffle closer on your knees, holding up the sleeve. He takes it gently from your hands, fingers brushing against yours. Warm.
“Don’t yank the thread like that,” he mutters, focused now. “You’re making it pucker.”
Seonghwa leans forward from the couch, watching the two of you. His gaze is soft, directed not just towards Wooyoung, but at you too. “You’ve never had anyone do this with you?” he asks quietly, not willing to just drop it.
You shrug, watching Wooyoung with your chin on your knees. “Nah. I manage.”
Wooyoung clicks his tongue and finishes a few neat stitches. When he hands the sleeve back, his other hand reaches out to grasp your wrist gently. As if he’s making sure you’re still there. “You don’t always have to manage alone,” he says lightly, but he doesn’t look at you when he says it.
Brushing it off, you laugh. “I’m not helpless.”
“We know,” Seonghwa says softly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t let people take care of you. That’s just life.”
His eyes are on you in a quiet, searching way. You smile, a little crooked as you try and lighten the atmosphere. “You sound like an old married couple giving advice.”
Wooyoung grins. “We are very wise and experienced in the art of existing.”
Seonghwa reaches down absentmindedly and smooths a wrinkle from your shoulder where your shirt twisted. His touch is brief, natural. You lean into it automatically. “You deserve gentleness too,” he says, almost under his breath.
“Yeah. Maybe someday,” you hum, mind wandering to a day where you can smile freely.
Wooyoung breathes out through his nose, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Next time, just ask, okay? For help. For anything.”
Returning his smile, you nod. “Okay,” you say easily. “I will.”
-
You don’t worry about anything for a long time. Nothing happens, and you feel comfortable. You manage to sleep through nights, laugh with Wooyoung, and poke fun at Seonghwa. Soon, you feel safe enough to go out with them, gathering herbs and sticking protective charms on the trees.
Today is one of those times. You’re halfway down the path, Wooyoung and Seonghwa on either side of you, when you notice the silence. The birds have stopped singing.
“…Okay. That’s not my favourite thing,” Wooyoung mutters, trying to make light but his hands drift towards the dagger in his belt.
Seonghwa doesn’t react outwardly, but you see the shift. Shoulders straighten, eyes scanning the tree line. Slowly, you turn around and start the slow walk back to the safehouse. Running is not an option. Running means fear.
You feel it in your ribs. That crawling feeling you hadn’t had since before you found the hunters. You hate that it’s back.
“Seonghwa…” you murmur.
He glances at you. “I know.”
Wooyoung clears his throat, keeping his voice level. “Probably just a boar or something, right?” But he’s already moving closer to you.
You don’t look at them when you say it. “The other hunters…it’s the same feeling right before they found me.”
Seonghwa’s voice cuts through the haze in your mind, calm but firmer now. “We’re almost back.”
You take a few more steps when a twig snaps behind you. You shouldn’t have, but your head snaps back. Nothing there. Just trees. But the air tastes metallic. Burnt. Magical residue. You know the charm well. Marking patterns, testing distance.
Wooyoung’s hand brushes yours briefly. “We’ll take the long way,” he murmurs, guiding you to turn away in a different direction.
Seonghwa casts a quick glance back, his mouth moving around silent syllables. And for the first time since the deer, you don’t tell yourself you imagined it.
That night, you can’t sleep. The feeling hasn’t left.
You sit up quietly, running your hands through your hair before you realise Seonghwa is already awake. He sits at the table, a candle burning low behind him as he pours over old maps and ancient books in languages you don’t know. You get up, stepping closer.
“You don’t sleep much.”
He doesn’t startle, just turns to look at you. “Yes, I do.”
You raise a brow, and he almost smiles.
You sit across from him, pushing aside an errant book to make room to lean on the table. “Something’s wrong,” you say after a long silence. “And you knew before today. And you knew they were close, and have been.”
Seonghwa pauses, letting out a breath. “Yes.” There’s no denial in his voice.
“You don’t feel like a hunter.”
There’s another drawn-out silence, a space where the truth could fall. His eyes lift to meet your gaze. “Then what do I feel like?”
You swallow hard. “Like…someone who is making himself become one.”
The candle flickers. You can see the gears turning in his head. The point where he could tell you the truth. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. And then Seonghwa turns his face away. “We should reinforce the perimeter tomorrow.”
You nod and stand. “Good night, Seonghwa.”
The unspoken truth hangs between you like breath in cold air.
-
They attack without warning. They never do.
The wind hesitates one evening, and your stomach tightens. Seonghwa notices at the same time, setting his cup down slowly. Wooyoung is mid-sentence, complaining about something trivial, when his mouth snaps shut with an audible click of his teeth. “You feel that too, right?”
You’re already standing. “Someone’s here.”
Seonghwa moves towards the wall where the weapons hang. Calm, measured. “You stay inside.”
You almost laugh. “I’m not hiding.”
A branch snaps in the woods. Then another. They’re no longer trying to be quiet.
Wooyoung reaches for a blade, his eyes flicking to you. The door bursts open before anyone reaches it.
Hunters flood in. Their weapons are trained in on you, etched with sigils you recognise too well. Your blood goes cold. The very same clan as the one hunter you saved what feels like a lifetime ago.
“Behind me.” Seonghwa’s voice is tight, but controlled. A hunter lunges for you, but you spin away from his grasp at the last second. Wooyoung rushes forward.
You try your best to assist, but your magic isn’t careful enough to target the hunters in such an enclosed space. And though you try your hardest, you are untrained in the art of a blade, and you wield a sharp dagger stolen from the wall clumsily.
Wooyoung manages to bring a handful of hunters down, but he can’t hold them all back, and Seonghwa is across the room from you. One, or maybe two, grab your wrist and wrench you off balance. Pain shoots up your shoulder as they slam you into the wall.
The wind is knocked out of you, and you fall to the floor. “YN!” Wooyoung’s desperate cry echoes in the house’s walls, but you barely register it, eyes trained in on the silver blade positioned above you.
“Got her—”
The words don’t finish. The air tightens, and you stare as the hunter’s neck, and then face, turn red, then purple, then lifeless as his eyes roll back and the blade falls uselessly from his fingers.
Silence falls over the room. No one moves a muscle. You turn your head, meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. He’s not holding a weapon, his hand is just slightly raised. And the space around him is wrong. Not dramatic.
Just…bent. Bent around his form, his entire being.
Another hunter rushes forward with a yell, blade raised. You open your mouth to scream, but there is no need. The man hits an invisible wall and is thrown back hard enough to crack his skull.
Wooyoung stares, his blade lowered. You stare, your mind whirring. Because Seonghwa’s expression hasn’t changed. Not rage, not panic, just deadly, quiet focus.
The hunters turn their attentions towards him, but it’s no use. Seonghwa’s fingers flex, and every counter sigil in sight burns out mid-air. Magic fills the air, suffocating everything in its path. It’s not wild like yours. It’s ancient magic, precise and practised.
The hunters fall one by one, and their bodies disintegrate to ash when the light in the eyes of the last one standing leaves. And silence crashes down.
The room feels too big now, the pressure gone. Seonghwa’s hand drops. For the first time since you met him, he looks….unsure. His eyes find yours, wide and finally filled with fear. He’s scared not of the hunters, but of how you will react.
His gaze flicks to Wooyoung, who is frozen in the doorway, staring at Seonghwa like he’s seeing him for the first time too. But in the end, Seonghwa’s eyes move back to you. “I didn’t—” His voice is quiet now. Human again. “I couldn’t let them touch you.”
No excuses, no denial. Just a simple explanation. You take a small step forward. “I…I know.” You offer a weak smile. “And you know I knew.”
Seonghwa lets out a breath. “Yes.”
“Did you?” You turn to Wooyoung, your tone not accusing, just curious.
Wooyoung nods, stilted. He looks away. “It wasn’t my place to say,” he mutters.
You laugh softly, breathlessly. “No. I understand. Some things take time.” The fire pops. “I’ve hidden worse.”
Seonghwa crosses the room, summoning a blanket which he adjusts around your shoulders like he’s done a dozen times before. Careful, warm, and close. “Thank you,” he says softly, his eyes shining with something unguarded.
You don’t need to reply. You just pull him into a tight embrace, reaching out a hand for Wooyoung, who joins without another moment. And it’s all you need for this moment.
-
Much later, when it’s quiet, you tiptoe out to the porch. The tension is gone, left with a fragile peace. The safe house no longer reeks of dangerous magic, the fireplace is reduced to a warm orange glow that glints on the windowpanes. Seonghwa joins you a moment later.
The silence grows thick between you two before you finally break it. “You used magic without thinking. For me. In the open. You could have hidden it. Why didn’t you?”
His hands, fidgeting with a stray thread on his tunic, shake slightly. “You…you had enough to deal with.” You reach out to grasp his fingers, stilling the nervous movement, and you both know it’s time to explain.
“I grew up in a coven that believed control was love,” he says quietly, and you don’t interrupt. “If someone struggled, they weren’t helped. They were corrected. Containment. Binding. Silence.”
His mouth tightens when you suck in a breath. It’s the worst fate one could wish on a witch. To bind their magic, to force them to contain it. Magic naturally flows out of every living thing, and to force it to stop means a long, slow, destruction. A burning from the inside out. But still, you say nothing else.
“There was someone. Bright, emotional, not quite what the elders approved,” he continues. You know how this ends. You can feel it. “They lost control one night. No one was hurt. But the coven decided they were dangerous, and ordered a binding.
“It was the first time I argued against them. I insisted we could teach them. Help them stabilise.” He smiles, a faint, sad one. “They ordered me to perform it. They condemned my sister, and then ordered me to carry out the punishment.”
The words sit between you. “I refused. And so, I was exiled. And branded so I could never return. I couldn’t save them.” The scars laid over his eye glint in the light, and something twists in your gut.
“So you became a hunter.”
Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head and letting stray hairs fall in his eyes. “I don’t hunt witches specifically,” he says quietly. “I stop harm where I can. Sometimes that includes magic. Sometimes it includes humans.”
You swallow. “Why tell me?”
Seonghwa finally pulls a hand away, but only so he can brush his hair back again. Perfect, pristine, careful. “Because you look at yourself like you regret your kindness. The way I looked at my sister the last time I saw her.” Your breath catches. “It wasn’t. Not for her, and not for you.”
The fire inside dies, but the air between you two remains warm. “I couldn’t protect someone who needed me once,” he adds, almost too quiet to hear. “I couldn’t make that mistake again.”
And it’s not a promise spoken like a hero. It’s a vow from someone who had failed once and is terrified of doing it twice.
-
The next few days pass in silence. Fresh off the attack, and with the new knowledge of Seonghwa, tension is high. Seonghwa double-checks, triple-checks the wards, sets up fresh and clean traps. Busies himself with cleaning until not even a spider remains. Wooyoung is the exact opposite. He’s still, for once. Spends his time looking out the window, watching for any sort of movement. Sometimes, he falls asleep at the sill, and before either of you can wake him, he jerks upright and resumes his watch.
But you. You don’t know what to do. The knowledge that you’re no longer the only witch leaves you with some comfort, that you’re not alone. But it also makes you scared. Scared history will repeat itself. That this will never truly be your home.
The fire is low again. You didn’t mean to talk this much tonight. It just…happened. The quiet was too much for you to handle, the weight of your story heavy. You already told them about the hunter. About healing him. But you hadn’t said the part that matters most.
“I thought,” you murmur, staring into the embers like they hold all the answers for you, “if one of them lived because of a witch, maybe the story would change.”
Wooyoung goes rigid beside you. Seonghwa slowly lifts his head to look at you.
“I didn’t see him leave. Didn’t know he marked the paths. Counted our wards.,” you continue. Your voice is distant, as if retelling someone else’s tragedy. “They came back at dawn. With him leading them.”
Seonghwa’s hand reaches out but stops half-way to your arm. But Wooyoung…Wooyoung isn’t breathing right. But you press on, like you always have.
“They burned the outer homes first,” you say. “So we’d run inward. Trapped us.”
A sharp, painful laugh escapes you. “My coven didn’t even try to defend me once they found out. They said I brought it upon us. That mercy was weakness. That I’d chosen humans over my own.” You hesitate before saying the part that hurts the most, that doesn’t feel real. “And they handed me over.”
A sharp intake of breath draws your attention, and you glance sideways and stop. Wooyoung is staring at the floor like it’s opened beneath him. His voice comes out hoarse. “You said…before. That you made a mistake. That was it?”
For some reason, he looks like he’s the one remembering smoke in his lungs. “I made a bad choice,” you say simply.
He lets out a quote, wrecked laugh. “You helped someone who was dying.”
“And he repaid it by slaughtering people who trusted me.”
Wooyoung’s head snaps up. “That wasn’t your fault. Kindness isn’t a crime.”
Shaking your head, you look down. “Sometimes it is.” You regret the words when you hear Seonghwa sigh softly.
But there is no other reply, and you look up to see the way Wooyoung’s jaw clenches so hard you can see it tremble. Something in his gaze makes your heart ache. Hurt. Unsurety. He presses a hand to his mouth, lips drawn tight. Seonghwa looks at him with understanding. And you know you won’t get to share that until Wooyoung chooses to let you.
“You were brave.” Wooyoung’s words make you freeze, your throat tightening. He looks away quickly, pressing his hands to his eyes. “You don’t get to decide you’re the villain just because you had faith in humanity.”
His hand finds yours on the floor between you. And this time, he doesn’t hesitate. “I’m glad you made that mistake,” he says quietly. “Because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
Seonghwa nods sagely. “People chose violence. That wasn’t you.” He moves closer, just a little, his shoulder fully against yours now. Warm, solid. Careful. “If kindness is a crime, then the world’s already doomed.”
You don’t say anything else. You can’t bring yourself to. But it’s a breath of fresh air, and you know the house has changed, and will change. For the better.
-
Change comes slowly. But you appreciate it. You still need to be careful, keep your magic under wraps, but with the comfort of knowing Seonghwa understands you entirely. You finally feel like you could, just maybe, call this place home.
One summer night, you sit on the bottom step of the staircase, chin resting on your knees, watching the fire in the hearth burn low. The light flickers along the walls, warm and steady. You’re just resting. Not listening. Not watching. Not longing.
Across the room, Seonghwa sits on the floor with his back against the couch. A book rests open in his lap, but his eyes scan the same page over and over. Wooyoung is half-sprawled beside him, head tipped sideways against Seonghwa’s shoulder. His eyes are closed, breathing slow, one hand loosely interlaced with Seonghwa’s.
Neither of them have moved for a long time.
Your chest feels strange. Too full. Too quiet. And you look away. That kind of closeness is something you deserve in another life. Something other people get in this one. People who weren’t—
You swallow, pushing that thought to the back of your mind. Instead, you focus on how they fit together naturally. Like they don’t have to flinch when being touched. You wonder what that must be like. To lean your weight against someone and not expect them to move away. What it must be like to be reached out to first.
Wanting things like that makes you stupid. You can’t afford to wish. Your throat tightens, and you tuck the feeling away where the others go. Under your ribs, behind your teeth. But you can’t stop your eyes from drifting back.
“You two are…good together.” Your voice comes out quieter than you mean.
Seonghwa looks up, his eyes softening when he sees you. Wooyoung stirs, blinking sleepily as he turns his gaze towards you. “Hm?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Just. You two match.”
Wooyoung smiles lazily. “We know.” He shifts, sitting up a little. “Come here.”
Your whole body goes still. “What?” You shake your head too fast. “I’m good here.”
Seonghwa closes his book, setting it aside. “It’s warmer here.”
You force your lips to move up in a smile, hoping it looks convincing. “I don’t— I’m okay. Really.”
Wooyoung’s lips turn down, a little crease appearing between his brows. You want to smooth it out with your lips. “You don’t have to sit alone…”
A laugh falls out of your lips, light, dismissive. “I like it. Don’t worry.” Your gaze shifts back to the fire, telling yourself that the ache in your chest is just leftover fear. Not longing. Not hope. Not love.
And across the room, their gaze does not leave you.
-
The rain hasn’t stopped all evening. It taps softly against the cabin windows, steady and calming. The fire crackles low, painting everything in warm gold.
You sit cross-legged on the floor between them, a map spread out in front of you. The edges curl every time the wind pushes through the chimney draft.
“So if we go around the ridge,” you say, tracing a line with your finger, “we can avoid the main patrol routes.”
“We could also take the river path,” Seonghwa adds.
Before you can reply, Wooyoung suddenly leans sideways and drops his head directly into your lap, his dark hair spread out. You jolt. “What are you doing?”
“Thinking,” he mumbles, face pressed against your thigh.
You look helplessly at Seonghwa. “That’s not a thinking position! Why is he like this?”
Seonghwa sips his tea, a twinkle in his eye. “He’s comfortable.”
Wooyoung turns his face slightly, cheek pressing up further against you. His hand comes up, loosely grasping the fabric of your sleeve like he’s anchoring himself there. You freeze for half a second, then awkwardly, you pat his hair.
Seonghwa quickly turns away, holding back a laugh. Wooyoung slowly lifts his head, staring up at you in disbelief. “Did you just…pet me?”
You tilt your head, smile tugging at your lips. “You seemed to want reassurance.”
He springs up so fast, his eyes narrowed at your pleasant expression. “I want you to realise that I am—”
Seonghwa kicks him lightly in the side, and Wooyoung wheezes. The older witch smiles pleasantly at you. “He’s being dramatic. Ignore him.”
Wooyoung flops back down into your lap, defeated. “Unbelievable.”
You absentmindedly start running your fingers through his hair now, working out the small tangles. “You’re very clingy today,” you state softly as you turn your attention back to the map.
He closes his eyes immediately, melting. “Mmh. I wonder why.” He sighs again, but this time it’s more relaxed, almost content. “I can’t live like this.”
Seonghwa chuckles. “You seem to be doing fine,” he teases, moving closer to join you in stroking his hair.
And you sit there between them, fingers in Wooyoung’s hair, Seonghwa’s knee pressed lightly against yours. And the longing grows stronger.
-
The next day, you don’t leave your room until midday when your stomach growls. You can’t face their early-morning tenderness. Not without breaking down.
Only Wooyoung is in the main room, seated at the table, marking one of the maps. You brush past him, humming a good morning when he lifts his head. He returns it by reaching out and squeezing your fingers gently. You ignore the flutter in your chest.
Breakfast is an easy task, one you can focus on. You start the kettle, brew some tea, and prepare some toast. But when you turn to grab the honey, it’s not in it’s usual spot. It takes you some time to find it, the glass jar on the top shelf.
With an exasperated sigh, you stand on your toes, stretching out your arm. “I swear this house moves things just to mess with me,” you mutter. Your fingers brush the jar but you can’t quite get it.
There’s a soft sound behind you. The jar slides forward right into your hand. You blink. “Thanks, Seonghwa,” you call automatically, but there’s no response. You turn around.
Seonghwa isn’t there. But Wooyoung is leaning on the table with one elbow, his other hand raised slightly, fingers relaxed like he’s just set something down. Your eyes move from his hand to his face. He doesn’t smile.
“…You?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
You wait for a punch line, for Seonghwa to step out from the shadows. It doesn’t come. “You—” you tilt your head. “You too?”
Wooyoung’s eyes soften. “I didn’t want to hide from you anymore.” His words are quiet, more so than you ever heard from him. “I…are you mad?”
Something in your heart pinches. “Never. Never at you.”
Relief floods his face so fast it almost looks painful. “Good,” he murmurs, and you smile.
“Guess I have two house witches now,” you chuckle. Wooyoung laughs along shakily.
“You’re not going to ask why?”
You tilt your head at him. “Only if you want to share.”
He fidgets a little, hands restless. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first, then he nods. “My coven…” he takes a deep breath. “They weren’t like Seonghwa’s. We— they were chaotic. Messy. They took what they needed. Protected themselves first. It didn’t matter who got hurt as long as they were alive.
“One night,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “Another witch faction came. Territorial dispute. They killed my people off. I was the only one left. Somehow. And…I became exactly what I had hated. I hunted the witches. I justified it because I thought that’s what survival meant.”
You reach out, but he jerks slightly, as if afraid of your touch. Then, he relaxes and lets you take his hand. “I’m not clean,” he admits softly, voice thick. “I’ve done terrible things that I can’t justify. And I was— I am scared that you’ll run. That you’d see me the way I see myself.”
Heart aching, you squeeze his hand. “Wooyoung,” you whisper. “You can’t fix the mast. But…you can be here now.”
His breath leaves him shakily, as if that tiny acknowledgment is all he’s been waiting for. And in the firelight, you realise this is the first time he’s admitted he’s scared, broken, and desperate. But also that he wants to be something more than the mistakes he’s made.
And when Seonghwa comes in, Wooyoung enchants the fire to burn just a bit warmer, and smiles at the oldest witch. “She knows.”
-
It’s afternoon. Sunlight through the windows.
You’re sitting on the couch for once, not your usual spot on the floor, as you read through the spellbooks Seonghwa kept. Seonghwa is watching the stew simmer. Wooyoung is watching you.
Too obviously.
“What?” you ask without looking up.
“Nothing.”
You squint at a diagram, tracing the lines. “You’ve said that each of the four time’s I’ve asked.”
Wooyoung groans, sliding off the kitchen stool he sits on and crumpling onto the floor, dramatic sigh and all. “You’re unbelievable.”
You gasp in mock offense. “Uh, rude?”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes. You know it without even looking at him. “Oblivious.”
A pause. “About what?”
This time, you look at him. Wooyoung gestures vaguely at everything. The house. The room. Himself. Seonghwa stops stirring but doesn’t look up, already anticipating chaos. “You know why we fixed the attic insulation?” he asks.
“Completely irrelevant, but okay.” You miss Wooyoung’s second eye roll. “So we wouldn’t freeze.”
“So you wouldn’t.”
You mak`e a face. “We all live here.”
This time, Wooyoung full-out groans, covering his face with his hand. “You see this?” he directs to Seonghwa.
Seonghwa hides his smile behind the ladle. “I see.”
Wooyoung keeps going. “The tea you like never runs out? The blanket that’s always on your chair? The fire that is always the perfect temperature you like?”
Brows furrowed, you tilt your head. “What, am I your stray cat?”
A strangled sound escapes Wooyoung’s throat. Seonghwa finally walks over, poking his knee with his foot. “Enough.”
“No, because—” Wooyoung runs his hands through his hair. “You think we just do this stuff for fun? Do you really think we’d let just anyone stay? Read our books, cook for us, know exactly where we keep all our traps and wards?”
You close the book. “I thought you just felt bad,” you admit. The look Wooyoung gives you is half heartbreak, half disbelief. Seonghwa’s expression shifts too, to something sadder.
“I’m going to lose my mind,” Wooyoung breathes out, falling back onto the floor dramatically.
“Don’t bully her.”
“I’m not bullying! I’m trying to educate!”
You look between the two of them, confused. “Did I miss something?”
The answer comes from both of them, at the same time. “Yes.” Wooyoung is exasperated, Seonghwa fond.
You laugh nervously. “Okay, but no one’s explaining. So I’m going to assume this is a normal occurrence.”
Wooyoung covers his face with his arm, and Seonghwa chuckles, squatting next to him to thread his fingers through Wooyoung’s. They whisper to each other, and you go back to your book, but your heart beats strangely fast for reasons you don’t know.
Or you refuse to examine.
-
The house is now too quiet. It’s evening now. You’re sitting at the table, chin in your hand, watching Seonghwa and Wooyoung move around the kitchen. They aren’t talking much, but they keep glancing at each other like they’re having a conversation you can’t hear.
“Okay,” you say finally. “What.”
Wooyoung freezes mid-step. “What, what?”
“You’re both being weird. You have been, for the past couple days.” You hear Wooyoung say under his breath ‘just days?’ but you ignore it. “Like a…’something happened’ weird, and it’s like I wasn’t invited.” You squint at the two of them, trying to see into their brains. Seonghwa turns back to the stove.
“Nothing happened,” he says smoothly.
Exasperated, you throw your hands up into the air. “Then why does it feel like I’m about to be sat down for a life talk?”
Wooyoung mutters, “Oh, trust me, I want to.”
Seonghwa elbows him lightly, and you drop your head on the table. “I knew it.”
A teacup is set beside your hand. Your favourite blend. You notice the way Seonghwa straightens the cup and adds a teaspoon of honey, just how you like it. You always notice. You just don’t like to think about it.
“Did I do something wrong?” you finally voice out after a moment, your heart in your throat.
Both of them look at you immediately. “No, never,” Wooyoung breathes out, face softening. They share a look again, something unspoken and heavy. Your stomach twists.
“Okay, seriously. You’re scaring me.” You try and keep your voice level, cheerful, but it falls flat.
“Hwa,” he mutters. Seonghwa closes his eyes briefly, nods almost imperceptibly. Wooyoung stands, and you follow.
“I don’t understand why you’re both acting weird,” you say, hands clenched into the fabric of your sleeves. “You said I didn’t do anything.”
Wooyoung slow turns to stare at you like you personally offended him. “You didn’t do anything,” he repeats, his voice tight. You stare at him blankly. “You know what? No. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Every second, your confusion and frustration just grow and grow.
“This.” He gestures wildly between the three of you. “You’re walking around like we’re—like we’re just roommates.”
“We are roommates,” you counter.
Wooyoung makes another strangled noise. “Wooyoung—” Seonghwa tries to interrupt, but Wooyoung whirls around to face him.
“No, because she’s going to live here until she dies and still think we just have a strong sense of community,” he stresses, and you blink.
“Woah, woah, what’s all this about me dying?”
“Not. The. Point,” Wooyoung grits out. He walks towards you and stops right in front of you, too close. Your heart skips a beat. “Do you think we do all this because we’re nice?”
“…Yes?”
He blanches like you slapped him. Seonghwa closes his eyes briefly like he saw this coming centuries ago. Then Wooyoung reaches out and grabs your wrist. Gently, but firmly. “This is it,” he snaps, but not at you. More inwardly. “This is the most obvious thing I can do for you.”
And he drags you outside.
-
It’s chilly, but not unpleasant. The kind of night where the air is clear and every star looks close enough to touch. The best kind of night for witches.
You follow Wooyoung up the hill, brows furrowed. “Why are we out here now?” you ask.
“Trust me.”
The forest stretches dark and endless below. The sky above is massive. And Wooyoung steps in front of you, and he’s the only thing you see now. His eyes are determined, but nervous. “Just watch,” he whispers. “Please.”
He raises his hand. The air shifts.
Soft light spills from his fingertips. Gold and silver threads burst out, weaving into the night like fireflies being born. They lift into the sky, curling between the stars, forming slow-moving constellations that don’t exist. Shapes that shift and breathe. A fox made of stardust. A bunny that follows after. Flowering branches of light. Shooting sparks that dissolve into glitter.
It’s breathtaking. Ancient. It’s intimate. Vulnerable.
It’s courtship magic. Used to say ‘Look what I can make for you. Look what I want to share.’
Your eyes shine. “This is beautiful.” Wooyoung breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s like…festival magic.” Your automatic defence mechanism.
Wooyoung blinks. “What?”
“Like solstice celebrations. The decorative kind.”
His eye twitches. He makes the lights shift again. Even softer, drifting down around you like glowing petals. One lands on your sleeve and dissolves into warmth.
You smile, a little tight around the corners. “You’re talented.”
“YN.” Wooyoung takes a long, deep breath. “This is a courting display. For you.”
You look at the sky, bright and colourful. Then you look at him. “Oh.” Your heart yearns to say yes. And maybe it shows in your eyes, because Wooyoung steps forward, cupping your face with cold hands. He waits just a second, and you don’t move away.
He kisses you.
It’s not dramatic. Not overwhelming. Just warm, certain, and maybe a little desperate, like he’s been holding it in for weeks.
When he pulls back, breathless, he says, “I have been flirting with you for a geological era.”
You stare at him, stunned. “That…that long?”
His eye twitches again. “Do you remember the sewing?”
You frown. “Sewing?”
“The sleeve. You were butchering that poor piece of clothing like it wronged your entire bloodline,” he says.
“I said I wasn’t good at it,” you squawk, flushed.
Wooyoung rolls his eyes, this time decidedly fonder. “Again, that’s not the point. Remember? We told you. People are allowed to take care of each other. And you said?”
You swallow, embarrassment flooding your stomach. “Maybe someday…” Wooyoung look over at Seonghwa, who joined you two silently a few minutes ago, then back at you like you’re the most ridiculous, precious thing he’s ever seen. Your stomach drops. “Oh. Both of you?”
Seonghwa steps closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your sleeve. “We’ve been trying to show you. For a while.”
“And you thought we were just being nice,” Wooyoung chuckles.
“I—” your voice comes out small. “I didn’t want to believe it. Not in something this good."
Both of them still, something devastated flickering in their eyes. “It’s here,” Seonghwa says softly, leaning in to brush his lips against your temple. Then your cheek. Then, after you nod, your lips. A gentle caress.
“I didn’t know…” you whisper into his mouth, and Seonghwa smiles.
“You weren’t meant to figure it out alone,” he says gently.
Wooyoung makes an affronted noise. “You were the one who insisted she should realise by herself.”
Seonghwa pulls back, his smile widening. “It was funny.”
You look at both of them, their faces shining from the residual magic in the night sky. “I think,” you say, heart pounding, “that I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
And the way they look at you then—not surprised, not triumphant, just relieved—tells you that this was never a question of if. Just when you’d finally see what was already yours.
