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keopihaus · 1 month ago

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Grab a cup of coffee and settle in—newly added: the final defense of the dying by @studioeisa

the final defense of the dying 🥀 jeonghan x reader.

jeonghan has escorted twelve tributes to their deaths. he will do everything in his power to make sure you don’t face the same fate.

🥀 pairing. hunger games mentor!jeonghan x tribute!reader. 🥀 word count. 13.1k. 🥀 genres. alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: hunger games. heavy angst, action, friendship, romance. 🥀 includes. minors do not interact. minor character deaths; hunger games-typical depictions of blood, gore, violence; themes of ptsd, sex work; sexual content; mentions of food, alcohol. childhood best friends, jeonghan yearns :(, cameos of svt members. 🥀 footnotes. this is part of the angst olympics collaboration. i did say this would be above 5k. a direct hit for @diamonddaze01, and for everyone who soldiered through sunrise on the reaping. my masterlist 🎵 doomsday, lizzy mcalpine. meet me in the woods, lord huron. growing sideways, noah kahan. we hug now, sydney rose. no light, no light, florence + the machine. without you without them, boygenius. the prophecy, taylor swift.

I. YOON JEONGHAN, THE FRIEND.

Jeonghan’s nightmares always start the same.

The middles and the endings vary. If he’s lucky, he doesn’t have to suffer through an entire run of his Games. If he’s unlucky, he wakes up gasping for breath like he had his head dunked underwater the entire evening.

It always opens with the sprawling fields of District 11.

The very lands he had once thought to be so commanding. On his first train ride to the Capitol—when he was being sent out like a pig for slaughter—he knew, even then, that the sight was one to behold. Bountiful orchards, fruit trees in full bloom, tilled land as far as the eye could see.

When he sees them in his nightmares, there is always something wrong. An infestation. A wildfire. His loved ones, spilling blood all over the hay.

Tonight, it’s you.

Jeonghan’s subconscious is caught off-guard. It’s not the first time he’s dreamt of you, after all. And so he thinks it’s going to be pleasant, thinks he’s going to enjoy some ethereal adventure.

But then you open your mouth and nothing comes out. Not your sweet voice. Not your call of Hannie. Your face contorts, twists, like you’re in pain. It’s the very last expression Jeonghan would ever want to see on your face.

He tries to reach you. He takes a couple of paces forward. He breaks out into a run. But the fields stretch, and stretch, and stretch, and all the while, you stare straight at him with that soundless look of terror.

Jeonghan wakes with his chest heaving.

It takes him thirty seconds to realize he had been dreaming. It takes him another five minutes to clamber out of bed, unsteady on his feet as he makes his way to the en suite bathroom.

Here, in the Victor’s Village, it’s only him. And he doesn’t mean that in the sense that he has no living relatives to stay in this big, empty house with him. He means it in the sense that he’s the only district’s Victor, the only one to have come back alive after 73 iterations of the Games. It had its advantages.

Being all alone means nobody can hear Jeonghan when he screams. When he sits in the tub, head between his knees, and screams until his voice is hoarse.

He chalks up the eerie dream to what awaits him later in the day. The reaping looms over him like a storm cloud, but there’s also a silver lining he holds on to as he goes through his morning routine. It’s morbid. It’s cruel. He would never admit it to anyone.

For once, Jeonghan is looking forward to the reaping.

On average, the reaping was considered the worst day for any district. An annual lottery that decided who would be sent off to participate in that year’s Games. Behind New Year’s, Reaping Day was the second-most likely day for people to get drunk.

Today was your last.

The last day you had to have your name in the bowl. The last reaping you would have to endure.

You and Jeonghan were twelve when your names first got added into the mix. When he came back from his Games, he made sure you would never have to apply for tesserae—a year’s worth of grain and oil. He was richer than the gods, anyway, with all his winnings. And who else would he share it with but you?

So, in your final year, there are still only seven slips of paper with your name on it.

Jeonghan likes your chances.

The reaping kicks off at around three in the afternoon. Obligations keep Jeonghan away from sneaking out to find you, but he knows where to look once the ceremony begins. You’re in the roped-off area of the town square, towards the front where all the older eligibles await their fate.

Jeonghan doesn’t bother to hide the fact he’s staring, that he’s waiting for you to look his way. Almost willing it, even, and he can sense your vexation from the stage where he’s forced to stand.

You finally look up at him. For a moment, he sees the face in his dream. The one screaming.

It passes like a mirage, leaving your familiar expression of exasperation.

Stop, you mouth, trying to look somewhat stern. Failing. (A corner of your lip has twitched upward.)

He raises one shoulder in a shrug. Can’t help it, he mouths back, the knot in his chest loosening ever so slightly.

For the first time that day, he feels like he can breathe.

The mayor steps forward to recite the history of the founding of Panem. The Dark Days brought upon by the uprising, the Treaty of Treason that institutionalized the Games. There’s a measly attempt to discuss the spoils and riches that come with winning, but nobody is convinced. Not when there’s still only a solitary victor on stage.

“District 11’s victors,” the mayor rasps. This part is required reading, has been included in the program for the past six years. “Yoon Jeonghan, the 66th Hunger Games.”

There’s a smatter of polite applause. Jeonghan offers the gathered crowd a small nod in acknowledgement, but nothing more.

The list ends there.

The district’s escort since gods-knows-when moves up to the microphone. Bauble lived up to her name; she was a stout, shimmery thing embellished in absurd shades of gold and glitter. You once told Jeonghan that her voice was like a coin in a tin can, and he’s been unable to unhear it ever since.

She waxes poetics about the honor of being a tribute. Jeonghan tunes it out, focuses on staring straight ahead. He wonders, briefly, what he should have for dinner.

Bauble steps towards the glass bowl containing hundreds of folded pieces of paper. Hundreds. Some have their names in there on twenty-something slips.

Not you. You only have seven. Seven, because Jeonghan had made sure to keep the odds as low as possible.

“Ladies first,” Bauble warbles.

And perhaps that’s Jeonghan’s first mistake—that he does not worry.

He’s so sure, so certain, riding on the high of this reaping being your final one. His mind is already halfway into next week, into the special brand of kindness you afford him in the aftermath of the Games.

You were always a little softer to him whenever he came home from the bloodbath. A consolation, he had thought during his first year as a mentor. Perverse as it is, he soaked it all up.

The nights you’d spend at his home in the Victor’s Village. The cooked meals and the reassuring touches. The words you’d murmur whenever he woke up from his nightmares; your sweet nothings of you did what you could and no one blames you and it was just a dream, Hannie, you’re safe here.

He’s thinking of those, of you.

And so he nearly misses the way Bauble calls out your name.

The very name he had shrieked as a child when the two of you played games in the corn fields and rice paddies. The very name he had murmured soundlessly while he was delirious and sick in his own arena. (The thought of you, the only thing that kept him alive.)

It’s your name, but everybody in the crowd—from the farmers to the ranchers to the Peacekeepers, even—know you as something else.

Jeonghan’s darling. Jeonghan’s sweetheart.

The love of his life, now sentenced to die.

He can feel it. The tangible shift in the air.

The camera trying to get a tight shot of his face. The probing eyes, all flickering between you and Jeonghan like the district doesn’t know who to focus on.

You may be the reaped, but the slip of paper in Bauble’s hand has condemned you both.

Jeonghan doesn’t give anyone the satisfaction of a reaction

He watches, tight-lipped and steely-eyed, as you move through the crowd like a summer breeze. You don’t look towards him. A small grace.

You take your place on the stage. Bauble—ignorant as ever of the tension that has rippled through the district—flashes you a toothy smile.

“Lovely,” she sing-songs. Jeonghan barely resists the urge to tear the escort’s wig off.

She moves over to the boys’ fishing bowl and pulls out a name. It’s some rancher’s son, someone who got a little cocky about the amount of tesserae they thought they could get. He stumbles forward from the back row of eligibles, which means he’s young. Probably only thirteen or so.

Jeonghan doesn’t dwell on it it. He’s too busy holding his hands behind his back, his nails digging into his palms in a way that will leave crescent-shaped marks.

“Ladies and gentleman, join me in welcoming the District 11 tributes of the 73rd Hunger Games!” Bauble trills.

During Reaping Day, there is already barely any applause or cheers. Why would anyone celebrate when Jeonghan was still the only one to have come back after all these decades?

Today, though, it’s silent as a tomb.

Bauble looks like she’s at a loss. A quiet district doesn’t make for good television. “And may the odds be ever in their favor,” she’s saying hastily, but her words patter off when it begins.

A low hum. Somebody from the back of the crowd starts it up, and then the rows follow suit one after the other.

People are always angry in District 11.

The days are long and the work is hard. The sun is unforgiving; the labor, unjustified. And so the people have learned to sing, have taken to music so they could bear the strife. The two of you grew up to hymns in the fields, ballads on birthdays—

Songs at funerals. Grief shared in rumbling baritones, in lyrics passed down from one generation to another.

The weeping women begin to croon.

The fields whisper low where the tall corn sways, Calling your name in the hush of the days. Summer was golden, but frost’s moving in, Taking the bright ones again and again.

It’s a song as old as time, an honor as recognizable as the three-fingered salute. Jeonghan dares to steal a glance at you. You’re clutching the male tribute to your side, and your jaw is set with defiance.

The sun kissed your brow as you worked through the rows, Hands stained with labor, a heart no one knows. Now they have sent you where none should be sent, Leaving us hollow, our backs tired and bent.

Your parents. Gods, your parents. Jeonghan’s gaze skips over the crowd as he tries to find them. There’s so many, too many people. He’s a little grateful he can’t locate them. He wouldn’t know what to do if he saw the looks on their faces.

Back when the two of you had been playmates, your father had always teased Jeonghan about bringing you home before the sun set. Jeonghan had been so diligent, had never failed your father once, but now.

But now.

Gone like the harvest, gone with the wind, Taken too soon, though your roots ran deep in.

The earth holds your footsteps, the sky holds your name, But nothing will ever grow quite the same.

Bauble is getting restless. The mayor keeps throwing helpless glances at Jeonghan. He stares straight ahead. He has no plans of interrupting. Not this. Not when it’s for you.

In the corner of his eye, he can see you mouthing along to the words. In his honest, unbiased opinion, you were one of the district’s best singers. It kills him that no one will hear you, no one can hear you, as you give what may be your last performance for the people that have raised you.

The song crescendos. Dozens of voices, furious as the storms that rampaged through Panem and left the district on its knees.

Let the wheat bow, let the vines grieve, Let the rain fall for all we believe. If we had a choice, if we had a say, Not one of our own would be taken away.

Jeonghan hopes the Capitol cameramen are getting this, even though they’ll probably cut the broadcast. A district united in its sorrow is a dangerous one, and Jeonghan will pay a small price for letting it happen.

He will pay an even heftier price for singing along.

His tone has always been a bit on the nasally side, but the years have made it sweeter, sharper. He doesn’t have to pitch his voice particularly loud. The people see his mouth forming the words, see the way he joins in on the last chorus.

Gone like the harvest, gone with the wind, Taken too soon, though your roots ran deep in. The earth holds your footsteps, the sky holds your name—

But nothing will ever grow quite the same, he finishes, and then he finally looks towards you.

II. YOON JEONGHAN, THE VICTOR.

It had been his first reaping.

His name, in the bowl only once. His cousins had told him it was unlikely. You had reassured him it would not be him, although his concern, even then, had been that it might be you.

He had been basking in the relief of the female tribute not being you—instead being a wine-maker’s daughter—that he didn’t immediately register the fact his name had come out of Bauble’s gold-painted lips.

Twelve-year-old Yoon Jeonghan. District 11’s male tribute for the 66th Hunger Games.

You had screamed bloody murder. He remembers that. He remembers you running forward; you had always been quick on your feet.

You reached Jeonghan just in time to give him a bone-crushing hug, to babble something helpless like Come back, swear it, before you were shoved down into the asphalt by the nearest Peacekeeper.

Jeonghan had felt rage, then. Felt like he could win the Games solely based on the fact the violence had chipped one of your teeth and bruised your cheek.

He had to be dragged kicking and screaming onto stage, had to be placed next to the female tribute who looked sick at the thought of heading into the bloodbath with a literal child.

Cherry. That had been her name. Jeonghan remembers finding it ironic, because she smelled more like grapes.

He had tucked away most of his memories of the pre-Games activities, or maybe the trauma had them blurring all together. The lack of victors for District 11 meant that his mentors had been pooled from other districts.

There was District 3’s Beetee, who won the 34th Hunger Games after electrocuting the Career pack. There was District 6’s Maeve, who accidentally won the 44th Hunger Games despite being high on morphling the entire time.

Maeve trained Cherry. It didn’t do Cherry much good.

Beetee trained Jeonghan. The man had been critical, clinical. He pitied Jeonghan, though. Any time Beetee seemed to remember Jeonghan was only twelve, the victor would stutter and wince.

Jeonghan had hated that the most. That he was the youngest in the pool of tributes. That the Capitol citizens looked at him like he already had one foot in the grave.

A part of him wants to say spite got him to win. A desire to prove himself, to break the record previously held by fourteen-year-old Finnick Odair.

Jeonghan put on a good show. He charmed interviewers. He got a six as his training score after depicting particular adeptness at knife-throwing.

It didn’t matter. None of it did.

Going into the Games, Jeonghan’s morning long odds had been 60-1.

His arena had smelled of petrichor and blood.

Jeonghan blinked against the sudden glare of daylight as the plate elevated him into a clearing wreathed by towering trees. A canopy loomed above like a watchful eye, dappling the forest floor with fractured sunlight. The Cornucopia gleamed gold and monstrous at the center of the glade, its curved mouth yawning open with the promise of tools and terror.

Around him, the other tributes emerged, silhouettes sharpening into figures with each second. They looked older. Meaner.

Cherry had been across from him, eyes wide and frantic. Her hands trembled at her sides. She wasn’t looking at the weapons. She was looking at him.

Jeonghan shook his head once. A warning.

The gong sounded, and he sprinted.

The chaos unfurled behind him like a wave of shrieking metal. The sound of a throat being opened. Of someone crying for their mother.

Jeonghan didn’t look back.

His legs were short, but fear lent him speed. He vaulted a moss-slicked log, ducked beneath hanging vines, tore through underbrush until his lungs burned.

He only collapsed hours later, curled beneath the roots of a colossal tree, his palms raw, his clothes stained with dirt and sweat. He couldn’t stop shaking. Not from cold but from the weight of it all.

Cherry hadn’t made it.

He had heard her scream. High and shrill, cut short in the way all Capitol broadcasts made sure to capture. He had paused only briefly—just enough to register the voice—before running again.

It wasn’t supposed to be her. She was older, stronger.

Maeve had spent hours coaching her on traps and close combat. Cherry had taken to it well.

Jeonghan was the joke. The child. The one who should have been first to go.

He curled tighter under the roots, pulling fallen leaves around his body like armor. Beetee’s voice floated back to him: Observe. Hide. Let the others thin themselves out. You are not stronger. You must be smarter. Use their confidence against them.

Jeonghan’s fingers had closed around a flat, smooth rock. He didn’t throw it, just held it, letting the weight steady him.

That first night, the sky lit up with eight sepia faces. Cherry’s was among them.

Jeonghan didn’t cry. He thought he might never stop if he started.

Instead, he thought of you.

He told himself he wouldn’t die. Not until he saw you again. Not until he returned what the Peacekeepers took from your smile.

He slept with his back to the tree, one hand on the rock. Waiting. Listening.

Still alive.

Jeonghan stayed alive for 17 more days.

The arena was built to punish the reckless. A tropical forest that seemed quiet until it wasn't. The humidity sapped your strength. The mutant insects bit through your resolve. The rains flooded low ground without warning. Those who didn't know how to climb or swim were the first to go.

Jeonghan didn’t fight. Not at first.

He moved at night, listened more than he spoke, and memorized the rhythms of the forest. He watched the Careers from a distance as they slaughtered each other over dwindling supplies. He learned to tell which fruits made your stomach turn and which bark bled drinkable water.

He clung to Beetee’s instructions like a lifeline.

Lay traps when you can. Scavenge. Never sleep in the same place twice.

And always—always—keep your district token close.

His token had been something from you. A woven bracelet you’d made him one summer, years ago. Red thread with a tiny, smooth seed sewn into the knot.

You had called it lucky. He had scoffed.

In the arena, he held it every night like it might bring him back.

On day five, a small package drifted from the sky. Inside: a single strip of dried meat, a roll of gauze, and a note.

Keep going, little ghost.

He never did find out who sent it. Maybe someone who liked the way he vanished into the trees. Maybe someone who liked the tears he didn’t shed when Cherry’s face lit up the sky. He wasn’t sure it mattered.

What mattered was that someone out there believed he might make it.

The days had bled together. He trapped a squirrel on day six. Found a dead tribute’s knife on day nine. Avoided a firestorm on day 11 by diving into a mudflat. He never got cocky. Never came close to the Cornucopia again. When the number of faces diminished in the sky—ten, then seven, then five—he started to dream of home.

When there were three left, he knew he would have to kill.

He hated himself for what he planned. Hated the way he sharpened his knife in the moonlight and hummed your favorite songs like it might somehow remind him of his innocence.

That very innocence, shattered the moment he found himself face to face with the last of the Games.

The forest burned on the morning of the final day.

The Gamemakers had set it ablaze from all corners. No more hiding. No more waiting. They were starving for a finale. The audience wanted blood.

Jeonghan emerged coughing, soot streaked on his cheeks. His hair, once so pale and soft, clung to his forehead, sweat-slicked and singed. He stumbled out into a clearing he had once used as a water source, now parched and cracked from the heat.

Two others waited.

Cassian, District 2. Large, broad-shouldered, trained from the cradle.

Rueya, District 5. Slender, fast, clever. She had a twitch in her jaw when she was calculating.

They turned to look at him like he was a hallucination. A demon from the woods.

“You made it?” Rueya asked, her voice hoarse.

Cassian just laughed. “Twelve-year-old freak.”

Jeonghan said nothing. He adjusted his grip on the knife. His fingers trembled, but not from fear.

He was remembering.

You, shouting at him for winning hide-and-seek again. Your face scrunched in disbelief when you couldn’t find him for an hour. How the others accused him of cheating.

He hadn’t cheated. He had just watched. Paid attention. Remembered where shadows fell and what cracked underfoot.

He remembered you throwing stones at him one summer afternoon, not out of hate but frustration, yelling, You ruin every game, Yoon Jeonghan!

Maybe he did.

Rueya had struck first.

Her blade aimed for his neck. He ducked. Rolled. Kicked dust in her eyes and used the moment to run. Not far. Just enough to get them to follow.

He was small. Quick. He led them where he needed them to go. Past the tree with the false trunk. Past the buried snare he had laid on day fourteen.

Cassian tripped it. Went down hard.

A branch spiked through his thigh.

Jeonghan didn’t look back.

Rueya was faster.

She caught up by the riverbed, cornered him. Her knife was longer. Her reach, better. He bled from a shallow cut on his cheek and another on his shoulder.

Rueya lunged. Jeonghan pivoted, let her momentum carry her too far.

She stumbled. He didn’t.

Without a moment of hesitation, he slammed the heel of his hand into her nose. The crunch was sickening. She dropped her remaining blade to instinctively hold her nose, howling, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Those would be her last words.

When Jeonghan had staggered back into the clearing, Cassian was still alive, but barely. He had been dragging himself forward, face pale with pain. He looked up, eyes glassy.

"You—cheating little shit—"

Jeonghan’s knife sliced through the air and landed squarely over Cassian’s left breast. Where his heart might have been, if he had one.

The bracelet, your bracelet, blood-soaked and fraying, glinted when Jeonghan was lifted into the hovercraft.

He had been shaking, his left ear ringing from the blow he hadn’t seen coming. His knee was swelling. Both injuries never quite recovered; later in life, Jeonghan would still hear best on his right side and always walk with a slight limp.

But then, in that moment, Jeonghan had been alive. In the arena where smoke was curling up in the sky. In the hovercraft where he was deemed dehydrated, underweight, and on the brink of death himself.

You always win, you had once tearfully seethed when he kicked your ass in Duck, Duck, Goose. You always win these stupid games!

III. YOON JEONGHAN, THE LOVER.

He hears your footsteps before he sees you.

They echo down the corridor of the train like they always have, steady and sure and just a touch impatient. Jeonghan already knows it’s you; he doesn’t look up.

He keeps his gaze fixed on the swirling ice in his untouched glass of Capitol liquor, something pale and sharp that burns in his nose more than it ever will in his throat. A good number of victors had succumbed to alcoholism, but he always had you to talk him away from the bottle.

Today was no exception.

The door creaks open.

“Bauble sent me,” you say, even as Jeonghan focuses on the drink in front of him. Your voice is clipped, professional. Not unkind. “She said you need to prep us.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He swirls his drink, then sets it down with a dull clink. The ice has barely melted. “Prep yourselves. I’m not your babysitter.”

There’s a beat. “You are, actually,” you say matter-of-factly. “That’s literally your job.”

“Then I’m off-duty,” he snips.

The car smells like expensive polish and expensive drink and Jeonghan’s expensive silence. You don’t move. He can feel you watching him.

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”

“Like what.”

“Like a jackass.”

That finally earns you a glance. He turns to look at you, and gods, it nearly kills him.

Your arms are crossed, shoulders squared, mouth set in that stubborn little line he knows by heart. You’re trying not to tremble.

He forces himself to look away.

“You’re angry,” you say, quieter now.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“I’m the one who got reaped.”

“Exactly.”

It shuts you up. For a second. Just a second.

Then you walk forward and sit beside him. Not across from him. Beside him. So close he can smell the faint traces of that soap you always used, the one that reminds him of lemon trees, wet earth, and the sun.

“You’re not mad at me,” you say delicately. “You’re scared.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“You’re terrified, Hannie. You think you’re going to lose me.”

His grip tightens around the glass until the ice shifts, clinks.

“You think you already have,” you murmur.

Something crumbles in him then. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t scream, doesn’t shatter. He just sighs again—longer this time—and sets the glass down gently. It’s an acquiescence, an acknowledgement.

“Come on,” you say, standing. You offer a hand. “Let’s go. My partner’s probably trying to figure out how to hold a fork.”

Jeonghan only stares at your hand for a moment. He doesn’t want to fall victim to preemptive nostalgia, but he does anyway. His gaze traces over the lines on your palm, the dirt underneath your fingernails, and he thinks of all the things you’ve done. All the things you have yet to do.

You flex your fingers wordlessly, urging him. He lets you tug him up, almost all the way to the door—

—and then his hand pulls you back.

Not roughly. Not urgently.

But when his arms circle your waist, he leans forward like a man caving to gravity. He presses his forehead to your shoulder. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

You let him hold you.

Because this is Jeonghan, and this might be the last time he ever gets to.

You card your fingers through his hair. He stays absolutely still, as if he can keep the two of you in this snow globe of a movement if he doesn’t move an inch. The seconds stretch into minutes, and he pulls away only when there’s a knock on the car door. Bauble, this time, eyeing the two of you like she knows something.

She doesn’t know a thing, obviously.

Back in the dining car, Jeonghan leans against the polished wood paneling, arms crossed. The smell of Capitol-grade roast duck and syrupy wine thickens in the air. He watches the way Barley picks at his food like it might bite back, eyes darting from plate to window to the unfamiliar silverware.

You’re sitting straighter, trying to model bravery, but Jeonghan’s known you too long. He sees the tremors in your hands and fights the urge to reach for you.

“So,” Jeonghan says, and the word is brittle, sharp. “You both get one question each. Make it count.”

Barley frowns. He’s all knees and elbows, a thirteen-year-old with a summer tan and a coffin waiting for him at home. “How long do you think I’ll last?”

Jeonghan doesn’t sugarcoat. “Depends. You follow instructions, you might last longer than an hour,” he says.

Barley blanches. You shoot Jeonghan a look.

“He’s scared,” you say pointedly.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “He should be.”

Your voice is steady, though your eyes aren’t. “Then tell us what to expect,” you say.

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head like he’s heard this request a thousand times—and he has. But not from you. Not like this.

The annoyance coating your words isn’t amiss to him, either. It brings him a perverse sense of comfort.

“You’ll be hungry. You’ll be hunted,” he says slowly. “And you’ll be alone, even when you’re not. Trust no one. Run the second the gong sounds. Don’t stop until your legs give out. And for the love of all things holy, don’t look back."

Barley is pale now, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Did it hurt? When they—when they came for you?”

For a second, Jeonghan sees it all again. Cherry’s panicked expression, the glint of Rueya’s blade, the snarl on Cassian’s face. He has to blink the memories away, has to focus on the fact you’re watching like you already know he’s going under.

Jeonghan clears his throat. “All of it hurt.”

Bauble waltzes in, then. “There you all are!” she chirps. “Oh, Jeonghan, you simply mustn’t hide my victors-to-be away like this. What if someone needs a morale boost?”

Jeonghan deadpans, “Morale died when you called her name.”

Bauble clicks her tongue, unfazed. While Jeonghan wouldn’t necessarily call the escort his friend, they did have a certain rapport built over years of sanctioned bonding. “Still so dramatic,” she tuts. “You’ve always had such flair.”

“You mean trauma.”

“You say tomato—” she flutters her fingers.

You smile faintly. Jeonghan sees it, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite everything. It’s too soft. Too real. It guts him.

When Bauble finally prances away to inspect dinner settings, when Barley decides he might as well spend his last few hours enjoying the pleasantries of the Capitol, Jeonghan shifts closer to you.

“You’ve always listened too well,” he says. “Even when I didn’t want you to.”

You look up. “I thought that was the point. To listen when no one else does.”

He tries to scoff, but it comes out too fond. He remembers every time you sat beside him in the fields, every time your hands were gentle when he woke screaming, every time you pretended he was still human.

He leans forward, lowering his voice. “You’re smart.”

“I learned from the best.”

Jeonghan watches you, the defiance in your posture warring with the fear you don’t want him to see. He can’t fix any of it. He knows that. But he can give you this—this small, ridiculous moment.

“You know,” he says slowly, “Barley’s too small for the Capitol tuxedos. You’re gonna have to teach him how to fake confidence. Smile like you’re selling poison as perfume.”

You laugh, short and tired. “And what about me?”

Jeonghan’s smile falters. Softens.

“You… just be you. That’ll be enough.” He pushes off the wall, straightens up. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour of the train.”

You start to move past him, but his hand finds your wrist, halting you. He doesn’t speak. Just tugs gently until you step into his arms.

He holds you like it’s the last thing tethering him to earth. Like letting go means losing everything.

“Just… hold on,” he says quietly as he slots his fingers through the spaces of yours. Usually, you told him off when he got too clingy or touchy. You weren’t together or anything, after all, and so you demanded that he be more conservative. That he reel himself in.

For once, you let him.

For once, he lets himself.

He holds your hand the entire way to the Capitol, where it’s a blur of color and shine.

For a moment, even with the dread curling tight in his stomach, Jeonghan finds himself admiring the splendor. He isn’t surprised to see you and Barley equally speechless, craning your necks as the train pulls into the station; your faces, framed in the tall, sterile windows mirroring your awe back at you.

Barley presses his hand against the glass, wide-eyed. “Is that... a moving sidewalk?” he breathes.

Jeonghan doesn’t answer. He’s too busy cataloging every flinch, every blink, every breath the two of you take. Watching the way you stand slightly in front of Barley, like you’re already trying to shield him from whatever came next.

Jeonghan loves you so much at that moment.

Bauble is chattering beside you, of course, gesturing wildly with one hand. She barely notices when Jeonghan steps between you and a Capitol attendant, his hand curling lightly around your arm.

“Stay close,” he says below his breath.

You look up at him and nod. The ease of which you trust him, the lack of questions you have, nearly bowls him over. He sticks by your side the entire way to the Tribute Tower, where the apartment is all sleek marble and warm gold accents. Impossibly high ceilings and digital fireplaces that don’t throw any heat. There’s fresh fruit on the tables and beds the size of entire haylofts. It looks more like a presidential suite than a prison.

“Holy shit,” you whisper under your breath, fingers grazing the frame of an oil painting taller than you. Barley finds the snack cart and marvels over a slice of something custard-filled.

Jeonghan hovers. He can’t stop himself. Not when you were somewhere the Capitol could get its claws in you.

When the time comes for the Tribute Parade, he’s still on edge. Still worried the stylist team will do their jobs too well, while also simultaneously dreading them not doing enough.

District 11 had always had a reputation for agricultural simplicity, which the Capitol liked to glamorize with varying degrees of taste. This year, apparently, they’d gone for mythical harvest gods. You’re draped in molten gold and deep, forest green, your arms dusted with shimmer like pollen. A long cloak of woven vines trails behind you, the ends studded with jewels shaped like pomegranate seeds and tiny bushels of wheat.

Barley dons something similar; a shorter tunic with a circlet of laurel around his head, a wooden staff in his grip that sparks gently with gold.

Jeonghan doesn’t know what to say when you step out from the dressing area.

He swallows hard. He had seen every horror the Games had to offer. But this—seeing you, radiant and ready for slaughter—is the cruelest thing.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?”

He shakes his head. Tries to say something. Fails. It’s a far cry from the practical, utilitarian clothing the two of you have grown up with. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you wear something so glamorous, and the thought of it only makes him want to run and hide.

“Hannie?” you prod.

He gets it together.

“You look—” He clears his throat. His voice goes imperceptibly softer. “You look like something no one should be allowed to destroy.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Maybe you don’t have to. After a quick glance around the backstage—to ensure nobody is looking—you reach out, give his arm a comforting squeeze.

He knows he’s doing everything wrong. It’s your Parade, your Games. He’s supposed to be holding himself better, supposed to be the one offering you reassurance and solace. Instead, you’ve taken up your typical caretaker role, and he falls apart at the mere sight of you.

When the chariots roll out and the cameras turn, Jeonghan has to stand just out of frame, mouth tight, hands clenched. The crowds react to you and Barley. Jeonghan hears none of it.

Instead, he keeps his head slightly bowed; his gaze, away from all the other tributes who will all have a kill-or-be-killed mentality.

Maybe if he wishes hard enough, Jeonghan thinks, he can stop the Games before they even begin.

IV. YOON JEONGHAN, THE MENTOR.

Jeonghan stands at the head of the training room, arms crossed, jaw tight. From this angle, he can see both you and Barley moving between stations. You’re focused, determined, adjusting the way you grip the rope at the knot-tying corner. Barley, less so. He keeps fumbling, looking over his shoulder for approval.

It should’ve been easy, this mentorship. He’d won. He knew what it took. He could recite Beetee’s advice in his sleep, every trick he’d used in his own Games carved into his memory like tally marks.

And yet, his throat burns and his hands won’t stop shaking.

He’s going to lose you.

The thought returns like a hammer strike. Over and over. No matter how hard he tries to bury it. Jeonghan drags his fingernails down the length of his arm as if pain might chase it away. He’s fairly sure he’ll have gashes by the time this week is over.

You approach without warning, your face sweaty from training, your eyes sharp.

“You can’t keep looking at me like that,” you tell him.

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve already got a gravestone for me in some plot back home.”

Jeonghan barks out a laugh—a surprised, hollow one. Your dry humor always did know how to cut through him. “I’m not doing that,” he snipes.

“You are. You haven’t looked at Barley once without wincing. You flinch every time I handle a knife. You’re not helping. You’re scaring us.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” you say simply. “You’re Yoon Jeonghan. You survived at twelve. You have to be stronger than this.”

He turns away from you. You didn’t know—couldn’t know—what it’s been like. Watching years of reapings, standing on the same stage, seeing child after child go off to die while he stood there, the only victor District 11 had to offer.

Every year, he makes himself hope. Every year, he trains them, watches the light in their eyes go dim as they were outmatched, outarmed, outplayed.

Every year, he fails.

He had never cried for them. Not once. Had never allowed himself to grieve. It was easier that way. To believe he’d done all he could. That they were always going to die, with or without him.

But not you.

You, who used to sneak into his house when he came home, just to leave honey cakes on the windowsill. You, who sang lullabies to him when the nightmares got so bad he couldn’t sleep. You, who had always seen him not as a victor, not as a killer, but just—

Jeonghan.

He turns back around and finds you still standing there, stubborn and unflinching. He lets out a breath.

“Okay,” he says hoarsely. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders relax slightly.

“I won’t flinch anymore,” he promises. “I won’t wince. I won’t look away. I’ll train you.”

“Good,” you say, “because you’re our final defense, and you’ve been a pretty shitty defense so far.”

He laughs. For once, it’s not forced.

You, of all people, know just how much Jeonghan’s word means. He drums up support with prospective sponsors. He talks with the victors and tries to find alliances.

He teaches Barley how to hold an arrow. He watches you throw knives and shouts out instructions.

By the time your private training sessions come around, Jeonghan is fairly sure he’s never done this much work as a mentor in the past couple of years. As you and Barley get ready to face the Gamemakers, there is only one thing left for him to do: trust that everything you’ve learned will not fail you.

The scores come in just after dinner, during a quiet lull where the four of you—Jeonghan, you, Barley, and Bauble—sit in the quarters, feigning calm over cups of Capitol-brewed tea. The screen crackles to life, and the room stills.

There’s an introduction. A reminder of why this is all done. Capitol citizens are given an idea of who to bet on based on the scores ascribed to each tribute. The private training sessions were a matter of who could put on the best show, but not too good.

Score low, you would lose out on sponsors. Score high, you would be deemed a threat by other tributes.

Scores range from one to twelve. The Careers, unsurprisingly, get nines and tens. The girl from Four gets a ten. The boy from Nine gets a four.

And then it’s District 11. Your face flashes first. A moment’s silence. Then: eight.

Barley is the first to react. “An eight?” he breathes, nearly sloshing his tea. “That’s... that’s good, right? That’s really good, isn’t it?”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He’s staring at the number, willing it to hold still, like it might evaporate if he looks away.

Then Barley’s face appears on the screen. Six.

“Hey!” Barley exclaims, grinning at you. “We didn’t do half-bad!”

You laugh quietly, nerves still wound tight beneath your skin. “Guess not.” You glance at Jeonghan, whose brow is furrowed as if the numbers have personally offended him.

“Not half-bad?” you repeat to Jeonghan, as if urging him to confirm or deny your odds.

He snaps out of his haze. “It’s good,” he says, but his voice is tight. “It’s good. You both did well.”

Barley’s too thrilled to notice the tension. He retreats into a quiet hum of excitement, and Jeonghan watches him go to his room, heart aching at how young he still is.

You stay behind. You know better.

“He’s proud of his six,” you say softly. “You should be proud of us, too.”

Jeonghan finally meets your gaze. “What did you do?”

You shrug, but your eyes are shining. “Used a sickle. Told them I’d only ever used it on weeds, not people. Then showed them I could take the heads off three practice dummies in under ten seconds.”

He stares.

“Okay, maybe eight seconds,” you admit with a sheepish grin. “But still.”

“Gods,” he mutters. “Why would you tell me that?”

You tilt your head. “Because I need you to believe I have a shot.”

Jeonghan presses his fingers against his eyelids. Eight. A real shot. That’s what it means. But the Capitol loves nothing more than raising hope just to snuff it out.

And so he tries not to feel hopeful. He tries.

“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice pure as the driven snow. “You made sure of that.”

He exhales slowly. He has to believe it. For your sake. And Barley’s. And for the twelve other faces in his head, the ones he couldn’t save. He opens his eyes and looks straight at you.

“Just keep doing what you did today,” he says. “And I’ll do the rest.”

He does what he can, but there is only so much he can do.

By the time the pre-Games interviews come around, he knows you will have to write your own ending. Even in the viewing room where Jeonghan sits with Bauble and a glass of untouched wine, it feels like every bulb is trained on the screen, on you.

He hasn’t breathed since your name was announced. He probably won’t breathe until your interview is over.

Barley’s had gone well. Nothing to call home about. He had been your typical young tribute, showing off boyish charm and vouchsafed innocence.

You, on the other hand, look devastating.

The prep team had broken their backs to make it work. Your outfit—woven in silks dyed the color of ripening wheat, dotted with reddish sequins like the leaves from trees—catches the light with every small movement. Your hair is twisted back in a braid like the reapers wear during harvest. And your smile, shy but steady, is enough to hush even Caesar Flickerman.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he croons, gesturing with flair, “from District 11, please welcome our stunning tribute!”

You walk forward, gracious and poised. Jeonghan clenches his fists in his lap. It feels like every step you take toward that stage is a step further away from him.

“Good evening,” Caesar says. “You’re quite the sight tonight. The Capitol is enraptured already!”

You laugh lightly. “It’s not every day someone from my district gets to wear something this fine. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”

Jeonghan flinches. He knows that tone—modest, self-deprecating, practiced. You’re playing your part. He just wishes you didn’t have to.

Caesar chuckles, his teeth gleaming. A shark, ready to draw blood. “Now, I’ve heard you’re quite the singer. Is that true?”

“Depends on who you ask,” you reply, to the laughter of the crowd.

Jeonghan stares. He knows how nervous you are. He knows how tightly you were wound in your quarters, how your hands shook as you ate. But here, under the scrutiny of all of Panem, you are luminous. You can joke around with Caesar; you hum a little tune when asked.

You are everything they want you to be.

He hates it. He loves it. He doesn’t know what to feel.

Caesar leans forward after your little song. His eyes glitter. “And tell me—I think everyone wants to know,” he says conspiratorially. “Our only Victor from District 11. Jeonghan. The youngest ever to have ever won the Games. A little birdy has told me the two of you are… close.”

Jeonghan goes rigid.

Bauble mutters something under her breath; Jeonghan thinks it might be a cuss. On screen, Caesar keeps his smile, but the question lands with precision.

You tilt your head, feigning thoguthfulness. “Jeonghan is my mentor,” you say. “But more than that, he’s my best friend.”

The audience lets out a collective murmur.

Jeonghan grips the arms of his chair.

“He’s the strongest person I know,” you say. “And I’m lucky he never gave up on me. I’m going into these Games with more than most. I have his faith.”

The crowd bursts into applause.

Caesar touches his chest theatrically. “Well, if that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

You smile. It’s a momentary slip in your carefully curated image, as if the thought of love and Jeonghan brings you a genuine sort of joy. The audience catch that, too, and the applause only gets louder.

Jeonghan lets out a breath. Not quite a sob. Not quite relief. But it’s something.

Because if he can’t protect you with his own hands, then he’ll let the Capitol fall in love with you. Let them send gifts, parachutes, lifelines.

Let them see what he’s always seen.

Later that night, Jeonghan finds himself staring at the ceiling.

The lights are off, the room mostly dark save for the faint Capitol glow filtering through the windows of his bedroom. It bleeds silver against the walls, but Jeonghan’s eyes are trained on the shadows.

He’s been lying here for over an hour now, still in his clothes, hair unwashed and face unshaven, unable to summon the will to move. The interview replays in his head, your dress still shimmering in his memory, your voice steady and luminous beneath Caesar's showmanship.

You’d been a star. You—his star. And tomorrow, you will be in the arena.

He breathes out, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes until colors burst behind his lids. The pressure does nothing to stop the ache in his chest. Jeonghan sits up.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

He should stay put and not make this harder, but his body moves before his mind can catch up, and he’s halfway to your door when he finds you already there.

You’re barefoot. Wrapped in a soft Capitol robe. Your hair is tousled from tossing and turning, and your arms are folded tightly around yourself.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur.

His breath catches. “Me neither.”

For a long second, the two of you stand like that, inches apart, both unsure of what to say. Then Jeonghan steps back and pushes the door open wider.

“Come in.”

You don’t hesitate. You pass him with a soft rustle of fabric. He closes the door behind you and watches as you climb onto his bed without a word.

You’ve done something like this before. Too many times to count. But tonight, there’s no laughter. No quiet jokes. Just the hum of something deep and heavy.

You lay down on your side. Jeonghan crawls in after and faces you.

Usually, you’re the one who pulls him close when he startles awake from a nightmare. Usually, you’re the one whispering him back to sleep, pressing your fingers to his hairline and reminding him that he’s safe, he’s here. There’s no fire, no forest, no bloody bracelet.

Tonight, he wraps an arm around you instead.

Your nose brushes his collarbone. He feels your breath, warm and steady, and he shuts his eyes.

He wants to say it.

That he loves you.

That he has loved you from the moment you first yelled at him in the fields for cheating. That he has spent years loving you in silence, nursing the shape of your name in his chest like a prayer.

But the words rise to his throat and die there. They taste too much like a goodbye.

So instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead. This one, he thinks, is for the notes you two passed each other back in school.

Then one to your temple. For your parents, who he will now never be able to look at.

Then your cheek. For the time you threw out all the alcohol in his home and yelled at him until he agreed to only drink on special occasions.

A soft one to your eyelid. For your singing—the best in the goddamn district.

He kisses every part of your face except your lips. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stop, if he ever started there.

When you whisper his name, when you tuck yourself tighter into his arms like you mean to mold yourself into his very body, Jeonghan only holds you closer.

In a few hours, he will have to let you go.

But not yet.

Not yet.

V. YOON JEONGHAN, THE SINNER.

The arena comes into view and Jeonghan feels his stomach turn.

It’s a swamp.

Endless, waterlogged land choked with moss and trees heavy with rot. Mud so thick it might as well be quicksand. A heat haze distorts the sky in a way that makes it seem closer, like the clouds might melt onto the kids below.

The air looks like it stinks. Jeonghan knows it does. He’s smelled swamp before in the southern end of District 11, in the marshlands after the harvest. Stagnant water swallowing the weeds whole.

But the Capitol has made it worse. Of course they have.

The swamp is dotted with platforms. On screen, the tributes rise, one by one, as the countdown begins. All of them retch. A few are already shaking. One kid—the boy from 10, maybe—looks like he’s crying. Good. He won’t last an hour.

Jeonghan doesn’t look for Barley. He looks for you.

Your vitals blink steady on his monitor: elevated heart rate, but within reason. No signs of panic. Your face is unreadable on the screen, jaw set, eyes cutting ahead toward the Cornucopia or what passes for one in this muck.

It’s a wrecked fishing trawler, run aground in the center of the swamp, half-covered in algae and rust. Supplies are lashed to the deck with ropes, weapons tucked into fishing nets. Booby-trapped. Jeonghan knows it. The Gamemakers always hide teeth under the sugar.

“Swamp,” Seungcheol says, appearing beside him. The District 4 mentor. Tall, sun-weathered, wearing that half-smile Jeonghan used to think was charm and now knows is armor. “Our kids might actually stand a chance this year.”

“Let’s hope so,” Jeonghan replies without looking up.

He stares at your vitals. At your small figure on the screen. Still not moving, not even a twitch of hesitation. Just watching, waiting. The same way he’s seen you watch the sky from the train window, like you’re searching for something worth staying for.

The countdown hits zero. The gong sounds.

The Games begin.

The cameras flicker between chaos and slaughter. Screams crack the air, tinny and sharp over the Control Center’s monitors. Blood is spilled in less than five seconds—twin blades from District 1 find the neck of a smaller boy, and the Career pack forms with terrifying speed.

Jeonghan’s eyes scan screen after screen until he finds you.

You’re running—not to the Cornucopia, thank the gods—but to the left, where a pile of knapsacks and canteens are scattered among debris. You duck, swipe two, and pivot just as another tribute lurches at you.

Jeonghan’s heart stutters. You use the knapsack like a flail, slam it into their face, and bolt toward the trees.

Fast. Smart. Alive.

Barley is slower. He lingers too long, fumbling with a coil of rope. He nearly loses it when someone charges at him, but a girl from Six takes the hit instead. Her scream rises—then cuts off abruptly.

Barley scrambles, barely escaping with a dented pot and a bottle of water. He doesn’t make it far, but he’s alive. For now.

A cannon fires. The first.

The room of victors stills as the screen flashes the casualty to them.

District 12’s girl.

Jeonghan glances to his right, where Hansol is already on his feet. The victor doesn’t say a word. He just unplugs his data pad and walks out, the steel door hissing shut behind him. Jeonghan watches him go.

No one says anything. They rarely do.

District 12’s boy goes down not long after. Another cannon. Another name. Hansol won’t be back.

The bloodbath drags on. It’s brutal, but not long. Six tributes die before the hour is up. Jeonghan leans forward, tracking the green blip that marks you on his pad. You’re tucked in the trees, breathing hard. You’ve stopped to bury yourself beneath leaves and branches, taking a note straight out of Jeonghan’s playbook.

Next to Jeonghan, Seungcheol lets out a breath and mutters, “Good luck.”

“I don’t need luck,” Jeonghan replies, voice hoarse. “I need a miracle.”

Your green blip continues to blink.

Please stay that way, Jeonghan thinks.

You eventually make your slow, measured way through the muck of the arena. The swamp is vast, ringed with spiny trees, their roots like skeletal hands clawing out of the fetid water. Fog coils through the underbrush. Every few hours, something hisses or howls from the shadows. It's hell in technicolor, broadcast to every screen in Panem.

You move with caution, dragging your left leg slightly—favoring the ankle you twisted on the first day, slipping on moss-covered stone. He winces every time he sees you falter.

Capitol patrons have been generous.

You’re pretty, and that counts for something. The dress they stuffed you into during the Tribute Parade did what it was meant to do. More importantly, you spoke like someone worth listening to during the interview. You’ve earned your sponsors. Jeonghan watches the pledge count climb.

But the funds dwindle faster than he likes. Bandages, food, painkillers—they cost more than you’d think. The sponsors pay for entertainment, not mercy. And half the job of being a mentor is making the calls no one else wants to make.

Barley hasn’t eaten in two days.

Jeonghan sees the boy stumbling along the banks of the stagnant pond, mouth cracked dry, trying desperately to chew a reed that isn’t remotely edible. His heart twists. Barley’s vitals flicker. Pulse dropping, dehydration setting in.

Jeonghan’s finger hovers over the interface. He has enough to send a protein bar. It’s not much, but it’ll get the kid through another day.

Then, you scream.

It’s sharp, sudden, a sound that guts him. On-screen, you go down hard, hand clutching your side. Blood blooms at your waist, seeping into the saturated soil. A mutt. Something you had gotten away from through the skin of your teeth.

A silver parachute of life-saving supplies cuts through the arena. It is not for Barley.

The cannon fires that night. A low, guttural boom. It is not for you.

Jeonghan closes his eyes. He can imagine it already. The projected photo of Barley, lighting up the night sky. Announcing his death. Broadcasting Jeonghan’s failure.

He exhales slowly, jaw clenched. It should never have come down to a choice.

But it always does.

He doesn’t check your reaction. He doesn’t think he’d survive it, anyhow.

Hours later, the camera feed switches to your sector. For the first time since the Games have started, you’re not alone.

District 7’s boy—the one with the heavy shoulders and steady hands—and District 9’s wiry, sharp-eyed tribute fall into step beside you. Glances are exchanged. Supplies are shared. It’s enough. For now.

Jeonghan doesn’t like it.

“She always this trusting?” Jihoon asks from where he’s perched near one of the monitors, arms crossed tightly.

“Not usually,” Jeonghan replies, cool. “Must be desperation.”

Seokmin leans against the paneling, softer, more optimistic. “They seem like they’re good kids. Maybe it helps her chances.”

“Or maybe they’ll gut her in her sleep.”

Jihoon frowns. “They’re not like that.”

Jeonghan doesn't respond. He watches you divvy up some dried fruit, offering the larger portion to the boy from Nine, who grins and says something the cameras don’t pick up. You smile back, faint. Tired.

A part of Jeonghan wants to tell you to run, but he also knows you won’t get too far.

The tentative truce lasts for three nights.

On the fourth, you’re the one on watch. Jeonghan knows you haven’t slept more than a couple hours at a time. You’re running on adrenaline and stubbornness.

At midnight, the boy from Nine rolls over. Pretends to murmur in his sleep. You lean in to listen, and Jeonghan nearly screams at his screen.

The boy from Nine pounces.

The boy from Seven follows a second later. They work in tandem, practiced.

They hold you down, your legs thrashing against the swampy ground. You’re muffled by the palm of a hand over your mouth.

These things happened. Jeonghan watched it year in, year out. But never to one of his, never to—

The cameras zoom in just in time to catch the glint of your blade as it drives upward into the shoulder of District 9’s boy. Always keep your weapon within reach, Jeonghan had advised you. Even when you’re half-awake. I had a rock. Have—anything.

Seokmin’s tribute howls. You break free.

Jeonghan’s fists are clenched. He doesn’t breathe until you’re sprinting through the trees again, bleeding but alive.

A couple of seats away—Jihoon and Seokmin share twin looks of horror.

“I didn’t know,” Jihoon croaks.

“Neither did I,” Seokmin murmurs, paling. “Jeonghan, I’m—”

But Jeonghan rounds on them like a storm breaking over the Control Center. He’s up on his feet in the next moment, angry in a way that nobody has ever seen. It confirms the rumors that had been swirling, puts down the cards that he’s held so close to his chest.

“Didn’t know? That’s all you’ve got?” Jeonghan snarls as he yanks Seokmin away from the panel, nearly sending the victor to the ground. “You raised these motherfuckers!”

“They’re tributes, Jeonghan,” Jihoon snaps back, maneuvering so he can also face Jeonghan’s rage. “They’re just trying to survive.”

“So is she!”

Bauble grabs Jeonghan by the elbow before he can do any more damage. “Enough,” she commands. “Outside. Now.”

Jeonghan shakes her off but lets himself be steered out of the room. The door shuts behind them with a heavy click. He presses his back against the cold wall, jaw clenched.

Bauble doesn't say anything. Just waits. Escorts typically didn’t interfere at this point in the Games, but Bauble had taken it upon herself when she seemed to realize how much of a hold you had on the man that was supposed to be keeping you alive.

Jeonghan covers his face with his hands. He doesn’t cry. He just breathes like he might come apart.

Inside the Control Center, the screens roll on. You’re alone again.

When Jeonghan returns, nobody talks about his outburst. There have been worse. Actual physical alterations. Victors spewing cusses, calling each other monsters. Forgiveness always came after the fact, but Jeonghan chooses peace and refuses to look at anyone else for the next hour.

The swamp only grows crueler.

There’s a haze that clings low to the ground, thick with spores and heat, and it makes the cameras flicker with static.

The Gamemakers let it linger. They always do when the numbers dwindle. Suffering looks better through distortion.

Jeonghan leans forward in his seat, eyes locked to the primary monitor. Your figure stumbles into frame—mud-caked, limping, one arm clutched uselessly to your ribs. The blood there isn’t fresh. He knows what that means.

The camera’s too far to see your expression, but he doesn’t need to. You’ve gone quiet. No more traps, no more clever distractions. No more running. You’re just trying to stay upright.

Something shifts in the mist behind you. Fast. Deliberate. Another tribute.

Jeonghan’s fists slam into the console.

He doesn’t hear the rest. The monitor blares as the tribute from Two emerges—a heavyset girl with a jagged blade and fury behind her eyes. You try to run, but your body gives out two steps in. Your knees hit the water first.

It’s not a fight. It’s a beating.

Jeonghan’s knuckles go white. He watches you crawl, desperate and drowning, as the girl drags the blade across your calf to slow you further. The water goes dark. You barely scream.

The camera cuts to a tight shot. Your face, smeared in blood and mud. Mouth slack. Eyes unfocused.

Then—

Your lips move.

Tiny. Cracked. Fragile.

But he sees it. He swears he does.

His name.

Hannie, you’re mouthing, pleading, praying.

Bauble says something behind him. A warning. A reminder. Jeonghan doesn’t hear it.

Jeonghan stands too fast. The chair clatters to the floor behind him. His hands press to the screen like he could reach through it, like if he could just touch you, anchor you, you’d remember how to live.

But the screen stays cold, and you go still.

Jeonghan’s breath shudders in his chest. He turns wildly like he might find something in the corners of the room to fix this.

The remaining victors pointedly ignore his panic. They can’t do anything, either. They’re not about to waste their few resources on a tribute that isn’t theirs, even if Jeonghan begged and bled himself dry at their feet.

There’s nothing. Jeonghan has given you everything he has, and it wasn’t enough.

Until the vitals blink.

Once. Twice. Slow, but there.

A faint pulse.

You’re alive.

Jeonghan stares, disbelieving. The tribute has already vanished into the haze, too bloodied to check if you’re breathing, or cruel enough not to care. Either way, it’s a mistake. One Jeonghan won’t let stand.

He reels back from the screen. “Stay with her,” he tells Bauble, voice rough. “Monitor everything.”

Bauble looks up. “What are you—”

But he’s already moving. Out the door, down the corridor. The Peacekeepers outside the Control Center don’t stop him.

There had always been whispers.

That Jeonghan was the victor they couldn’t market. The one with the too-sharp tongue and eyes that didn’t flinch when Capitol cameras pressed too close.

He smiled wrong. Loved wrong. Didn’t cry when his family died in that fire.

Too clean. Too convenient.

It had given him nothing to lose.

But now—

Now he has you.

He finds her at the champagne bar just off the Viewing Floor. Gilded, powdered, draped in silk. The richest woman in the Capitol within arm’s reach. Her name doesn’t matter.

Jeonghan takes a breath. Thinks of you.

Then he smiles.

The kind of smile they remember. The kind that sells promises he’ll never keep. His voice is velvet when he approaches, belying the desperation thrumming through his veins.

“You wanted to know what it was like to be wanted by a victor,” he says in lieu of a proper greeting, brushing her wrist with his fingertips. “How lucky. I’ve just remembered how to want.”

The socialite laughs. Bright, predatory.

He keeps smiling, even as his stomach turns. Even as the shame claws at the inside of his throat.

Her room reeks of expensive perfume and debauchery.

It’s in a suite at the top of one of the Capitol towers, walls made of glass and floors of velvet. It's the kind of place meant to make you feel small, make you grateful. Jeonghan doesn’t feel anything at all.

She kisses like she wants to devour him—painted nails digging into his back, her breath warm with wine and old longing. He lets her.

He performs.

Every soft sound, every graze of his lips, every practiced flick of his tongue—he gives it like it means something. He moans where she wants him to, touches her the way she’s probably imagined in her loneliest hours. He thinks of your face, dirt-smudged and bloodied, of the shape your mouth made when you whispered his name.

It’s not her he’s kissing. Not really.

He imagines it’s you beneath him. Imagines you needing him like this, touching him like this, loving him like this.

It doesn’t help.

She arches beneath him and calls him beautiful. He’s a bit clumsy, having never done any of this before, but it only serves to make him more endearing. A gorgeous thing that had to be broken in.

He had wanted it so badly to be you. He can almost picture it, can almost taste it. How you’d laugh in between kisses. How you’d moan as his hands roamed. How you’d be everything and more.

When the woman cries out, Jeonghan doesn’t answer. His eyes are already on the ceiling.

It’s over in minutes. A quick, efficient transaction wrapped in silk sheets and false gasps.

She sprawls beside him, sated, smug. Jeonghan slips from the bed before she can say anything else. She doesn’t ask him to stay. She already knows how these things go, having sampled her fair share of male victors who were just as desperate.

Jeonghan doesn’t shower. Doesn’t have the time for it.

He just dresses in silence, pocketing the cred-chip she leaves on the table beside a crystal flute of champagne. He doesn’t drink it.

The elevator ride back down is quiet. His hands tremble.

By the time he returns to the Control Center, his mask is back in place. Bauble doesn’t say anything, just glances at the chip he slides across the desk.

“Enough for a full care package,” she confirms. “Weapon, medicine, some soup. We’ll drop it.”

Jeonghan nods and looks back to the monitor.

You’re still breathing.

He presses his palm to the screen again and thinks of the myth you had loved so much as a child. The one with the fool—Orpheus, his name might have been—trying to lead his lover out of hell.

“Wait for me,” Jeonghan croaks to no one in particular. To you. Always to you. “I’m coming.”

The silver parachute lands. You reach for it with quivering fingers.

You live for two more days.

In those days, the swamp falls quiet.

No more cannon fire. No more mutts. Just you and the girl from District 4, standing ankle-deep in water that smells like rot and victory.

Your blade is slick in your grip, hands trembling. You don’t even know where you’re bleeding from anymore. Every inch of you aches. Your body doesn’t feel like your own.

The girl sways on her feet. She’s young. Too young. Her cheeks are streaked with mud and old blood, her breathing ragged. Her eyes are empty.

You both know it ends here.

“Please,” you choke out. It takes a moment to register that you’re not begging to survive.

The words come with tears, with all the wreckage of what’s been done to you. “Finish it,” you rasp, your fingers tight around your scythe not with the intent to strike. Just to have something to steady you.

Your opponent doesn’t move.

Up in the Control Center, it’s just Jeonghan and Seungcheol.

Everyone else has gone. The other victors. The escorts. This is between two districts, two tributes, two victors.

Jeonghan doesn’t look at Seungcheol. He can’t.

Back in the arena, you crumple to your knees, exhausted beyond belief. The swamp laps at your legs.

“Please,” you whisper again. “Please.”

The girl’s hands tremble. She looks at you like she’s seeing something else—someone else. She takes one step forward, then stops. Her fingers close around the handle of her knife.

You don’t flinch.

Then she speaks.

“You know Seungcheol, right?”

You blink, confused.

She forces a smile, small and broken. “My mentor,” Seungcheol’s tribute offers. “Tell him—tell him I’m going to miss him the most.”

Manipulated footage makes it look like you pushed her backward.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol see it as it happens. How the girl takes an intentional step back. How you reach for her, trying to stop her, only to watch her sink in quicksand that has been exacerbated by the Gamemakers.

The arena swallows her up.

The cannon doesn’t fire for several long seconds.

The sound, when it comes, is muffled. Like the swamp itself is mourning her.

You scream. You scream until your throat gives out. You’re still screaming as you’re declared the victor, as you sob into the wetlands, as you’re lifted out.

In the Control Center, Seungcheol’s hands curl into fists in his lap.

His eyes fixed on the screen. Dry.

Jeonghan finally turns to him. “Cheol—” he starts, but Seungcheol shakes his head.

“She’s coming home,” Seungcheol says, flat. “There’s your miracle, Yoon.”

And Jeonghan is sorry for it, sure, but he’s still much more grateful.

V. YOON JEONGHAN, YOURS.

Jeonghan doesn’t remember the walk to the Capitol hospital. He remembers leaving the Control Center. He remembers running.

The hallway is sterile and humming when he gets there. He knows where they’ve taken you. Of course he knows. He’s watched every moment of your suffering. He could trace the outline of your wounds with his eyes closed.

The nurse outside your room says something—protocol, maybe. He doesn’t hear her.

He shoulders his way in.

The lights are dimmed, the machines are quiet, but the sight of you lands like a gut punch. Jeonghan falters in the doorway.

You look like you’ve been hollowed out.

There’s barely anything left of the tribute he watched fight through blood and betrayal. Bandages snake around your limbs and torso. Your face is pale beneath layers of grime they haven’t scrubbed away yet. Your lips are split. Your eyes—

You don’t even blink.

He takes a step closer, slow, careful, like approaching a wild animal. His hand lifts, fingers reaching for your cheek, like he might cradle it the way he used to in the dark of the Control Center, whispering to your image like you could hear him.

But the second he touches you—

You flinch.

Hard.

Jeonghan’s heart stops. His hand drops back to his side like it’s been burned.

You don’t look at him. You just tremble, shoulders curling in, your breathing shallow, your eyes still fixed on something beyond him. Beyond the room. Beyond now.

It’s the first time you’ve ever pulled away from him.

He doesn’t know what to do with that.

Part of him wants to fall to his knees. To apologize. For what, he couldn’t name. For not stopping the Games? For not being able to keep you from breaking? For still being here when so much of you has been scraped raw?

The silence presses in like swampwater, like a forest fire. Suffocating, unforgiving.

Jeonghan turns and lowers himself into the corner of the room. The floor is cold. The chair is too far. He needs to be here, close, even if you can’t stand his touch.

He wraps his arms around his knees and stares at you.

Your stare doesn’t move. Not to him. Not to anything.

He’s seen this look before. He wore it once, too.

Jeonghan swallows past the ache in his throat and speaks, barely audible. “I’m here. I’ll stay here. As long as you need.”

You don’t respond.

He doesn’t expect you to.

He settles into the silence like a penance and waits.

He waits for you to go through all the medical procedures. He waits for you to get an entire day's worth of sleep. He waits, even as the stylists dress you up like a doll.

Gossamer fabric, soft pastels to soften your image. Something that whispers vulnerability, not violence. They work in silence, careful around the raw edges of your skin, the lingering bruises.

You don’t wince anymore. You just endure.

Jeonghan watches from the wings of the stage, heart in his throat.

The stage lights bloom too bright. Caesar’s teeth gleam under them like weapons. The audience cheers. Applause swells.

And you? You walk out on trembling legs.

There was a time your smile could light up a room. Now it flickers, half-formed, and dies before it reaches your eyes.

Caesar catches your hand, holds it up for the crowd. You don’t pull away, but Jeonghan sees it—the way your fingers twitch, like they remember what it’s like to hold a weapon.

“Our newest victor!” Caesar announces. The crowd roars.

Jeonghan leans forward in the shadows. He wants to run to you. To shield you from the cameras, the crowd, Caesar’s well-meaning questions that twist into knives.

“How are you feeling?” Caesar asks.

Your voice is soft. Hoarse. “I’m alive.”

A ripple of awkward laughter. Caesar tries to coax something out of you, a joke, a quip, the spark you once had. But it’s gone. Buried so deep, not even you know where to look.

Your fingers keep trembling. You tuck your hands in your lap to hide it.

Jeonghan watches every second.

They want a victor. A hero. A darling. But all they get is a shell.

And Jeonghan can’t do anything but watch.

They crown you in front of Panem.

Golden laurels rest atop your bowed head, catching the light like a final joke. President Snow stands behind you, hand heavy on your shoulder.

You don’t shirk. You don’t cry. You barely breathe.

Jeonghan stands at the lower steps of the stage, jaw clenched tight.

The crowd is euphoric. Flashbulbs pop. Your name chants through the air like a war cry, over and over, and all Jeonghan can think is how hungry they look. Like they want to eat you alive.

You rise slowly when Snow lifts your chin. He presents you as the Capitol’s newest sweetheart—shattered and bloodstained and beautiful.

Jeonghan’s stomach twists. He hates it. The theatrics. The flowers. The falseness. The way they cheer for your trauma.

Later, at the afterparty, the music swells and champagne flows. You sit somewhere under a too-bright chandelier, being toasted by strangers with leering eyes.

Jeonghan tries to keep to the fringes, but he doesn’t escape for long.

The President finds him near the garden terrace, glass of something untouched in Jeonghan’s hand. The air stills around them like the world knows something dangerous is coming.

“Quite the victor,” Snow says mildly. “She’s memorable. Fragile in a way that sells well.”

Jeonghan says nothing.

Snow steps closer. His smile is polite. Tight. “You should be proud. The Capitol hasn’t felt this invested in years.”

A beat.

“Of course,” Snow adds, sipping from his flute, “such devotion comes at a price.”

Jeonghan’s throat tightens.

Snow glances at him, all cool amusement. “Do thank that patron of yours again. Very generous. Desperation makes strange bedfellows, doesn’t it?”

Jeonghan goes cold. His skin prickles. He can’t move.

“She’s lovely, your girl,” Snow goes on, seeming unconcerned by the conversation that has been one-sided insofar. “I do hope she doesn’t become... inconvenient.”

And with that, the devil leaves.

Jeonghan stumbles through the crowd, past gilded dancers and glass towers of champagne. He finds a bathroom, locks the door behind him, and falls to his knees.

He vomits until there’s nothing left.

Even then, he doesn’t stop heaving.

He empties himself out and drinks some more until he’s sick again. He thinks of what it means to be a victor—what you stand to lose if you don’t bend to the Capitol’s will.

Will you blame him for doing his job as a mentor? Will you wish you could’ve been like Seungcheol’s tribute, could’ve ended things clean and quiet like Barley?

On the way back to District 11, the train hums softly beneath the two of you. A lullaby for no one.

You sit by the window, forehead pressed to the glass, eyes on the blur of passing scenery. Home. Whatever that means now.

Jeonghan sits across from you. Not too close. Not too far. Just... there.

It’s been hours since either of you spoke. Days, really, because the most you’ve given Jeonghan are pleasantries and nods and thousand-yard stares.

Sometimes, a cruel part of him thinks it’s a fate worse than death.

Your voice breaks the silence like a match in the dark.

“I’m sorry.”

Jeonghan blinks himself out of his hungover stupor. His fingers tighten around the edge of his seat as he looks towards you, searching. “Why?”

“For flinching.”

His chest caves around the answer. “No,” he says quickly, too quickly. “Gods, no. I should be the one apologizing.”

You turn to him. Just barely. But he sees it in your eyes. You know.

He swallows. Tries to laugh, like it might smooth the sharp edges.

You don’t smile in return.

Jeonghan’s heart beats like a war drum. He wants to say something that makes it okay. That makes any of it okay.

But there’s nothing. Just the soft hum of the train. The ghost of everything that can never be undone.

“You saved my life,” you whisper.

He looks at you, really looks at you this time, and it almost ruins him.

Because he did. And he didn’t. Not really.

He pulled you out of the arena, but the arena never left. It will never leave. It lives in your eyes now. In your silence. In the way your shoulders curl inward like you’re still waiting to be hurt.

This is it.

Your lives now.

This train. This distance. Mentorship, and memory, and never quite touching because love is too heavy a thing to carry on top of nightmares and broken backs.

Jeonghan turns his gaze back to the window. He tucks his love for you deep, where it can’t rot anything else. It won’t do you any good now.

You may warm up to him one day, may come to forgive all he did to keep you around for longer. But as the song once did go—

Nothing will ever grow quite the same.

The train speeds on.

Outside, the sprawling fields of District 11 come into sight.

#keopihausnet #group: seventeen #member: seventeen jeonghan #hunger games au #10k+#r: ☕☕☕#oneshot #studioeisa

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throughpatchesofviolet · 3 months ago

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Alright!! Here's the first batch of goodies from that parcel: the LoR and L. Corp merch!! I have no clue where I'm putting this Angela standee, but all the stickers are very cute ... as is Nothing There. My favorite body horror doggo ... aside from Mountain of Smiling Bodies, of course. Also a huge fan of the Roland charm--it's a shaker charm, and all the popcorn inside has his face on it. Very silly ~

#also I'm very happy to have Nothing There merch ... my silly beast ... my flesh puppy #thank you again to Hellbat for organizing the group order for everything--there were come complications‚ but everything's here!#r: that's that‚ and this is this 🌇#p: the will to stand up straight 🏛️#p: the rationality to maintain discretion ⚙️#p: the hope to be a better person 📚#p: the fearlessness to keep on living 🥂#p: the expectation for the meaning of existence 🏵️#p: those who are faithful and trustworthy ☕#p: the eye facing the fear; breaking the cycle 🫖#p: maybe there are still happy answers left for my discovery 📖#p: in the name of love and justice ♥️#p: all for the mess of slime you so adore 💗#f: the courage to protect 🚬#f: the eye embracing the past; building the future ⏱️#f: until laughter is restored to this place 💝#f: hello? goodbye! 💬#f: to punish people for their misdeeds 🪹#f: a light that would burn forever 🔆#f: all that remains is the unjust scale ⚖️#the library's holdings #scattered pages

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literateowl · 7 months ago

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Nancy surprised everyone when she first came to Catan night by laughing at a little jokey comment Mateo and Carlos made to each other in Spanish. Carlos did that little knowing smile like we see in 3x17. But Mateo's jaw dropped and everyone else was even more confused.

“What’s happening?” TK finally asked.

“I didn't know you knew Spanish.” Mateo said, still a little dumbfounded.

Nancy shrugged. “I grew up here. I understand enough to get by.”

I have this headcanon that Nancy at least mostly understands Spanish but just doesn't speak it well, but it's not a big deal to her because she grew up in Texas so the Catan crew found out like this. Once Mateo knew he told Tommy and they are now determined to help her and probably everyone else at work pick up more Spanish since it's so helpful.

A Nancy headcanon for @nancys-braids as a voter show and tell reward. Thank you so much for voting early 🩷

If you would like to participate in election day show and tell as well here are the rules

#r's election day show and tell #nancysbraids ☕#nancy gillian #honestly I've had this hc for a while and been waiting to write down or put it in a fic #so thanks for that too rachel haha

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keopihaus · 21 days ago

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Grab a cup of coffee and settle in—newly added: craving humanity by @straylightdream

craving humanity

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: vampire!jeon wonwoo x afb.reader

You are the first person who ever made him feel human again. In all his afterlife he’s craved the feeling of being normal again.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): established relationship, romance, fluff, comfort/hurt, angst, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol, vampire, soulmate

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: jeonghan is an asshole, wonwoo is struggling with wanting to be human, blood, he’s vampire so stuff that involves that, blood sharing, mentions of prostitution and paying for blood and sex

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected p in v, creampie, they’re both switches in this, hand job, biting and blood sharing during sex, vampire venom induced orgasm, overstimulation, sensory overload, wonwoo get pussy/blood drunk, dazed wonwoo almost in a sub adjacent place. Mc bites wonwoo, light breast play. Nicknames: baby, daisy (hers) baby (his)

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: I’m working on connecting stories for Jeonghan, Soonyoung, and seungcheol. Let me know if you would be interested in stories for the other boys. Thank you @aeristudios for listening to me ramble about this. Thank you @lovetaroandtaemin & @supi-wupi for beta reading this.

🎧: from eden - hoizer | limbo - keshi | just to die - keshi | I’m in love with you - the 1975

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

There was nothing more in the world Jeon Wonwoo wanted other than to feel normal again. He desperately missed the feeling of his old life. He missed being able to have relationships without having to hide a part of himself. He’s been like this for too many years now. He stopped counting after the first five years of his new insatiable bloodlust. Life for Wonwoo has been far from normal since he was turned into the creature he is now. Life drastically changes when the only way to survive is drinking blood. The thing in his life that made him feel even slightly normal was his “family.” He lived with his family he chose when he turned. His little family consists of him and the twelve men who have practically become real brothers. He felt empty inside until he found someone that made him feel whole again. Meeting you made him feel like he was normal for the first time since his human life. The word soulmate gets tossed around in the underworld. Wonwoo never believed they were real until he met you.

Sitting at the kitchen table, he aimlessly scrolls through his phone, attempting to pass the time. The sound of the door opening down the hall piques his interest. He’s very aware of the fact that everyone in the house has made themselves disappear, letting him know that Seungcheol’s personal little blood bag is in the house. Wonwoo is the only one that Seungcheol allows to be around when he’s feeding. That whole situation is a mess itself. Seungcheol mentioned that Wonwoo is truly the only one who could stop him if he loses control. Wonwoo has been a vampire the longest other than their coven’s leader. The door closes again, and moments later, he watches as a tired looking girl appears from the hallway with Seungcheol right behind her with his hand resting on her back. Seungcheol and the girl don’t say anything as they leave the mansion.

It takes about ten minutes of Seungcheol being gone before Jeonghan appears. He’s sporting the same smug smile he seems to wear often these days. His long dark hair is pushed behind his ears.

“I don’t smell the blood bag anymore. Did our dear Seungcheol take her home?” Jeonghan loves to make fun of Seungcheol and the situation he has found himself in with this girl. Jeonghan finds it funny that Seungcheol tries his hardest to always take the moral high ground. Jeonghan has a disdain for humans. He’s always found them to be beneath him. Jeonghan only shows sympathy when it involves his brothers. He tends to have a soft spot toward some of the boys more than others.

“Yeah, they're gone,” Wonwoo responds.

“I feel like Seungcheol is gonna lose his mind, if he tries to keep up this little front he has of keeping things professional with this girl.” Jeonghan is the first to always criticize their leader. From the moment Seungcheol started feeding from only this one girl, Jeonghan told him he couldn’t just make this a business transaction. Jeonghan knew eventually this girl would fall in love with him, or worse, Seungcheol would fall in love.

“I’m staying out of Seungcheol’s business until he wants me in it.” Wonwoo doesn’t want to have this conversation with Jeonghan. Wonwoo tries his hardest to stay out of everyone’s business in the coven. Especially anyone’s romantic life, or lack thereof.. The last thing he needs is for any of his brothers to stick their noses in his business. Wonwoo is tired and hungry, and there is only one person he wants to see. “I’m heading out for the night. I probably won’t be back until right before sunrise.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows knit together, “Wonwoo, you aren’t even close to subtle. What’s the difference between Seungcheol and his blood bag and yours?”

Jeonghan’s words were meant to annoy Wonwoo. Jeonghan is taking jabs at him. If his goal is to break Wonwoo, he’s doing a good job at it. He takes a slow breath, fighting the urge to snap at his older brother. Jeonghan has no room to talk; Wonwoo has smelt the same girl on him often. “It’s really the pot calling the kettle black don’t you think? Last time I checked, the strip club isn’t the ideal dinner spot?”

“I don’t play games with my food like you and Seungcheol do.” Jeonghan has a wicked smile on his face.

“No, you might not play games, but you don’t have a problem paying for her blood and sex.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “You make her sound like she’s a prostitute. I don’t pay her for sex. I pay her to drink her blood, and sometimes we fuck.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I was fucking her long before my money was involved,” Jeonghan has a wicked grin playing across his lips.

Wonwoo exhales the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I’m leaving.”

“Have fun with your blood bag,” Jeonghan shouts as Wonwoo storms out of the house.

Stepping out into the cold night air, he takes a deep breath, calming himself. If Jeonghan pushed him any further, he might have snapped his neck to put him to sleep for twelve hours.

Meeting you is quite literally the best thing that has ever happened to Wonwoo in his existence. Wonwoo has always had a love for reading. When you’ve been around as long as him, reading is a great hobby to pick up. He met you one night walking into your family bookstore. He vividly remembers seeing you for the first time. He isn’t sure if he believes in soul mates, but if they do exist, you’re his.

The moment your eyes met, you felt like sunshine in the middle of the night. There was this warmth that radiated off you. He wanted nothing more in his life than to be able to touch you.

He lucked out, and his charm worked perfectly on you. He never lied to you about what he was. During your first encounter, he informed you about his vampiric condition. He’s the first vampire you’ve properly known. You’ve never feared him, though. He never gave you a reason to be scared. He’s been gentle with you since his first touch.

At first, when you started to fall for him, you weren’t sure if it was because he had lured you with some vampire spell or something. You quickly realized you fell for him because you were supposed to. You felt connected to him like you never had before. You fell absolutely head over heels for him with little to no effort.

Walking into the book store you work in, he finds you just like he always does. You’re standing in the back putting books on the shelf. You’re dressed in a plaid skirt that goes to the middle of your calf and a loose fitting sweater. Your hair is tucked behind your ears, and your cherry colored lipstick you normally wear is faded, barely noticeable to someone who doesn’t know you like he does.

“You work too hard,” he says, catching your attention.

Immediately, you turn around and smile at the sight of him standing in the book store. He looks incredibly handsome dressed in all black and a leather jacket. Looking over at the clock, you smile at the fact your bookstore closes in ten minutes.

“Wonwoo.”

“Hello my daisy.” He always lights up when he gets to see you. “I was hoping I could stay the night with you.”

“Doesn’t staying the night entail you leaving me at four in the morning?” you responded.

“That’s a minor detail, my sweet girl.” He steps closer to you. His hands grip your hips, tugging you closer to him. His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head up. “I have missed you so much.”

“You saw me two days ago.” Your eyes stay focused on his black ones. The first time you saw his dark eyes, they startled you for a moment, but you soon found yourself craving a chance to be able to look into them.

“I miss you whenever I’m not near you.”

“That's good, because I miss you too.”

“Did you want to wait here while I close up the store?” You lean forward so your nose is brushing his.

“Absolutely.” He smiles before he presses his lips to yours for a heated kiss.

Your nights together normally consist of the two of you being locked up in your apartment together. The majority of your time together is spent naked, but you won’t ever complain about that. When it comes to Wonwoo, you will take anything you can get.

Pulling you close, he kisses his way up from the valley between your breast up to your neck. He drags his tongue across your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine. Tilting your head to the side, you give him more access to your skin. His teeth drag slowly across your delicate skin, but never pierce through. He groans, pulling away from you. Something has clearly upset him. His mind is in a million different places. You can see he's frustrated and trying to keep it together.

“Baby what’s wrong?” He moves away from you and sits with his back against the headboard. You aren’t sure you have ever seen him this conflicted. He’s normally so controlled with his emotions.

“Jeonghan said some shit to piss me off, and I’m just trying to keep calm.” You know with Wonwoo’s strength he always has to keep his emotions in check so he doesn’t do something to hurt you. Crawling across your bed, you move so you’re sitting on his lap. His hardened cock sits right between your legs. Resting your hand on his cold cheek, you tilt his head so he’s looking at you. “You know I don’t play games with you, right?” He whispers.

Knitting your eyebrows together, you’re confused on what he means. “I know you don’t.”

“Jeonghan made a comment about me playing games with you. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m just using you to feed.” You have no clue why he would ever think that. You know that you mean more to him than just a source of food. “I’ll stop drinking from you if you want. But I just want you to know that I truly love you.”

You take his face in both your hands, calming him down. Your touch has always been soothing to him. “Wonwoo, I never thought you were just using me to drink from me. I know you love me; if you didn’t love me, I wouldn’t let you drink from me.”

“Just hearing what Jeonghan said and then watching Seungcheol struggle with whatever is going on with his girl made it feel like my head was spinning.”

“I need you to talk to me when you’re feeling like this. Wonwoo, I love you so much. I know you aren’t just using me.” Your heart aches at just the thought that Wonwoo was afraid he was using you.

“Falling for you feels like uncharted territory for me. Sure as a human, I had romantic relationships, but as a vampire, I have never let myself get attached to humans. I was very good at disconnecting emotions from sex and feeding.”

“I’m sorry I complicated things.”

“Baby, don’t ever be sorry. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” He leans into your hand.

Reaching between down, your hand circles his large length. Slowly, you start stroking him. Biting his bottom lip, he holds back a moan.

“I want to make you feel good.” You want to take care of him.

“You always make me feel good.” Lifting your hips, you guide yourself to his blush colored tip.

Slowly, you sink down onto his large length, and the stretch you feel is absolutely intoxicating. Wonwoo is by far the biggest man you have been with. His cock is not only long, but it’s thick. The first time you were intimate with him, you couldn’t help but wonder if all vampires had this anatomy, or if he was just blessed.

He’s practically kissing your cervix once he fills you.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his. Rolling your hips forward, your clit brushes against his pelvis. Your lips move from his mouth down his jaw, stopping at the side of his neck. Just where he likes to bite you. Running your tongue along where his pulse point would be.

“Would you taste as sweet as you say I do?” Wonwoo said the first time he tasted you, he knew you were his soulmate. He said a normal person's blood to him tastes like strong red wine with a metallic after taste. According to him, you taste like strawberries with champagne.

“I would—“ he lets out a heavy sigh.

Pressing your teeth against his delicate skin you nip at his neck. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to tease him.

Lifting your hips you sink down at a quick pace. “I love you—“

Wonwoo's brain feels fuzzy. The only thing he can think of is you. The way that you touch him. The way you nip at his skin. Your sweet intoxicating words have turned any coherent thought to mush.

He’s never had a desire for someone to bite him during sex, but suddenly, he wants you to know how he tastes.

“Shoulder—“ he mumbles. He’s given up control. He wants you to take care of him. He needs you to help center him.

You don’t say anything, you hold your wrist up to his mouth. You’re offering yourself on a silver platter.

Grabbing your wrist, he bites down. His venom takes away the slight pain instantly. Moaning, you close your eyes. His venom spreads through your bloodstream, instantly sending an icy hot wave of pleasure through your body.

Pulling your wrist from his mouth, he leaves kitten licks against the bite marks.

“Do you want a taste?” He’s never shared blood with a human before, but it’s now the only thing he can think about.

Continuing to roll your hips you moan out a broken “yes.”

Leaning his head to the side, he gives you access to his delicate skin. “Bite my shoulder.”

His hands grab your hips, helping guide you up and down his length.

Pressing your chest to his, your lips part, and a moan escapes. You’re having a sensory overload. The ecstasy of his venom floating in your veins and your orgasm that won’t seem to stop. Your head slumps forward and your lips brush the top of his muscular shoulder. Taking a deep breath through your nose, your teeth sink into his skin. Your teeth pierce through, and the taste of strawberries and champagne hits your tongue.

He moans your name like a prayer, holding you down pressed to his hips. Your tongue laps at the bite. He tastes just as good as you thought he would.

The prettiest moan passes his lips. He fills you with his milky release. He’s practically shaking below you.

Pulling back, you look down at his wound that is already starting to heal.

He looks dazed. His eyes slowly open, and a half smile forms on his lips. Reaching up, he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, collecting his blood. Parting your lips, he presses his thumb against your tongue. Without thinking you suck his sweet blood off his digit.

Pulling his thumb away, he leans in and gives you a gentle kiss. “I don’t think I have ever come that hard in my existence.” He sounds less dazed.

“I was on the verge of over stimulation.”

“You’re a little bloody; we should probably shower.”

He looks up at the blackout curtains that you installed as soon as you started things with him. He’s always wanted to stay and not have to worry about rushing away before the sun is bright. After last night, he doesn’t want to leave you just because the sun is up.

“The sun will be up soon,” you say, noticing he’s staring at the window. This is always the hardest part with him.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he says, reaching out to drag his thumb across your cheek. “I want to stay with you.”

“Then don’t leave me. I don’t have to work today, so we can stay in bed all day together.”

“Do you really feel like being trapped in your room all day?”

“I installed back out curtains in the living area as well. My whole house is safe for you.” From the very beginning, you’ve always tried your hardest to accommodate him. After your first night together you bought curtains for your room.

“I love you.” Those are three words he never said to another woman since he was turned.

“I love you too.”

You’ve been pressed up close to him on the couch for the last hour. After staying up all night with him, you’re absolutely exhausted. You’re dressed in just a bralette and a pair of panties, and he’s only in his underwear.

“Jihoon pointed something out.” He runs his hand up and down your back slowly.

“What did he say?” You’ve never met any of his brothers, but you’ve heard so much about them. You feel as if you know them now.

“He mentioned that at some point I need to give you the option to be turned.” That wasn’t what you were expecting him to say.

“Oh, this is about me being a vampire?” This got brought up one night when Wonwoo took care of you while you were drunk. You went out with some old college friends. You drank way more than you could handle, and in your drunken state, you called Wonwoo to pick you up. Laying in your bed, probably the drunkest you've ever been, you were babbling on and on about how sexy he is as a vampire. You begged him right then and there to turn you.

“I want to turn you, but at the same time, I don’t want to turn you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re sired to me.”

“Would it make you my master?”

“In some ways. But I would never use the ability to manipulate you or anything like that. It would just mean essentially we’re bonded.”

Reaching out, you aimlessly draw shapes over where his heart is located. “Would it be different if we’re soulmates?”

“Jihoon said we would just both feel intensely connected. Even more drawn to each other than we already are.”

“I want to be with you forever. I’m okay with you turning me one day. Do you not want me to be a vampire with you?”

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you to do this. I have no problem staying by your side the entirety of your human life.”

“Wouldn’t it be a little weird if your wife gets old and you stay young and hot?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t me dying hurt you? I don’t know much about this whole soulmate thing. I just assume one of the partners passing would hurt more than a normal death of a spouse.”

“Jihoon said it could make me feel like I’m going crazy. That my humanity could slip away.”

“I think that’s the only excuse we need for you to turn me.”

“My sweet daisy. I need you to think about this.”

“I have. I’m not asking you to turn me tonight. Maybe in like a year you can.”

“Okay. I need to let Cheol know about our plan. He’s very against any of us turning anyone. I feel like we're an exception.”

Leaning up, you press your lips to his jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I don’t want to go home yet.”

“You don’t have to leave anytime soon. I have to work tomorrow, but you can stay here. Maybe while I work you could get some proper sleep.” The worst thing about being with Wonwoo is saying goodbye. Him not being able to go in the sun and having to come in go in the middle of the night breaks your heart.

“I can stay one more day before I have to go back. Things are tough right now with Seungcheol. Jeonghan isn’t making things easy on him either.”

“Sounds like Jeonghan doesn’t make things easy for anyone.” Jeonghan is the only one of his brothers that Wonwoo doesn’t want you to meet.

“He has a soft spot for Soonyoung and that’s about it.”

“Let’s not think about Jeonghan anymore. Let’s just enjoy each other's company.”

“Okay, daisy.”

You are quite possibly the best thing that could have happened to Wonwoo. He’s desperately in love with you, but that isn’t it. You make him feel human again. You give him that sense of humanity he desperately craves.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

#group: seventeen #member: seventeen wonwoo #member: seventeen jeon wonwoo #genre: fluff #genre: hurt/comfort #genre: angst #genre: smut #genre: romance #trope: soulmates #au: vampire au #au: non-idol au #type: one-shot #1-5k #rating: mdni #r: ☕☕☕#author: straylightdream

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liaisun · 3 months ago

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i have made sweet treats

#cant say baked goods bc they required no cooking nor baking #but they r famed amongst my circle #<hands u all one #wtf i swore tbere was a parfait emoji ?!?!?#sad. 🥛🍪☕ i guess...#every time i say im never making tiramisù cups again bc it takes forever and every time i do it

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scaredstupid · 4 months ago

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can you guys tell i reallyyy like him

+ bonus doodlies under da cut

#hes literally so cutie pie it's insane #Dunks him into a basketball hoop #kie's art #selfship #self ship #self insert #self insert art #r: make someone happy #s/i: 🎭☕

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keopihaus · 21 days ago

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Grab a cup of coffee and settle in—newly added: The Oh! Chronicles - series m.list by @shadowkoo

The Oh! Chronicles - series m.list

𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕

A series of life events involving Jungkook and his best friend's off limits little sister...

→ pairing: jungkook x f.reader → status: in progress → rating: 18+ minors DO NOT interact → networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus @studiosev7n → taglist: join here!

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑶𝒏𝒆 - Oh, Brother!

Things are bound to get messy when you fuck your brother’s best friend repeatedly. Better not get caught, for both of your sakes. ↳ READ HERE

→ word count: 1.8k → genres smut, college au, pwp

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑻𝒘𝒐 - Oh, Baby!

Your brother has finally come around to the fact that you’re in a “serious” relationship with his best friend. However, that doesn’t stop Jungkook from testing his limits… ↳ READ HERE

→ word count: 4.1k → genres smut, post-college au, vegas wedding au

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 - Oh, Boy!

Jungkook needs to get his act together, especially now that you're expecting and he's about to take on the title of Dad, alongside Husband. Good thing you can call on your older brother, and his best friend, to step in with some tough love. And maybe also a few threats... ↳ READ HERE (coming soon)

→ word count: est. 2-3k → genres smut, established relationship, angst, unplanned pregnancy au

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

#group: bts #member: bts jungkook #member: bts jeon jungkook #type: series masterlist #rating: mdni #r: ☕☕☕#author: shadowkoo

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tokubf · 8 months ago

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last night's episode of arc was sooo good!! spoilers under read more

the reveal of the galaxy armor was so cool and the fight was great! i love that arc used portals when he had the galaxy armor, so i'm excited to see more fight with it :D also ishido finally revealed what the gdf have been hiding!! it was a good scene and really cathartic to see, it really shows that ishido cares for skip.

anyways, here is a great angle of ishido XD

#em chats #em's arc watch #r: ☕

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keopihaus · 1 month ago

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Grab a cup of coffee and settle in—newly added: Love on the Floor by @xomakara

Love On The Floor

SUMMARY | You're on vacation with your girls and you can't help but be attracted to the hot DJ.

PAIRINGS | Johnny x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | smut, non-idol au

CONTENT/WARNINGS | DJ!Johnny, profanity, drinking, non-idol au, flirting, kissing, teasing, unprotective sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), outdoor sex, beach sex, fingering, marking, hair grabbing, riding, creampies, lots of dirty talk

LENGTH | 10,545 words

TAGLIST | @lovetaroandtaemin @aerangi

NETWORKS | @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @keopihaus @neocity-net @cosyhomenet

AUTHOR’S NOTE | What was supposed to be a 2k fic ended up being a 10k fic lolol. I couldn't help it… DJ Johnny has got me feral.

NCT Main Masterlist

The beat pulsed through the outside venue as bodies moved together to the rhythm of the music, a sea of flailing arms, flowing dresses, and brightly colored alcohol in cups. The vacation resort was well known for its beach-side night parties that happened every evening, allowing people to dance all their cares away. It was a famous tourist destination, the huge tropical beach allowing its patrons to soak up the sunshine in the daytime, and then dance their heart away by the bright lights of the nighttime party. The whole island seemed to thrum with energy, the atmosphere electric from the beating rhythm of the dance music and the delighted cries from the partygoers.

"Earth to Y/N!"

Your attention turned to your friend as you realizedd that she was trying to get your attention.

"Oops," you laughed and smiled at her. "Sorry, just zoned out for a sec. Got distracted." You couldn't help your wandering gaze that took in the mass amount of scantily-clad girls writhing their hips against muscular, shirtless men. "This is so different from what I'm used to."

Mira raised an eyebrow, clearly in good spirits after already taking several shots. "I know this isn't your usual scene but the girls and I thought that you should stop moping over your breakup with Taeyong and actually have some fun! Go hit up on a guy or something, get your freak on."

You playfully punched Mira. "He wasn't like the rest, you know?"

You looked down sadly. He had been a gentle soul and treated you right; you still weren't sure why he had cheated. It had hit you hard and your friends thought that a change of pace was needed. A vacation to relax and let loose was exactly what was needed, a way to let go of the stress and have fun.

"Look Y/N, you've been moping over him for four months already," Jinhee started. "You're here, on vacation in a tropical paradise surrounded by sexy guys who have their shirts off, showing off their chests," she fanned herself and looked off into the distance dreamily, "and gorgeous smiles andー"

"Calm your tits," Sowon jokingly hit Jinhee lightly. She looks back at you, pushing your usual drink closer to you. "Babe, we love you and want to see you happy again. Not cry over some guy who can't even tell you why he cheated."

"We're not telling you to date someone tonight, but just forget about him and live a little, ok?" Mira finished.

You bit your bottom lip and thought, staring out into the night as you considered her words. You loved Taeyong, more than anything. You had hoped for a future together; the wedding, the children, the big family holidays and birthdays... but it was all shattered, left lying in tatters after your suspicions were confirmed with the one simple sentence, "I can explain."

He couldn't.

After many arguments, broken tears and broken hearts later, you both parted ways. You thought you truly loved him, that he was your soulmate. He had made it clear to you how sorry he had been and wanted you to take him back. But your heart wouldn't let you go back, the pain from his betrayal being too raw and it left you aching. You threw yourself into work since then, finding solace in your research and volunteering. And so, for the past few months, the cycle continued: work, work, sleep, work. It was nice and constant, but this is where the girls came in and saved your life from boredom.

"Live a little, huh?" you questioned, fingers wrapped around the stem of the cocktail glass, twisting it absentmindedly before you took another sip. You took another look around the outdoor venue. The night sky stretched endlessly above you, twinkling with tiny stars, framed by palm trees and colorful banners. The smell of liquor, sweat, and body odor mingled with the scent of the warm evening air. Huge, bright speakers blasted music as the mass amount of bodies continued their movements, flashing their lights as they danced.

Mira was right. This wasn't your scene. You preferred the fancy lounge bars, expensive wine, soft spoken conversations and live jazz bands to accompany them. A place where you felt secure, safe, and comfortable. This place was raw, open, exposed. No fancy tables, chairs or bar. Just an open dance floor, large speakers, and drinks on the sand.

The bass hummed through your feet as it shook the ground. No one was fully dressed; the girls had on skimpy little dresses, the men wore brightly coloured swim trunks and shirtless. Heck, the air of arousal was so thick you could probably choke on it. You had seen several couples making out, feeling each other up or grinding their groins together out of the corner of your eyes. You licked your lips nervously as the alcohol coursed through your veins, heating you up from the inside.

"Come on Y/N! I love this song, let's dance!" Jinhee put her hands on her hips and pouted at you.

"Dancing is not really my thing..." you protested.

"It will be soon!" she winked and grabbed your arm.

You shrugged. There was nothing better to do, and you had finished your drink, feeling braver now that it was gone. You threw the last shot down the back of your throat, shuddering when the liquid burnt its way down your body and you accepted Jinhee's hand, pulling you close as you threaded through the crowd of warm bodies towards the floor. You tried not to bump into anyone, muttering small sorries to those you did.

The girls pushed onto the dance floor, joining the fray and all linking arms together, facing outward. You giggled with giddy pleasure as Sowon and Mira pulled you in between them, each placing a hand on your hip, making your senses sing with delight from the alcohol and the atmosphere. Your friends swung you around, moving you like puppets in a full costume, keeping perfect time to the music. You threw your hands up and laughed joyously, allowing them to take the lead as you simply kept up, moving your body against theirs.

You swayed your hips, letting loose and deciding to just feel.

Tonight, you're going to live a little.

And maybe find a cute guy and have some fun like your girls suggested, despite whatever happens afterwards.

Just enjoy the moment, they told you.

Alcohol flowing, the music blasting, and the lights blinding, time was simply lost to the ether and soon enough you could feel yourself being warm, happy, and buzzing. All nerves had melted away, drowned under the intoxication of the strong alcohol and being surrounded by friendly, loving people.

Time blurred and seemed to stop altogether when you caught the first sight of him.

Situated at the DJ booth with a set of mixer decks and a laptop at his disposal was a large, muscular man. Dark hair framing his beautifully sculpted face, his huge frame was decked in dark jeans and a gray muscle tank, effortlessly displaying his biceps, muscular chest, and torso. Tattoos adorned his left shoulder and arms, but you couldn't make them out as they were blurry from the angle. From the intense look of concentration, he sported a pair of large headphones over his ears while performing his set; however, every now and again you would catch him smiling from watching the sea of bodies bobbing their heads to his beats, bodies grinding as the songs melded together.

He caught your eye, taking in the spectacle that you and your friends presented. When he met your gaze, you felt electricity coursing through your veins, nerves flaring and the familiar pulsing sensation to the beat made itself known deep within your womb. And...was it just you, or did he look at you longer? Like he was admiring you as you got lost in his eyes; perhaps even took interest in you as you danced alongside the swarm of sweaty bodies that jerked and swayed to the music.

You snapped your head away. You were probably seeing things...

But you couldn't help it; your eyes drifted once more to the large hunk. Just dancing. Nothing else. Not with the way that his muscles moved smoothly when he tended to his equipment, the powerful biceps easily moving the tables. What would it be like to have his arms wrap around you, what would it be like to be pressed against those built pecs, those washboard abs, under his thick thighs as heー

You shivered at the thought. Alcohol. It had to be the alcohol.

"Oh my god," Mira started, "the DJ is so hot!"

"He's pretty cute and damn is he buff," Jinhee licked her lips. "With a body like that, the only chance I would give him is a ride up and down hisー"

"Finish that sentence, I dare you," Sowon raised an eyebrow daringly, a fierce grin creeping up her face and causing Jinhee to laugh nervously before she continued.

"What do you think, Y/N?" Mira looked at you eagerly, causing you to stare back surprised.

"Well..." You paused and hesitated slightly. "I mean, like, he is definitely very attractive, but..." Your cheeks burned and thoughts disappeared momentarily as your eyes locked with his, causing butterflies to awaken in your tummy. You looked away to see your group waiting expectantly for you to continue. You stuttered out, "But I don't know. He's probably already got a string of girls after him and I justー"

"Nope. Stop. Nuh-uh," Jinhee pointed a finger in front of you. "No second guessing. Tell us, would you fuck him?"

Your jaw dropped. "Oh come on."

"Answer the question, Y/N," Sowon pushed.

You chewed your bottom lip before sighing. "Oh god," you muttered, heart pounding in your chest. "Do I have to answer right now?"

"Yes!" all three chorused back at you.

You covered your face with your hands for a second before taking a deep breath. "Ok... yes." You looked down. "Yes, I would totally bang the shit out of him."

"YES! That's our girl!" Mira whooped before cheering loudly, raising her arms to the sky as she did so, the music and atmosphere causing her cheer to be swept away amongst the crowd. Sowon rolled her eyes as Jinhee patted you on the back in a show of congratulations, making you want to disappear. But you couldn't hide your crimson cheeks as embarrassment flushed through you.

The girls giggled happily and jumped around, continuing with their dancing. You hid your face in your hands before trying to lose yourself in the music once more.

Even though your gaze remained forward, you could still feel his eyes trailing on you.

Johnny looked out at the crowd moving and shifting as one when the beat dropped. All hands flew up, colored lights danced over everyone, making them glow under the spotlights that illuminated the darkened dance floor. It didn't matter if they were young or old, handsome or misshapen; the mass amount of bodies thrummed with pure energy. The crowd responded with another deafening cheer and cry in greeting as the beat switched over, Johnny mentally high-fiving himself for his excellent track selection.

While he enjoyed his job, the one thing he loved the most is seeing all the people have a good time because of his sets. And that moment, when the venue cheered and the dancers jumped up and down at their success in responding to the shift in the music, flooded his heart with pride.

Everyone was a dance master tonight, despite the drunken conditions. There weren't many fights and most seemed to be content with dancing the night away. And even the regular workers seemed to let their hair down and joined the fray, twirling to their hearts desire with wide, unabashed grins plastered across their faces.

It was the life.

"This set is so good!" The girl next to him gushed excitedly. "I'm absolutely loving it!"

He turned and smirked. Her hair was a long ash-blond, cascading down her shoulders. Heaps of glitter decorated her cheeks and forehead and skin-tight outfit that left little to the imagination. "Yeah?"

"Oh, for sure!" She spoke back, her attention focused more on his body than meeting his gaze. Her eyes dragged along the length of his body hungrily. "You should join me sometime."

He regarded her carefully. She was attractive, but frankly, it didn't feel right. "Tempting," he started. "But I can't."

"Pleaseeeee? I'd make sure you would have a great time," her lips curled into a lustful smile. "I would worship every single inch of you, baby. I would make you feel real good," she teased, pressing up against him.

He let out a sigh before looking at one of his friends that was working alongside him for the evening. They didn't need to speak a word. His buddy came to the rescue and steered the girl away from him towards the bar. The girl put up a bit of a struggle but once she noticed the handsome man beside her, her attention quickly switched and off she went.

He was used to it. Girls would throw themselves at him, not many cared about his skills and personality except for his music tastes, which usually sparked interesting conversations. Most only wanted a go with the big and muscular DJ who worked at the clubs, purely for sexual gain; to say they have done it, to slurp up the notoriety of bragging about their sexual exploits. Most usually bragged about who was better in bed, how quickly they could seduce him, or how big his dick was.

He shook his head with a sigh. He was a ladies' man, sure, but he was looking for more. One night stands were great, don't get him wrong, but he was looking for a lifelong love to spoil and cherish for eternity. To call his own, someone special to share his home, his music, his heart and soul.

He settled back behind the soundboard, adjusting the mix, scrolling through the folder of pre-downloaded songs while keeping an eye on the crowd. He couldn't help but glance at a particular group of girls as they joined the fray and a smile crept upon his features as they energetically turned away from each other and moved their hips to the music, finding a groove and sticking with it.

But one of the girls caught his eye, and he felt his dick twitch and pulse at the sight.

There was something about the girl that stood out.

She was really beautiful. He had seen his fair share of beautiful women, no doubt, but this girl was different. She wore her hair up in a bun, but it was messy, and several strands fell freely to frame her face. She dressed a bit more modest compared to the rest of the folks here with a flowy red spaghetti-strap sundress that drifted fluidly down past her knees. While her dress wasn't fully form-fitting, it still showed off the full curves of her breasts, wide hips and ample ass. Even from the distance of the stage, Johnny was able to pick up that the dress had ridden slightly up her thighs from all the swinging and twirling, exposing more of her smooth legs.

Even then, he was rather enticed by her actions alone.

While she wasn't outlandish or loud like the rest, it was beautiful to behold how freely she moved. Her friends draped all over her, but she greeted their affectionate advances wholeheartedly, enjoying their company. Time seemed to melt away for Johnny as he enjoyed the view; while one part of his mind was set on the next track and the transition, the other half was entranced and intrigued by this beauty.

"Yo, dude," Yuta cut into Johnny's thoughts and slapped him on the shoulder. "There's some hot chicks in the crowd tonight."

Johnny playfully punched his friend in the shoulder. "Yuta, they have names, bro."

"Whatever," Yuta shrugged as he turned his attention back to the crowd. "You know, the girl by the speakers and over to the left is... very nice. Just saying."

Johnny raised an eyebrow and scanned the crowd. It didn't take long to find the girl that Yuta was talking about; her flaming red hair tumbling down her back in thick curls. A striking blue strappy little top that barely covered her breasts.

"Nah dude, not my type," Johnny shrugged. "I prefer a girl with more substance." He tilted his head in the direction of the other dancers.

"The purple one?" Yuta asked.

"Red," Johnny replied as he began setting up another song.

"Oh... Oh!" Yuta looked at Johnny with a smug grin. "Now that's a pretty babe. Bam! Score one for Johnny."

"Yo, what the fuck," Doyoung butted in, "you have all the pretty ladies."

"Sorry, Mr. Sulky," Yuta stuck out his tongue. "Your dating game sucks."

Johnny laughed. "You just haven't met the one yet, Do."

"Probably never will," Doyoung grimaced and went back to his regular position, playing around with some of the lighting equipment.

Johnny smiled and shook his head at his friends' shenanigans. They were a bit immature and stupid at times, but he loved them like brothers. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of the girl once again and he couldn't help the butterflies that formed in the pit of his stomach.

She caught him looking, and for the split second their eyes locked, the whole world seemed to move in slow motion.

Beautiful. She looked beautiful in the warm glow, sweat glistening lightly on her forehead, face flushed from dancing. Despite her makeup being a little smudged and messy, he thought it was cute. It made her real and adorable and hot all the same. Despite being surrounded by a mass amount of bodies, she stood out like a glittering diamond.

And for a split second, everything was right in his world.

If someone would have told him a year ago that he would fall in love at first sight, he would have laughed in their faces. He would have called bullshit, there was no way.

Turning his back slightly, he chuckled inwardly to himself. Johnny never had had such a strong physical attraction to a woman like this before. Sure, he was aware he was blessed with his looks, especially due to the numbers of fans and groupies he had garnered after the past gigs he had performed over the years. Beautiful women of all sizes often sought him out and flirted with him. If there wasn't much going on that night, he would find his way into the bed of a soft warm body, just for the comfort that nothing more, nothing less, could offer.

He didn't allow himself to get attached, to care too much or get too emotional. It was just one night, one or two evenings at best; but usually the passion lasted a few hours or sometimes throughout the night.

Johnny knew his limits and made sure he stuck within them. No kissing on the lips or cuddling the next morning. Breakfast and goodbyes were always offered at his door and after it closed, that was the end of it. Somewhere along the line, a few girls had his number and still tried to see him, others showed up at gigs he played hoping to see him, but his rules were airtight: no relationships, no commitments, no feelings.

Was his life lonely at times? Sometimes, but that's how Johnny liked it. Life was simpler, less complicated without a lover in his life. He wouldn't have had to make any excuses on where he was, or worry about what might happen if he wasn't at home when he said he would be. In fact, it was one of the reasons why he liked being a DJ; the world was too vast, too interesting, for him to stay still. And there was no need to check in with anyone, see if it was ok to go or ask for permission.

But maybe he wanted a change of scenery, just a bit. He desired to rest his head on something or someone warm, to tell them everything that ran through his head, to hold hands, share meaningful conversations. To have someone listen to him, give him a slice of normal in his ever-changing life.

And the feeling was almost stronger now, nearly overwhelming, as he stared at the girl before him.

The way his heart melted and the blood drained from his head down to his erection when this new beauty's gaze landed on him, it was an unfamiliar feeling. For all the groupies and attention he had received, he had never felt so entranced by someone, had wanted them so deeply, and so desperately. He wanted to meet her in the crowd, take her in his arms, dance with her, talk with her, listen to her, fuck her senselessly until they both couldn't stand and worship her gently afterwards like a queen.

He wasn't sure what she was doing here but he could care less what her plans were, as long as they involved him.

Her group laughed as they danced freely, and he watched carefully, mesmerized. He wanted to hear her laugh, wanted to be the reason why she laughed. His attention remained glued to this strange but beautiful new girl he had seen. Her gaze was focused back on the crowd, her attention away from him. Instead of feeling relieved, his muscles became tense at not being able to have her gaze rest upon him. He wanted to be the object of her attention. No matter how many times Johnny tried to focus his attention elsewhere, his thoughts would wander right back to her.

"Damn dude, I have never seen you look at someone like that before," Yuta pointed out after a short while.

"What are you saying?" Johnny kept his hands steady on the equipment in front of him.

"Just... you know what? Nothing," Yuta held up his hands in surrender. "I'll keep my observations to myself."

Johnny eyed Yuta carefully. "I am focusing on the crowd."

"Oh come on now, that cute brunette came right up and so did the red-head and you weren't the least bit interested. Are we changing things up now that you've got your eye on Little Miss Red Dress down there?"

Johnny rolled his eyes at Yuta's assumptions. "Dude, no. She's just...different, that's all."

"Uh-huh. Different," Yuta replied slowly, looking Johnny over with a raised eyebrow. "You really want to throw away all your freedom, Johnny?"

Johnny just shrugged, returning his gaze back to the red beauty dancing her heart out.

Who knows? Maybe she'll be a one-night stand.

Maybe she'll be something more.

Johnny smiled to himself as he focused on the music, allowing his senses to get lost in the rhythm, to become as one with the sounds around him. He mentally wished the girl's attention was back on him; but glancing over in her direction, she was consumed in an excited frenzy with her friends. And that was ok.

Some things would come, and some things would go.

He was certain he would see her around the resort.

"My neck hurts, my feet hurt," you complained the next morning. "My entire body hurts."

You moaned as you stretched and a feeling of delicious electricity sang from your muscles, making its way slowly to your spine and you sighed, your tense neck muscles finally releasing their tension. You were walking down one of the many pavillons lined along the white pebbled pathways. Sunlight dappled through the leafy trees, casting its rays along the pavement. The sun had risen high in the sky, and the breeze was soft; a perfect temperature to be out and about. The girls and you had stayed out late the previous night and now your entire body ached.

You're trying your hardest to keep up with the girls and for the life of you, you have no idea how they still have the energy to enjoy themselves. How can three women run on so little sleep and be so effortlessly productive with themselves? You shook your head slowly and took a deep breath. You could get through this.

You looked around, trying to find the girls but instead you ran into rock hard muscle. You stumbled, nearly falling down, but an arm shot out to steady you, grasping your forearm gently.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," a deep voice rang out in front of you. "You okay?"

You looked up and you realized that you bumped into the DJ from last night and your eyes almost bulged out of your skull, cheeks burning and jaw dropping before you could stop yourself. This close up, the man looked downright edible. He wore a sleeveless hoodie and loose fit jeans; although casual, it barely covered his muscular physique.

"Uh, y-yeah, I'm fine," you stuttered before managing a small, friendly smile. His hand released your arm and his face split into a charming grin, making your knees almost give in. "My mind is elsewhere," you admitted, looking down a little embarrassed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other and avoiding his intense gaze. "I kind of lost my friends."

"Want me to join you in finding them?" He offered, tilting his head a little as he studied you. The innocent question made you freeze, heart skipping a beat and butterflies suddenly awakened in your tummy and you gave him an embarrassed glance. Not taking offense, he stepped aside and gestured for you to go first. "After you. I'm Johnny, by the way. Johnny Suh."

"Y/N," you returned the sentiment with a broad smile. Together, you continued along the path, keeping up with each other in a comfortable silence. Every now and then, you stole glances at him, eyes drifting appreciatively to his tattooed skin. "So... This isn't usually my thing, to be honest," you offered casually, attempting at some conversation. You tried not to act awkward and focus on something else besides his toned arms.

"What isn't your thing?" Johnny glanced down and furrowed his brows questioningly.

"This place," you shrugged sheepishly.

"Sun, the beach, resorts, food and alcohol? You're lying," Johnny chuckled at his own comment, making you snort a laugh, eyes glistening and a happy grin graced his lips.

Oh my god, he's even more attractive, you thought. What was it about a good man with a sense of humour that just simply, utterly destroys you? You averted your gaze, not wanting to give yourself away, especially at how much you wanted to jump his bones.

"Ok, fine. Party-centric environments," you finally responded, deciding to joke. "Sowon, Jinhee and Mira are... into this kind of scene, and they sort of dragged me along."

"Well, aren't you lucky," Johnny nodded, turning to smile warmly at you. "Because if you weren't, I wouldn't be walking with such a beautiful woman right now."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," you try your best to snort in contempt, despite your stomach going crazy from his words.

"No, only the pretty ones," he chuckled, crossing his arms and giving you a sideways look.

You simply roll your eyes and shake your head, refusing to rise to the comment, and ignore the way your face warms. "Ok, so you're smooth with a sense of humour. Are you even real?"

A laugh rumbled through his chest, resonating through you. His laugh is clear and melodic, and completely honest. Unable to keep a straight face, you cracked a chuckle yourself. "So where are you from, Y/N? If you don't mind me asking."

"Chicago but I moved to Seoul for college and have been there ever since," you replied honestly.

"I'm from Chicago too!" He seemed genuinely excited. "I moved here a couple years back with a couple buddies. We got a pretty sweet set up going on. We often tour together, and we support each other," Johnny stopped suddenly, eyeing you up and down and making you want to sink into the ground. "How about you? What do you do?"

"I got a master's degree in business. But after a while, it all seems kinda... boring?" you shrugged. "I'm currently unemployed at the moment," you giggled at the absurdity of the conversation. "God, if my parents knew..."

"That's a bummer," Johnny said, wincing. "No one likes a desk-job."

"It was nice while it lasted," you let out a small laugh as you walked down the stone steps towards the town area. Just ahead, you could see Sowon and Mira at one of the smoothie bars chatting. "I have no idea what's going to happen, so I'm just living day by day."

"Why not live in the moment?" Johnny's low voice murmured into your ear, making you stiffen slightly, feeling a sudden flush of arousal between your legs. "Nothing bad comes from that."

"Uh... yeah," you smiled a little awkwardly as you were both nearing your destination. Your heart was beating wildly inside your chest. "So, where are you at in the hotel?"

"Not really at a hotel, actually. In the bungalows, right over there. Like, right by the beach," Johnny pointed in the general direction, but you nodded all the same. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Just curious," you stammered as you neared closer to your friends. You weren't sure what this fluttery feeling was, the strange warmth flooding through you, all because of him. Was it excitement? This... pull towards him? It's thrilling, you had to admit; the whole scenario was. Johnny was incredibly handsome, sexy even; especially the way the shirt clung to the toned muscles of his body, but despite his looks, he seemed really down-to-earth and nice as well.

And that was the charm that pulled you in.

You liked being around him, plain and simple. Even though you just met him, you felt a connection, almost as if you've known him for years. It was comfortable. And... dare you say, safe, almost? He is, however, still very much a stranger, you reminded yourself.

"Ok. Well, I guess this is where I leave you," Johnny looked at you, smirking a bit at the proximity the girls presented. "And hey, not sure if you heard but I'm DJ-ing again tonight at the party tent. You are, without a doubt, welcome to come and see me. Or meet me afterwards? Whichever you prefer." He stepped even closer and leaned in until he was practically whispering into your ear, making the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise and your whole body flushes with electricity.

"Be a shame if I didn't see you there," he hummed and his warm, minty breath made you press your legs together tighter. It didn't help when he skimmed his fingers against your bare thigh as he withdrew. As he turned to leave, he waved goodbye and gave you a lop-sided, charming grin. You stared dumbstruck at him, still flushing, before forcing a natural smile and waving back a little, unsure and unsteady.

Your eyes remained rooted on Johnny until he was no longer visible amongst the crowd. Heart pounding against your ribcage, you turned and hastily found the girls.

"Um, hello, who was that sexy specimen you were walking with?" Mira made a flabbergasted, incredulous face, almost like she was being personally offended that you hadn't told her anything. You laughed and shook your head, smiling at their eagerness.

"That was the DJ from last night, right?" Jinhee asked, jumping up and down excitedly as her eyes sparkled mischievously. Sowon, ever vigilant and careful, rested her soft gaze on you and patiently waited for you to continue.

"Yeah, that was him," you replied, turning to Mira as you sat down next to her and ordered a round of smoothies for the table. "And yes, I bumped into him while looking for you guys. But, you know, a coincidence."

"One hell of a coincidence, considering he might be into you, Y/N," Mira emphasized her point, jabbing you on the shoulder.

"We were just talking," you rolled your eyes. "He said he's doing another set tonight and would love it if I came by to watch him."

"Of course he did," Sowon replied, arms crossed as she pondered for a second. "If you don't go, I will officially kick your ass."

"I swear..." you shook your head and buried your face into your hands, letting out a very heavy and annoyed sigh. "He could have just been really friendly. You can't possibly know his intentions."

"The DJ literally propositioned you. He's going to rock your shit tonight and god dammit you better let him," Jinhee ordered seriously. You shot daggers at Jinhee and shook your head disapprovingly, though giggling a little at her expression. The barista brought around the smoothies and you all eagerly grabbed your share. Jinhee immediately perked up at the sight and a light in her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Let's toast to Y/N. May you have a damn good fuck tonight," she winked at you playfully.

"Or... you know, to hopefully make a new friend? I like being friends first," you suggested, avoiding looking at anyone directly, secretly regretting your decision to tell them anything. Although flustered by Johnny, there was no denying you both clicked together so easily, but you decided to avoid any obvious physical attraction until you knew him a little better.

There was something familiar and easy-going about Johnny. You enjoyed being with him and wanting more felt exciting, intimate, and even scary. Never had you experienced a near-instantaneous connection with someone as you had with Johnny. And you wanted more of him, and more of his presence.

"Oh honey. I think his end-goal is to bury that pole so deep into you, you'd feel it in your toes," Mira punctuated the thought with a naughty smile. You blushed red and rubbed your hot face. The three women burst out in laughter and were unable to control themselves. You slowly melted into the ruckus; it was impossible not to join in.

Who was Johnny Suh, really? You'll soon find out, you promised yourself.

Johnny grinned as he pumped his fist to the beat, nodding his head in time as the crowd cheered and hollered as the music pounded through the speakers. Even in the tent, the atmosphere was loud, chaotic and primal and everyone was clearly having an amazing time.

His gaze landed on you for the upteenth time throughout the set. You were standing next to him with a group of other random girls since your friends clearly pushed you to do so. Dancing away, your face had gone a little flushed and you were laughing breathlessly; obviously a little tired, a tad bit tipsy, and totally happy. For most part of the night, you would casually meet his eyes and give him a warm smile whenever you noticed he was looking at you.

You were wearing another flowy sundress, this time yellow, and you looked nothing short of radiant. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you since he saw you earlier that day and he found himself eagerly anticipating the moment you appeared. Of course, a few other girls had stepped up to the booth of their own accord, or by a friend's persuasion, but no one had turned him on as badly as you had. Their looks were attractive but the connection wasn't there. At least, not the same connection that he had with you.

Leaning towards your ear, he laughed at your deer-in-the-headlights look. "So, did your friends force you here?"

"Only a little," you shouted, unable to contain your smile.

"Lucky me, then," Johnny responded. "I'm glad you came by."

"Lucky me. I'm enjoying myself," you quickly grabbed a cup of tequila, sloppily pouring yourself a shot in the middle of all the noise, oblivious that Johnny's eyes wandered down your slender neck, and back to settle at the low dip of your dress, exposing enough cleavage.

"Glad I could make your night fun," he murmured teasingly.

"Please," you scoffed, giving him a playful smile, raising an eyebrow. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

Johnny grinned boyishly, then turned his attention to the massive crowd beneath him, bobbing his head and making sure the next selection of tracks were perfect. The next song kicked in and the sea of bodies below leapt in the air and swayed and shouted loudly. You stopped dancing and leaned back a little, watching him work diligently at his decks and you fought the urge to bite your lip.

Without glancing back, he tilted his head towards you. "Want a picture?"

"Shit. Sorry!" You let out a small snicker, blushing a bit. "You'll think I'm a total creep if I admit I'm staring at your hands."

He only grinned and shook his head, a very definite glint of appreciation evident in his eyes. Without another word, he kept working his magic, playing and sampling until your jaw literally fell. You noticed right away his entire energy changed the moment he started working. You really wanted to feel those hands on you, to explore your body, to guide you and show you what he could really do...

Damn, get your head out of the gutter.

After a few more songs, the thumping bass began to calm down a little, which in turn made the crowd respond slower. People danced at a slightly more-rested pace, making it a little easier for people who had been dancing the whole time to really appreciate the rest of the environment.

"Let's take a break!" Johnny grinned at you and gestured to the side area where no one was behind the curtain. "Come with me for a bit."

"What about your set?" You worriedly glanced over to the booth.

"My friend Yuta can hold the fort. He's excellent," Johnny offered his hand and you took it carefully, the warmth and hardness beneath his skin sending pleasant shivers up your arm. "Plus it's called 'taking a break' for a reason."

"Better enjoy it while I can," you responded playfully, although you couldn't hide the giddiness and the blush on your cheeks as he turned, guiding you away from the party atmosphere behind the privacy of the curtains and into a much quieter world. He led you away from the tent, and through the wooden decks, towards the empty beach. It was cooler as the temperature dropped, but somehow you weren't bothered.

The sound of the ocean against the quiet night was relaxing, calming.

"As much as I like my sets, sometimes a man needs to breathe," Johnny said quietly and sat down, patting the spot beside him as an invitation for you to join him. Sitting down, you pulled your knees to your chest.

"Tell me about it. I'm still not used to this party scene," you confessed. "It's not what I'm most comfortable with."

"Yet it doesn't seem to put you off," he offered as he looked around.

"Trying to live a bit on the wild side. Spice things up, you know? I've always been a very introverted person. Not the social type," you played with the pebbles beside you, idly pushing the white stones out of the way and scratching at the dry sand beneath.

"Spice it up for what?" Johnny's curiosity got the best of him. He shifted closer and bent his head down.

"I usually don't share these things with guys I just meet," you laughed. "But I've been moping over an ex, kinda just having existential breakdowns here and there, generally feeling alone in the world, so I thought...you know... now or never. Do shit while I'm here, right?"

"What a life philosophy," Johnny chuckled softly and smiled. "What happened between you two?"

"It just wasn't meant to be, I guess," you shrugged your shoulders as you hugged your knees a little tighter. "He cheated on me and pretty much made me look like a fucking fool, so that got me in the worst mental place imaginable. Took a lot of effort to get over the bullshit."

"People are assholes," Johnny agreed. "Is that why you travelled all the way out here, to forget it?"

You laughed ironically, looking up at the cloudless sky above. "Sort of. Definitely to get away. And, because my friends wanted an all-girls trip, and we did just that. There's no need to complain," you finished happily. Johnny's eyes lingered at the serene smile upon your lips and the wind swept a piece of hair from your shoulder, making him burn and want all the more for you.

The atmosphere was peaceful and it didn't take long for him to want to kiss you; you were beautiful in every sense of the word, and you were completely in your element, whether you were aware of it or not.

"Why do you travel the world, Johnny? Are you running away from something?" You looked down and at him, curious. It was Johnny's turn to laugh, and he averted his gaze, hiding his face a little.

"Always been like this. I was pretty wild, partied too much. Had a good ear for music, a natural talent," he scratched his cheek lightly. "Some people we went to school to better themselves and grew up and got normal jobs. I'm afraid I chose the reckless route. Good music makes a good party and a good party means a lot of money."

"You were a bit of a deviant," you teased.

"For a very, very long time," he nodded, turning to face you. He searched your gaze thoughtfully, pausing and seemingly pondering.

The air had become a little tense, and you could see a small furrow between his eyebrows, shifting ever so slightly at whatever emotion was going through him. You stayed silent as you shifted a little closer, resisting the urge to trace the details of his chiselled jaw and soft lips with your fingertips. His eyes flickered at the sudden closeness between you both.

"I don't think you're as bad as you claim, Johnny," you decided softly, lowering your gaze to your fidgeting fingers.

"You think so?" He murmured, barely above a whisper. "I've been thinking about settling down somewhere. Want to try and see how a normal life can work out, you know?"

"You? Settling down? What a funny thought," you chuckled teasingly, and was rewarded by his beautiful grin.

"Scary, isn't it?" Johnny laughed. "I like the tours and the parties, the music, but I'm not getting any younger. And... it can be lonely, you know? Sure, I have my friends but there are times when I crave a closer, stronger connection with someone. Someone that can listen to me, understand me and know all my thoughts, but not care because they still like me anyway, flaws and all," he admitted carefully, glancing at you for a brief moment, before his eyes drop back to your hands.

"Whoever dates you, will be an incredibly lucky person," you whispered earnestly, staring intently at him. You bit your lip shyly at the compliment. "It sounds... amazing. And fun. The person you're searching for is probably out there. Somewhere."

"I can only hope," his lips twisted into a gentle, warm smile. You felt Johnny's hand rest against your cheek, rubbing along your smooth, soft skin. Trembling, goosebumps littered your skin as his fingertips moved to tilt your chin up. His eyes darkened, pupils blown with desire as his thumb ran over your bottom lip, pulling it lightly down. Then he leaned forward, and his mouth captured yours.

Your eyelids fluttered closed and your hand rested against his muscled chest, feeling his steady heartbeat as his palm cupped your jaw. Warm and inviting, and soft, the press of Johnny's lips to your own became gentler before he withdrew carefully. Looking into your eyes, the lust and longing was evident in the shimmer of his own.

"Was that ok?" He asked, his rough voice tinged with raw restraint.

"Of course," you whispered, leaning in again and pulling him down by the hem of his shirt, placing another soft kiss on his delectable lips. Johnny didn't need any more encouragement. He drew himself in, clasping your waist and lifting you smoothly onto his lap, effectively positioning you on him. Surprised, you gasped at his brazen move. "Here? On the beach?"

Johnny grinned. "No one would find us unless they decided to take a midnight stroll. We can always stop," his large hands slowly moved to stroke your thighs. The touch burned into your flesh and made your head spin as his fingers dug into the smoothness of your skin.

Unsure, you didn't know how to reply; the thought of someone catching you didn't bother you at all, nor did the idea of it excite you. All you wanted was Johnny, Johnny, and more of his consuming heat and kisses. In an attempt to settle your growing nerves and butterflies, you lightly trailed your fingertips along his big arms, taking in the muscular beauty beneath the canvas of intricate and breathtaking tattoos.

You felt your courage rising and were growing increasingly aroused under his dark, half-lidded stare. There was no denying the effect his close proximity and smoldering gaze had on you. "What are we doing, Johnny? We just met," you whispered, the tension suddenly filling the space around you both.

"But our chemistry's off the charts," Johnny's gentle voice whispered into your ear and you shivered at the husky timbre, not bothering to hide the effect of his words. Leaning forward, he placed feather-light kisses along the column of your throat.

"You're only saying that because of what we're doing," you attempted to convince yourself. What was the rational decision at this moment? Your fingers were caressing his chiseled jaw, unable to stop, and unsure if you wanted to be stopped.

Johnny finally kissed you, slow and sweet, and your hand clutched the material of his shirt as you eagerly replied. Rough palms cupped your ass and squeezed your curves, grinding his hips against yours and you moaned into his mouth, pleasure pooling deep inside as an ache began to throb between your legs. His mouth left yours to slowly trace a path down to your collarbone, deliberately leaving light love bites, making you whimper and push your chest against his hot mouth.

"Just say stop, and I'll stop," Johnny pulled back to search your glazed eyes, seeing nothing but lust reflected there. "But fuck me, I hope you don't," he breathed softly.

"Johnny," you gasped softly, relishing in the way he kissed you so passionately, his hard and toned body melting against your softer, curvier frame. Gazing deeply into the caramel depths of his eyes, your head was swimming and your heart was fluttering. Kissing Johnny, and kissing him harder, you decided you weren't stopping.

Not now.

Not anymore.

"I've wanted to do this ever since I laid eyes on you," Johnny groaned as he gently pushed the hem of your dress up until the lacy edges of your black underwear were on show. He ran his fingers along the seams and he teased you by rolling and palming a thumb against the wet silk covering your clit. The friction made you moan wantonly, bucking into his waiting hand.

"Me too," you admitted breathlessly as his fingers slipped past the lacy fabric. "I wanted you from the second I saw you." You couldn't stop the words tumbling out, high off the way his thick fingers worked between the slippery folds. He found your clit and drew small, light circles until you were gasping and squirming.

"Then stay with me," Johnny moaned, gripping your jaw tightly with his other free hand.

"Like, right here?" You managed a laugh, gyrating your hips onto his fingers and crying out, reveling at how fantastic he felt as he continued to send soft tingles up and down your spine.

Johnny chuckled, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive patch of skin near your throat. Suddenly, you felt his thick fingers dip inside of you and the fullness made you buckle. Pressing your forehead against his shoulder, you breathed a few shaking breaths, barely registering the cool night air as he pumped into you languidly.

"Damn, why not," Johnny groaned, drawing back and grinning. You whined at the lack of his warmth and you were left wanting more. You buried your face into his neck, embarrassed at the display, kissing and licking his heated skin until a low hiss escaped through his teeth. In response, his pace increased as he found an extremely pleasurable spot.

Then, without warning, he withdrew and he lowered his hand and unbuckled his trousers, causing you to hold your breath. He pulled his zipper down and his boxers, releasing his thick, heavy cock, long and bobbing. You couldn't help but watch in lust and awe. Even as you glanced back up to him, you saw his gaze darkened and a sly, naughty smile dancing along his lips.

"Don't look so surprised," he spoke carefully, his hands gripping your waist firmly and moving you up into a better position. You obeyed without thinking, guided by his soft touches and gentle grip. Slipping your panties to the side, you steadied his length beneath you and easily sank yourself, moaning with pleasure and feeling almost high as he entered, stretching and filling you to the brim. The thickness alone sent shivers of delight coursing through your veins. You love the feeling of being filled by him. You couldn't remember the last time you felt so full. "I can make you feel so damn good."

"Oh god," was all you were able to gasp out, tilting your head back in wonderment. Johnny left one hand at the base of your spine to support you and bring you up and down as you rode him, ensuring your hips never lost pace, while the other rested against the back of your scalp, fingers burying into the silky strands of your hair as he tipped your head forward.

It was a slow yet intoxicating kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. He let out a moan as your fingers delved into his hair, pulling tightly as his mouth moved to trace a soft line of butterfly kisses down your jaw and neck. You knew the power behind that kiss wasn't just the feeling of want, need and desire and it was the silent promise, a want for you and you alone.

In that moment, it felt like nothing in the entire world mattered except for this.

"You're driving me crazy," you let out. Never had you felt this passionate attraction towards someone, and you found the sensations overwhelming. Yet, rather than pull away, you yearned to have this and experience all of him.

"It's mutual," Johnny moaned against the flushed skin of your neck. And before you knew it, you let out an appreciative sigh as his hot tongue glided along the column of your throat, trailing down the front, teasingly across the top of your breasts and drawing patterns as his hand explored the soft mounds beneath.

"Don't stop," you panted as he thrust up into you harder, the friction, heat and passion mounting. His touch alone was enough to stimulate your senses beyond repair; you just couldn't fathom that someone could set your whole body on fire by simply touching, caressing and kissing you everywhere.

"I won't," Johnny replied, the arousal and desire clear as day across his striking features, pulling back his head to marvel at the way your body moved perfectly against his, the way you clenched around his cock and gripped his shoulder.

You grasped onto his broad shoulders and let yourself fall deeper into ecstasy as you both moved in unison. Johnny shifted slightly and his tip brushed against that wondrous sweet spot. The sudden contact forced a loud, shameless moan that escaped your lips, and you both chuckled and shared a gaze that spoke more than a thousand words.

Johnny's arms supported you as you shuddered and clenched around his hard member, finding the angle where you needed it most. Bouncing harder, faster, and leaning onto him, your hair grazed the side of his forehead as you both breathed heavily, sharing moans, gasps, and blissful sighs as you chased your high.

"Johnny... fuck..." you moaned, shutting your eyes tightly and breathing deeply.

"Be a good girl and cum for me," Johnny urged, and the need and desperation was clear in his voice as he moved one hand to stroke your sensitive, swollen clit. Your insides tensed and coiled, and your nails dug deeply into the warm, bare skin of his muscular arms. Reaching your peak, you moaned his name over and over like a broken mantra and seeing you come undone, Johnny let go as well and released a broken groan of pleasure, and with one final thrust, he emptied himself within.

Breathless, you rested your head on his shoulder. Both sweaty and trembling, Johnny allowed a grin to grow on his face. Before you could find a reply, he pulled you into another intimate, tender and gentle kiss. "We have all night, you know."

"What about your set? Shouldn't we go back soon?" You asked as you suddenly came back to earth, giggling slightly.

"They'll be fine. Yuta knows what he's doing," He smirked cheekily and slowly pulled out. Pulling your panties back in place, you smoothed your dress down and shifted off of his lap, sitting properly beside him. Johnny tucked himself back into his boxers and stood up with a smug, satisfied smile, grasping your hand and pulling you up. "Let's have tonight and not worry about tomorrow."

You bit your lip and nodded, allowing him to guide you to his bungalow and take you for a second round. And a third.

The following months had gone by quickly and you still couldn't get over the fling that happened between you and that irresistible DJ.

Sure it was just one night but the memory of the intimacy, the passion and the desire were still fresh in your mind. You thought often about that hot encounter as you still hadn't quite forgotten the night on the beach. It was still vivid and there would sometimes be moments when you would catch yourself daydreaming, mentally reliving the way his fingers and lips touched you, especially on quiet nights at the cafe with friends or during slow hours when business was dead.

Smiling as you relived the precious vacation with your friends, you flipped through the countless photos on your camera, laughing and sobbing, then giggling and feeling dumb. It had been half a year since you last saw Johnny, and it would probably be an entire year before you'd see him again. After all, he travelled the world all the time, bouncing from one stage to the next.

As soon as you returned to Seoul, reality settled. Life moved on, and it was business as usual. While it was fun, and an absolute dream to have had such an incredible and wild fling with a guy so hot and passionate, life changed after the memories faded into what really mattered.

You managed to find another job at an office, this time as a higher level administrative assistant, although that came with more responsibilities and deadlines and working longer hours than ever before. After all, bills didn't pay themselves and you would definitely need to splurge now that you were suddenly single again.

It was mid-afternoon when you settled into the seat next to Mira, chattering excitedly as she talked about a new club opening downtown. "Are you free tonight?" She asked hopefully, stirring her iced coffee.

"Maybe. I have loads of work," you frowned.

"Come on, doll. You and work. It's like you're an old married couple," Mira complained and sighed, seeing the deep frown on your face.

"I hate being an adult sometimes," you frowned, Sowon patting your back.

"Only sometimes?" Sowon joked dryly.

"Most of the time," you grinned.

Jinhee pouted. "Will you please come with us? It will do you good to get out more. Do we have to drag you out again?"

"It's not good for the mind," Mira added wisely.

"I know. It's so boring and…" you started saying, until a dark shape passed the window. A large moving truck, boxes, and moving men. Some furniture. Looking outside, you noticed a man standing near the truck holding one end of a couch while another helper struggled with the other end. It didn't escape you that the man appeared huge in a way that made your breath hitch, and that familiar head of silky black hair.

He wore a deep blue silk shirt with a chunky white printed collar that didn't hide his golden skin, even from afar. The muscular frame of a well-built body underneath was easy to identify too, and somehow all those hot memories rushed back.

"Oh god," you muttered.

"Y/N? Y/N? Are you in there?" Jinhee chuckled. "Is everything alright? What are you staring at?"

"Oh my god!" You cried out, getting up from your seat and moving towards the cafe doors. Ignoring your confused friends' puzzled looks, you pushed open the doors and dashed out.

A lot of questions buzzed through your head, but the urgency to run and approach him was greater than anything else. Would it be bad if you ran right up to him and smothered him with kisses? Probably. Would it be bad if he rejected you? Definitely. And... would he even remember you?

"Hey," a gruff voice said softly from behind.

You jumped, letting out a surprised yelp as you whipped your head around. Upon seeing his face close up again, you were instantly hit by a sudden wave of hot memories. Heat made its way up to your face and you blushed from embarrassment.

How could anyone forget that face? It had been six months, but you would recognize it anywhere. Those beautiful, brown eyes gazing at you, tender and hopeful. That full mouth, making all sorts of naughty promises. And his thick locks, disheveled and sexy.

How did he look as perfect as that one night you met him? You had no idea. Maybe everything was just a dream. It was definitely too good to be true. But here, seeing him again... somehow everything felt right, like the gears had clicked into place. His simple presence eased the loneliness in your heart, and it only made you long for him more than ever.

"Hi," you replied weakly, suddenly aware of your fast heartbeat.

Johnny grinned widely, walking closer to you as he dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "What's wrong? It's like you've seen a ghost."

"Oh. Just wondering if I would run away. Or hug you. Either one," you managed to grin, blushing harder. The smell of him and the way his scent lingered around you felt comfortable and nostalgic. The warmth was a familiarity that you had no idea you craved again until it happened, and you wanted to fall headfirst back into it.

"Well, are you going to do either one? I wouldn't mind the second," there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Hmm..."

Johnny couldn't help but laugh as he stepped forward again, approaching your still form. Then, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him and hugging you.

"Yeah, this feels more like it," Johnny's voice vibrated through him, his touch alone bringing up overwhelming, vivid flashbacks. It was almost as if time had stopped in that small space, and everything blurred out of focus and only your mind processed his scent, his warmth, and his embrace. "Miss me?"

You clutched his shirt tightly and leaned your cheek against the hard muscles beneath, giggling madly at the sudden flurry of happiness enveloping you. "I can't believe you're here."

"Surprise," he laughed.

"I had no idea you were moving out here. Since when did you put down roots? With... neighbors and paying taxes and everything? I didn't think it was your style," you said curiously, pulling back to admire him up close.

"It's definitely not," Johnny snorted. "But I told you I moved around too much and thought the constant living out of a suitcase was finally getting to me."

"Is that so?" you said.

Johnny tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Well, I had to put down the roots somewhere."

"And that led you here," you breathed. "Are you close?"

Johnny looked up at the building behind him. "Just moved into the building right here. Third floor, 18C."

"Really? I live on the sixth floor. Apartment 23B" your heart skipped a beat.

"Damn, that's close too," he mused.

"Very," you let out a small laugh. "The odds..."

"Life can be amusing," Johnny chuckled, his big hand closing around yours. "After meeting you, I got to thinking about priorities. Wondered what the future looked like. Then, I thought about you. Maybe being just a bit self-indulgent can't be that bad, huh?"

"Nope. It definitely isn't," you giggled, gripping his hand tightly. Gazing up into the pool of rich, dark caramel, a warm fuzzy sensation pooled deep inside your stomach.

"Your friends are staring," Johnny whispered in your ear, making your knees weak.

Looking over his shoulder, you saw the three women watching your exchange. They averted their gaze quickly and all of them suddenly had a keen interest in their coffee. Your entire face warmed in a crimson blush and you hid your face against his chest again, smelling that wonderful musk and spice coming off him.

"Let's give them a show," he laughed, dipping his head down to kiss you, ignoring your small protests, holding you tightly as you giggled against his lips.

"What are we doing?" you murmured against his lips, kissing him back. "Are we really doing this again?"

"Something like that," Johnny grinned back. "But this time, with more nights and mornings."

"And everything else in between?" You added jokingly.

Johnny shrugged and pretended to frown. "Unfortunately."

"Good. You wouldn't want to get rid of me now, would you?" You teased, draping your arms around his neck.

The grin returned. "Hell no. One night was never enough."

There was no response or argument, no hesitation. He had shown up back into your life, having been hundreds and thousands of miles away, and it didn't seem at all far-fetched now as he stood here with his arms wrapped firmly around you.

It may have seemed sudden, or fast, or simply just impulsive and reckless, but it didn't feel wrong, and at least for this moment, nothing was going to change the fact that it felt very, very right. A rush of happiness engulfed you and your heart was lighter than it ever had been in a very long time.

And this, this, was undeniably where you wanted to be.

#keopihausnet #group: nct #member: nct johnny #smut #mdni #dj au #r: ☕☕☕#10k+#oneshot #xomakara

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dizzybevvie · 1 year ago

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boy how do you reblog such great things

been cultivating my dash for years. i also found most of them in my drafts

#looked at my drafts to find a Rb about my day / the boy i like (☕) BUT. IT ATE JT LMAO POST IS GONE #however i will do it here and now #SO IT WAS “CULTURE DAY” TODAY BUT MOST PPL USE IT AS NON UNIFORM DAY #I go in & see ☕ in form and go to assembly blah blah blah dont see him again until 3rd period #i sit behind him in english bc we have a room change and i have an excuse hes sososo funny and talks to me like the whole time #same as biology but he got kicked out for talking too much lol #then at lunch he disappears nd im a little bummed BUT HE APPEARS FROM THE HALL AND INVITES ME #so i go and bring my friends too and we sit while he & some younger years dance #and hes dancing and slaying etc etc all flamboyant /pos /pos /pos sometimes on the stage sometimes near us #near us he looks. fucking DEAD into my eyes and sings along to the song when its like “i know you like me” or sum #NDJSBDJSBE AHHHHH #and im sat a little away from the group but he sits with me specifically #friendgroup takes a pic without me really noticing & my friend Annabelle jokingly goes “why is Bev looking at ☕ with so much love”#I laugh it off. but ohhh ny god u have no idea. i was heart eyes motherfucker the whole time #HES SO CUTE IM SCREAAAAMING WITH THE WAY HIS KIPPAH KINDA MOVES HIS HAIR & HIS NEW GLASSES & SHIRT THAT ISNT UNIFORM SO I CAN SEE HIS WAIST #UGHFJSBSKSB MY GOD MY GOD MY GOD #hes so cool its so scary to be around him #then in PE we were meant to habe just dance for the last 2 weeks but theres been no available room #our group were in the gym but we got permission to wonder around instead #☕ says “whatre you doing?” i say “walking aimlessly” and he says “OH MY GOD PERFECT SAME LETS DO IT TOGETHER”#so him & me & my friends r walking and then im like. can we play just dance in the tennis courts #So he gets it on his phone starts playing and dibs me as a partner for Girlfriend and Timber. oh my sweet lord.#GODDD HES SO PRETTY AND FUNNY AND COOL IM OBSESSED WITH HIM OH MY GOD.#so anyway. thats the answer to your question LMAOOO #loz tag #asks #beverly says stuff #the bev is gay chronicles #☕#like before i wasnt sure if i LIKE-LIKED him or if it was hyperfix or smthn. im now 100%sure i really really like him

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asheanon · 2 years ago

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Twenty seven thousand smiling Sal faces and it still isn't enough. Ffs...

#thought for the day ☕#Sal 🌌🎹#I want M O R E #there is so much nuance to the smile #man #I'm tellin' ya #sometimes #a situation calls for a very specific sort of Sal smile #and I learn this as I interact with y'all #which...#sorry it takes me a while to respond #at times #I have to create a face for it #(or spend months struggling to -face- it - haha - and give up)#😆

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keopihaus · 2 months ago

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Grab a cup of coffee and settle in—newly added: Warning Signal [J.WW] by @hannieoftheyear

Warning Signal [J.WW]

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

In a treacherous turn of events, your most recent mission gets tangled with Wonwoo's, the last person you'd want to partner up with.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!fem reader

word count: 26,2k

genre: criminal au, heist au, exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut.

MINORS DON'T INTERACT! YOU'LL BE BLOCKED

content warnings: (read all of them pls, the list is long for a reason): unethical characters, graphic descriptions of violence, vague descriptions of what their "job" is, wonwoo's a menace, betrayal, jealousy, pet names, shitty family dynamics, criminal acts, stalking, spying, manipulation, invasion of privacy (planting microphones, mention of hacking home security cameras), use of fake names, fake identities, stealing, poisoning (not deadly), puke, both wonwoo and mc start fires, use of guns, multiple fight scenes, injuries, blood, murder (implied and explicit), death (not the main characters), happy ending | explicit smut, teasing, manhandling, marking, fingering (f rec.), unprotected penetration (they're stupid, you shouldn't be!), creampie, multiple orgasms.

gentle reminder: this is a fictional work, it doesn't represent how any of the real people mentioned are like in real life

note: i really can't believe i wrote this much off of a 5 minute dream i had a year ago

dividers used

hope you like this, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!

The woman a few tables from yours sighs loudly. She’s been waiting at this almost empty cafe for over half an hour, but the person she’s expecting shows no signs of life. Her lipstick-stained coffee mug sits empty while she stares at the phone in her hand, annoyed more than anything else. Her curly auburn hair tied in an elegant bun is now a little disheveled compared to when she walked in. She’s dressed way too nicely for this run-down cafe, with high-heels that could trigger your fear of heights and a floor-length scarlet dress, matching her glam makeup that was definitely done by a professional makeup artist. The looks she receives from the cafe staff evidence how out of place she is.

The waiter comes up to her table to get her the check, but she ushers him away as her ringtone echoes across the room. You barely hear the words leaving her lips, but her tired expression and desperate-like body language gives it away.

She rolls her eyes, mad at the person on the other side of the line, and throws a couple of bills on the table, grabbing her big purse tightly as she walks away in a rush. You do the same, in a less showy way, thanking the staff as you step out the door. The sky marvels in a dark shade of azure, the sun setting behind the tall buildings. The wave of people makes it hard to focus, but you see the red hair a few meters ahead and follow it.

People bump into you as you rush past them, and a few shouts are directed your way, but pedestrian education is not a priority right now. The woman steps into a mall without looking back, blocks away from the original meet up place. It’s a gallery-like mall, with very few shops open and even fewer people doing the shopping. Two out of three ceiling lights don’t work, and the AC hums a little too loudly in the hallway, contributing to the eerie atmosphere.

You maintain your distance, close enough to track her movements but far enough so she won’t notice a presence shadowing her. She doesn’t look lost nor appalled, like she knows exactly where the person over the phone told her to go, like it’s not her first time going in there.

When she finally steps into a tattoo shop, your feet direct you to the one just in front, an antique store that’s so empty, it doesn’t even have a cashier on the clock at the moment. The lights are just dim enough so that you’re well hidden from the outside, contrary to the tattoo place, with blinding white led lights that allow you to see every detail of what’s happening inside. The man that opened the glass door for her checks the hallway before closing the door and putting up the closed sign.

From where you stand, behind some old clocks and piles of yellow-paged books, you have a perfect view of the woman’s interaction with the sketchy man. She opens her purse, which she was protecting vigorously at the café, and shows him what’s in it with a smirk. But before he has the chance to sneak his hand in, she hides the bag behind her back and tells him something you can’t quite decipher, but it definitely annoys him.

“Found what you were looking for?”

A voice right behind you triggers your fight response, but the sight of the man behind you causes nothing more than disgust.

“Not with your help, that’s for sure.”

Your eyes roll almost on instinct as you keep surveilling the interaction on the other side of the hallway, trying your best to ignore the annoying presence that’s now by your side.

“I know you don’t need any help.”

It’s unclear whether he means it or not.

“It sure doesn’t look like it.” Your eyes don’t leave your target for a second more, you need more information on this man she’s meeting, but the human of the same specimen behind you is getting on your nerves simply by existing around your personal space. “What are you doing here?”

“Doing my job, what else would I be doing?”

That’s funny.

“So now your job is to keep tabs on me and make sure I don’t screw up?”

“Listen, this might not be easy for you to understand, but not everything I do revolves around you.”

“Really? Then why is it that you followed me here? Enlighten me.”

“Your first mistake is thinking I followed you. I’ve been here for over half an hour.” Your mouth agapes for a second before you realize that you just showed him how surprised you were. “You didn’t see me when you came in? Either I got better or you got worse, don’t know which one I prefer.” The smirk translates clearly through his words.

“I was too focused and didn’t inspect the room, blah blah, I don’t need a lecture, especially not from you.”

You take your second phone and start snapping pictures of the meet up after checking the flash isn’t on.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m doing my job, Wonwoo, Isn’t it obvious?”

You’re usually cautious when saying someone’s name on the job, but you’re tired, enough time dealing with the bullshit he left behind to put up with him any longer.

“No, I’m doing this job.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

You finally turn to him, annoyed, angry, drained. You haven’t seen him in months, and you weren’t planning on ever seeing him again. Not since the damn day he almost got you killed. And this is your very first interaction? Him taking over your assignment? Like hell you’re gonna let him.

“I’m in charge of Elias over there.”

His eyes point to the same tattoo shop, and you don’t even have to look back before the neurons in your brain click. You could be relaxed that he’s not after the same person as you, but that just means your jobs are, once again, intertwined.

“I’m in charge of Cecilia over there.” He understands immediately.

You don’t tell him the real reason you're after Cecilia, and he doesn’t tell you anything about Elias either.

“Well, this is sure gonna be fun.”

“This is not gonna be anything.”

Thinking of working with him again puts a bad taste in your mouth, alerting you that it wouldn’t turn out to be a good choice.

“I have all the info on the man you need, you have all the info on the woman I need, c'mon, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“You don’t have anything I can’t get on my own.”

The white light suddenly turns off, leaving only the few working hallway light bulbs to see into the mall, and both of you turn your heads to the side. The man and the woman split up, heading opposite ways, walking as fast as they could, away from each other, from the mall and from you.

In a rush of getting away from the antique shop, and a new need to do this job better, your feet set to keep following the redhead on her way back, but a hand grabs your wrist as soon as you step foot out the door.

“C’mon baby, don’t get mad at me.” Baby? You haven’t heard that from him in a while.

The cold wall hits your back as Wonwoo puts his hand on the side you almost use to escape. He's too close. But why? The familiar cologne he’s obsessed with is already reaching all your surroundings, and he’s all you can see.

“I know I should’ve asked you before but,” this interaction is getting more and more confusing, and you can only stare at him, puzzled and angry, “Don’t you think that cute elephant statue would look good in our home?”

You almost chuckle before you realize he’s doing a bit. He noticed something's off and is putting up an act to cover for the both of you. His arms hide your faces just perfectly from any prying eyes.

“You can’t just spend ten thousand dollars without telling me!” His face doesn’t change, but a glimmer of satisfaction flashes through his eyes. “What about the money we’re saving for the baby?”

“I already told you! My podcast is about to take off and I’ll be a millionaire in no time! You have to trust me!” A cackle fights to get out, but you quickly overcome it.

“You’ve been saying that for over two years! You have three listeners! And one of them is your mom!”

“She told me she’ll get her knitting friends to listen too, we’re going to be popular with the ladies!”

Wonwoo shifts away from you slightly, that way you’re able to see into the hallway and check if it’s empty already.

“They’re gone.”

Your hand pushes his chest away and he stumbles back with a chuckle. You don’t want to stay and hear what he has to say, and your legs are already walking in the woman’s direction. It’s not in your plans to ever get involved again with Wonwoo, and there’s nothing he could possibly have gathered about that man that you can’t also find out.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.”

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you, until you stop walking and force yourself to face him.

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.”

You couldn’t trust him even if you got offered a million dollars, if you were in a desert and he was the only person with a glass of water. That thrill he used to feel when you worked together, that he’s dying to get back, you’re making sure he doesn’t come close to feeling again. It’s unbelievable that he's even offering it so nonchalantly, like all of this wasn’t his fault to begin with.

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts.

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?”

From all the times he tried to apologize before you cut him off completely, this must be the most outrageous one. How could you possibly understand getting betrayed by the one person you trusted the most, who you once thought was the love of your life.

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.”

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do is rat you out right this second.”

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” His brow quirks, like he must think he's being funny

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.”

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.

“Let’s just… see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer so quickly.

If the years of knowing him help you for anything, it’s to realize that under the layers of teasing, he’s desperate for your help. There’s a large probability of him already encountering you over the time passed, but he chose now to get close to you again, to ask for your help, in his own way.

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?”

His smirk grows, knowing what your question means. “That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.”

“Are you being serious?”

It’s hard to trust him, no matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself again.

“Dead serious. I promise.”

A year before.

The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting in that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors.

He huffed at her, but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were less and less people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information.

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening.

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated.

“You shouldn’t be here, it’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible to not stand out in that crowd.

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover.

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?”

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here, he’s supposed to be meeting someone.”

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips.

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose.

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.”

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it.

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”

Hidden in the back seat of the car, guarded by the polarized windows, your breath is controlled and eyes are focused as you see into the first-floor window of the house across the street. There stands Cecilia, being very expressive while talking to a person standing just by the sheer curtain, making it impossible for you to see them.

She’s walking back and forth around the room, switching between listening attentively to the other person and giving feedback. Behind her, there’s a large desk filled with incomplete paperwork and empty water bottles, but the particular clean envelope you’ve been observing for days catches your attention. It looks so out of place there.

Cecilia's face lights up as she receives a call and answers it staring happily at the person in front of her. The call ends quickly after, not a lot of talking done, but she looks satisfied with what she heard.

As she grabs the envelope to read the message inside, the other person stands close to her, his face still not visible from your point of view. Taking in account all you have gathered, his height and deep black hair with a fresh undercut, plus what Wonwoo sent you over these past few days, that man most probably is Elias.

Adjusting your position just slightly, you try to get a better look at the envelope that’s now in the hands of your target. You take your phone out, camera settings at the highest possible quality and flash turned off, so you can later analyze every detail. Only a few pictures save on your gallery before they turn the lights off and step out that room into the inside of the house you can’t see.

You can’t help feeling like you’re not the only one outside on the street, but after a quick look around the empty road and sidewalk, nothing seems out of place. The parked cars were all there way before you got here, and not a soul walks on either side. But that warning signal on the back of your mind doesn’t turn off. And it turns out you’re right, because a knock on the window makes you jump.

Wonwoo stands just outside the passenger seat, hands inside his pockets and an insufferable smug expression.

“How the fuck did you find me? This isn’t even my car.”

“I still know all your tactics babe, now would you let me in? We need to talk.” You know it’s not safe for him to stand out there for too long, where anyone could notice him, so you open the door to the back seats of the car and reluctantly let Wonwoo in. “Wait, you didn’t see me? You really don’t know how to look out, don’t you?” You’re sure you can see the inside of your skull from how hard you roll your eyes. He’s so fucking smug about everything, you’d punch him.

“Why did you come here? You could’ve been seen.” If Wonwoo knew where you were, you can only assume he’s been surveilling Elias all day too, and came to Cecilia’s house just after him.

“I wanted to have a little meeting, and they aren’t watching right now.” Great. He’s not going to leave the car anytime soon.

“Fine, what did you want to talk about?” With him, sometimes it's better to accept defeat and do whatever he wants so it ends faster.

“What is it that she has that you’re after?” You haven’t had that conversation, and it's surprising that he’s even bringing it up.

“We aren’t allowed to discuss that and you know it.” You aren’t looking at him, choosing to keep your eyes on the house in case anything happens. There aren’t really rules when it comes to two separate jobs getting involved with one another, but you’ve learned the hard way that it makes things messy.

“There are a lot of things we're doing that we aren’t supposed to.”

“It’s not relevant to the plan.”

“C’mon, why don't you wanna tell me?” You know he’s pouting, because he’s not getting what he wants and to try to convince you, but that doesn’t work anymore.

“Why do you wanna know so badly? Is there something in it for you?”

“We're working together and I’m just curious.”

“Well, like I said, it’s not relevant, and it’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

“You’ve done a lot of things, that doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“Just drop it will you? You don't see me asking about yours.” For the first time in your life, he actually shuts up when you ask him to.

Finally in silence again, you can watch the house in peace as Wonwoo gets more bored by the second. Cecilia and Elias have been doing god knows what on the back of the house for a while now, but the security cameras she has set up are easily hackable, and if anything happens, you have that last resort.

“How have you been?” Wonwoo doesn’t last and disrupts the silent atmosphere in a matter of minutes.

His lazy try to get on your good side again doesn’t go ignored. But sometimes, you wish he’d do something different, prove that you can actually trust him, not engaging in meaningless talking to make you unconsciously open up.

“I’m busy, Wonwoo.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“Well then, I don’t want to talk to you.” Working alongside Wonwoo is barely something manageable, you’re not about to engage in whatever “friendly” conversation he wishes for.

“Are you seeing someone? Is that why you don’t want to talk to me?” He can’t be serious.

“Sure, that’s why. Not because you fucking ruined my life.” You try to be cold, you try to be dry and not let him get to you, but his nerve is astonishing.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I did it becaus–”

“And how many times do I have to say that I don’t care? You chose to set me up, you chose to betray me. You can’t expect me to be all smiley and nice and talk to you like you’re my friend.”

“I just want to know how you’re doing, it’s good that you’re working again.” You’d kick him out of your car if it wasn’t for the unwanted attention you’d receive.

“You don’t deserve to know anything about my life, not anymore.”

“I know I don't.” A glimpse of something similar to regret flashes through his factions, but there’s no time to question it.

A loud sound and two voices draw your attention back to the house, and you both instinctively crouch on your seat. Cecilia and Elias get into his car and drive away fast, not looking back. But you’re not in a rush to follow them, as the most important information at the moment is currently in your gallery. The pictures you took of the envelope aren’t the best, but if you zoom just a little, you could make out the words.

“Should we follow them?”

“I think I know where they’re going.” He doesn’t respond, but rather looks at you in silence expecting you to tell him everything without asking. You don’t forget to roll your eyes before answering, “Like I told you yesterday, she got this envelope in the mail a few days ago, and has been keeping it safe until your guy got here this morning.”

You show him that you managed to take pictures of it, knowing he’s thinking to himself that they’re blurry as hell. But before he could take a real look, you snatch your phone away.

“So? What does it say?” Wonwoo’s deep voice goes through one ear and out the other. You’re trying to enhance the picture and he only wants to bother you, making a whole show while moving around on the back seat to sit closer to you.

“It’s an invitation to some kind of event, it might be where they’re doing the exchange. Do you think the boss can–”

“Get us an invitation? Yeah, I'm on it.” He’s already grabbing his phone to make the call before you finish talking.

The warning signal reappears at the back of your mind at the interaction. Is Wonwoo calmly going to let the boss know you’re working together again? Does your boss already know? But there’s no way he'd be okay with that. Suddenly, very little makes sense, and the paranoia invades your every thought. But Wonwoo gets his call picked up, and he can't notice you going crazy.

“Invitations,” you make sure to highlight the ‘s’ at the end as you show him the finally enhanced photo, “looks like a week-long fancy thing, hope you have clothes that don’t look like they haven’t been washed in over a week.”

“I fixed my washing machine.” He covers the phone’s microphone to whisper and then continues explaining the details to the event. Something stings deep down. A remainder of how things used to be between you. When you could trust him. When you loved him. When you thought he loved you too.

“That’s good.” No snarky response this time. Only a bigger need for the interaction, and the job, to be over so you can go back to your Wonwoo-less life.

The key turned with a click sound, almost impossible to hear with all the noise that was coming from inside the apartment. Thudding sounds, like a machine stumping on the ground and against the walls, and a string of curses filled your ears as you took the first steps inside. The wired hanger on your hand, heavy with fancy clothes for that night, dropped flat on the couch when you saw the door to the laundry room was open, noises and curses getting louder and louder the closer you got to it. The floor leading to the room was shiny, covered in what seemed to be soapy dirty water.

“Fuck! This fucking machine!”

Wonwoo was kneeling on the floor, pants completely wet and hands scooping foam out of the washing machine as the dryer shook furiously to the rhythm of his curses. A few wet clothing items were scattered around the dirty floor, while the rest hid under all the bubbles Wonwoo fought to get out, even if it seemed that every time he took a scoop out, the mountain of dirty foam only got bigger.

He didn’t hear you come in, helplessly focused on cleaning up as best he could, and getting more and more frustrated in the process. He scrunched his nose in confusion at something, his glasses slipped further down his nose, and his instinct told him to fix them with his foam-covered hand, resulting in a cute boop of bubbles on the tip of his nose.

Your giggle shot his head to look your way, with a pout that almost made you hate the metal artifact causing him trouble. His body relaxed immediately at the sight of you, and he sat down on the floor, completely giving up his task.

“What happened here?” Your words came out mixed with tiny giggles, increasing his pout by 100%. Kneeling on the floor by his side, the dirty water cooled your legs uncomfortably.

“I think I need a new washer.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, laying you down on his lap so you wouldn’t be able to escape when his hand approached your face and left a matching blob of foam on your nose. “Or maybe, you can finally let me move into your apartment and then I won't have any problems.”

“Acting like you weren’t the one who told me ‘We can’t baby, it’s too dangerous’ when I asked!” Your impression of his low voice triggered a smile across Wonwoo’s face, and an irresistible urge to lower his head and connect his lips with yours.

“You’re right, but I was also right.” You didn’t care that he brushed your hair back with his wet fingers, caught up in the look in his eyes as he said those words, warm yet hurt, with thoughts racing through them that couldn’t be vocalized. He was right, you both knew your relationship would never be normal, yet still chose to move forward with it, hoping that your love for each other would be enough.

“Do you have anything clean for tonight?” Ignoring that one aspect of your relationship became the number one rule for you, not ready for what thinking too much about it could result in.

“There’s the black shirt I wore yesterday.” His eyes didn’t leave your face, scanning it as if trying to remember every little detail.

“Babe,” your head tilted against his thigh with judgement, “you fixed your car yesterday.”

“So? The oil is basically the same color as the shirt, you can’t even see it.” He laughed, knowing it wasn’t true.

“Let’s just hope it’s dark inside so no pretentious douchebag from that side of town can notice.” He chuckled at your little rant, and the sound almost made you forget what you were saying.

“I love how mad you get at rich people.” Forgetting the time crunch and the state of the room you were in, Wonwoo flipped you onto the wet floor, his lips quickly taking over yours as he slotted between your legs.

The easiness in which he had you melting for him, not caring about your uncomfortable wet back against the cold floor, was your one and only weakness. There were no problems when your limbs were tangled with his, when his chest flushed against yours and your breathings synchronized.

But the outside world didn’t care about your little bubble, and when a new wave of foam rushed out of the washing machine, you were forced to stop whatever the kiss was growing into. Getting up in between laughs and unplugging the machine, the need to shower outgrew the pounding of your heart.

“I’m going to take a shower and get dressed, you should do the same or we’ll be late.” Your wrist got taken when you started walking away, and Wonwoo twirled you back until you were in his arms again.

“I’m happy to join you if that’s what you’re saying.” Your head fell back with a smile, but before you could reply, his hands tightened on your waist, “It’s to save time!” You both knew it wasn’t true, but you were unable to say no to him, and he was unable to keep his hands off of you for too long.

Doesn’t matter how many you infiltrate, the events that rich people attend only to show off their money will always amaze you.

You've studied the way these people dress, talk, walk, act, everything. And you manage to blend in seamlessly, stepping out of the limousine in your mahogany floor-length dress, the driver’s hand waiting to take yours and help you out, and one of the hotel's staff getting your bag out the trunk. Rich people don’t carry bags, don’t drive their own car, and they especially don’t waste the opportunity to wear their most expensive luxury clothing to any event they’re invited to.

There’s little to no media coverage, not even one camera pointing at the people getting off the cars, weird judging the size of the event and the long list of attendees you were sent earlier, but at least it saves you the effort of disguising and keeping a low profile.

The act starts as soon as both of your feet are on the ground and your rented limousine drives away. Paying no attention to your surroundings, walking as nonchalantly as you can, you follow the obnoxious red carpet laid on the way to the hotel’s entrance. These arrangements can get so corny sometimes.

Inside the reception, at least fifty people are scattered around the entire floor, either sitting on the many expensive looking couches and matching chairs, or walking to their rooms with their personal luggage boy behind them. Not one face surprises you, no one you knew was in the invitation list, and you did background checks on anyone that sounded suspicious. Everyone’s just another millionaire stranger that doesn’t know they’re a piece in your game.

The long reception desk has no line, and the workers behind it seem already bored of everything going on. You take the chance to go up to them and get your room key.

“Good evening mam, how may I help you?” The blonde girl straightens her posture when she sees you walk up to her.

“Hi!” Looking straight into her eyes, she visibly relaxes at your loosened-up demeanor, contrasting to every previous person she’s helped during the day. “Could I just get my room keys? I can’t stand this any longer, I need to go and take a nap.”

No one here is being kind nor nice to them, and that’s the key to getting the staff's trust. Stand out, talk to them like they’re people, and most importantly, don’t portray that obnoxious rich person's personality.

“Of course! Could I get your last name?”

“Roberts, Marissa Roberts, with two ‘s’.” Your fake ID is in your hand, ready for the girl to take, but she ignores it, going straight to look you up in the system.

While she goes to look for your room card through the endless pile of rooms that haven’t checked in yet, a strong presence stands beside you, speaking to the other receptionist. His voice manages to reach your ears even with all the murmur around you.

You don’t want to look at him, turning your head and acknowledging his presence now is too risky. But when the redheaded receptionist goes back to find his room card, leaving you alone at the desk, he’s the one that faces you, giving you no choice but to follow his lead.

“Nice day, huh?” You can’t ignore him, it’ll be weirder if you don’t reply.

“It’s cloudy with a 90% chance of rain.” Trying your best to sound as dry and not interested as possible, you eye him for a split of a second before the receptionist brings back his key. What’s taking so long with yours?

“You staying for the whole charity week?” You know the act he’s trying to put up. Planting the idea that he’s interested in you so it won’t be suspicious when you talk during the different events taking place over the week.

“Yeah,” luckily, you’re interrupted by the blonde receptionist finally bringing your room key, and by an impatient man standing behind Wonwoo, huffing when he doesn’t immediately move, keeping the newly formed line from moving.

“I’ll be seeing you then.” He’s then off with a wink and enchanted sighs from both of the girls behind the desk.

You used to be like them, easily swooned by his natural charm. His deep, teasing voice could make even the meanest and coldest soul fall to their knees. You used to love hearing it, be it in small talk over coffee as you got to know each other, cleverly planning a robbery you were hired to do together, with his arm around your shoulders as he softly talked to drift you to sleep, or whispering dirty nothings in your ear with his body pressed against yours. Now, there was nothing. Even hatred was starting to fade away, leaving nothing but indifference. You don’t care if he’s happy or sad, alive or dead, you only care about finishing the job and moving on with your life.

As you’re being handed your card, the nostalgia for something that can no longer exist rubs off your body, and you see the opportunity to continue the act.

“What room is he staying in?” You try to sound as playful as possible, pretending you were just playing hard to get. Because you’re aware that, not only the receptionists, but also the boy carrying your bag just behind you and probably a few people down the line, heard the whole interaction.

“We can’t disclose the guests’ information.” She seems more friendly now, but it’s better not to push your luck for now.

“Right, sorry yeah, I totally get it. Guess I’ll have to find him tonight.” She chuckles as you walk away, heading for the elevator to go up to the 6th floor.

The room was carefully chosen, on the same floor, same hallway as Cecilia's, but not the one right in front of hers, so you can keep tabs on her without being too obvious. Room 606, just above 506, where Wonwoo's staying, same floor and hallway as his target, just like you.

There’s one hour left before the welcoming toast, the first event of many to come, and where everything begins. The countdown of days until the final night, the charity auction that could potentially change your life.

The hotel’s dining hall is arranged with hundreds of tables, with matching scarlet chairs and big beautiful centerpieces. A theater-like stage catches your attention, with the curtains pulled down as if you were here for a show. But your amazement for the grandness of the place is cut short due to the realization that no one else coming in is giving the room a second look. They’re not surprised, they’re used to these kinds of things, and you have to become one of them.

With short and slow steps, you analyze the room you’ll be spending plenty of time in, remembering any possible hiding spots and ways out, blind spots, and if possible, your target’s favorite tables to hang out at.

In the look for her auburn hair, you see her figure sitting at one of the tables right on the center of the hall, talking with a short-haired woman. Her black bob so perfect that one would think she just cut it before coming down. It seems to be a fairly nice conversation, not a lot of smiling, but there’s not one second where they’re in silence. You’ll do some digging on her once you’re back in your room.

Cecilia has her back turned on the table right by her side, where Elias is sitting, listening to a few old men in dark blue suits. They’re pretending to not know each other, but why? He looks bored, nodding when one of the men looks at him for confirmation, and checking his watch way too often. Either he’s wishing for the conversation to be over, or he’s waiting for something.

Like clockwork, a younger guy, just as tall as Elias but with honey blond hair and thick black rim glasses, approaches his table and asks if he can talk to him privately. More relaxed, Elias apologizes profusely and walks away with the new guy. You don’t see him, but you know Wonwoo is trailing behind them. You’ll ask him about that later, but for now, it’s time for you to do your part.

The one and only rule you’re given when doing these jobs is simple: you can’t engage with your target. You can’t talk to them, maybe a polite nod or a ‘thank you’ if absolutely necessary, according to the interaction, but in no way you can have a conversation with them. You’re given the liberty of planning, you can ask for help if needed, but you must remain a stranger to your target. It seems fairly easy, but there are cases like these, where there’s so much noise not even sitting at a table less than two feet away is close enough for you to hear the conversation. Sometimes using a little loophole is inevitable.

A quick glance at Cecilia’s table provides you with what you need. Her slightly open purse is hanging loosely by her arm, and any time someone passes by and bumps into it, she doesn’t even feel it. As she stands up to go ask for another drink, her fourth one of the night, your opportunity arises.

You get up, grabbing a random empty champagne glass from your table, and start walking with very little balance. Your steps almost intertwine with Cecilia’s, and when you almost trip, you pretend to grab onto her arm and slip a tiny microphone inside her purse. The device looks and works exactly like an airpod, but it’ll send hourly recordings straight to your second phone for 24 hours.

Cecilia barely pays attention to you, and you apologize right after getting up, but she doesn’t even look at you, just continues with her walk and shares a weird look with her friend. No one around you really notices the interaction, and even if they did, they’ll forget by tomorrow.

As you look up from the floor, the first thing you see is Wonwoo, and he raises his eyebrows teasingly when your gazes connect. Your first instinctive reaction is to roll your eyes. You hate to be observed, and even if this is a tactic you’ve done a few times with his knowledge, it feels almost taunting to see him so composed after not having to break the rules to listen to his target.

The bar by the door calls your name, and now that you have a way of spying on Cecilia’s conversations from afar, you let yourself have one singular drink. But the time of peace you thought you could have is interrupted.

“Can I have one of what she’s having?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds dangerously close to you, and when you look to your side, your suspicions are correct, as he’s sitting on the barstool to your right.

You always wondered how he managed to do this job. The key thing is always to blend in, be forgettable, not draw attention, and he does none of those things. Wonwoo is tall and broad and the suits he wears always fit him just right, quickly making him receive lust-filled stares and dreamy sighs, and he walks around leaving a trail of people in awe because of his looks. Tonight is no exception. The woman sitting at the other end of the bar is eyeing him like he’s a piece of candy, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, focusing on you until you make eye contact.

“Cheers.” He lifts the drink the bartender just gave him, not even sparing her one glance, and she walks away to serve other people, disappointed after not getting his attention. You give him a light nod and lift your drink as well in acknowledgment. “So, what brings you here?”

“Aren’t we all here for the same reason?” You speak softly, with a light smirk meant to tease him. He knows you’re forced to follow his lead, but if this is the act he wants to put out, you’re not going to make it that easy.

“I was hoping you’d say for me.” Wonwoo's words actually surprise you, his sultry tone making your stomach turn against your will, like it has countless times before because of him.

“I don’t even know your name.” You chuckle lightly and sip on your drink, to check on your surroundings but also to avoid Wonwoo’s eyes.

“Ryan, Ryan Cohen, pleasure to meet you.” Wonwoo grabs your hand and kisses the top of it.

Surrounded by people who must believe your act, and the combination of alcohol and an empty stomach in your system blurs the lines just a tiny bit. Nothing is letting you react the way you thought it would to him pulling off something like this. The lines are there for a reason, and the act it’s still just that, an act. You won’t forget what he did to you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan,” from the corner of your eye, you see Cecilia leaving the hall with a man you haven’t seen before, and that new problem rapidly escalates to the top of your priorities, “but unfortunately, I’m calling a night for today. I have important business to do tomorrow.”

“Wait, I didn’t get your name!” He really nails the put together yet slightly desperate persona.

“I’ll see you around.” You only smirk before turning around and disappearing from his sight.

You’re finally able to breathe correctly when you leave the dinner hall. The heavy atmosphere was starting to make you hallucinate things. For a split of a second, you forgot the real reason you were there, and that can’t happen.

To go upstairs, you wait until the elevator where Cecilia and mystery man hopped on closes its doors, and then you go and press the button to go up. It wouldn’t be weird if it was just a hookup, as it's a normal thing to happen at these kinds of cocktail events, but you still should check it out.

The bouncer at the door crossed his arms with a deadly poker face, shaking his head after Wonwoo’s third plea to let him come in.

You knew his obviously dirty clothes weren’t gonna do it. The people in line, all wearing luxury clothing to present themselves as something worthy, looked at him up and down multiple times, judging him and commenting about his horrendous outfit with their friends. Even a few pity looks were thrown your way. People at those types of clubs cared too much about looks, about wearing the perfect expensive outfit for their night out. You looked the part, choosing your bougiest outfit and searching for all the make-up trends at that time, almost as if expecting to be on the VIP list.

Your view was blocked by the security’s broad tall back. Barely inside the club, the loud music was making the walls tremble and the neon lights even reached the street below Wonwoo’s feet.

With your best glittery eyes, you placed your hand on the bouncer’s heavy shoulder, making him turn back slightly. Two whispers after, and a promise to come back with more girl friends, he let Wonwoo in with a huff and a warning.

“What did you say to him?”

Every step forward you took turned the volume of the music up, and Wonwoo had to crouch to whisper in your ear. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him in the crowded club. It felt too intimate for a public place, but that was usual for him.

“Nothing you wanna know.” You giggled as you saw the man you had been following, sitting on a burgundy couch all the way on the back of the club, smoking alone, waiting for Wonwoo's guy.

“I’ll make sure he knows you’re taken, so he doesn’t make any moves on you.” Wonwoo’s hands held the sides of your waist, turning you to the side and bringing your bodies closer. The blue, pink and green lights dancing at the rhythm of the music reflected on his beautiful face, with a serious yet teasing expression as his eyes lightly glared at the back, letting you know he also saw your guy. “Should we dance?”

“Of course! We’re in a club!” There wasn’t much to do besides waiting. You wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying anyway. The most important task was seeing how they interacted with each other, and Wonwoo’s guy seemed to be always late. What harm could be done by having a little fun?

Your hand took his, walking further inside the room enveloped in a newly effervescent tension, looking for the best place to dance and surveil the men on the wine-colored couches. The drunk people surrounding you moved in slow motion, different bodies pressed against one another and dancing with no rhythm, giving you much needed cover. From where you were standing, the faint smell of the cigarette of your target could reach you every few minutes, mixing with the smell of sweat and expensive drinks.

Wonwoo found your waist again, pressing your back against his chest and swaying your bodies from left to right. His lips grazed the side of your ear, letting his breath tickle the side of your face teasingly, and his hands traveled around your body with little shame, blending into the sea of horny couples and sticky bodies making out.

Covered by the darkness of the place, and with the excuse of fitting in, his hips were grinding against your ass, breathing heavily to the random song the dj was playing. Wonwoo’s target walked in, wide eyes as he tensely looked for anything out of place. He seemed paranoid, playing with his hands as he sat in front of the old man. You went unnoticed, as Wonwoo began leaving wet kisses on the side of your neck, and any eyes going over the crowd would just ignore you, like you were just another drunk couple.

The bargaining appeared fairly pacific, a back and forth between the two men, so out in the open it wasn't going to turn violent. And when Wonwoo’s hands pushed your hips harder against his, you couldn’t stop your head from falling back onto his shoulders and letting him do anything he wanted. It was easy to get lost in the feeling of him, your bodies pressed together as you surveilled essentially nothing.

A ripple burst through the packed dance floor. A man pushing groups of people away and not budging in the slightest bumped against Wonwoo, knocking one of his arms off your body. The tall man didn’t look back, and Wonwoo was fuming.

“Just let it go, assholes like that are everywhere.”

You knew Wonwoo didn’t take those things lightly, so as soon as you saw him even thinking of going after the guy, you grabbed his wrist and turned him back your way.

“I wasn't gonna do anything!” Your head tilted to the side, not convinced. “Fine, I was just going to calmly teach him how to say ‘excuse me’.”

“Sure you were.”

His chest relaxed under your palms as you stood on your tiptoes to give him a peck. But the softness of his lips glued you to them longer than you initially expected, and his hands on your back melted into you, keeping you close to him.

“I’m gonna head to the toilet for a sec, don’t go after that security guy.” Your eyes were still closed, chasing his lips as he talked.

“I won’t if you don’t punch that guy.” It was hard letting his hand go as he walked into the sea of people and away from you. But in that moment, maybe it was best to separate before you got too sucked into your bubble.

The bargaining between the two men stayed boring, endless talking about whatever the topics changed into. You sat on the bar, sipping on a cold glass of water, waiting for anything even remotely interesting to happen. From the corner of your eye, the guy that bumped into you caught your attention as he came out of the bathroom, and emergency sirens immediately started blasting at the back of your mind. There was no waiting line, so maybe he didn’t come across Wonwoo, you thought.

But the next exchange you witnessed left you more uncertain than anything else. A bald man you had never seen before walked out of the restroom, Wonwoo following behind him with a noticeable frown. The strange man appeared to be in a rush to get away from him, but Wonwoo grabbed the man’s wrist harshly and turned him to look at him again. Wonwoo’s lips moved fast, saying too much in very little time, and the bad lighting made it harder for you to even try to understand what he was saying. The mystery man gulped hard and nodded with wide eyes, almost like he feared Wonwoo.

Something seemed out of place, but the little voice inside your head told you not to question Wonwoo about it. You forced your eyes away from the interaction to see that both of your targets were getting ready to leave, and you waited until Wonwoo came back while your mind raced, thinking of every possibility of what that could’ve been about. Maybe he would tell you when he sat by your side, maybe it was nothing and you were being paranoid. But a sweet kiss on your cheek was all you got, and an arm naturally wrapping around your waist as you left the bar together, like nothing happened.

A final quick glance inside the club made your stomach drop to the floor as you could’ve sworn you saw, blurred by the frenetic neon lights and the people dancing, the bald man sitting right beside your target, whispering something to him.

Spending an entire night surveilling audio footage from Cecilia’s hook-up wasn’t how you originally planned to spend your first night in the hotel.

In the past days, you’ve learned how frequently she brought different men home, and you should’ve known that this event wasn’t gonna stop her. Good for her, sure, but there is at least 3 hours of unusable footage from your microphone that you have to delete.

Tiredness begins to take over you, barely concentrating on skipping past the recordings to hear if anything strange happened in Cecilia's room, and your eyes beg to be closed. But you can’t rest, not until you know for sure she’s asleep.

The first hourly footage that doesn’t contain any sex noises is delivered to your phone at 4 am, and it’s nothing but calm silence. But your sigh of relief is cut short when a call resonates through the audio, disrupting the quiet room and making you hold your breath. Panic sets in, freezing your entire body as you wait for any other sound, because if no one answers, it means either there’s no one in the room, or worse, something happened to her.

It doesn’t stop, the ringing, as the person calling refuses to give up. The familiar ringtone echoes on your headphones, like it’s too close to the microphone, blocking any other noise from being heard, almost disabling your other senses too. But a simple look around the room lets you realize it’s your phone ringing, and above it all, it’s Wonwoo calling.

“Why are you awake? What do you want?” He manages to find ways to annoy you even before the sun rises.

“I need to tell you something, open the door.”

His serious tone takes you by surprise and makes you jump off your seat. There’s silence on your side on the line while you walk as quietly as possible to your door. A hard but somehow not loud knock on your room door answers your pending question, and leaves you no choice but to let Wonwoo in.

“What the hell?” You end the call as you reluctantly open the door.

“I sent you a thousand messages,” Wonwoo stomps inside your room, passing you by with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“You shouldn’t be here. Did you check the hallway at least?” You peak your head out the door, the calm hallway welcoming you in complete silence, before closing it with care so it doesn’t draw any attention.

“You have to stop ignoring me.” Wonwoo walks over to where your laptop still shows the recordings and shuts it close.

“You’re such a baby, Oh my god. I was doing something and wasn’t checking my phone, it wasn't about you.” His whole body’s tense, his eyes ignoring you and his eyebrows frowning with what could be frustration, fear or even disappointment. “Well? Are you going to tell me whatever you wanted to tell me? Or are you just going to keep strolling around the room like a maniac?” Your arms cross as you sit back on the bed.

Wonwoo huffs, still stomping back and forth like that would help him clear his head, anxious, thinking hard and gathering his many thoughts.

“There’s something wrong with my guy.” He settles on those words, vague but still alarmed.

“Why? Is it about that new guy earlier?” Wonwoo nods, confirming your assumption that he followed them earlier when he and Elias walked away from the table to talk alone.

It’s like he can’t keep still, his hands slightly shaking covering his mouth and making his non-stop ranting come out muffled. Every second it passes, you grow more and more concerned at his state. The only one other time you saw him getting so paranoid about a mission, he turned out to be right, so you’re not about to dismiss him because of your own feelings towards him.

“Ok, calm down, talk to me.” Your hand takes hold of his in one of his laps around the room, and you force him to sit down by your side. It’s dangerous, his body so close to yours, emanating an all too familiar heat, but if that’s what it takes to calm him down and make him concentrate, then you’re gonna take the risk.

“I need to speak with him.” His gaze is trained on the floor, and his right leg shakes anxiously against yours.

“Elias?” He shakes his head at your whisper, “The other guy?” And at that he nods.

“You can’t do that, you know it. It’s too much of a risk.” For him to want to break the one rule he’s insistent about, it can’t be something simple he can’t figure out. Your worries rise with every second he spends in silence. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I… don’t know.” Wonwoo grabs his head and crouches until his forehead touches his knees. “When I heard both of them talk earlier, it sounded like they were speaking in some kind of code. I swear nothing they said made sense.”

“Maybe they’ve known each other for a long time.”

“That’s the thing, I have no idea who that other guy is.” He lifts his head from the top of his legs, but still refuses to look at you. “As soon as the cocktail night finished, I went up to my room to try to find anything about him, but there’s nothing. I couldn’t find anything.”

That definitely sounds wrong. Someone that close to a target should always be easy to investigate, and knowing Wonwoo does intricate background checks on everyone, it’s not good. But you can’t let him see you panic, he needs you to be the voice of reason.

“You can figure it out, it could mean nothing.”

“I can do it if I speak with him.” Wonwoo’s not listening to you, too desperate to think clearly, and it just makes you more worried.

“Think about it first, please, don’t do anything stupid.” You place your hand softly on his knee, going against every rule you’ve set for yourself, only thinking of calming Wonwoo down.

The silence is deafening. If you listen closely, you might even be able to hear every thought racing through Wonwoo’s brain. His teeth claw on his bottom lip, tinted with blood red as he rips more skin off, and you don’t know what else to say to calm him down. False positivity would force him to push you away again, and now that you two are in this together, that can’t happen.

“You can.” He simply says as his leg finally stops shaking. “You can talk to him.”

To say that you’re frozen in place would be an understatement. A part of you, one hidden at the very back of your mind, naturally wants to help him, like you always did without question. But the rational part of your brain, the one that hasn’t been the same since everything happened, screams at you to leave him to figure it out on his own.

“I– I don’t kn–”

“Please,” His hand grabbing yours makes you unable to continue talking, “I know you don’t trust me, and I know I don’t deserve it, but, fuck, please, trust me on this.”

“Wonwoo, I– I shouldn’t.” Words are becoming more and more difficult to think about as his worried eyes begin piercing through you. It’s hard to tell him no, even if your whole body is yelling at you to do so.

“Look, I’m trying here, I– I’m not hiding it from you or trying to solve it on my own when you’re involved too, please.” You knew this closeness was dangerous for you, your hands between his as his face pleads for you, and your heart pounds against your chest asking you to consider it.

“Do you even know what you need from him?” His body visibly relaxes at your question, knowing you too well.

“Anything. Even his favorite color could help.” His gaze softens, a look in his eyes that you were never able to resist. After all that’s happened, his effect on you is still untouched, alive and well even after you tried to bury it deep inside you.

“It’s too risky Wonwoo, I don’t know if I can.” You’ve already said yes at this point. You know it. He knows it. It’s pointless to still deny it out loud. “We’ve never done this before.”

“I can do something for you too, anything to keep you from owing me.” His voice sounds sure. Too sure.

“You sound like you already have a plan.” You slip your hand out of his embrace with force, crossing your arms again. “You came here for this.”

“What?” There’s genuine confusion on his face.

“And to think I almost believed you, fuck, I’m so stupid.” That last part was a mumble more to yourself than for him to hear. “I can’t believe I almost fell for it.”

“Wait, no, I–”

“I’m not gonna let you use me again.” You interrupt whatever excuse he was about to give you. “You came here, pretending to be stressed and panicking, making me worry about you, all to manipulate me into doing your dirty work! Unbelievable.”

“Hold on, that’s not why I came.” You’ve stood up some time in between your accusation, and he follows you, grabbing you by the shoulders to force you to look at him. “I promise.”

“Then why? Why would you offer to do something for me too?” It makes no sense in your head. “You just sound like you already had a plan thought out, like you knew what you came for.”

“I just remembered the girl Cecilia was talking to earlier and thought maybe you needed information on her.” You frown, not convinced, and he notices, reading you perfectly. “I didn’t come here with that purpose, I swear.”

“So, you just came here because…”

“You’ve always helped me clear my mind.” He replies calmly, not a hint of anything close to a lie in his tone.

You hate it. You hate him. It’s too easy for him to make you lower the walls you’ve been trying so hard to put up. He always finds the right words to say, the thing you need to hear. You should’ve known it was going to happen. One singular moment alone with him and you’re done for. Pathetic.

“Stop lying.” Your voice comes out weak, defeated. All the emotions you spent so much time trying to bury, fighting to be the cold person you used to be before him, all of them springing out of their hiding simultaneously, weakening you in his eyes.

“I’m not.” His voice so low makes you aware of the closeness of his body again. His rough hands haven’t let go of your arms, keeping you still in front of him. Your gaze points down at his chest, ignoring his obvious intentions to make you look him in the eyes. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

“I can’t trust you.” There’s so much hurt in the way words come out of you. Hurt that both of you know has nothing to do with what he’s asking, or with this mission. Hurt that Wonwoo knows it's because of him, and he’ll spend years and years trying to mend, if you let him.

“I don’t want to hide anything from you.” As he steps back, his arms away from your quivering body, air can finally escape from your lungs. “Ask me anything.”

From all the questions you’ve harbored over time, the many whys that kept you up every night, the hows that made your skin crawl and never allowed you to be at peace, you’re incapable of asking him the most important one. Reliving that night is out of the question, and when the real issue lies within the current mission, your mouth takes the lead and asks without your brain’s permission.

“Does the boss know we’re working together?”

That day in front of Cecilia’s house has been at the back of your mind for days. The way he so casually asked for two invitations like it was of no importance reappearing every time you allowed yourself to follow his lead.

“Yes.” Wonwoo answers quickly. But you’re not surprised at that fact.

“And he’s okay with it? I know he doesn’t like me much.”

It doesn’t make sense that he would allow it, let alone send you to an event where you’re gonna interact way more than on a normal mission.

“He wasn’t, but I explained to him that it was important to me.”

Important to him. At that, every previous question evaporates from your mind, creating more current ones. Did he know you were after Cecilia? There’s no way he could. Did he tell him after your encounter at the mall?

“Why is it important to you?”

“Because...” Wonwoo hesitates, thinking carefully about the wording for his confession, “I’m not doing this anymore. After this mission, I’m going away for good. I don’t want this life anymore, I’m done.”

Speechless. That’s the only way to describe the state Wonwoo has left you in once again. But only a part of it seems to get stuck in your mind.

“Where will you go?”

You always knew he didn’t like that life. He got stuck in it by accident, with no way out. Sure, he took it seriously, he followed the rules and always did his job right. But he hated it. Hated to steal things for the rich, to be a pawn in someone else’s game. Hated having to always be in hiding, not being able to live a fulfilling life with you.

A heavy weight sits on your heart, a feeling resurfacing from deep within you, but not unknown. Purposely avoiding him is different from knowing you’ll never see him again. A part of you will always miss him, miss the comfort you felt being with him.

“I don’t know, just away from here.” He doesn’t sound hurt, but his voice is low, like his words hold another meaning. Here. Away from the city, away from the life he despised, away from the memories of you.

“You told him you wanted to work with me?” The mental question escapes your lips without your consent, outing your inner thoughts.

“I didn’t know we’d bump into each other, but once we found out, I called him.”

“So, what’s the catch? There’s no way he’d take that risk without asking something from you too.”

Wonwoo sighs, maybe sad, maybe disappointed, maybe ready to be over with the conversation. “I just need to do this right, then I’m done.”

“That’s it?” It’s hard to believe that a man that hires people like you to do his dirty work and steal expensive stuff for his sketchy clients can let go of his best employee that easily.

“It’s a hard job, and if I can’t do it, he’ll never allow me to leave.” At one point, Wonwoo stopped looking at you, and you’re afraid you’ve pressed too far.

“If I know something about you, is that no job is hard for you.” You almost chuckle at the idea of him fumbling a job, even a joke about his betrayal tingles at the tip of your tongue, but the familiarity of your words hits you hard, knocking the easy atmosphere out of you.

His hand sneaks into one of his pockets, and your fight instinct kicks in again, not ready to face whatever he could possibly show you. But all that comes out in his hand is another phone, one you’ve never seen before, different from the one he used to call you earlier.

“Here.” Your reflexes work faster than your brain when Wonwoo throws the cellphone to you. “Every detail you want to know, with all my research about them, is in there. You can look through it, see it for yourself.”

“You want me to go over your entire mission? Are you sure?”

This is not like the details you’ve been sharing prior to this event, that was only what the other needed. This is different. This is the whole investigation, the entire plan to find his objective and reach his goal. This kind of information is explicitly forbidden to share with anyone, but he’s putting it at risk to gain your trust back.

“I need your help, please. I can’t do this if you don’t trust what I’m saying.”

It takes a minute of silence for you to consider what to do next.

“Then,” from where you stand, your computer is right behind you, light enough for you to grab with one hand, “look through mine. It’s the only folder saved.”

It’s a silent agreement, implicating that you do want to work with him one last time, to help him get out. You try to ignore the sting in your heart, ignore that you still care, and focus on the missions to take your mind off of it.

“I can’t ask you that.” He takes your laptop in his hands, but doesn’t open it, even after you signal him to do so.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” Wonwoo sits on your bed, still reluctant to open the computer. “You were right, I barely have info on the woman she was with, only her name and a few other things. We can help each other, but only if we know exactly what we're doing.”

Wonwoo only nods with a tight smile, understanding even what you don’t voice out.

The candle flame danced at the center of the table, illuminating Wonwoo’s face in the poorly-lighted but expensive restaurant while you waited for the food you ordered. The gold-colored light created a romantic layer that contrasted with the purpose you had set for the dinner experience.

Wonwoo thought you were here to simply observe your targets’ last meeting before the buying, in addition to having a nice meal, but you had made your personal mission to find out what business he had done the other night at the club. That tall man with a frightened expression haunted your every dream, always turning into nightmares with different outcomes. And not even waking up helped your distress, as you’d open your eyes to find yourself tangled between the arms of the protagonist of said nightmares.

Wonwoo wasn’t acting weird per se, but that only made your worries worse. There was a chance that you were wrong, that your mind was playing games with you. And you wanted to believe it with your whole heart, no matter how small it was. But the paranoia never seemed to end, and it got worse with each day that passed that Wonwoo acted like nothing happened, living his life normally with you, hugging and kissing you like he wasn’t hiding anything.

As he sat in front of you, telling you about his day, his back faced where both of your targets were ordering. The waiter spoke comfortably with the old man, you knew he was a regular at that restaurant, and the younger guy trembled slightly, as if afraid of the man sitting in front of him. Wonwoo didn’t seem to care to see the interaction, and didn’t ask you questions about it either, assuming you would’ve told him if something happened. Your eyes were stationed on the two men, but your mind was elsewhere, scheming a way to get information out of your boyfriend without being suspicious.

“Babe?” His questioning voice almost took you out of character.

“Sorry, I thought I saw someone.” He smiled, taking no notice of the rollercoaster of thoughts that was going through your mind. “What were you saying?”

“Who? One of his guys?” His face showed a glimpse of worry, and you debated whether he didn’t want to show emotion in the public place, or if he faked his worry so as to not let you doubt him.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like not trusting him. It was eating you from the inside, overthinking about his every move, his every action. You didn’t want to do it. But something at the back of your mind was non stop shouting that something was wrong, giving you no chance but to listen to it.

“It was…” Wonwoo's eyes followed the way your lips moved with the words, innocently anticipating your answer. “I just thought I saw that guy from the other night.”

You had him where you wanted him. Eyes wide, hands gripping the sides of the table as he contemplated the options.

“Which one? It was a crowded night babe.” Wonwoo tried to sound nonchalant. In his eyes, you had no reason to doubt him.

“That guy that bumped into us, remember?” You pretended to think about that night, like you didn’t go over it in your head countless times, hand on your chin and eyes up to the ceiling as a tiny smile appeared on your face, “you wanna know something funny? I saw him getting out of the bathroom just before you did! I remember fearing you��d done something to him in there.”

Trap set, you hoped to make him react in any way, but he remained with a poker face, not daring to explain the situation, but not telling you the truth either.

“Oh, it’s good I didn’t see him then.” Wonwoo chuckled as the waiter finally brought your food and set it on the table, digging into his full plate while your trust shattered in a million pieces. “What an asshole!”

“Yeah.”

What more could you have said? Wonwoo was clearly avoiding the subject, eating like a mad man and purposely not looking you in the eyes, and the mission was about to end anyway. The stolen painting your target was selling to Wonwoo’s was already on the way to the abandoned building he always used for his deals, and you intended to steal it before they even arranged their last meeting to finalize the buying and deliver it.

Maybe that guy was a part of Wonwoo’s mission that he didn’t tell you about, and maybe after you both finished your jobs he’d go back to normal, and you could trust him again. Maybe this time your instinct was wrong. Maybe.

After the tenth bored nod, the seventh ‘oh wow’ and the fourth ‘that’s crazy’, you’re beginning to understand why all these rich people tend to get piss drunk to get through these kinds of events. Every conversation is identical, the topics, the reactions, the answers, the counter-arguments, nothing ever changes.

It’s been two days since that night with Wonwoo, where you agreed to get close to each other’s targets’ friends and essentially broke every implicit rule of the job. Two nights since you’ve opened up to each other for one last time. Two nights since you, once again, went against the exact thing you declared you were never going to do again. And a day before the auction where you planned to carry out the robbery.

Being honest about your missions gave you the amount of reassurance you needed to work with Wonwoo again. What he failed to do last time, not letting you in and not letting you help him, Wonwoo was making sure he didn’t make the same mistakes. And it feels better to work this way. Trusting him, at least with a mission as important as the one he has, is easier now.

Easier than fake laughing for the tenth time in twenty minutes for sure.

Elias’ friend sits right across the table, equally as bored as you and showing false interest in the conversation the old men hold. But he stays around them every night regardless, listening to the white-haired men complain about their spouses and showing off their yearly earnings.

They don’t ask him any questions, and he doesn’t offer anything to the conversation either. You’ve noticed he has some kind of nervous tick, where every two or three minutes he’ll sigh and sit back, brush his blond hair to the side with his hand, look around the room and then go back to pretending to pay attention. Weirdly, his eyes never stray your way, even if you’re directly in front of him and watching his every move.

The opportunity to personally approach him arises when he opens his mouth for the first time in the night to excuse himself to the bar. Not a glance is spared his way as the table keeps talking, and a few seconds later you do the same. The rich men care more about you leaving than Elias’ friend, but you take three steps away from the table and they're back to their discussion about stock pricing.

Wonwoo, a few tables back, glances your way and nods just barely, only for you to catch. Due to your previous agreement establishing that the targets remain off limits, he hasn’t approached Sophie, Cecilia’s friend, yet, since the two women are seemingly inseparable.

The blond man chooses to sit on a barstool on the least illuminated corner of the empty bar, far away from the door. Elias should be in his mid-twenties, according to Wonwoo’s information, so you can only assume his friend is close to that age too, but he looks a lot younger in your eyes, and he orders a vodka cola with a side of fries, further fortifying that impression.

“What do you recommend?” You ask him as you sit down on the stool next to his, taking him by surprise.

“Me?” His tone wavers between shocked and bothered that someone’s speaking to him, but you don’t really care which one it really is.

“Yes, you.” You giggle lightly, placing your chin on the palm of your hand to seem charmed by him. “Do you have any drink recommendations?”

“Oh I-, I don’t drink often, I wouldn’t know.” He stutters and avoids your eyes.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” You tell the tired bartender, even if you despise vodka with a passion. “So, what’s a handsome man like doing here all alone?”

“Those people can get very tiring,” he answers with a serious tone, but a faint blush appears on his ears at your bluntness, “you heard how they are.”

“Oh, so you noticed me there?” Your flirty persona disappears for a second in slight shock, as you haven’t caught his eyes on you once during the past nights.

“Of course I did.” Even after his admission, his eyes continue staring as his already half empty glass. “You’re hard to miss.”

“I don’t know if I want to take that as a compliment, but I will.” Quite the opposite, your intention is to be invisible. “I’m not used to receiving much attention.” You chew on the plastic straw the bartender gives you with your drink, making dreamy eyes at Elias’ friend.

“Well, you caught mine.” As shy as he may appear, he’s being rather forward with his statements now.

“What I haven’t caught is your name.” If he’s truly interested in you, then your plan begins, and you intend to acquire as much information as possible. “I’m Marissa.”

“I’m Lucas.” Amused, he replies as he stretches his hand to shake yours.

“So, Lucas, what do you do? What brings you to this boring, old rich people event.” A little of your real personality is always good to show when you’re pretending to be someone else. Even if they don’t realize, people have something close to a sixth sense when it comes to strangers, and if you seem to be even a little bit stiff and made up, they’ll unconsciously realize something’s not right with you.

Lucas chuckles at your undisguised disgust, “I work for one of those rich old men, but he doesn’t like coming here, so it’s my job to make face and buy him whatever artifact he wants on a whim.”

Hopefully, the microphone you previously set inside your bra hasn’t moved and is recording everything Lucas’ saying in case you forget any details. Wonwoo would never let you live if you forget even the tiniest thing.

“That sounds awful.” You decide on a short empathetic response, hoping he’ll keep talking without you asking many questions.

“And what brings you here? You don’t seem to like these kinds of spaces much.” He doesn’t take his eyes off yours as he understands your silence the opposite way.

“My parents like to come here, but they’re out of town. They asked me to buy one of the paintings for their new home.” You repeat the personal story you created the previous night with Wonwoo.

“I see. So, neither of us are particularly thrilled to be here.”

“It’s more fun now that I finally found someone interesting to talk to.” You sip from the vile glass of distilled alcohol, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to lower his guard down.

“You don’t know anyone here?” He questions, intrigued by you.

“No, but maybe that’s a good thing.” You pretend to look around, eyes finding Wonwoo in a flirty exchange with Sophie. “What about you? Besides those men back at the table.”

“Actually, my sister’s here as well, but I haven’t seen her tonight. She always scurries away when the chance comes.” He looks around the room to catch a glimpse of her, but it’s pointless. “And now that she dyed her hair, I can never find her.”

Like a lightbulb just lit up over your head, the terrible realization of who you’re talking to hits you painfully. “I totally get her.” You snicker back and take another sip of the now more tempting drink.

You want, no, you need to ask more about his family, find out what you don’t already know, but you throw that thought away the second it comes. It’ll be too obvious, and you can’t afford for him to ask those same questions back.

“So, what are you taking back for the boss?” Is the question you settle for.

“He wanted the-” Lucas begins answering, but before can tell you that key information, Elias appears by your side, grabbing him by the arm and muttering something close to ‘we have to talk’.

Lucas sends you an apologetic smile as he leaves the bartender a tip under the drink he didn't touch. You barely hear him saying goodbye to you, as Elias forces him to follow his lead and leave you behind.

You’re left perplexed on your seat, jaw on the floor and eyes scattering trying to find if Wonwoo had the chance to see what just happened. At least Elias didn’t even spare you a glance, and you had no time to even think of saying a word to him.

How could you have missed it? You researched her entire life, since the day she was born up until the day you first started shadowing her. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this job makes any sense.

Across the room, still at the same table, Cecilia’s friend has moved her chair closer to Wonwoo’s and is tracing lines down his arm as she talks to him. Of course, he can’t avoid that every woman he interacts with throws herself at him. At least it works.

His eyes find yours just in time, and you tilt your head towards the door. You don’t expect him to follow you. That’s not why you told him you were leaving. But as the elevator doors begin to close, his right foot appears in their way and they open back up again, revealing his tall figure and worried face.

“Did something happen?” He stands too close to your side, his hand not even bothering to click the button to his floor.

“Got some disturbing information before He showed up and took the boy away from me.” The four walls surrounding you suffocate you. “You didn’t need to come after me.”

“I was about to leave myself when I saw you.” Wonwoo straightens his posture, eyes on the doors opening on your floor. “I got everything I needed.”

“Sure thing.” You sound unconvinced, and it’s no wonder he realizes it too. “Well, text me what you got later.”

“You looked cozy with him.” His voice trails behind you. “A little young for you.”

You scoff, back still directed at him as you try to get your damn door to open. “Good night, Wonwoo.”

“I bet he was drinking something only teenagers like. Maybe vodka? Judging by the face you made when you took the first sip.” He doesn’t relent, and for some reason, your door opens but you stay there.

“Were you actually doing your job? Or were you too busy inspecting my conversation?” Your body turns to face him, too easily annoyed by him even if you know that’s what he wants.

“Just watching from afar in case you needed help.” You know he’s staying put as a silent beg for you to spill your information.

“Well, I didn’t.” You don’t even get to step half a foot inside your room before he’s closing the door in your face, leaving you stranded on the hallway, trapped between the wall and his body.

“C’mon, don’t make me force it out of you. Tell me what you got.” His tone is stern, clearly done with your avoiding technique.

“Fine! Fine, but you can’t panic.” You say, but the one panicking is you as your eyes scan the hallway back and forth, again and again.

“I can be calm, only if you tell me what the fuck happened.” He definitely saw what happened with Elias.

“They’re siblings.” The beat of silence is louder than your thoughts. “The boy is Cecilia's brother.” Your final whisper draws the color out of Wonwoo’s face.

“You’re kidding me. You have to be fucking kidding me.” You’re lucky most people are still at the event downstairs, because if not, Wonwoo’s shouts would’ve never gone by unnoticed.

“You have to calm down.” You try to get closer to him, but he starts pacing around the hall, just like the other night in your room. “Let’s just get inside.”

“What did he say?” Wonwoo’s not listening to you. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

“He told me he was here filling in for his boss, and I asked if he knew anyone here.” He won’t calm down until the pieces start making sense in his mind, so you fill him in, in the lowest tone possible. “He said his sister always comes to these things, but that she keeps leaving before the night's over.” Every bit of information you utter just gets him madder. “And that she recently dyed her hair.”

“How did you not know this before?” He doesn’t doubt you, but the mission.

“I don’t know!” You’re more focused on hearing any minimal sound on your floor. If anyone finds the two of you in this state, you’re fucked. “There weren’t any papers that said she had other family. You saw everything I had.”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” Wonwoo wonders out loud, but the both of you know it’s too specific for it to be a coincidence. You don’t answer him, your doubtful look being enough.

“You’re sure she has what I need.” A nod is all you give him. “And I can’t just get it from her and be done.” You know he’s thinking out loud to himself, but you still shake your head.

The USB has to be in Elias’ hands when Wonwoo’s time to steal it comes. They can’t know something’s missing before you get what you need.

“Fuck. Okay." With that, Wonwoo finally stops pacing around. “This is too messy, and if something’s wrong, I don’t want to be here when shit happens. Tomorrow, we do our jobs and we're out of here.”

Wonwoo stands still before you, waiting for something more than just a securing nod from you.

“Yeah. We’ll be extra careful.” Is all you can say.

His last words echo in your mind. ‘And we're out of here.’ After tonight, you probably won’t see him again. Ever. You’ve been living without him for months, learning what it’s like to wake up with his side of the bed cold. Some days, you still wake up thinking you’ll find him fast asleep on the couch, his dirty clothes scattered on the floor because he came home late and didn’t want to wake you up. You’ve been trying to live with that hurt, but at least, you knew he was still out there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The words blurt out of you without your brain’s consent, and Wonwoo stops in his tracks, barely a few steps away from you.

He turns around, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out why you’re still there. “If by ‘okay’ you mean that I’ll go back to my room and not be able to sleep, then yes, I’m okay.”

“I don’t want you to get unnecessarily worried.” As you keep talking, he slowly begins taking steps closer to you. “You just focus on what you have to do, I’ll deal with them.”

Wonwoo smirks. He smirks so cockily you regret it instantly. He stands in front of you, too close, but you can’t back away, not when he traps you against the wall again.

“Careful honey, you’re starting to sound like you’re worried about me.” You don’t know how he does it. How he turns a stressful situation into a moment to tease you in an instant.

“I’m just trying to help you. Don’t get your hopes up, Wonwoo.” You should be trying to get out of his trap, but you don’t.

The ping of the elevator echoes through the hall, alerting the both of you, but you stay put. His broad back covers you perfectly from every angle, and whoever will walk past you would simply mistake you for another pair of strangers in a steamy situation. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Pointy steps get closer to round the corner where you’re both obviously too close for it to be something else. Wonwoo pretends to whisper on the side of your face. Breathy nonsense as his lips graze your ear, one arm on your side caging you in even more. You don’t breathe, as if the air between your bodies just became toxic.

You’ve been in similar situations countless times, and it always ended the same. Your brain knows this is different, that it’s just a tactic to go unnoticed. But your body doesn’t. Your stomach tingles with something you know too well, the back of your neck filled with goosebumps following your tummy’s lead.

As the unknown person walks past you, quickening their pace as they realize what you two seem to be doing, you finally relax.

“Fuck, Wonwoo, get away from me.” His chest doesn’t budge at your push. “You’re so fucking annoying. Fine, I’ll stop worrying about your job.”

“Sure, you try that.” The corner of his mouth is still lifted. If only there was a way to wipe it off his face. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He walks away with his hands inside his pockets, and your body finally responds to the signals from your brain and opens the door.

Your fingers trace the edge of your ear where his lips touched, hearing his footsteps get further away, but not turning to look at him. That would mean he won.

You should’ve known something was wrong. The second you arrived at the location with Wonwoo, following his target into the abandoned building where yours kept the stolen art pieces, it should’ve been obvious.

The plan was simple. Park an unmarked truck just outside, grab the pieces while your subject’s sentinel’s terrorized Wonwoo’s target –the usual technique to make the clients scared they’re not receiving what they paid for, and then drive away as fast as you could to deliver them to your boss. A plan similar to tons of previous one’s you’ve done together.

Everything was carefully planned over the few weeks you spent surveilling the targets. Even if your trust on Wonwoo was faltering, you’d never let your worries come in the way of yours and his safety. He had to trust you’d know in which room of the thousands in the empty building they could’ve been keeping the stolen art, and you had to trust him to deal with any security you might encounter on the way.

When there wasn’t any sign of life on the blocks around the building, you should’ve known.

When it was too easy to get inside and climb the stairs to find the rooms, you should’ve known.

When the way down with the heavy paintings was too clear of any people, you should’ve known.

When Wonwoo closed the back of the truck and got in with no suspicions, you should’ve known.

The walk from the back of the truck to the passenger seat was so close, you didn’t think to look around in case anyone was there. Why would you? You hadn’t encountered anyone up until that point, and it was nearly over, there was almost no chance.

The metal blade pushing against your throat the second you began walking away from the truck was that 0,0001% chance.

“Back away now.” A low, unfamiliar voice ordered you. You couldn’t talk, couldn’t scream for help. You only had your other senses to rely on.

You walked back slowly, forcing the man to walk back with you, pressing your back against his torso. He felt strong, taller than you, the knife against the vein on your neck was recently sharpened. But if the job had taught you something, it was to never give up, even if the chances seemed slim. Your attacker may have taken you by surprise, he may have been bigger and more muscular than you, but in that moment, to his demise, your need to punch men was skyrocketing.

Elbowing him straight on the nose, his arms let go of you in shock, screaming in pain as he stumbled back. You didn’t have time to focus on the drops of blood you felt dripping down your neck.

His bald head stood out over his blood covered face and the suit he was wearing for some reason. Of course you remembered him. With the way you saw him every night when you tried to sleep, he was basically burned to the back of your eyes. You could recognize him from miles away. The man Wonwoo had talked to behind your back that night in the club.

In the second it took him to stop bitching about his nose and look up, you began stomping his way, your fist in the air ready to give him another bruise to remember you by.

The crack sound reached your ears before you felt the pain shooting up your arm. The guy’s head flew to the side at your punch, breaking at least one of your fingers in the process. A bearable pain compared to what the situation meant.

Your eyes fell on the knife laying on the ground just steps away from you at the same time as him. And he was faster. You felt the pain on the back of your left leg before you realized what was happening. He slashed your calf with the dirty blade, and was getting up to finish the job. But you were never a runner.

With quick reflexes, you successfully avoided the first few punches he threw your way, managing to tire him out to get in a few punches to his ribs. Somehow, the pain coming from your every limb was overshadowed by the anger you felt. In that moment, that man could have shot you, and you would’ve still found it in you to keep fighting. Because no one was coming to rescue you. That fact became more evident after the scream of pain you let out at your broken hand. In that moment, something you should’ve stood by your whole life sank in. You only had yourself.

A ringtone came from somewhere on the floor around where you were standing, and the bald man’s eyes widened in the search for it. He stood on guard, searching for the phone but ready if you wanted to throw another punch. But before you had time to look for it yourself and smash it on his shiny head, an engine starting caught your full attention.

From behind you, the truck where you knew for a fact Wonwoo was sitting in rumbled as the key tried to start it. There it was, the confirmation of everything you’d been trying to convince yourself it wasn’t possible. The sound of your heart breaking might’ve been even louder than the engine as the driver changed gears.

Your eyes connected with Wonwoo’s on the passenger seat, as your target drove them away at light speed. It was a millisecond, where his eyes took notice of your beaten-up state, the dirt building up on your face and dry drops of blood on your arms, not physically defeated, but disappointed.

From the corner of your eye, you saw your aggressor cowardly running away, his phone in one hand and his other hand holding the side of his torso you made sure would hurt for at least weeks. But you were petrified in place, unmoving as the truck disappeared into the horizon.

The man you always imagined fighting by your side, who you thought would have your back even on the toughest times and who allegedly saw a future with you, who now set you up for a trap, watching from the sidelines as you got injured fighting for your life, driving off with your alleged target.

And with them, the little hope you had left.

Your hand cramps over the door handle. It’s been wrapped around it for minutes, waiting for your brain’s signal to turn it to the side and step out of your room. But the nervousness building up inside your stomach is becoming more unbearable by the second, rendering you incapable of continuing with your day. It’s a new type of feeling, one you never thought you’d feel on the job. Nervous? About stealing some random piece of jewelry from a rich woman? If Wonwoo could see you, you’re sure he’d have his fair share of laughs.

Many things could go wrong. Details tend to scramble on the job, and getting creative with new ideas the second something happens is a key part of it. But the probability of a few mishaps happening never left you immobile like this before. The little chance, however small, that either your job or Wonwoo’s carries something deeper within rushes a cold wave through your veins.

No job ever is truly easy, of course there are bumps on the road for everything, but when the future of someone you care for depends on it, it holds a different kind of weight. There never was this much at stake, at least to your knowledge.

You weren’t supposed to get this involved. Even the details Wonwoo shared before you got essentially locked up in the fancy hotel seemed too much for you. And now, it’s a given that as soon as either of your targets realize their missing item, you’ll both be in trouble. The relationship between your targets made you hoard even more responsibility than before. You couldn’t make a single mistake without taking Wonwoo down with you.

It’s a noise on the hallway that takes you out of the trance, a door slamming shut that sounds too precise to be a coincidence, but once you finally leave your room, it’s impossible for it to have been anything more than that. The empty corridor sends chills down your spine, a slight bad feeling you’ve been fighting to get rid of all morning.

The way down the elevator becomes a movie theater to visualize the entire plan. Every room, every move, every possible alternative, every single detail runs laps around your brain as you try not to look stressed to the few people going down with you to the final event.

The automatic doors open, and the packed bottom floor welcomes you full of murmur and the fanciest gowns and suits you’ve seen yet. Stabilizing your breath, avoiding looking around the room too much, you walk out, weary of the people around you and going straight to an empty place to sit after grabbing your sign for the auction.

Sitting on a row at the back and right at the edge of the chair arrangement makes everything easier. You won’t bother anyone by standing up, drawing the minimum attention possible, and you can surveil from behind everyone, just in case.

As the lights dim on the crowd, and the presenter steps on the stage to begin his speech to introduce each piece getting auctioned tonight, the time to wait has come.

Cecilia sits close to the very first row, with her friend, whose name you learned is Sophie, sitting to her right as expected. The most difficult part will be getting close to Cecilia without her personal sidekick in the way. The only time you saw her alone all these past days, was when she flirted with different men.

Surely, she'll go to the restroom alone right? But what's the only way she could leave her purse unattended for you to quickly snatch, grab what you need, and return without her noticing. The answer, you've thought about all week. But you can’t move forward with anything until you get Wonwoo's text saying he's finished.

You haven’t laid eyes on him yet, which means he definitely saw you.

Both of you agreed that telling each other your plans to get the theft done was a bad idea. You have to take every precaution possible, and the less people know your plan, no one in this case, the better.

Piece by piece gets auctioned quickly, the staff wasting as little time as possible. Nothing really draws your attention, most of the works are contemporary art, which is not really your favorite, but Marissa on the other hand, she came here for one of the paintings.

It’s dark so the people can concentrate on the auction properly, but there’s enough light for you to recognize Elias standing up and leaving the dance-hall turned stage. Wherever he’s going, you’re sure Wonwoo’s trailing after him. When Cecilia stands up a minute later and goes after him, you’re certain their exchange is happening.

You wait patiently for Wonwoo’s text, seeing ugly painting after painting pass, but none of them are decent enough for you to spend money you don’t have on it. The numbers people shout for these art pieces is ridiculous, not because they aren’t pretty, art is subjective after all, but because these people are spending so much money on things that’ll just collect dust in their second mansion they only visit once a year. Rich people and their money.

Like a sign from the universe, Cecilia materializes at the giant door once again, returning to her seat just as your second phone vibrates inside your dress’ pocket.

Ryan: The flan has been eaten.

A cackle almost slips out of you before you get a hold of yourself.

You: Smooth? Ryan: Could’ve been better, maybe with a little more caramel.

You don’t understand what that’s code for, but at least he’s done. It’s your turn now, before any of them realize Elias doesn't have the USB in his possession anymore.

After winning the bid for the least bad looking painting there, you take your chance to sneak off, standing up and crouching as you walk over to the bar. It's the perfect cover: going to do all the paperwork and transfers after winning a bid. Given the odd chance that someone noticed you, it won’t be weird if you disappear for long.

“Hey! Can I ask you something?” You approach the bartender, the same one who’s been working all those previous nights.

“What can I help you with?” If your tactics worked, this part should be easy.

“Do you happen to know that woman’s usual drink order?” As discreetly as possible, you point to Cecilia. “I was talking with her earlier, and she said I could sit with her during the auction, but I don’t want to show up empty handed.”

The bartender giggles lightly, nodding at your request before turning back and making the drink. With her back blocking your line of sight, it’s impossible to see exactly what the cocktail is, but hopefully it’s not the most expensive one.

Applause erupts in the crowd behind you. Just like clockwork.

“Here’s the drink, mam.” She sets the pinkest cocktail you’ve ever seen in front of you. “It’d be $40.” She smiles so politely you manage not to choke on your spit at the ridiculous price. At this point, she could be scamming you and you wouldn't care.

After rummaging through your bag to find $50 and a tiny pill you threw in there, you hand the bill out to her with a smile and the empty feeling of your wallet. At least you’ll get a lot more money back after the job’s finished.

While the bartender’s focused on fetching your change, you drop the quickly dissolving pill on Cecilia’s drink. Just something for her stomach to be a little upset and trigger a trip to the restroom.

“You know what? Keep the change, sweetie.” The old people's nickname slips out of you, but you’re walking away before even registering her reaction.

With the overpriced, and probably way too sweet drink, in your hand, you approach a now standing Cecilia as she talks with a group of older women. A few feet away from them, you spot the man she hooked up the first night there.

“Sorry to interrupt ladies,” you sneak in between their bodies, getting a few weird looks, and lightly touch Cecilia’s arm to get her attention, “but that man over there told me to get you this drink.” You point to him after giggling, and leave the group right after she takes it.

Would what you did be considered rule breaking? It was absolutely necessary! In reality, no one’s going to remember you after tonight. They never think about strangers for over a few minutes, except probably to talk shit behind their back.

It's not long before your little secret starts taking effect, so you don’t waste any more time, head to the restroom and lock yourself inside the middle stall. One would think bathrooms at these kinds of things would be fancy, spacious and luscious, but out of the five stalls, the two closer to the entrance are “on repair”, there’s no toilet paper in any of them, and it smells like those toilets behind the locked doors haven’t been cleaned in weeks. Luckily, you don’t have to submit yourself to wait there much longer.

Minutes after you escape the crowded hall, the echo of a pair of stilettos rushing on the hallway towards the bathroom pierces through the tension you built up alone.

The door slams open, and the known body stumbles against one of the available stalls, falling limp on the ground as her purse falls next to her. It’s open all the way, ready to be raided by you.

As Cecilia starts puking nonstop, it’s easy to ignore the smell and sneak your hand under the tall opening under the stall wall. You’re in a time crunch, and another echo of someone, definitely Cecilia’s friend, sprinting to the bathroom pumps up the adrenaline as you look as fast as you can.

The heavy gold chain is easy to feel with your fingertips, sitting at the bottom of Cecilia’s bag. You don’t question why she threw such a significant necklace into her purse like that, not even nicely kept in a box, as she also did that with the USB she traded with Elias. At least she made the job easier.

As stealthily as possible, you retrieve the emerald gem along with the chain. No wonder the necklace is being so obsessively looked for. Apart from the price the clients are willing to pay for it, its beauty could create rows of people lining up just to catch a glimpse of it, the green stone matches perfectly with the gold.

You shove your hand away from inside the bag and hide as best as possible in your stall, just as Sophie runs inside the toilet to help her friend. But they can’t know someone else is there with them, because they’ll instantly know when you took the necklace once they find out.

Stepping on top of the toilet seat, trying to make no noise even if they probably won’t be able to concentrate on anything other than Cecilia, you breathe shallowly, waiting for them to leave once and for all.

If it wasn’t for the little time you gave her to put food in her stomach, you’d be standing there, over a dirty toilet, for at least an hour, but Cecilia’s a woman that doesn’t want to miss out on any party. It takes her less than two minutes to recover and clean herself up looking in the mirror over the sink, and they’re both out of the restroom in a flash, as if they were never there.

After waiting until you hear no noise in the hallway, you know you have to get away from there before anyone catches up to the plan and realizes where exactly the necklace was taken. There’s a little more time to get away from the hotel, after you and Wonwoo get your things.

Wonwoo.

Should you update him? Tell him everything went okay?

He is technically done. He got what he needed and let you know, there was nothing more he had to do. And Wonwoo never liked staying on the job more time than necessary, so he probably left already.

Since the elevator’s too risky, climbing six floors up the stairs is your best option. A little exercise never killed anyone.

It’s a hard task, but you manage and finally reach the floor in which your room’s patiently waiting to be packed away. Your lungs struggle to let air inside, and as you enter your hallway, the figure standing against your door takes the little air you managed to inhale all the way out again.

Wonwoo’s resting his back against the door to your room, with his phone in his hand, probably playing a stupid game. A storm of different thoughts rain over your head, unsure on how to feel at the sight of him. Annoyance? Relief? Sadness?

“What are you still doing here? I thought you would’ve left by now.” Your voice snaps his head your way, and he quickly slips the phone into his pocket to give you his full attention.

“I wanted to wait until you were done.” He hesitates to raise his voice, but interrupts you before you reply. “Just in case.”

You walk almost robotically as you get closer to him, not knowing what to do, how to act. Is he here to say his final goodbye? Do you even want him to?

“Well, It went well.”A sigh of relief leaves his lips, and as he looks down, ready to leave you alone like you asked so many times, it dawns on you. “You can tell your uncle that you're done. And to go fuck himself.”

Your joke relaxes the both of you, laughing lightly at your stupid, but very real, declaration full of resentment. Wonwoo knows you mean it. You never hid your dislike for his family, like they never hid their hatred towards you.

“Believe me, I have much more to say than that.”

The tension in Wonwoo’s face visibly goes away as you both laugh again, a little louder this time. Neither of you aims to get away from the other, atmosphere unexpectedly comfortable.

When he locks eyes with you, smiles still there but fading as the moment passes and a new one emerges, you don’t avert your gaze. When he takes a step in your direction, you don’t back away. And when he cups the side of your face and lowers his until your lips touch, you let him.

The familiar feeling of his lips against yours envelops you all around. For a second, blood runs warmer through your veins, the weight on your shoulders flies away, and you’re somewhere where nothing else matters other than him and you.

But before his hands creep up your body and compel you to make a bad decision, you pull back.

Your top lip’s still tingling when Wonwoo apologizes. “I shouldn't have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you?” It doesn’t come out as irritated as you thought you wanted it to. Your lowered guard must be playing games with your mind.

“I… just wanted to. For one last time.” His quiet voice and shoulders hanging low contrast with his eyes, looking at you like he doesn't regret it one bit.

“W-well, you can't do that.” No matter how nice he’s able to make you feel, what he did is unforgettable. Even if it’s your body’s instinct to react to his touch. “I didn’t forgive you.”

Wonwoo stays silent, his stare leaving your eyes and concentrating on the floor below. Your remainder drew the line between you two again, the one that shouldn’t have gotten blurred in the first place.

As your hand wraps around the door handle slowly, hesitant like so many hours before, the air behind you tenses, and Wonwoo speaks up before you even have the chance of leaving him there.

“I didn’t want to do it.”

His tone full of regret makes you stop in your tracks. He’s not talking about the kiss, but rather that damned day, But you’re tired of hearing those words.

“You told me that. Several times.” How can he think that’ll fix the damage? “But it doesn’t change anything. You still did it.” Anger bleeds through your cold tone, reliving the thousands of times you had the same conversation.

“If you knew why I had to do it, you’d get it.” He sighs with his reply, but his frustration makes no sense to you. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” In the past, the only times you were mad enough to demand an explanation, he always avoided telling you why. Why he tricked you and left you to fight alone. “Nothing’s gonna change if you leave me out of the loop.”

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to figure out what to say. Can’t he just tell you the truth? After tonight, you’ll never see him again. He’ll leave for good to find a better life. He’ll leave you behind, alone with that uncertainty forever haunting you. From your point of view, it’s the best time to enlighten you about that night.

“It was to protect you.” His hesitation makes it hard to believe him.

“I didn’t feel very protected.” You don't know why you're still hearing him out. You should be on your way home, memories of him wiped clean and money getting sent to your account.

“I can't just-”

“You can't what? You made a deal behind my back and betrayed me!” Admittedly, you're getting angrier than you should. You should've risen above it by now, but he's making it too hard.

“Can we get inside to talk?” Wonwoo's wide eyes scan the hallway carefully, like he's just becoming aware that you're still in public.

Do you need an explanation that badly that you're willing to be inside an enclosed room with him again? Your uncontrollable feelings haven't been trustworthy lately, but if you want closure, it may be the only way.

With a sigh and the wall around your heart falling apart, you walk into your room with Wonwoo following behind you.

“Talk.” The dry atmosphere is suffocating, a need for everything to be over growing with every second Wonwoo stays silent. “And fast, because I don't have much patience left with you.”

“I don’t blame you for hating me.” He starts, and any thought you had vanishes into thin air. “I even hate myself for it, but I don’t regret it.”

“How can you say that?” Hearing those words come out of his mouth shouldn’t feel like a punch in the gut, and you hate it. You shouldn’t have allowed him in. “Whoa, just, why don’t you just leave? I gotta pack and leave this godforsaken place.”

Wonwoo grabs your arm and prevents you from turning your back on him.

“They knew you were after Albert.” Albert, the stolen paintings man you were following at the time.

You freeze in place, but you’re unable to react while the words float around your head trying to make sense.

“That’s impossible.” You don’t sound nearly as dismissive as you should.

“They knew someone was going to steal from him, it was a set up for whoever it was.” There’s nothing in Wonwoo’s revelation that points to it being a lie, and it throws off everything you believed about that day. “They were going to torture the truth out of you. Find out who you work for.”

“But how?” You’re always careful, always follow the rules, always make sure to blend in the background. Never, in all the years you’ve been doing this, were you discovered. If they knew, someone must’ve snitched on your boss’ client.

“I don’t know, but the boss forced me to make a deal with him and pretend to help him out.” By the way Wonwoo pronounces ‘boss’, you know his uncle pulled the family card.

He lets you think in silence, waiting for whatever you choose to do with the new information.

On one hand, you don’t doubt he’s telling the truth about the deal. On the other hand, you can’t think of the reasoning behind why Wonwoo refused to tell you this the thousands of times he had the chance to. Or why he didn’t talk to you at the time to plan something together.

“Did he tell you not to help me?” How could his family only come up with a plan where you were the one who ended up with the short end of the stick? They made you believe it was your fault, didn’t call you for months after your recovery. It doesn’t make any sense.

“He said it could risk our entire family.” Ouch.

It’s no surprise that his family doesn’t consider you part of them. They never did. And you didn’t expect them to. But hearing the sentiment come out of Wonwoo’s mouth stings.

“I fought them until the last day.” Wonwoo continues, sensing that you need more details about his stance. “They made sure I had no other choice.”

You know what that means. Of course they threatened him. It was always blood over anything else until he refused to fulfill their whims, then, it stopped mattering that Wonwoo was blood too. You’ve seen it happen first hand, just not with you on the receiving end.

“I hate your fucking family.” You settle on saying. Nothing he’s never heard before, but something to imply you understand him, in a way. After all, regardless of the time you spent apart, you were by his side through most of the horrible things he had to do for them.

Wonwoo exhales deeply, a barely there smile at your acknowledgement.

“I’m glad you can finally get out.” You continue, letting your care for him show through your words.

“Me too.” His body relaxes, suddenly much closer to you than before. “I’m gonna miss you.”

The warmth radiating from him envelops you, so familiar and intimate, and your body instantly lightens despite the rush you’re both supposed to be in. And as he tilts his head down to look into your eyes, gaze soft after his seemingly small but heartfelt confession, you can’t avoid the ache in your heart anymore.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” You realize out loud, the hurt in your voice opening a cascade of repressed feelings, clouding your eyes with tears.

When Wonwoo’s arms wrap around you at the sight of your crumbling form, you don’t stop him as he holds you close to his chest. Feeling his heartbeat against your ear, overpowering the sudden change of air in your room, you decide to let go. You don’t cry, but instead let yourself be comforted by him, by his steady breath and strong arms tight around you.

You’ve been surviving without him, trying to mend the hole in your heart and with no way to get closure, with your memories of him stained by the sight of his face watching you from the truck as it drove away. But surviving isn’t living.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo’s words reverberate down his chest. “For everything.”

Even if both of you know an apology won’t fix the rift he caused in your relationship, you let yourself live in that moment. Not survive, but live the moment with him in your arms.

His chest rising and falling against your ear fades everything around you, leaving only you and him alone in the world. Maybe you're waiting for him to let go, or maybe you know he's waiting for you and you refuse to say goodbye, but neither of you dare to let go of the other, enjoying the comfort you once knew so well. How many times have you woken up in a cold sweat, wishing he was laying behind you on the bed, ready to hug you back to sleep, and now you have it.

As if he could hear your doubt, Wonwoo lets go of his grip, setting you free from his tight embrace, but you stay there, standing in front of him without any other thought. The poor lighting from the bedside lamp you always forget to turn off does no justice to Wonwoo’s features as he looks at you up and down.

It's unclear who crosses the line into the other's personal space first. And this time, when his plush lips mold against yours, you don’t control yourself, you don’t put a stop to his movements.

The ghost of his touch you’ve been failing to escape from, back with more passion, glueing you together.

Naturally as ever, Wonwoo wraps his arms around you once again, now to help you on your tiptoes to be even closer. A sigh escapes you as your chests press against one another, and your hands cup his jaw to kiss him harder.

His tongue traces the outline of your lower lip, and the months you spent deprived of him open the way for you to give into him. You let his tongue roll over yours as he deepens the kiss the way it has you melting against him. A whimper draws out of you, and his hunger for you physically arises.

You don’t waste any time, sneaking your hands under the fancy clothes that fit him too well, feeling the tense of his muscles directly. With the pad of his fingers, he starts slipping down the string of your dress down your shoulders, leaving a fiery trail under his touch.

Between the mess of clothes flying away and the tangled limbs looking to feel the other’s bare skin, the world outside the four walls surrounding you stops mattering as you stumble back and fall on the bed. Wonwoo’s hips fit where your legs meet, seeking for your touch everywhere he can.

The weight of his bare chest on yours causes a chain reaction inside you. He's always had a toned body to drool for, but being under him again, feeling all the new muscle he gained while away from you, it’s not long before he has you softly moaning into his mouth, grinding his hips against yours with something more than just lust.

“Are we really doing this?” He gasps, detaching his mouth from you to look at your reaction.

You shouldn’t. It's wrong from every angle possible. Crying on your ex's shoulder and then making out with him? That was the first strike. Having sex with your ex? Wrong again. Having sex when you should be escaping after stealing two valuable and expensive pieces of jewelry and information? So, very wrong. But doing something right has rarely been a part of your life.

You could get sentimental, say that right in that moment, every molecule in your body was screaming asking for him to make you his. But what ultimately comes out of you is, “don’t talk, or I’ll regret it.”

Wonwoo doesn't seem fazed by your retaliation and just nods, making you chase his mouth as he starts leaving kisses up your jaw. His warm breath against your neck mixed with his barely clothed groin stroking your core slowly has you swallowing hard, waiting for his next move. Why hasn't he taken off his underwear yet?

“You never complained about my talking before.” His voice, ten times lower than before, takes your ear by surprise.

“We're in a rush, Wonwoo.” His name comes out half a moan as his hands travel down to where your centers meet.

Your reactions widen the smirk you're just now realizing is plastered on his face, lowering his head down while his eyes tease yours from above your stomach.

“This one's new.” He notes, hooking his fingers on the strings of your panties as he starts slipping them off you, leaving you now completely bare and at his mercy.

“Had people to impress.” You lie, hoping to rile him up enough that he stops teasing you.

Before you have the chance to react, the tear of the fabric reaches your ears. He ripped them off. “Now no one else will ever see them.”

“Fuck!” Getting more turned on by his jealousy just escalated to the top of the list of things that shouldn’t be happening.

The big bed in the center of your room has more than enough space for you both, but Wonwoo shows off his strength by dragging you to the edge, sinking to his knees on the soft carpet on the floor to face your center properly.

With his hands groping their way up your thighs, his eyes savoring the view of your wet core, and your speeding heartbeat with anticipation, you're instantly under his spell, gasping at every touch he decides to give.

Playing with you has always been a favorite of his. Quickie or not, he always found the time to have you whimpering and begging for him.

Feeling his fingers softly tracing your lower lips, spreading the arousal he caused all around your most sensitive zone, not holding back on touching you where you most need him, but not applying enough pressure. He’s driving you crazy.

“You're so wet baby.” He's so entranced you realize he's not looking for an answer. “And it's all for me.”

In one of his endless rounds on your too needy core, you stop his fingers right at the center. You claw at his hands, and his hazy stare, mesmerized by his work with your wetness, finds its way to yours, eyes dark with lust, urging him to do something once and for all.

“I’m enjoying my time down here.” His eyes get lost again, but the teasing smirk growing on his face tells you everything.

“We don’t have time,” but oh how you wish you did, “Wonwoo, don’t p–”

Your inner walls spread apart as he plunges two fingers into you, successfully shutting you up. Your insides welcome him, wrapping around his familiar digits seeking for more, sucking him further inside until his knuckles get covered in the wetness messily spread in your lips.

Wonwoo knows when to curl his fingers to make you scream. When to twist, turn and retract his hand to have you whimpering for more. And your body gives him every reaction he needs to fuel his ego.

“See how needy you are for me?” He groans as he rises from the ground, towering over you, not forgetting to thrust his hand into you so deliberately hard you can’t even mumble a response. “No one could make you feel this good.”

“N-no,” his eyes darken at your broken response, “you’re the only one.”

And it’s true. No matter how many times you tried, no one ever touched you like Wonwoo did. No one cared about finding and stroking each spot you loved and focused on your pleasure. Hell, not even you understand how Wonwoo so easily finds his way inside you.

“I can’t believe I spent so much time away from you.” You rake your nails down his back, lowering his torso down until he’s pressed against you again, his fingers hitting hard inside you as he moans in your ear, loving how your walls tighten around him. “I’m gonna make you mine again.”

“I already am.” You’re saying everything that comes to mind, your filter long gone by now. “Wonwoo, I’m cl-”

The sentence gets cut short, a desperate moan echoing across the room as Wonwoo gets his other hand to work, playing with your clit as your walls quiver against his menacing fingers.

“Relax, baby.” His length pokes against your inner thigh, rock hard and ready for you to play with, but your brain can’t take another order. “I know.”

Everything combines and combusts at the flick of his finger against your clit. And he doesn’t stop. His hands thrusts hard inside you, your trembling legs and spasming walls losing control as he extends your orgasm to his liking.

“Fuck, baby.” He stops moving his hand, letting you ride out your orgasm as he marvels at the sight. You shouldn’t blush at his words, especially when he can feel your walls clamp and know the effect he has on you. “I didn’t know you missed me that much.”

You don’t give any of you time to figure out anything, sneaking your hand between your bodies and getting hold of his hard length trying to peek out of his boxers. Wonwoo graces you with a sweet groan, hips twitching against your hand, showing you how much he needs you too.

When he slides his hands off your warmth, you don’t waste any time and rush to get his damn underwear off. After thinking you’ll never get to have him again, you can’t wait to, for one last time.

He catches on to your eagerness, taking both your thighs in his hands to drag you even closer to the edge of the bed, spreading them apart so your entrance’s finally close to his erection. The shock at the remainder of his size is almost embarrassing, proudly standing against his abs. You’re staring in awe, and Wonwoo loves it.

He stands proudly before you, letting you eye him up and down, all while allowing his eyes to wander on your body too. “Good to know you still like what you see.”

“Shut up.” You chuckle as you wiggle down the last centimeter to line up with his length, your desire for him stronger than your need to preserve your ego.

It’s dirty, the way Wonwoo drags his fingers through your lips to collect your arousal before pumping himself. You know he notices the new wave of arousal at his touch, but he doesn’t tease.

As he leans down, his tip entering you slowly, neither of you care about the long groans you let out. He looks for your eyes as he caresses the side of your face, holding his body weight with his other shoulder planted by your side.

Your walls welcome him in as he splits you in half slowly, letting you feel every vein dragging along your walls. He bottoms out almost softly, grazing your deepest parts before snapping his hips back.

But he doesn't let the feeling of emptiness take over you, starting a pace of slow grinds and quickly sliding out that has your eyes rolling back, your nails digging in the flesh of his shoulders.

You want to squeeze your eyes shut, let the feeling of him filling you up take over you, but you can’t take your eyes off him. With his face so close, soft features analysing yours contrasting with the way your hips snap together, you’re compelled to watch only him.

Every thrust pushes him deeper and deeper, as if he was trying to mark you as his forever. Your legs barely wrap around his waist, going limp as you feel your orgasm approaching fast, quivering with every snap of his hips.

“Fuck, baby, you're trapping me.” You can feel how his pounding grows stronger with every passing second, your walls clamping hard around his giving him a hard task.

Still sensitive from his fingers, your body feels on fire. Wonwoo’s hands roam freely anywhere they want, fondling your tits and pinching your nipples until you scream, or holding your hips tight when he hits that spot inside you that has you shaking. Every touch of his feels raw on your skin, as if even the barest scratch of his nails can have you seeing stars.

“You were made for me.” Somehow, you manage to register his mumble as his hands travel down your body, holding onto your thighs for dear life as he accelerates his pace.

Marking your thighs with the shape of his hands has always been a favorite of his, and you don’t care that you’ll feel his grasp on you for the next few days.

The bed squeaks under you, the force of Wonwoo’s thrusts and your body bouncing on top of it making it shift, but the downstairs guests are not a priority for either of you.

Wonwoo’s hand lets go of one of your legs, falling limp to the side, as he begins circling his digits around your swollen clit. Your throat itches as you scream at his touch, shock and pleasure merging into one and dismantling any wish you had to be quiet, if there even was one.

Without warning, electricity flows from his body to yours, your second orgasm shattering in a million moans and curses Wonwoo fucks you through. Every limb on your body trembles as his pistoning girth stutters its pace inside you at your tightening walls.

His pulsing cock alerts you of his nearing orgasm, but he regains composure after you lost control, thrusting inside you with force again and chasing his own high as you quiver around him.

You’re drunk on him. His touch, his scent, his sounds are all you care about. Everywhere, everything is him. His cock reaches so deep inside you even your breathing’s being choked up with each pound.

Wonwoo holds himself up caging you in between his arms, his body failing as ropes of white coat your walls. The sweet chant of his groans so close to your ears does nothing to calm you down, your insides squeezing every last drop of his cum.

But even if he's done himself, he's not done with you.

After he slides out of you, with so much care you wouldn't think he was just splitting you in half a minute ago, you use all your remaining strength to keep your legs open for him. You know he loves to see his seed seeping out of you, like a work of art finally finished.

You stay there, his mesmerized eyes on your dripping core while you regulate your breathing to normal.

“Wonwoo…” Your half moan manages to draw his attention, and the look you give him is enough for him to stand up and fetch something to clean you up.

He's always been so gentle with you, cleaning up his mess and wrapping his arms around you after.

“I'm never going to forget you.” He whispers to your ear, with your back pressed against his heaving chest. Your naked bodies stick to each other like magnets, incapable of coming apart.

You know you should get up and leave the hotel as soon as possible, but leaving means also letting go of him. His arms cage you in between them as if he didn't want to leave either.

“Let's stay here a minute.” You mumble, half asleep as his warmth envelops you once again.

His family didn’t approve of his relationship with you. They never did. But Wonwoo didn't care about their opinions. Hell, he didn't even care about the “family business” everyone was so passionate about.

Wonwoo fought his entire adolescence to be left out of that life, for his uncle to let him live his life away from the constant danger. A highschool kid had no business joining armed robberies or stalking people to collect data. But he had no other place to go, and they provided food and shelter but made sure to let him know it wasn’t for free, even for family.

“Blood over anything else.” They'd say when he refused to join in on a job when they were “training” him. He couldn't argue with anyone, so he started looking for their approval. Maybe that way, they'd let him have more freedom.

When he met you, the new ninja one of his aunts managed to recruit, he was instantly under your spell. You helped him find his own ways to do the jobs, allowed him to set his own rules. And that just made him grow colder and colder with his family, until all he cared about was you. You helped him find the little freedom the job allowed to exist. The one his family tried so hard to bury.

When Wonwoo saw his uncle’s name on the caller ID the night he knew you were staking out your next target, a chill ran down his spine. It couldn’t mean anything good.

“If they don’t know who it is, then I can help her! Why would I take that man’s side? Just let me tell her!” He screamed to the phone, but the man on the other side wasn’t listening.

The plan was already sealed, and they just needed a pawn to carry it out. And who was more perfect than Wonwoo? Making him pay because of his resentment to his family, making you hate him so you'd leave him alone for once. It was all they always wanted.

Excuse after excuse was thrown his way. Reason after reason why the plan was the way it was and why he had to be the one to do it. Something about the importance of family, or whatever they said.

But he didn't care that those men were trying to find out his uncle's identity, it didn't even matter if they found out about his own identity. What finally made him care was you. If he didn't obey, you'd fall into the trap, and you'd be dead. Because of his family. Because of him.

So, he agreed. Knowing he'd never be able to tell you the truth. Knowing you'd hate him for the rest of his life. But at least, he could protect you.

That's why, that first night, he showed up at the empty bar with a distraction, so no one would realize you were the one stalking the underground art dealer.

That's why he made sure you'd fit right in at the fancy bar, contrasting with his dirty out of place clothes. He had to make the deal that night, but you couldn't look like you were together. He had to make sure you looked like a girl he swooned right there, another drunk person who happened to be there on the wrong night.

On your last date night, Wonwoo knew something was off. He realized you caught on to something. Because of yourself you did. Wonwoo couldn't lie to your face even if millions of dollars were promised to him.

But what could've he done? The deal was up and running, there was no backing down. He had to go on with it with the excuse that it was to save you.

And he did save you. From death at least.

Wonwoo's heart broke that day, in the passenger seat of that filthy truck, with your target rambling on about his deals and his gratefulness to him, all while his right hand tried to kick your ass. Stupid men didn't know everything was part of a plan.

The sight of your eyes as you watched him drive away got burned in the back of his eyelids like a curse. Forever haunting him.

With his family off his back, he tried reaching out to you. He found you again and again, and begged for your forgiveness like a stray dog, but you wouldn't hear him. And after weeks of trying, he really understood.

You were done with him. The one that showed him hope left. Because of him.

Your body jolts awake, hazy mind as your surroundings harshly begin to make sense. You have no idea when you fell asleep, or how much time passed since, but you can’t concentrate on finding out with all the noise.

So much noise.

Your ringtone. Your second phone’s ringtone. Wonwoo’s ringtone. The hotel’s phone. Everything’s ringing at the same time.

Wonwoo’s body shifts next to yours, stirring in the bed until his arm wraps around your bare waist, holding you closer to him like it’s his second nature. It takes a second longer for your body to react to everything going on.

“Wonwoo, something’s happening. Answer your phone.” You grab his hands closed tight around you in an intent to shake both your bodies and wake him up. A low hum is what you get as an answer.

It pains you to drag yourself out of the warm bed, away from Wonwoo’s firm grip you so longed for. But it’s impossible to enjoy the recent developments if the incessant buzzing next to your ear doesn’t stop.

Not much time could’ve passed since you two fell asleep, as the dark night sky is still in its full glory. It wasn’t the best decision to let each other’s warmths drift you to sleep right after you’ve finished a job.

As soon as you locate your phone and click the screen to accept the call, one of your boss’ bodyguards yells in your ear.

“You have to get out of there! Now!” The next mumbles that come out of his mouth, you barely register as your eyes connect with Wonwoo’s, his phone in his hand, probably hearing an identical order.

Every call disconnects after both of you tell your respective caller that you’re on your way. The messy room and your naked bodies tell otherwise.

For a second, you’re both frozen in place, listening closely for any suspicious sounds alerting you of any incoming danger. The silence is relieving for a second before you’re rushing to find your not fancy clothes scattered around the room.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, takes his time putting on every single clothing item.

By the time you’ve got dressed and grabbed your essentials so you can fly out of there, he’s barely put on his fancy pants he wore for the event and is buttoning up his shirt one by one.

“What are you waiting for? You have to go!” You can't comprehend why he's wasting the little time he has to finally escape and live his life as he always wanted, to… stare at you?

“Come with me.” He finally opens his mouth, hands dropping to his sides as he rounds the bed to stand in front of you.

“What?” Your question comes out as an incredulous chuckle.

“Run away with me! I'm being serious.” He takes your hands between his, like a promise, and leaves you speechless.

“I– Wh– You're crazy, Wonwoo, I can't.” You force yourself to take a step away from him, the only way you can think clearly.

“This is our chance! Don't you see it?” He screams in your face, smiling like a mad man.

“We got caught and you think that your family, who already hates me enough, is going to let me go?” You reason, but Wonwoo's now more focused on pacing around the room to try to make sense of everything.

“Exactly.” He clearly stopped listening to you at some point. “We got caught, which means my deal’s off. And I'm not going back.”

“If you still have the USB, wouldn’t he consider it?” As soon as you end your question, you know it’s pointless. Your boss is not exactly known for having mercy.

Wonwoo simply stares at you, eyes slightly closed and head tilted, another sign that it doesn’t work like that.

“Okay, I get it, don’t look at me like that.” You avoid his teasing eyes, trying to focus on grabbing your most important things and escape for once. “You’re still crazy.”

“Come with me,” stands in front of you and holds the sides of your face between his hands, “we’ll be out of the country before they can find us.”

The warmness in his gaze melts you right along with it. But what he’s asking is a much more meaningful commitment than just leaving the hotel with him. It’s a petition about how you’ll spend the rest of your life.

Maybe a fleeting life, never settling in a place before having to escape again, wouldn’t be so bad, if it’s with him. It was his family that got in between you two, and with them out of the equation, he’s still him, and you’re still you.

“Okay.” Your faces are so close he even hears your whisper.

A big smile grows on his face, beating the confusion as it drifts away, realizing that you just agreed with him. “Really?”

“Yes! I’ll go with you.” Wonwoo takes the chance to kiss you again, but as much as you don’t want him to let go, there’s a more pressing issue. “But we need to go right now.”

In the second it takes you to open your eyes after he disconnects your lips, you find him nodding as he collects the few things he still had scattered on the floor. Taking a look around, you realize there’s not enough time to clean up and pretend you were never there. You could grab your computer and phone, leaving no trace of the investigation you did on your target, but to whoever you’re running from, anything you leave behind will serve as clues.

“Do you have a lighter?” Wonwoo asks as he walks to the door, as if he read your mind.

“Yes… are you saying what I think you are?” It’s something you’ve done before. And the best way to get rid of unwanted evidence.

“Give me a few minutes to grab my stuff from my room, then we’ll light them both on fire.” He probably thought of that plan as soon as he answered the call. “Let’s meet downstairs.”

“Be careful, please.” If you blow your room up in flames before he’s out of his, he’ll be in trouble. “And quick.”

“I love it when you worry about me." The door’s barely open behind him, but there’s a lot more noise than when you two woke up. “Whatever happens, you just escape. I’ll find you.”

With that, Wonwoo runs out of the room, heading for the stairs at light speed. Your lips dry out as the seconds pass, fearing what could happen during the next few minutes, but you can’t be dramatic, there’s no time.

Behind you, the mess of your room awaits to be turned to ash. The bottles of alcohol inside the mini fridge you never touched call your name, ready to be burst against the carpeted floor and enlightened. But before doing anything, you need to decide what you can live without.

Your bags full of clothes are meaningless. Besides a black sweatshirt you quickly throw over your shoulders to cover yourself downstairs, no piece of fabric is worth risking your life. Changing into more comfortable clothes is out of the question, as you’ll draw more attention by not looking like everyone else at the event.

Outside the door, the beginning of a commotion makes itself known. It’s not on your floor, yet, but in any second it will be. Wonwoo comes to mind, a floor below you, closer to the sound of at least 10 men ready to hunt you down. The best thing you can do for him is create a distraction.

The one thing you realistically need is your primary phone, so you secure it in a small bag along with the emerald necklace. Any other device would just slow you down.

The fridge’s full of different types of alcohol, so you pop open every bottle there is and dump the liquid on the carpet, the bed, the curtains, and especially on the computer you’re forced to leave behind. It reeks so much of booze you feel dizzy until your nostrils get used to the smell.

As you stumble back and slam your door open for the last time, the faint screams of people downstairs alerts you that your warning was much more deep than your brain decided to understand.

Are you getting out of there because you wasted time sleeping with Wonwoo instead of escaping and your targets found out they were robbed? If that was the case, then you must’ve done a terrible job at hiding yourself from them. But that’s nearly impossible. Too many coincidences you have no time to think of.

You find the small lighter in your bag and flick the switch to see the orange flame erupt before your eyes. Good, it works, you’re not dead yet.

Throwing the ignitor across the room and down to the wet floor is easy. Running away from it with the heat coming right behind you isn't. The room explodes in flames just when you reach the stairs, suspiciously empty taking in account the mess you can hear from downstairs.

Step after step down, the floor below yours is too clear of smoke for your liking. Did Wonwoo not get the chance to do it? You don’t worry about that for long, but the answer might be worse.

Whines of pain echo through the hallway as you take the last steps down to Wonwoo’s floor. At least four different voices reach your ears hiding behind the wall. It’s like a vintage radio show, punch sounds repeatedly get through over the fire alarm and the screaming on the floors below. You could merge with all the people running away, pass as another scared guest, clueless as to what was happening.

Only your heart can’t allow you to leave without seeing what was happening to Wonwoo. His groans of pain are nowhere near as many as the other guys attacking him, but it’s a matter of time before they overwhelm him.

A peek over the wall confirms all you’ve been listening to. Wonwoo’s room door was left open, but there’s no fire coming out of it. One guy’s already on the floor, unconscious against the wall with blood coming out of his lower lip. The other two have your backs facing you, taking turns attacking Wonwoo, but miserably failing.

You can’t take your eyes off the fight, one guy trying to recover from Wonwoo’s punches while the other swings and fails to land his fist on Wonwoo’s ribs. Like a scene out of a movie, he beats the two men until they’re laying on the floor, screaming in pain, incapable of getting up. But it is never as easy as it seems.

A new wave of three men make their way from the other hallway, tasked to finish what the first guys started. Wonwoo, not taken by surprise, with his bruised knuckles and bleeding eyebrow, is already ready for another fight.

When the new men realize the lifeless state of their fellow hired butchers, they stomp towards Wonwoo, who’s throwing the lighter into his room.

While one of them runs to check on the body closer to your hide spot, the other two begin throwing punches at Wonwoo, these ones managing to hit him more times, but not without receiving more in retaliation. Thud punches and broken bones are all you can hear, but you’ve hidden again, in case the man closer to you realizes Wownwoo had company all this time.

It’s the explosion that startles you out of the staircase.

The grey smoke covers the farthest part of the hallway, covering the two hitmen he was fighting, both injured on the floor, holding onto different parts of their bodies either the explosion or Wonwoo broke.

Your eyes connect with Wonwoo’s, and he manages to tilt his chin forward, the only way he can plead for you to escape, just before the last man stands up and faces him. Everything happens too fast.

You’re about to turn around and keep going down the stairs just like Wonwoo told you to do when you hear it. A gunshot.

Then, a second freezes in time. Your head turns just when the body falls dead on the ground, revealing Wonwoo just behind him with a splatter of blood staining his face, and the gun in his hand still pointed ahead, blowing smoke. Your eyes connect again, a realization of what he did and you witnessed.

But time's not frozen, and one of the guys that was hiding behind the grey smoke follows Wonwoo's stare and sprints your way, just at the same time as the other one appears behind Wonwoo and wraps his arm around his neck.

You’re trained for this, to be thinking on your feet in case something unforeseen happens. The red fire extinguisher stands out on the side of the stairs you just went down from. Pretending to run up to escape from the man running your way, you snatch the extinguisher out of its place and blow the white smoke right in his face, disorienting him enough to swing the heavy metal right onto his hairless skull.

Before any more men appear out of nowhere, you jump over the railing and run downstairs, hoping Wonwoo’s strong enough to pull through the deadly mix of smoke.

Pushing through the big crowd formed on the bottom floor, you feel more in danger surrounded by all the guests and their judging eyes waiting to figure out if you're the one causing the mess to rat you out. Even if everyone is panicking, talking to each other trying to find out what happened and no one’s really looking at you. In all the chaos, no one looks at other people's dirty and messy clothes to analyze if they fit in.

Almost five whole minutes pass until the entrance door appears in your sight, surrounded by news anchors and their big cameras shooting to catch everything they can. Everyone closer to the door is either more preoccupied with being on live TV, or ready to run off the event and to a safe place.

Trying your best to avoid the cameras, hiding your face behind the hood of your sweatshirt and using men’s big bodies to cover the rest of you, the hotel front door gets closer and closer with each step. From the corner of your eye, a few feet to your right, you recognize at least four men that work for Wonwoo’s family, looking around trying to recognize faces in the crowd, so you run off in the opposite direction.

A black fence you didn’t perceive that first night at the hotel obstructs your view of the street, but a glimpse of a black hoodie similar to yours catches your attention running around the corner. You can’t hesitate, with the cameras going around and the surveillance team looking for you, escaping right that second is the only option.

You follow the figure without another thought, walking as fast as you can but trying not to get noticed, and see him getting inside a car you’ve never seen before and start the engine. From where you’re hiding, you can’t be seen from inside the car. But the car never drives off, like it’s waiting for someone.

“I thought you’d never come.” Wonwoo says as you pull the handle to open the passenger door.

With the engine running, Wonwoo changes the manual gear and drives the car away from the poorly lighted alleyway.

“They were coming after me too, I had no other choice.” Your smile reveals your little lie, and he returns it as he interlocks your fingers together. “How did you know I was going to see you?”

From a distance, you can hear the fire siren arriving at the hotel, but you’re far enough that worrying about it is useless. All the mess, the robbery, the people chasing after you, it’s all gone. Already blocks away, the city lights and clear streets are like a breath of fresh air, the first minute of your new beginning with him. You’re both free. Finally.

“I told you I’d find you.”

note: i can't believe this is finally done!! thank you so so so much for reading, and to all the people who've been waiting since i posted the teaser months aho, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

don't be shy and leave your thoughts! come yap in my inbox!

#keopihausnet #group: seventeen #member: seventeen wonwoo #smut #mdni #10k+#criminal au #heist au #oneshot #angst #r: ☕☕☕#hannieoftheyear

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