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asciendo · 2 days ago

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The Weight of Crown and Heart

Summary: Seungcheol is a prince — bound by duty, raised for power, but burdened by questions he was never meant to ask. You are the daughter of a tribe fighting to survive, fierce and unyielding, with a spirit that refuses to bow.

When your worlds collide, drawn together by fate and circumstance, loyalty and love stand on opposite sides of the line. But some connections are impossible to silence — no matter the cost.

🚨 Warnings: Execution threats, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, smut / explicit sexual content (18+)

You had to find your father. No matter how many times they told you to let it go — that it was too dangerous, that you’d only be signing your own death sentence — you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

Your village had been holding its breath for months, caught in the tightening grip of the Empire. Rumors spread fast across the outskirts: the Emperor was making plans to clear out the borderlands, to claim the outer provinces for the expansion of his reign. Entire tribes were being displaced — some erased entirely.

Your father had refused to bow. He had always fought for the people, for your home, standing at the front lines of quiet resistance. And then, one day, on what should have been a routine mission, he vanished. No word. Nobody. Only silence.

But you knew. Deep down, you knew. The Emperor had taken him.

Your younger sister had overheard an imperial battalion scouting nearby lands, their movements cloaked as routine patrols, though everyone knew they were the sharp edge of the Empire’s plans to push further. The soldiers traveled in and out of the capital under the cover of supply runs, their carts heavy with rations and weapons.

So you made your choice.

If the Empire had your father, then the city was where you needed to be. And if getting there meant hiding beneath the canvas of one of their supply wagons, smuggling yourself straight into the lion’s den — so be it.

No one was going to stop you.

You slipped away under the cover of darkness, your heart pounding louder than your footsteps on the dirt road. Dressed in oversized clothes stolen from the village boys, you wrapped a worn scarf tightly around your face, hiding every feature that might betray who — or what — you were. With your hair tucked beneath a cap and your frame swallowed by baggy sleeves, you hoped the disguise would be enough to pass for a scrawny servant boy.

The soldiers’ camp wasn’t hard to find. The flicker of their bonfire glowed like a beacon against the night, their laughter and the clatter of tin cups echoing through the trees. You crouched low, skirting the edges of the clearing, slipping silently behind the canvas of their tents.

There — near the far end of the camp — stood one of their carts, piled with sacks of grain and barrels of supplies. You watched carefully, waiting. The soldiers were still gathered by the fire, drinking, loud and distracted. They wouldn’t be hungry again anytime soon.

Now or never.

You crept toward the cart, heart hammering, limbs tense, and slipped into the back, wedging yourself behind a barrel of dried goods. The wooden planks beneath you were cold and rough, but you didn’t dare move. You stayed there, curled tight, barely breathing as the night dragged on, willing yourself invisible.

Sleep came in brief, fitful moments — always half awake, always listening.

Seungcheol awoke to the soft rustling of wind in the trees, the distant chirp of birds greeting the sun. Their seventh day out in the field. Seven days scouting the lands his father — the Emperor — had marked for expansion. Lands that didn’t belong to the Empire. Not yet.

Oddly enough, he preferred these mornings over the suffocating marble walls of the palace. Out here, the air was clear. No titles, no politics. Just duty.

Stretching the stiffness from his shoulders, he stepped outside his tent, already spotting a few of his men gathered around the supply cart, whispering.

“What’s going on?” he called out, his tone casual but commanding.

At once, the soldiers straightened, saluting him. One of the younger men cleared his throat nervously. “Sir. Uh… we thought we heard something last night. Coming from the cart.”

“Probably just a rat, Jinho,” another soldier snorted, elbowing him. “Or maybe it was the ghost of all the deer you keep missing with your arrows.”

A round of laughter followed, but Jinho’s face stayed pale. “No, I swear! I heard something.”

Their general, a gruff older man named Baekhyun, rolled his eyes. “I’ll check, if it’ll shut you all up.” He marched over to the cart, muttering under his breath about scared children.

A moment passed. Then another.

“There’s nothing here,” Baekhyun called out lazily — but just as he turned to leave, he paused. His brow furrowed. “Wait a minute…”

A sharp crash sounded from the cart, barrels tipping over, food scattering. The soldiers jumped to attention, weapons half-drawn as Baekhyun stumbled back, startled. And then — from behind the barrels — a figure burst out.

Baggy clothes. A scarf wrapped tight around the face. Small frame, fast on their feet.

“Stop!” one of the soldiers yelled, but the figure sprinted toward the trees.

Not fast enough.

Seungcheol moved like lightning. His hand shot out, grabbing the fleeing figure by the arm and yanking them backward. They struggled wildly, throwing punches and twisting against his grip, but he held firm.

“Stay back,” Seungcheol ordered his men with a sharp gesture when they started to rush in. “I’ll handle this.”

The scuffle was brief. The stranger fought harder than he’d expected, but Seungcheol was trained for worse. He pinned them easily, forcing the figure down onto the dirt, his weight pressing them into the ground.

“Now let’s see who you are.” he muttered.

The stranger thrashed beneath him, refusing to give in. But Seungcheol was stronger. With one hand, he ripped away the scarf and tugged at the loose-fitting clothes to uncover the face beneath.

And then he froze.

Wide, defiant brown eyes glared up at him, shining even through the grime and fear. Strands of raven-black hair fell loose from the cap, fanning out across the ground like silk. Her skin, pale as porcelain, was streaked with dirt, but it only seemed to make her beauty more striking.

A girl.

Not just a girl — beautiful. Proud. Unbroken.

For a moment, Seungcheol forgot to breathe.

She stared back at him, chest heaving, lips pressed into a thin line of stubborn silence. Even now, pinned beneath him, her eyes didn’t waver.

Seungcheol loosened his grip, stunned, and slowly rose to his feet, his gaze never leaving her face.

His men stepped back, exchanging confused glances, unsure of what to make of the figure struggling beneath their commander’s grip. Baekhyun jumped down from the cart, his brows knitted together, eyeing you curiously.

Seungcheol kept his stance firm, gaze sharp. “Who are you?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You slowly pushed yourself up from the ground, brushing the dirt off your borrowed clothes. Your hands trembled, but your eyes never wavered as you stared straight at him. “Just a beggar looking for food,” you answered coolly, chin lifted.

There was a flicker of doubt across his face, and from behind him, one of the soldiers — Jinho — spoke up, voice tight with suspicion. “She could be a spy.”

“I’m no one,” you shot back, your glare hard enough to make even Seungcheol hesitate for a moment, startled by the fire behind your words.

“I doubt that,” Seungcheol muttered, narrowing his eyes.

You sneered. “For someone with a crown on their head, you’re not very bright.”

The men bristled at your insult, some already reaching for the ropes at their belts, ready to bind you and drag you off. The tension thickened, their boots shifting in the dirt as they moved to surround you.

But then Baekhyun raised a hand, halting them. “Wait.”

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, circling around you like a vulture sizing up its prey. His gaze dropped to the necklace half-hidden beneath your tunic — a small, carved amulet resting against your chest. Before you could react, his rough hand shot out, grabbing the cord and yanking the amulet free.

“Hey—!” You lunged forward, trying to snatch it back, but Baekhyun held it just out of reach, turning the piece over in his fingers.

“She’s from the Kagan tribe,” he said darkly, eyes gleaming with recognition.

The camp fell silent. Several of the soldiers stiffened at the name.

Baekhyun’s grin widened as he studied the carving. “Daughter of the chief, no less.”

“The tribe leader?” one of the soldiers echoed, frowning. “The one my uncle’s brigade captured last season?”

At those words, your fury broke loose. You surged forward, eyes blazing, shouting, “GIVE HIM BACK!”

Baekhyun barely flinched as he shoved you down again, forcing you to the dirt with a hand on your shoulder. “So that’s what this is,” he mused, voice thick with mock sympathy. “You were trying to sneak your way into the capital to find him.”

You struggled against his grip, breath coming hard and fast. But the weight of his hand and the truth of his words pinned you down just as much as his strength. Now you knew for certain — they had your father.

The soldiers began murmuring again, debating what to do with you, some already moving to restrain you.

Seungcheol raised a hand to silence them. His gaze remained locked on you, thoughtful, the earlier anger in his eyes dimmed by something closer to curiosity. “Bring her with us.”

One of the men blinked. “Sir?”

“She’s the chief’s daughter,” Seungcheol said calmly. “If the Empire’s holding her father, she might be useful. Either as leverage… or for information.”

Baekhyun didn’t wait for further instructions. Roughly, he grabbed your wrists and bound them tightly in front of you as you fought back, twisting against the rope. “Get your hands off me!” you snapped, but your struggles only made the knot tighter.

They dragged you toward the cart where prisoners were kept, shoving you inside with little care. You stumbled, falling hard onto the wooden floor, your knees scraping against the rough planks. Slowly, you pushed yourself back up, refusing to let them see you crumble.

As the cart began to roll forward, you looked out through the small gaps between the wooden slats — and there he was.

Seungcheol stood at a distance, arms crossed over his chest. His expression wasn’t the smug victory you expected. Instead, his eyes followed you, thoughtful, uncertain… with the faintest flicker of worry softening the sharpness of his gaze.

You didn’t know how many days had passed.

The journey blurred together — the rocking of the cart, the ache in your bound wrists, the endless stretch of road beneath the wheels. They gave you food, enough to keep you standing, and water to keep you from passing out. But beyond that, they got nothing from you.

Not a word. Not a name.

Silence was the only weapon you had left.

Eventually, the cart jolted to a stop. Commands were barked, tents were raised, and a small camp began to take shape. Evening had fallen by the time they settled, the sun dipping low against the horizon, casting the land in soft gold and purple hues.

You sat alone at the edge of the camp, your hands still bound, staring out at the distant line where the hills met the sky. Planning. Watching. Waiting. Wondering how much longer you could hold out — and how the hell you were going to get out of this.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the dirt pulled you from your thoughts.

You didn’t turn right away. You didn’t need to. You already knew who it was.

Seungcheol.

Slow, deliberate steps. No armor clinking, no heavy boots — just the quiet approach of someone who knew exactly how much presence they carried.

“I thought you’d be smarter than this,” he said casually, stopping a few feet away. “Sneaking into a soldier’s cart in the middle of the night? That’s not bravery. That’s desperation.”

You gave him nothing but silence, your gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Still refusing to speak?” he added, his voice dipping lower as he crouched down, trying to catch your eyes. “I’m impressed. Most would’ve begged by now.”

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze, eyes sharp as steel. “I’m not most,” you answered, your voice hoarse but steady.

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained cautious. He studied you for a moment, tilting his head, as if trying to puzzle out what kind of creature they had trapped.

“You’re loyal,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I’ll give you that. But loyalty can be dangerous if it makes you foolish.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know what’s dangerous? Men who think they’re doing the world a favor by stealing fathers from their children.”

For the first time, his expression flickered — a brief shadow crossing his features.

“You’re wasting your time,” you continued, voice colder now. “Whatever you’re trying to get from me, you won’t.”

Seungcheol straightened, standing tall above you again. The smile was gone, replaced by something harder to read. “I’m not here to interrogate you.”

“Then why are you here?” you snapped.

There was a pause. His gaze softened, almost like he hadn’t expected the question — or the fire behind it.

“Because I wanted to see the girl bold enough to insult me to my face,” he said simply.

You glared up at him, defiant, but your chest rose and fell a little faster, betraying the way your body tensed beneath his stare.

He looked at you for a long moment, then quietly added, “Rest while you can. You’re going to need it.”

And with that, Seungcheol turned and walked away, leaving you sitting in the glow of the dying sun — your mind racing, your heart burning hotter than ever.

The next morning, the air around the camp buzzed with activity. Maps were unrolled over makeshift tables, soldiers standing around discussing the day’s plan — marking the lands they would claim, the borders they would push.

Seungcheol stood at the center, arms crossed, listening intently as Baekhyun traced his finger along the map’s edges. “The rivers here cut off most of the valley,” Baekhyun explained. “The remaining tribes scattered along this area should be easy enough to drive out.”

“They’re stubborn, though,” another soldier chimed in. “Won’t leave without a fight.”

“They’re nothing more than animals clinging to dirt,” Baekhyun snorted. “They’ll fall in line or they’ll fall beneath a sword. Either way—”

You scoffed, loud enough to cut through the conversation like a blade.

The men’s heads snapped toward you, narrowing their eyes. You sat against the post where they’d tied you earlier, arms crossed loosely over your bound wrists, watching them like they were the fools at the end of a joke.

“Well, well,” Baekhyun sneered, stepping forward with a crooked smile. “Do we finally get to hear the princess speak?”

They had been calling you that for days now — princess — a mocking title because you refused to beg, refused to cower, refused to speak a word to any of them.

You lifted your chin, staring at them calmly. “It’s just funny,” you said, voice sharp and clear, “how little you actually know about the war you’re fighting.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, some scoffing, others rolling their eyes. Seungcheol’s gaze, however, stayed on you, unreadable.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, brow raised.

You leaned forward, your glare steady, voice laced with disgust. “You sit here drawing lines across a map, calling it expansion — talking about the tribes like they’re nothing but savages standing in your way. But what you’re really doing is burning homes. Tearing families apart. You’re not fighting beasts. You’re slaughtering innocent people. You’re killing children.”

The murmur of the men rose instantly, their hands clenching at their sides, faces twisting with irritation.

“Watch your tongue,” one of them snapped.

But you didn’t flinch. “Tell me — where was the last tribe you passed on your way here? You say they’re given a chance to ‘join’ your empire, but there’s no one left standing to surrender.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “You’ve got it all wrong. The Empire doesn’t murder civilians. We give them the choice to assimilate — to live under the Emperor’s rule. We only expand where we’re allowed to.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Do you honestly believe that?” you shot back, eyes narrowing. “Look around you. The land behind you is empty. No villages. No people. No one left to choose. Only graves where homes used to be.”

The camp fell silent, your words hanging heavy between the two of you.

You pushed yourself up as much as the ropes would allow, your voice cracking with fury now. “My father wasn’t raising an army of rebels — he was gathering the other chiefs, trying to defend our people. Trying to protect us from monsters like you.”

Before you could speak another word, one of the younger soldiers snapped. His hand whipped across your face, striking your cheek hard enough to send your head snapping to the side.

“Watch your filthy mouth when you speak of the Emperor!” the soldier barked.

You tasted blood in your mouth but didn’t look away. Slowly, you turned your head back toward him, eyes burning with hate.

“Enough!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the air like thunder.

The soldier froze, stiffening as Seungcheol stalked toward him, anger radiating off his frame.

“Who gave you the order to lay a hand on her?” Seungcheol growled.

“S-sir, she insulted—”

“I heard her.” Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “But she’s still my prisoner — not yours to punish.”

The soldier lowered his gaze, swallowing hard, nodding quickly. “Yes, Commander.”

Seungcheol turned back to you, his expression unreadable again — a strange mix of frustration and something else beneath it. His eyes lingered for a moment on the red mark blooming across your cheek, your lip bloodied but your glare still fierce, unbroken.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and barked at the others, “Get back to work. The perimeter won’t plan itself.”

But even as the men scattered, their voices hushed and tense, you could feel Seungcheol’s gaze lingering on you — longer than it should have. His expression was hard to read, but in his eyes was the slightest crack, the faintest doubt. As if, for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure which side he was truly on.

The camp grew quiet as the sky faded into deep blue, the crackle of the fire the only sound filling the silence. You sat alone, back against the wooden frame of the prisoner’s cart, your arms sore from the bindings, the sting on your cheek a dull throb.

Night fell heavier, and though exhaustion weighed on your limbs, sleep was slow to come. Your mind spun with thoughts of your father, of your people, of the lies that these men told themselves to sleep at night.

Just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching. You sat up, instantly alert.

It was him.

Seungcheol stood there, half-shadowed by the moonlight, arms at his sides, watching you for a moment before he spoke.

“I came to apologize,” he said quietly. “For what my soldier did to you. I didn’t give him the right to lay a hand on a woman.”

You scoffed, the bitterness rising in your throat. “So noble of you,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly. A hero.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, but his tone stayed calm. “No matter what you think of us… we’re not those kinds of men.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head back against the cart. “Right. Murderers with manners. What a comfort.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing slightly. “But your lies have to stop.”

Your gaze snapped back to him. “Lies?” you echoed, incredulous.

“You speak as if you know the Empire,” he said, stepping closer. “But you have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply, sitting forward, your voice growing louder, angrier. “You’re the one who has no idea. Are you really so blind? Or do you just choose not to see it?”

The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw as he held your gaze.

“Where have you ever seen these tribes ‘assimilated’ so peacefully into your empire?” you challenged. “Tell me, where?”

Seungcheol straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve seen it myself. Tribes brought to the capital. Their leaders shaking my father’s hand. Swearing loyalty to the Emperor. Living safely under the Empire’s protection.”

You gave a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Is that what they told you? You really believe that?”

His eyes narrowed. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You saw beggars in the city,” you snapped. “Men dressed up and paid to play the part of chiefs. Puppets wearing feathers and beads like costumes — paraded around for show.”

He laughed now, sharp and disbelieving. “You sound delusional.”

He turned, about to walk away, but your voice stopped him cold.

“Have you ever seen one of them with this?”

Seungcheol turned back just as you lifted your bound wrists, tugging the sleeve down past your bruised skin. There, inked into the inside of your wrist, was the mark — a small, intricate symbol, the tattoo of your tribe. A sign that could never be faked, given to every child at birth.

“We’re marked as infants,” you said, your voice steady but laced with quiet pride. “Every tribe bears its own symbol. Every single one.”

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped to the tattoo. His mind flashed back — the hands of the so-called “tribesmen” he had met in the city, clean, bare of any marks.

No tattoos.

His face froze, but you caught the flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes. He quickly straightened, forcing nonchalance, but his silence betrayed him.

“You haven’t seen one, have you?” you pressed, leaning forward, your eyes locking onto his.

Still, he said nothing.

Instead, after a long pause, his next words came softer — unexpected. “What’s your name?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

“I realized,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “we’ve come this far… and I still don’t know your name.”

You hesitated, lips pressed tight, weighing whether to give him even that small piece of yourself.

He watched you for a moment longer, then gave a small sigh and turned to leave.

“…Y/N.”

You spoke quietly, but it was enough to stop him mid-step.

Seungcheol paused, back still to you. A slow smile crept onto his face — faint, but real. Without turning around, he gave a slight nod, then continued walking back into the darkness of the camp.

And for the first time since they’d captured you, you felt the balance between captor and prisoner begin to shift — even if neither of you understood yet which way it would fall.

The next location wasn’t far, so the men decided to march rather than ride. From the moment you set foot on the new site, unease prickled down your spine like a warning.

This place was wrong.

As the brigade began to unpack and make camp, your eyes scanned the clearing, reading the land like the back of your hand. Seungcheol noticed. His gaze followed you as you quietly studied the edges of the trees and the looming shadow of a rocky cliff nearby.

Later, they let you out from the prisoner’s cart — still bound but given the courtesy of washing your face at the stream. You crouched at the water’s edge, splashing the cool water onto your skin, the unease still weighing heavy on your chest.

You felt him before you heard him. “What is it?” Seungcheol asked, standing a few feet behind you, arms crossed.

You wiped your face, sighing as you stood. “This is a bad place to stop.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

You pointed toward the side of the cliff where a wide, dark hole yawned open at the base of the rock. “That’s a wolf’s den,” you said simply. “They’re not here right now… but they will be. And when they come home, we’ll all be nothing but meat on their teeth.”

The soldiers behind you laughed, some exchanging smug glances.

“Then we’ll kill them,” one of them scoffed, resting a hand on his blade.

You turned, glaring sharply. “Of course. You’ll take their home too? Not surprised.”

Baekhyun let out a sharp laugh. “All this fuss over some animals. You’re wasting our time, girl.”

But then, a low, guttural growl rumbled through the clearing.

From the shadows of the trees emerged a large wolf, its silver-gray coat bristling as it padded toward the camp, golden eyes fixed sharply on the intruders. The men scrambled, grabbing weapons, stepping into their attack positions.

Your heart clenched.

No. You wouldn’t let them take another home. Not tonight.

Before they could act, you stepped forward, slowly, carefully, eyes locked on the wolf. The soldiers shouted warnings, raising their swords higher, but then—

“Hold,” Seungcheol commanded, raising his hand to stop them, his eyes watching you intently.

You kept walking, calm, steady. The wolf’s teeth bared, its growl deepening, but you didn’t flinch.

Instead, you knelt before it.

Your bound hands reached out, slow and gentle, until your palm rested against the wolf’s head. You leaned your forehead down, pressing it lightly against the animal’s, your lips murmuring soft words only the creature could hear.

Baekhyun’s jaw tightened as he watched. “The Kagan people,” he muttered, “are known for their bond with the wild. Their priests say the earth and beasts speak to them.”

The men stayed frozen, tense, as the wolf gave a final snarl toward the group… then turned, padding silently back into the den, disappearing into the dark.

You stood, looking back at them, eyes hard. “You think you own the land beneath your feet… that the rivers and forests are here for you to take. But the trees are alive, the rivers remember, and the beasts have voices you refuse to hear.”

The men fell silent. Not one dared speak.

You continued, your voice calm but cutting: “You call this place yours, but you don’t even know its name. You hunt without gratitude, destroy without reason. And still, you call us the savages.”

The fire crackled softly. No one laughed this time.

Not even Seungcheol.

You turned away, stepping back toward the cart where they kept you prisoner, climbing in without a fight. Lying down, you closed your eyes, letting the quiet of the land settle around you.

But across the camp, Seungcheol stood frozen, watching you with something far from mockery — something closer to wonder. He had never met anyone like you. And for the first time, curiosity gnawed at him more than duty.

That night, when the moon hung high and pale, the door of your cart creaked open.

You stirred, blinking against the dark.

“What is it with you and waking me up?” you muttered.

Seungcheol’s soft chuckle broke the silence. “Come. Walk with me.”

You frowned, uncertain. “What?”

“Walk with me,” he repeated, stepping back, waiting.

Slowly, you sat up, hesitating. When you reached the edge of the cart, he leaned forward — and you flinched instinctively, expecting the harsh grip of rope. But instead, his hands moved gently, undoing the binds around your wrists.

You stared at him, confused. He gave no explanation. He simply turned and walked toward the treeline, expecting you to follow.

Reluctantly, you did.

As your steps caught up to him beneath the canopy of the forest, you narrowed your eyes. “Why?” you asked. “Why walk with me?”

Seungcheol gave a shrug, his hands loose at his sides. “Maybe I just want to understand the girl who tames wolves.”

You huffed softly but kept walking beside him.

After a few moments, his voice lowered. “How did you do that? With the wolf.”

You glanced at him, weighing whether to answer. “It’s something my people are born into. We’re taught to respect the spirits of the land — the animals, the trees, the water. We listen, and they listen back.”

Seungcheol slowed, eyes thoughtful, then turned toward you, curiosity burning behind them. “So tell me,” he said quietly, “what else don’t I know?”

This time, it was you who fell silent, staring at him in the soft glow of the moonlight. The light kissed his features, outlining the strong line of his jaw, softening the sharpness in his eyes.

There was something different about him here, away from the eyes of his men. Less prince. More… human.

“Tell me,” he urged again, his voice softer now.

You met his gaze, your voice lowering into something like a chant, like a lesson: “You think the earth belongs to you — all the lands, the rivers, the skies. But every rock, every tree, every creature has a spirit, a life, a name. They are not yours to take.”

His brow furrowed, the words sinking into him deeper than he cared to admit.

“You may build your cities and call it power,” you continued, stepping closer, your eyes never leaving his, “but you will never truly understand this land unless you open your eyes…and your heart.”

The air between you stilled. Only the rustling of the leaves and the distant call of night birds filled the space where neither of you spoke.

Seungcheol’s lips parted, as if to say something — but no words came.

You turned away first, stepping back toward the edge of the camp.

And behind you, Seungcheol remained frozen, feeling for the first time as if the ground beneath his feet didn’t quite belong to him after all.

The next morning, the camp was slow to rise, the men still wary after the events of the previous day. But Seungcheol’s mind had been racing long before the sun came up.

By midday, he called Baekhyun into one of the larger tents, the map from yesterday still spread across the table between them. Baekhyun entered, standing at ease, though he caught the tension in Seungcheol’s posture immediately.

“You wanted to speak with me, my prince?” Baekhyun asked.

Seungcheol nodded, leaning against the edge of the table, arms crossed. His gaze was distant, jaw tight.

“I spoke with the girl last night.”

Baekhyun’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he waited.

“She showed me something,” Seungcheol continued, voice low. “A tattoo — here.” He gestured to the inside of his wrist. “She said every child in her tribe is marked as an infant. That every tribe has their own symbol.”

Baekhyun gave a skeptical grunt. “And you believe her?”

Seungcheol’s brows knit together. “I’ve… always questioned certain things. The way the land stays empty long after we’ve moved through it. How the people we claim have ‘joined’ us so willingly… yet their faces never quite match the stories.”

His voice trailed off, eyes fixed on the folds of the map, but it was clear his thoughts were miles away.

Baekhyun watched him carefully. “How do you know she’s telling the truth? How do you know this isn’t just another game — a way to twist your sympathy?”

Seungcheol’s eyes stayed on the map, his fingers tightening into a fist against the wood.

“I don’t,” he admitted quietly. “But… something about what she said, the way she said it… it felt different. I keep remembering the hands of those men we shook at the ceremonies. No marks. No tattoos.”

Baekhyun folded his arms, leaning against one of the tent’s support beams. His expression hardened.

“I just don’t want your mind clouded by your… interest in her.”

Seungcheol’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Interest? I’m not—”

“My prince,” Baekhyun cut him off gently, raising one brow. “I’ve known you since you were a boy. I’ve fought beside you, watched you grow. I’ve never seen you this… engaged with anyone. Especially not your betrothed.”

Seungcheol let out a dry, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Ah, yes. The delicate flower from the Jinhwa Empire. Met her twice. Both times, she couldn’t stop complaining about the heat, the dust, the ‘barbaric conditions’ of my father’s lands.”

He leaned back against the table, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll keep refusing, as I always do.”

Baekhyun chuckled. “And I can’t imagine your father taking that well.”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. His eyes dropped back to the map, his fingers tracing the borderlines absentmindedly.

“But tell me, Baekhyun,” he said slowly, “have you ever questioned it? What we’re doing?”

The question hung between them, heavier than the air inside the tent.

Baekhyun exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lately… yes.”

That admission alone seemed to surprise even Baekhyun as he said it out loud.

“I’ve noticed strange things back in the capital,” Baekhyun continued, voice quieter now. “A line of tribesmen brought into the square for a ceremony — but they couldn’t even speak their native tongue when asked. Merchants in the market selling goods they claimed were ‘from the conquered lands’… but I overheard one of them admitting the pieces were crafted right there in the city.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

“There’s also the patrol reports,” Baekhyun added, his tone grim. “Whole villages marked as ‘vacant,’ no resistance. But the scouts who return look pale — shaken. And they never speak of what they’ve seen.”

Seungcheol’s hand pressed harder into the table, the wood groaning beneath his grip.

“I told myself I was imagining things,” Baekhyun admitted. “That I was seeing it out of context. But if what you’re saying is true… if this tattoo is real…”

His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.

Seungcheol straightened, letting out a slow, heavy breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly as the weight of doubt settled heavier on his shoulders.

“We continue on,” he said after a pause. “We follow the Emperor’s orders… but we keep our eyes open. If there’s truth to what she’s saying, we’ll find it.”

Baekhyun gave a small nod, though the unease between them remained.

The path to the next site was supposed to be a straight route — but the way was blocked.

A rock formation, collapsed and jagged, sealed off the narrow pass they had been following. The brigade halted, men dismounting, debating their options.

“We’ll have to take the Serpent’s Pass,” one of the soldiers muttered grimly.

Baekhyun’s head turned sharply. “That’s forbidden. No one’s cleared that trail. The Emperor’s brigades haven’t passed through yet — no one knows if it’s safe.”

“We don’t have a choice,” another replied. “If we’re to finish mapping the perimeter, we need to cut through. Otherwise, we lose days.”

Reluctantly, they agreed. Supplies were packed tighter, and the caravan shifted course. The men grumbled, unease hanging thick in the air as they pressed on toward the unknown.

You remained inside the prisoner’s cart, the rough wood digging into your back with every jolt of the wheels. Another day passed. Then another. The trees grew denser, the air heavier as they crossed deeper into the wilderness.

“It should be just beyond this ridge,” Baekhyun called ahead as they crested a hill.

But then he fell silent.

Seungcheol, riding beside him, squinted into the distance — and his breath caught.

Below them, where there should have been a bustling village, was ruin.

Smoke still curled from the blackened remains of homes, the charred skeletons of huts collapsing into ash. Scattered across the ground were bodies — men, women, children — lifeless and left where they had fallen.

The brigade froze.

No one spoke. No one moved.

Your head snapped up at the change in tone. You pushed yourself closer to the cart’s edge, trying to see past the wooden slats.

“What is it?” you asked sharply. The guard next to you kept his eyes ahead, ignoring you.

“Let me out,” you hissed.

When there was no response, your voice rose, anger trembling beneath the surface. “Let. Me. Out.”

Baekhyun, still staring down at the horror below, gave a stiff nod. The guard reluctantly undid the latch and let you step down.

Your boots hit the dirt, and your breath caught as the full scene came into view.

It was the Molrek Tribe. You hadn’t known them personally, but your father spoke of them often — their leader had been one of his closest allies.

You walked slowly through the wreckage, eyes wide, heart breaking with every step.

Then, near the remains of what once might have been a home, your gaze dropped to the ground.

A small, charred toy lay half-buried in the ash — a handmade doll, its fabric scorched, one button eye missing.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

Behind you, Seungcheol stood frozen, his stoic mask shattered. His eyes moved from your shaking form to the toy in your hands, and then to the bodies scattered across the village. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white.

Every doubt he’d carried, every uneasy question that had plagued him — answered.

The truth was in front of him now. His father was a murderer. And they had been the Emperor’s willing instruments.

Baekhyun stood nearby, shaking his head slowly as if refusing to believe what his eyes were showing him. The rest of the men remained still, faces pale, exchanging uncertain glances, each of them struggling to make sense of the nightmare laid before them.

For the next hour, they wandered through the village. Some searched quietly for survivors they would never find. Others sat down on the ground, heads in their hands, weighed down by the crushing guilt of complicity.

Finally, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the wreckage, Seungcheol stepped forward, breaking the silence.

His voice was hoarse at first, but steady. “I was blind,” he began, his eyes scanning the faces of his men, landing briefly on you before looking away. “I believed what we were told — that we were bringing peace. That we were bringing order.”

He paused, swallowing hard, his jaw clenched.

“But this…” His voice cracked. “This is not order. This is not peace. This is murder.”

The men shifted uncomfortably, heads bowed. Some nodded slowly.

“I was a fool not to see it sooner,” Seungcheol continued, voice growing stronger. “But I see it now. And now that we know the truth, we have a choice to make. We cannot stand here, knowing this… and do nothing.”

There was a murmur among the soldiers. One of them spoke, hesitating. “But… how? How can we stop it? This is the Emperor’s will.”

Baekhyun stepped forward, his face grim. “Then we stand against it. One way or another, we find a way to stop this. To stop him.”

Another soldier’s voice cut through the crowd. “But… he’s your father, my prince. Could you really raise your hand against him?”

Seungcheol’s gaze hardened, his shoulders squared. “I can no longer look past my father’s sins just because they are his. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. Even if the blood in my veins is the same as his — I will not be a part of this slaughter.”

The men were silent, but slowly, heads began to nod. Not all, but enough.

There, in the ruins of the Molrek Tribe, something changed in them. The first crack in their loyalty to the crown.

Seungcheol’s eyes drifted back to you. You stood still, watching, your arms bound, your face stained with tears and ash, but your posture unbowed.

Without breaking eye contact, he walked toward you — slowly, deliberately, the weight of every step heavy with purpose.

In front of all his men, he stopped before you.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the rope at your wrists.

And in one clean motion, he untied your binds.

The rope fell away, your arms free for the first time since they captured you.

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat. His eyes stayed on yours, softer now — but filled with something deeper. Guilt. Resolve. And respect.

The men watched, stunned, saying nothing.

Seungcheol’s voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for you. “I’m sorry.”

And for the first time, the prince who had chained you, called you prisoner, now looked at you as an equal.

You were no longer locked inside the prisoner’s cart.

Now, you rode alongside the men — still at a distance, but no longer as their captive. They remained wary, exchanging unsure glances when they thought you weren’t looking, but the disgust that once filled their eyes had faded. Wariness, uncertainty… but also respect.

When the brigade set up camp a few miles away from the ruined village, Seungcheol gave the order to have a tent prepared for you. Your own space. A gesture of dignity. One you hadn’t expected.

You accepted it quietly. Grateful, but not comfortable.

You ate your meal quickly, away from the others, and retreated to the tent as soon as you could. The baggy clothes they had given you still hung awkwardly on your frame — freshly washed, but they felt heavy, like they belonged to someone else. You longed for your own garments, for the small familiarity of something that felt like you.

But right now, nothing did.

The images of the Molrek village clung to you like smoke. The blackened homes, the bodies scattered like discarded objects, the small toy in your hands. You hadn’t known the tribe personally, but they were people your father once called allies.

You couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t sleep. So you slipped out quietly, climbing to the edge of a nearby cliff — a tiny rise just outside of camp, where the ground dropped into a dark valley below. You sat down on the ledge, arms wrapped loosely around your knees, staring up at the moon. High. Untouched. Distant.

It felt cruel how the sky remained so calm while the earth burned.

“You were right.”

The voice behind you was soft, careful.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

Seungcheol approached and sat down beside you, leaving space between your bodies but close enough that you could feel the weight of his presence.

“It’s not like I wanted to be,” you answered quietly, eyes still on the stars.

He let out a long breath, resting his elbows on his knees. His shoulders sagged, the heavy armor of command stripped away.

“I’ve been asking myself all day,” he said. “How I didn’t see it. How I didn’t know.”

His voice cracked, just a little.

“I believed what they told me. That the tribes were given a choice. That they came willingly, that they were grateful.” His hands clenched loosely together. “I was so sure of it.”

You turned your head toward him, eyes narrowed, voice calm but cutting. “You never wondered why the lands stayed so empty after each ‘peaceful negotiation?’ Why the so-called tribesmen paraded into the capital never spoke their own tongue? Never wore the marks of their people?”

His jaw tightened. “I told myself there were reasons. I convinced myself they had changed. Adapted.” He swallowed hard. “I was a fool.”

You looked back up at the sky. “People see what they want to see. What they’re told to see.”

He leaned back slightly, staring at the dirt beneath his boots. “I can’t erase what’s been done,” he said quietly. “But I can stop what’s coming.”

There was no doubt in his voice now.

“I’m going to stop it,” Seungcheol repeated, firmer. “But I can’t do it alone.” He turned to face you fully, eyes steady, searching yours. “I need your help.”

You studied him carefully, your expression unreadable. “And how exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You know these lands better than we ever will,” he said. “You know the tribes. The leaders. Where they are, how they move, who might still survive. They’ll never listen to me — but they might listen to you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “Your men won’t follow me,” you said. “Even now. I’m still the enemy to them.”

But Seungcheol shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “They will. Once they see who you are… what you are. They will.”

You frowned. “And what exactly do you think I am?”

His eyes softened as he answered. “Someone they can’t ignore. A leader. A voice that speaks for the people we silenced.”

You blinked, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice.

“I’ll help,” you said quietly after a long pause. “But not for you.”

“I know,” he replied.

“For my people.”

Seungcheol nodded once, accepting your terms.

“And one day,” you added, voice lower, eyes narrowing, “you’ll have to face your father. You’ll have to decide how far you’re willing to go.”

His jaw clenched again, but he didn’t look away. “I know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It hung between you like a fragile understanding — the first thread of trust, spun out beneath the watchful eyes of the stars.

The next few days passed with the weight of purpose hanging over the camp.

After long nights of discussion, they had finally settled on a plan.

Baekhyun and Seungcheol agreed that the only way to stop the Emperor’s campaign was to expose the truth — not just to the people, but to the other provinces still loyal to the crown. They would gather evidence of the burned villages, the murdered tribes, and the so-called “assimilated” leaders who were, in truth, prisoners. And at the heart of their mission was one crucial step: infiltrate the capital and free your father — along with the other chiefs the Empire had taken.

It would be dangerous. Treasonous. But it was the only way.

As the plan took shape, so did the slow, tentative bond between you and the men of the brigade.

You began to assimilate into their ranks, their guarded glances softening as they watched the way you worked beside them. The way you carried yourself, strong but fair. There was no sudden trust, no easy forgiveness — but respect began to grow.

You shared long conversations with Baekhyun by the fire, debating strategy, exchanging stories about the land and the people they’d both known. Jinho, the youngest among the soldiers, warmed up to you quickly. His youthful curiosity and earnestness made him easier to trust, and soon he was asking you about the customs of your tribe, your language, your games.

One afternoon, you found yourself teaching Jinho one of the games from your childhood — a test of reflex and focus, your hands hovering close, tapping and dodging as each of you tried to catch the other off guard. The game required brief touches, laughter spilling between you every time Jinho missed his chance.

“Again,” Jinho grinned, determined, squaring his stance.

You laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, ready to begin — but as you glanced up, your smile faltered.

Seungcheol was standing a few paces away, arms crossed, staring directly at the two of you. His jaw tight, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable — but unmistakably displeased.

You blinked, unsure why that look made your stomach twist, and shrugged it off.

Later, as you and Jinho hauled a barrel of supplies toward the cooking area, chatting easily, you didn’t notice the figure stepping into your path until it was too late.

Seungcheol.

He stood in front of you, blocking the way, eyes pinned on Jinho.

“My prince,” Jinho stammered quickly, lowering the barrel and bowing his head.

“I’ll take that,” Seungcheol said, extending his arms toward the barrel.

“Oh, it’s all right, my prince, I can—”

Seungcheol’s face hardened, eyes darkening just enough to silence the younger soldier. Without another word, Jinho handed the barrel over, bowing again before stepping back.

Seungcheol turned on his heel and began walking beside you toward the supplies, carrying the weight with ease.

You arched a brow, half-smiling. “You suddenly feel the urge to do heavy lifting now?”

“What?” he replied, almost too quickly. “I always help.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Do you, though?”

He said nothing, but the faintest flicker of a smirk betrayed him.

From across the camp, Baekhyun watched the exchange, shaking his head slightly with an amused grin. He knew his prince too well.

That night, as you often did, you found yourself sitting beneath the stars, legs pulled close to your chest, eyes fixed on the moon. It had become your quiet place — the one spot where the noise of the world, the burden of your mission, couldn’t reach you.

But you weren’t alone for long.

Footsteps approached softly through the grass, and without looking, you already knew.

Seungcheol settled down beside you, his arms resting on his knees, gaze lifted to the sky.

“I’m sure you’re excited to finally head back,” you said, breaking the silence.

Seungcheol let out a soft scoff. “Not really.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “No? I figured you’d have a Lady waiting for you at the gates. Silk dress, pinned hair, perfect smile…”

You caught the way his jaw tensed at your teasing, the flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“Oh,” you leaned in slightly, eyebrow raised. “Going through a rough patch?”

Seungcheol exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s not that.”

His voice was quieter now, thoughtful.

“I’m betrothed,” he admitted after a pause. “To a princess from the Jinhwa Empire. A match my father arranged.”

“Ah,” you said softly, leaning back again. “So I was right. There is someone.”

Seungcheol’s lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no humor in it.

“She’s… fine. Beautiful, poised. Says all the right things.” He shook his head. “But she looks at my people like they’re beneath her. She looks at the land like it’s something she’s owed.” His gaze hardened, focused on the horizon. “I’m not interested.”

You raised a brow, voice light. “So… there’s someone else you want, then.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flicked to you, sharper now. “Why is that so funny?”

Your smile faltered, feeling the tension rise between you. His gaze didn’t waver. There was a weight to the way he looked at you — something unspoken lingering between the words.

You swallowed, the air between you suddenly heavier.

“I should go,” you whispered, breaking eye contact as you stood, turning quickly back toward your tent.

Behind you, Seungcheol didn’t move, watching your retreat, the words he hadn’t said still hanging between you like smoke.

The next day, the brigade passed through a small town on the edge of the province — a rare pocket of life untouched by the Empire’s destruction.

It wasn’t much: a scattering of homes, a marketplace, a square where music played and people gathered for the night’s festivities. But after weeks of tension and heavy planning, Baekhyun and Seungcheol agreed the men deserved one evening to breathe, to feel like themselves again before the real fight began.

“We let them enjoy the night,” Baekhyun said. “It might be the last chance they get for a while.”

The soldiers quickly changed into civilian clothes — simpler tunics, loose trousers, belts, and sashes. They laughed more easily, their shoulders no longer so stiff with caution.

But you… you stood out.

Still wrapped in the same baggy clothes you had stolen from your neighbor back home — sleeves too long, fabric shapeless, hanging off your frame like rags. You caught the side glances from the townspeople as they began to gather. Suspicion. Discomfort.

“You can’t wear that,” Baekhyun said, stepping up beside you with a half-smile. “No one here’s going to trust you looking like you’re about to rob their livestock.”

You gave him a dry look but said nothing.

“Here,” he added, pressing a few coins into your hand. “There’s a tailor’s shop down the street. Go on — get yourself out of those rags. You deserve to look like yourself again.”

You hesitated but nodded, excusing yourself as the men headed toward the square.

The tailor’s shop was small, tucked between two merchant stalls, but inside were rows of garments — robes, tunics, sashes, each stitched with the colors and patterns of different tribes across the lands.

Your fingers brushed across the fabrics, pausing here and there — until your hand landed on one that made your heart ache with quiet recognition.

Then your hand paused on one particular set.

A deep blue cropped top, sleeveless but high at the neckline, fitted close to the body with silver embroidery lining the edges like river waves. Paired with it was a matching skirt that sat comfortably at your hips, flowing down to just below the knees with slits at the sides for ease of movement, layered softly with a lightweight sheer fabric over the base. A dark sash wrapped securely around the waist, tying everything together. The clothes were practical but graceful — built for motion, for freedom, for you.

It felt like home.

You slipped it on and let your long hair fall loose down your back, finally freed from the scarf and cap where it had been hidden for so long. The weight of it felt unfamiliar at first, but it framed your face, softening the hardness the past weeks had carved into your features.

The music was louder now, drums beating rhythm into the square, strings and flutes weaving in between. The men had gathered near a stage where performers danced, villagers clapping and singing along.

As you approached, the soldiers noticed first. One of them let out a low whistle.

“Would you look at that,” Jinho grinned, nudging the man beside him. “She finally doesn’t look like a little boy.”

The group laughed, but their smiles were kind, not cruel. You smiled faintly, rolling your eyes.

But then your gaze caught on Seungcheol.

He stood near the edge of the group, arms crossed, his eyes locked on you — and he wasn’t laughing.

He couldn’t.

Beautiful. That was the only word that came to his mind.

You had always been striking — fierce, proud, unbreakable — but this was different. Your posture, the way your hair framed your face, the ease with which you moved, as though the clothes had unlocked something in you. You looked radiant. Confident. Free.

Baekhyun, standing beside him, leaned in and gave him a pointed nudge, breaking his stare.

“Careful, my prince,” he smirked. “You’re going to make a scene.”

Seungcheol blinked, tearing his gaze away, forcing a breath out through his nose.

The music swelled, drums speeding up as the villagers began to dance, spinning in circles, hands clapping, feet stomping to the beat. Some of the soldiers joined in, laughing as they stumbled through unfamiliar steps.

You felt the rhythm pull at you — the way the music used to back home at celebrations. For a moment, you let yourself forget the weight of your mission. The pain. The loss. And you stepped into the dance.

The soldiers cheered you on as you moved gracefully into the circle, your feet light, hands flowing with ease, the patterns of your tribe’s dances still in your body like muscle memory. You spun, dipping and swaying, and they watched, amazed. Elegant. Untouchable.

But Seungcheol couldn’t look away.

Every step, every turn — he only saw you.

You laughed, enjoying the freedom of the moment, turning as the music carried you — and then suddenly, there he was.

Seungcheol stood before you, closer than you expected, his eyes softer now, gaze steady.

He raised his hand toward you.

For a moment, you hesitated, your eyes flicking between his outstretched hand and his face.

But then, slowly, you placed your hand in his.

The men around you cheered, but their voices blurred into the background as the two of you began to move. At first awkwardly, unsure — but soon, the music guided your steps. You matched his rhythm, spinning beneath his hand as he led, his movements gentle but confident.

You found yourself smiling, laughing even, as he stumbled once and recovered with a grin.

“Not bad, for a prince,” you teased softly.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m full of surprises.”

The music shifted, slowing into something softer. The circle of dancers thinned, and still, Seungcheol didn’t let go.

Instead, his hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer.

Your breath caught.

The air between you felt too thick, too charged. His other hand held yours lightly, but his fingers tightened just enough to keep you near.

You could feel his breath against your cheek as he leaned in, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Your heart raced. The distance between you shrank until it was almost nothing.

But just before his lips could meet yours, reality snapped you back.

You pulled away, stepping back sharply, your hand slipping from his.

“I have to go,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes.

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked quickly toward the edge of the square, heading back toward camp — your heart pounding loud enough to drown out the music behind you.

Seungcheol stood frozen in the square, eyes fixed on the direction where you had disappeared into the night. His chest rose and fell heavily, the weight of almost pressing down on him like a stone. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

But he couldn’t leave it like that.

His feet moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him through the quiet streets, past the flicker of lanterns and the distant hum of music. And there you were.

Exactly where he knew you’d be.

Sitting alone on the small rise just outside the camp, legs pulled close to your chest, head tilted toward the sky. The moonlight painted your face in soft silver, your eyes lost somewhere among the stars.

Seungcheol approached slowly, carefully, and sat down beside you — close, but not too close. He waited, saying nothing.

You didn’t look at him.

“What do you want from me, Seungcheol?” you asked softly, your eyes still on the sky.

He let out a sigh, his hands resting between his knees. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”

You shook your head, your voice steadier than you felt. “We can’t.”

His gaze snapped to you. “Why not?”

You turned to him now, eyes sharp, pained. “How could this ever work? You’re the prince of the Empire. I’m the daughter of the very people your father wants wiped from the earth. Our bloodlines are at war.”

“I’m not my father,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “I’m not him.”

“But you carry his name,” you bit back. “You carry the crown. And no matter what you feel right now, you’ll always be his son.”

Seungcheol shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t care about the crown. I don’t care about anything I ever knew anymore.” He reached out, grabbing your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “All of it — my title, my place at court, the lies they fed me since I was a boy — I’d throw it all away if it meant standing with you.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat, but still you hesitated. “And what happens when this is over? When the fighting starts? When you’re forced to choose between your people and mine?”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. His thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand.

“I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted. “I don’t know how this ends. I don’t know what will come of any of this.”

He leaned in closer now, voice low, rough with emotion. “I’m not sure of anything in this life — not my father, not the Empire, not even the beliefs I was raised on. I know I have so much more to learn. So much more to understand.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours.

“But despite not being sure of anything else in this world… the only thing I am sure of — is you.”

You froze.

His words hit you like an arrow to the chest, tearing down every wall you had built between the two of you.

“I mean it,” he whispered.

And before you could respond, he leaned in and crushed his lips against yours.

The kiss was hard, desperate, filled with every word left unsaid between you. His hand tangled into your hair, pulling you closer, and for a moment, you forgot the war, the blood, the fire between your people — there was only the heat of his mouth, the taste of his breath mixing with yours.

When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

“Come with me,” he murmured.

The walk back to your tent was wordless, your fingers laced tightly with his. Every step felt heavier with anticipation, every glance stolen between you like you were crossing some forbidden line.

Inside, the tent was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the moon seeping through the fabric walls.

He closed the flap behind you, his eyes never leaving yours.

There was no more hesitation.

Seungcheol’s hands found your waist first, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, his lips moving with purpose. You let your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to you.

You felt his breath hitch when your hands slipped beneath the fabric, fingers grazing the hard muscle of his stomach. His hands roamed up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he guided you gently down onto the bedroll, never breaking the kiss.

When he pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, filled with want.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice rough.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

That was all he needed.

He leaned down, his lips tracing along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, leaving soft, burning kisses in his wake. His hands moved to untie the sash at your waist, slipping the fabric loose with care. You arched into his touch, gasping softly as his hands explored the newly exposed skin at your waist, your ribs, the underside of your breast.

Your fingers trembled as you pushed his shirt up and over his head, and for the first time, you saw him like this — bare, vulnerable, eyes soft but hungry as they searched your face for permission.

When your lips found his again, he groaned softly against your mouth, pressing his body fully against yours. The warmth of his skin on yours sent a shiver down your spine, and your hands slid down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself steady above you.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered against your ear.

“You,” you breathed, tilting your hips up toward him.

His lips trailed down your chest, leaving a path of heat across your skin, his hands working to ease your top away, baring you completely beneath him. His mouth closed gently around your nipple, sucking softly, teasing with his tongue, while his hand caressed the other — drawing soft, needy sounds from your lips.

Seungcheol kissed lower, down your stomach, until his hands gripped the waistband of your skirt, sliding it down slowly, inch by inch, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your hips and thighs as he went.

You were breathless, eyes half-lidded as you watched him move, watched the hunger in his gaze as he drank in every inch of you.

When he settled between your thighs, his eyes met yours again, searching.

“Let me taste you,” he murmured.

You nodded, your body already trembling.

Seungcheol lowered his mouth to you, his tongue gliding softly at first, then deeper, more insistent as he found the spot that made your hips jerk beneath him. His hands pinned your thighs gently but firmly, holding you in place as he worked you open with his mouth, slow and thorough, pulling soft gasps and moans from your lips as your fingers tangled tightly into his hair.

“Seungcheol—” you gasped, your voice breaking as the pleasure built inside you like a rising tide.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, your release crashing over you, his tongue softening as he helped you ride it out, humming softly against your skin.

When he finally rose again, his lips glistened, his eyes dark with desire.

You pulled him back down, your mouth finding his hungrily, tasting yourself on his lips.

His trousers were already loose, and you reached down between your bodies, freeing him from them. He hissed softly as your hand wrapped around him, stroking slowly, teasing, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut for a moment beneath your touch.

“I need you,” you whispered.

Seungcheol’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged as he lined himself up, his hand on your hip. “I’ll go slow,” he promised.

You nodded.

When he pushed into you, your eyes squeezed shut, your body stretching to take him, the slow, steady slide of him filling you inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you.

He stayed still for a moment, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips softly.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Move.”

And he did — slow, gentle thrusts at first, rocking his hips against yours, drawing soft moans from both of you as your bodies found their rhythm together. Your hands clutched at his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

His lips never left your skin — kissing your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone as he moved within you, his pace building as your breaths grew faster.

“Say my name,” he murmured, his voice rough against your ear.

“Seungcheol…” you gasped, your hips rising to meet his every thrust.

When your second climax hit, you cried out softly, your body arching against his as the wave of pleasure rolled through you. He followed soon after, burying himself deep, groaning your name as he came, his body shuddering with the force of it.

After, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing softly against your temple as your breathing slowed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no war. No crown. No chains.

Just the two of you. And the fragile hope of something real.

Seungcheol’s breath was still uneven, his heartbeat loud against your back as he wrapped his arms securely around you, pulling you close, your bare skin pressed to his. The heat between your bodies was slow to fade, but neither of you moved.

For the first time in weeks — maybe in his entire life — he felt still.

He rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy circles along the curve of your waist. Your breathing had begun to steady, your body soft and warm against his, and as he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, Seungcheol closed his eyes.

What are we doing?

The thought echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, but for once, he didn’t fight it. He let himself hold you tighter, his palm splayed over your stomach, grounding himself in the simple truth of your body beneath his touch.

You were here. Real. Alive.

Not a symbol. Not an enemy. Just you.

He pressed his lips gently to your shoulder again, eyes fluttering shut.

I was raised for war, but no one ever told me how easy it would be to find peace like this.

Your soft sigh pulled him from his thoughts as you shifted, settling deeper into the curve of his chest, your hand resting lightly over his.

In the quiet of the tent, with the faint chirping of crickets outside and the distant crackle of the dying campfire, Seungcheol let himself wonder, just for a moment, what it might feel like if this was all there was. No war. No crown. No betrayal waiting at the gates. Just this.

Just you.

“I meant it,” he whispered softly, unsure if you were awake enough to hear him. “You’re the only thing I’m sure of.”

The soft, early light of dawn crept through the seams of the tent, casting gentle beams across your tangled limbs. The coolness of the morning air kissed your bare shoulders, and you stirred faintly, blinking against the pale gold glow.

Seungcheol was already awake.

He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you quietly, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. One hand brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek.

When your eyes finally met his, he offered the faintest smile.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low and husky from sleep.

You shifted slightly beneath the thin blanket draped across your hips, suddenly aware of how exposed you were beneath it. But when his hand reached for yours, threading his fingers gently between yours, you relaxed.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then, quietly, you broke the silence. “We shouldn’t have—”

Seungcheol’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing, but before you could finish, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m not sorry,” he said simply.

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by how certain he sounded.

He sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair, the blanket slipping lower on his waist. “I know things are complicated,” he added, glancing down at you. “I know there’s so much we haven’t figured out. But I’m not going to regret this. Not even for a second.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself as you held his gaze.

“You’re still the prince,” you said softly. “Your father’s son.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened, but he nodded. “I know.” His fingers reached out, brushing along your bare shoulder. “But last night wasn’t about my father. Or the Empire. It was just… us.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest, unsure of how to answer the tenderness in his voice.

Then, as if sensing the weight between you, Seungcheol smiled faintly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “You’re allowed to want this,” he whispered. “Even if it scares you.”

The flap of the tent rustled faintly with the morning breeze, the faint sounds of the camp waking up drifting in.

Seungcheol stood, pulling on his shirt and adjusting his trousers, but his eyes never left yours. Before stepping out, he paused at the entrance, looking back at you, his gaze soft.

“Rest a little longer,” he said gently. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

And with that, he slipped outside, leaving you alone in the quiet warmth of the morning — heart racing, mind spinning, the imprint of his touch still burning on your skin.

By the time you dressed and stepped out of your tent, the camp was already stirring with the sounds of morning — the clatter of pots, soft chatter between the men, the occasional bark of orders as the brigade prepared to move on.

You spotted Seungcheol near the supply carts, speaking quietly with Baekhyun. His back was to you, one hand resting on his hip, the other gesturing toward the map spread out before them.

For a moment, you considered slipping away unnoticed, keeping distance between the two of you — unsure of what last night meant outside the safe walls of your tent.

But then Seungcheol turned.

His eyes found you immediately, as if drawn by some invisible thread. And for a second — just a second — the look he gave you was soft, unguarded, the prince stripped away, leaving only the man who had held you like you were something precious.

You felt it in your chest, the way your breath caught, your body remembering the weight of him against you, the heat of his mouth on your skin.

But as quickly as it came, he shifted back into command — posture straight, eyes steady, nodding once before turning back to his discussion.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to move toward the others.

The tension between you only grew as the day went on.

Seungcheol kept his distance — not enough to seem deliberate, but enough that you felt it. His gaze would flick to you when he thought you weren’t looking, and every time your eyes met, the air felt too heavy between you, thick with all the things left unsaid.

During briefings, his voice stayed calm, collected — but his eyes always softened when they met yours. When you spoke, explaining the paths you knew through the provinces, he listened more intently than anyone, his jaw tight, fingers tapping absently against his thigh like he needed to keep himself from reaching for you.

And you felt it too — the weight of knowing, the memory of last night pressing into the space between you both.

You tried to focus on the mission, on the plans, but every time he stood too close, your skin prickled with awareness.

The others began to notice.

Baekhyun was the first to catch on.

You saw it in the way his eyes followed the subtle glances between you and Seungcheol. The faint smirk that played at the corner of his mouth whenever Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you too long. The way Baekhyun’s eyebrow arched, knowingly, whenever he caught you shifting uncomfortably under the prince’s attention.

At one point, as you were helping Jinho secure the straps on one of the carts, Baekhyun passed by, leaning down just enough to murmur so only you could hear:

“Careful. The prince looks like he’s one heartbeat away from losing all his self-control.”

Your eyes snapped to him, narrowing, but he only winked and walked off.

By evening, the tension had thickened unbearably.

The men gathered for dinner, scattered near the fire, conversation easy between them. You sat beside Baekhyun and Jinho, listening halfheartedly as they joked about the clumsy dance steps from the night before.

But your eyes betrayed you, drifting again to where Seungcheol stood near the edge of the group, arms crossed, watching you.

When your gaze met his, he didn’t look away this time.

There was heat in his eyes. Want. But there was restraint too — barely held back, burning just beneath the surface.

You turned away quickly, your throat dry, pressing your lips together as if that could quiet the way your heart raced.

Baekhyun, sitting beside you, gave a soft chuckle, leaning in. “You two keep looking at each other like that,” he said quietly, “and the whole camp’s going to know.”

You shot him a glare. “They don’t already?”

Baekhyun shrugged with a grin. “Some of the boys are a little slow, but they’re not that slow.”

Jinho, oblivious, kept talking about his terrible footwork, while Baekhyun leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes still flicking between you and Seungcheol with barely hidden amusement.

But you felt it — the air between you and the prince like the pull of a tide, inevitable, inescapable.

It was only a matter of time before the waves would crash again.

Night fell over the camp, quiet settling in as the fires burned low and the soldiers began to drift off to sleep one by one. The soft crackle of embers outside your tent was the only sound as you lay on your side, staring at the flap of the entrance, your thoughts spinning.

You could still feel the weight of Seungcheol’s gaze from across the fire earlier — the way his eyes never quite left you, the heat in them impossible to ignore. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since.

You told yourself to sleep. You needed to keep your head clear. But the ache of last night’s memory clung to you like the scent of smoke on your skin.

Then, just as your eyes began to drift closed, the tent flap shifted.

You shot up instantly, your body tensing.

Seungcheol stepped inside — slow, sure, his eyes locked on you in the dim light.

“Are you insane?” you whispered sharply, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself, glancing toward the entrance like someone might have seen him.

His expression didn’t waver. He stood tall, hands loose at his sides, gaze steady.

“They’re going to know,” you hissed. “If someone sees you—”

“I don’t care,” he cut you off softly, his voice low but firm. He took another step closer. “Let them know.”

You swallowed, your breath catching. “You should care,” you shot back, but your voice trembled. “You’re the prince. Your men—”

“My men,” he repeated, interrupting again, “already follow me because they believe in me. And if they’re going to keep following me, they’ll have to trust my choices.” His eyes softened slightly, but there was still that fierce determination beneath his words. “Including this. Including you.”

You stared at him, your fingers clutching the edge of the blanket tighter. “This could ruin everything.”

Seungcheol crouched down beside you then, leaning closer, lowering his voice even more. “I don’t care about the rules anymore. Not when it comes to you.”

Your chest tightened, your mind screaming at you to push him away, but your body already leaning toward him.

“You make me reckless,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “But I’ve never felt so sure about anything.”

You shook your head faintly, your voice softer now. “Seungcheol, I can’t be the reason you lose your men… your crown…”

“I told you,” he said, reaching up to gently brush your hair away from your face, “I’m not sure I even want the crown anymore.”

Your heart pounded as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips.

“I don’t care if they know,” he repeated. “I don’t care if they see.”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw, and the weight of his gaze pinned you in place.

“What I care about is you.”

You closed your eyes for half a second, willing yourself to be stronger, to resist the pull of him — but when his lips brushed softly against yours, your resolve shattered.

You kissed him back, your hands finding his shoulders, gripping tight as he pulled you closer. His body pressed against yours, the heat between you building again, undeniable.

But even as the kiss deepened, even as your fingers slid beneath the edge of his shirt, your mind raced with the danger of it all. The risk.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, breathless against his lips: “What if they hear us?”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, his forehead pressing to yours. “Then they’ll finally know what they’ve been guessing all along.”

And before you could protest again, he kissed you harder — hungry, certain, as if he were willing to burn down the world for just one more moment like this with you.

The next few days passed in a strange, quiet shift of balance.

Seungcheol didn’t hide the way his eyes found you now. He didn’t hesitate to stand beside you during briefings, didn’t pull away if his hand brushed against yours when you passed him a map or when your arms grazed during morning preparations.

If anything, he seemed even more at ease — less guarded, more himself.

It was subtle, but noticeable.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in your chest whenever you caught the glances from the other men. You kept your head down, busying yourself with tasks, always hyperaware of the space between you and Seungcheol, wondering if it was obvious.

It was.

But to your surprise… the men didn’t seem nearly as bothered as you’d feared.

If anything, they looked like they’d been waiting for it.

One afternoon, as you helped Jinho secure supplies onto one of the wagons, you felt his eyes on you — the grin already on his face before you could even meet his gaze.

“So…” he began, dragging out the word, “you and the prince, huh?”

You froze, halfway through tying the rope, your eyes widening slightly as you shot him a glare. “Jinho—”

“What? Everyone knows,” he laughed, waving his hand. “We’ve all known for a while.”

You blushed, turning back to the rope, pulling it tighter than necessary. “I… we didn’t exactly mean for—”

Jinho raised a hand, cutting you off with a smile. “It’s fine. Really. None of us are upset about it.” He leaned against the wagon casually, arms crossed. “Honestly? We’re happy for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his tone.

“I mean,” Jinho added with a sheepish smile, “I think we all knew he wasn’t going to marry that princess from Jinhwa. The way he looks at you? Yeah… we saw this coming.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, some of the tension releasing from your chest as you gave a small smile. “Thank you, Jinho.”

He grinned, nudging your arm playfully. “Just don’t let Baekhyun catch you sneaking into his tent or he’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself.

That night, after the camp had quieted and the fires burned low, you sat inside your tent, staring at the small crack of moonlight peeking through the flap. You were still replaying Jinho’s words, unsure whether to feel relieved or even more exposed.

Then the flap rustled softly.

You didn’t need to look up.

Seungcheol slipped inside, ducking his head slightly beneath the entrance, his lips already curling into that smug, knowing smile.

“See?” he said softly as he knelt down beside you. “I told you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. “Told me what?”

“That they wouldn’t care.” His eyes softened, gaze steady on yours. “That they’d be happy for you.”

You let out a soft exhale, shaking your head as you leaned back on your hands. “I hate when you’re right.”

Seungcheol chuckled, leaning closer, his hand finding your knee as he brushed his thumb gently along your skin. “Get used to it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

“And,” he added, voice quieter now as his fingers traced small circles against your knee, “for the record… they’re not just happy for you.” He leaned in, lips hovering close to your ear. “They’re happy for me, too.”

Your breath caught again — the warmth of him, the way his words melted so easily into your skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

You turned your head, your lips brushing softly against his, the space between you closing once more.

And as his hand slid up to your cheek, pulling you into another kiss, you felt the last of the worry begin to ease away — replaced by the quiet certainty of what was slowly, but surely, becoming yours.

The days that followed moved quickly, the weight of what was coming pressing down on the entire brigade.

The plan was simple, but dangerous.

Sneak into the capital under the cover of darkness. Free your father and the other captured tribal leaders. Reveal the truth of the Empire’s brutality to the people — expose the slaughtered villages, the lies of “peaceful assimilation.”

Baekhyun and Seungcheol went over the maps again and again, marking the weak points in the city’s defenses. They found the prison beneath the city walls where your father was being held — along with the other chiefs.

There would be no second chance.

The night of the mission, you dressed in dark clothes, your blade strapped at your hip, your heart pounding so hard you were afraid the guards might hear it.

You moved through the streets like shadows, slipping past the patrols, hearts in your throats.

When the gates of the prison creaked open under Jinho’s careful hands, you led the way through the corridors, the torches casting long shadows on the damp stone walls.

You found him deep in the cells — weak, bruised, but alive. His hair had grown longer, streaks of gray at his temples, but the fire in his eyes was not gone.

“Father…” Your voice cracked as you whispered it.

His head snapped up, disoriented at first, but then his eyes widened as they met yours.

“Y/N?” His voice trembled.

You dropped your sword, rushing toward him, falling to your knees as your hands grabbed the bars, fingers shaking.

“Y/N, is it— Is it really—” He couldn’t finish. Tears streamed down your face as you nodded, your hands reaching through the bars to cup his weathered face.

“We’re getting you out,” you whispered. “I swear it.”

Seungcheol was already at the lock, breaking it open as your father’s arms wrapped around you tightly for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

“My brave girl,” he choked, burying his face into your shoulder as you wept into his chest.

Baekhyun and the men worked fast, freeing the other leaders. Word was spreading outside the prison. People began gathering, murmurs growing louder as the evidence of the Empire’s deception spread through the streets.

But the victory was short-lived.

As you stepped out into the square with your father and the freed chiefs, the sound of armored boots echoed through the streets.

The Emperor stood waiting, flanked by his soldiers, their blades drawn, torches blazing behind them. His expression was cold, but his eyes burned with fury.

“You dare,” he spat, glaring at the group, then at Seungcheol. “You dare betray me for this?”

The soldiers surrounded you, weapons raised.

“Seize the chiefs,” the Emperor ordered, his voice booming.

The guards surged forward, grabbing your father, forcing him to his knees. His face stayed proud, unyielding.

“Execute the leader,” the Emperor barked.

“No!” You screamed, throwing yourself between your father and the executioner’s sword, your arms spread wide, your body shielding him.

“Stand down, girl,” the Emperor growled.

Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the air, desperate, furious: “No!”

The Emperor’s gaze snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You—” His lip curled. “You love her.”

The words hung in the air like a blade between you.

Seungcheol’s chest rose and fell hard, his fists clenched. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

The Emperor’s face twisted with disgust, his voice laced with disbelief. “My own son… defiled by some tribal girl.” His voice hardened. “Then let her die beside him. Execute both of them.”

“Wait!” Seungcheol shouted, stepping forward. His voice rang out across the square, sharp and desperate. “I’ll marry her.”

The crowd froze. Even the soldiers hesitated.

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’ll marry the princess of Jinhwa,” Seungcheol said louder, his voice steady despite the ache behind it. “You want the alliance. You want to save face after this mess. Let them all go — her father, the chiefs, the tribes. The expansion is already ruined, but this marriage will strengthen your ties to Jinhwa.”

The square fell into a stunned silence.

Your heart shattered.

You could barely breathe, your eyes locked on his, your lips parted as the weight of his words hit you like a blade to the chest.

The Emperor stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes calculating. Then, finally, he nodded once.

“Fine. They may go.” His voice was calm again. Cruel. Triumphant. “But the deal stands.”

The soldiers lowered their swords. Baekhyun immediately started moving the chiefs away, motioning for the men to fall back.

But you didn’t move.

You pushed against the hands trying to guide you away, your voice cracking as you screamed, “No—! Let me go! Seungcheol—!”

Baekhyun grabbed your arm, holding you back tightly as you struggled against him, your tears blinding you.

“Seungcheol!” you cried out again, fighting to reach him, your body twisting against the grip of the men pulling you away.

He stood frozen where he was, eyes on you — full of love, full of sorrow, but not moving.

Baekhyun’s arms tightened around you, his face grim as he whispered harshly into your ear: “I’m sorry. He told me — whatever happens, get you out of here. Don’t let him see you die here.”

Your body was still fighting, thrashing against Baekhyun’s grip, but your strength was failing beneath the weight of heartbreak.

“Seungcheol!” you sobbed one last time, your voice raw, breaking.

He didn’t move. But as you were dragged further away, your eyes caught the moment his knees buckled beneath him, his body collapsing to the ground, his head bowed, his hands clenched into the dirt.

And as Baekhyun pulled you out of the square, away from the flames, away from him — you felt the last piece of your heart crumble.

Five Years Later…

The seasons had passed, and though the scars of war still marked the land, life had found a way to bloom again.

Your village stood strong, nestled between the hills where the rivers ran clear. Built by the hands of your tribe, your father, and the men who had once followed Seungcheol into battle — men who chose peace, who chose you.

There was still fighting to be done. Other tribes remained scattered, some still hunted, others in hiding. But here, in this place, you had carved out a home. A refuge. A small piece of freedom.

You spent the morning working at the back of your home, weaving baskets, your hands steady though your mind wandered — always thinking of the next step, the next fight, the people who still needed saving.

Then, faint at first, you heard it.

Cheers. Voices rising with excitement. The sound of feet running, men calling out to each other.

You stood, wiping your hands on your skirt, frowning. Curious.

You stepped out into the path, your brow knit, and saw the gathering — the men surrounding someone near the village entrance. Their voices were loud, joyful, filled with something like disbelief.

Baekhyun was there, and you caught the sight of him embracing someone tightly, his face breaking into a rare, wide smile.

Then Baekhyun turned — and the others slowly stepped aside.

Your heart stopped.

There he was.

Seungcheol.

Older now. His hair a bit longer, tied loosely at the back. Broader somehow, heavier at the shoulders. But his face — his eyes — those were the same. Still burning with that quiet, steady fire you had fallen in love with.

You dropped the basket in your hands, the contents spilling to the ground.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

So he did.

Seungcheol crossed the space between you in long strides, never breaking eye contact, and when he reached you, his arms wrapped around you so tightly you thought you might break from the pressure of it. But you didn’t let go either. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his clothes, holding him close, the weight of five long years crashing into your chest all at once.

The men gave you space, drifting away, leaving you both in the quiet.

He followed you into your house, the door closing softly behind you. And for a moment, the only sound was the rush of your breath and the faint tremble of his hands still holding yours.

“I wanted to write,” he began, voice rough. “God, I wanted to write to you a thousand times. But I was afraid — afraid they would find the letters, intercept them, trace them back to you.”

You swallowed, nodding faintly, your eyes never leaving his.

“The day of my wedding,” Seungcheol continued, his voice breaking slightly, “it was the worst day of my life.”

You squeezed his hand tighter.

“They never touched me, Y/N. I couldn’t. I couldn’t be with her. I never even looked at her the way I looked at you.” He let out a shaking breath. “When she got pregnant, I knew. It wasn’t mine. It couldn’t be.”

Your eyes widened, but you stayed silent, letting him speak.

“The child was not mine. The marriage was dissolved. She was sent back to Jinhwa. My father was furious… but he needed the alliance too much to start another war.” He shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. “I had to wait. Wait until his focus was elsewhere, until he left on a long campaign, months away from the capital.”

His eyes softened, locking onto yours again.

“And now… now I’m here.”

Your lips parted, the flood of words waiting at the back of your throat — but before you could say anything, a soft voice broke the silence.

“Mama!”

You froze.

Seungcheol’s head turned, eyes wide with confusion.

A little boy, no older than five, came running into the house, his small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face against you.

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped, stunned silent — and when the boy turned to face him, Seungcheol’s breath caught in his chest.

The child’s eyes, his nose, the shape of his face… there was no mistaking it.

The boy was his.

Tears welled in your eyes as you dropped to your knees, holding your son close, your voice trembling.

“I wanted to write to you, too,” you whispered. “But I couldn’t risk it. Not with him. Not when I didn’t know what your father might do if he found out.”

Seungcheol’s lips trembled, his eyes fixed on the boy, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold back the tears already threatening to fall.

“How…?” His voice cracked. “How could you have gone through this alone?”

“I wasn’t alone,” you said softly, brushing your fingers through your son’s hair. “All your men have cared for him. Baekhyun… he’s watched over him like he was his own blood.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darted back to you, overwhelmed, barely able to process the flood of emotion twisting through him.

“Does he…?” His voice lowered into a whisper, almost afraid to ask. “Does he know me?”

You gave a gentle smile through your tears.

“Jeonghan,” you called softly, lifting your son’s chin, “who is your father?”

The little boy beamed, his eyes bright. “His name is Seungcheol! And he is a brave and just man!”

Seungcheol’s lips parted, the tears finally breaking free and spilling down his cheeks.

You smiled gently through your own tears, your voice thick as you said: “Jeonghan… that’s him.”

The boy turned, his eyes wide with curiosity as he stepped closer. Slowly, without hesitation, he reached up and placed his small hand against Seungcheol’s cheek.

“Dada,” Jeonghan said softly, smiling. “You’re finally home.”

Seungcheol’s face crumpled. A soft, broken sob escaped him as he dropped to his knees, gathering the boy into his arms, clutching him tightly, holding him as if afraid he might disappear.

Jeonghan’s arms wrapped around his neck, giggling happily, unaware of the depth of the moment — but you saw the way Seungcheol’s shoulders shook with every breath, the way he held your son like a man trying to hold onto hope for the first time in years.

Through the tears, Seungcheol looked up at you — eyes shining, full of love, full of grief, full of the years lost between you.

But there was no anger in them. Only relief. Only love.

Only home.

#seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #scoups x reader #historical au #royalty au #forbidden love au #enemy to lovers #seventeen #seventee fic #seventeen au #reader insert #fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #seungcheol fanfic

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coupsalchemy · 13 days ago

Text

Soft hour

Summary - Where you take care of your husband

Tags: husband!Seungcheol x f.reader, fluff

Warnings: suggestive, MDNI

Word Count: 1k

“I’m home~” you sing-sang, closing the door behind you. His black office shoes are neatly lined up next to your slippers. “Huh, that’s new.”

Overhead orange light is the only illumination to your dark flat. You set the keys and your office id on the table near the entrance as you step carefully into your living room. “Cheol?”

Panic sits in your stomach from meeting silence instead of your happy puppy of a husband. You set your bag by the coffee table when you call out again, “Cheol?”

A groan and rustling of clothes answers your call, you trace your hand in darkness over the sofa patting for your husband. Soft skin hits your skin, tiny roughness of his short hair by fringes, and his ear as you smoothen his face. He groans again, “baby?” His sleep heavy voice makes you sigh.

Sitting on your knees, you comb your fingers into his soft silky strands. He hums appreciatively, nuzzling more into your touch. “Tired?”

He hums.

You slip your hand to his body, ignoring his whines, tracing down his chest, feeling his button up shirt. “Cheol, you didn’t even change.”

He grabs your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist, his lips landing on your watch more than your skin before taking it back to his hair, a request for more pats. Your heart blooms inside your chest, love bursting out of your ribcage at your lover’s antics.

You lean in kissing what you assumed to be his forehead to only land a kiss on his eyebrow. You kiss more to the up and little right in hopes to kiss his forehead. Not getting any reaction from him, you trace his face, his eyelashes fluttering under your touch. He woke up.

“Let’s get you changed and feed you, hmm?” you rest your chin on the sofa, his hot breath hitting your face.

“No,” he whines.

You press a kiss, which turns out to be his nose. “I’ll help you.”

He shifts, breaking slowly. “Undressing?”

You hum.

“Shower?”

“Okay.”

He kisses your lips before sitting up. Your cheeks warm up, his softness still lingering on your lips.

“Chocolate.” He mumbles.

“Huh?”

“Chocolate,” he grabs your chin, sucking on your lower lip, his tongue swiping it. “Chocolate.” He smacks his lips.

You pinch his waist eliciting a groan from him. You stand up, lacing your hands, dragging him to your bathroom. You turn on the soft orange light, your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness with a little sting. Your husband snakes his hands around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, pressing his cheek to yours.

“Soft.” He traces his lips over your cheek, his chapped skin causing goosebumps and tickles. He tugs you back into him when you make an attempt to move away.

“Cheol, we need to get your shower—” you moan at his bites on your neck “—ugh, Cheol.” You grab onto the counter, whining at his teeth grazing and sinking into your neck.

You whimper, your waist aching from his harsh grip stopping you from moving. He pulls your button up shirt from the trousers, his hand slipping underneath it, feeling your bare skin.

“Seungcheol!” You sprinkle water onto him, his ministrations stop from the sudden attack of water. “Let’s get your bath running.” You notice his pout through the mirror. He dejectedly goes to the bathtub sitting on the edge waiting for you.

You calm your racing heart, shaking your head at his antics. He is gonna cause you a heart attack one day. He whines seeing you are still standing away from him. “Literal baby.” You chide, unbuckling your watch and removing your earrings knowing what’s gonna happen next.

He rests his hands on the bathtub, watching you set the watch and earrings next to the sink. His tired eyes blink in slow motion. You walk up to him, kneeling down before him, his hand slips into your ponytail, an unimpressed grumble escapes his pouty lips, he drags the hair tie, ruffling your hair into the wilderness. He massages the back of your neck as you slowly unbutton his shirt. Your stomach coils into pleasure watching his milky white skin coming into view.

You don’t even realize your lips are parted until he is pressing into them with his thumb. Your eyes flick to his hooded ones that are watching your lips sucking his thumb into your mouth. His lower lip caught between his teeth as your tongue pressed into his finger tentatively. You suck one last time before releasing it with a pop, Seungcheol eyes the string of saliva trailing behind his finger as he sucks his finger clean.

His pale blue shirt hangs by his arms reminding you of your task at hand. “Stop distracting me,” you pull off his shirt.

You throw the shirt on the floor, your eyes trailing along the hair leading to his pants. He nudges your chin up, pressing a long kiss. His stomach sucks in under your fingers, his hand stopping your wandering hands.

You separate from him, dizzy from the sensations. You unbuckle his belt, he leans back letting you work on it with ease. Your shaky fingers fail to unbuckle, struggling with the buckle. He tucks your hair away from your eyes to ears. The leather belt finally hears your pleas coming undone.

“Finally.”

You pinch his thigh, he chuckles under his breath. With a tilt to his head he watches your fingers unbuttoning his jeans and pulls the zipper. Before you can pull his pants down, he stops you, “my turn.”

He sets you on his lap, brushing away the stray hair falling in your eyes. Under the white lights the love in his eyes shine, soft and tender, just like his touch trailing down your face, to your neck, twirling his finger around a curl of your hair falling on your neck, he presses a soft kiss on your collarbone. Your shirt collar shields his lips from reaching your skin.

He unbuttons your shirt in haste, muttering a few swears under his breath. You chuckle to yourself, running your fingers through his thick hair, loving the feel of its smoothness and shine.

“Life is worth living,” he suddenly says, leaning into your touch, “if it’s spent like this.”

With you. You read the unsaid words. Your stomach curls in as butterflies swarm endlessly. You affirm his words in a sweet kiss.

#seungcheol #scoups #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol imagines #choi seungcheol #seungcheol fic #fluff #seungcheol drabbles #seventeen

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caratfairytales · 2 days ago

Text

Beneath the Same Sky

Seungcheol x reader

Release date: April 28,2025

Materialist

Taglist: @supi-wupi @reiofsuns2001

@gigglensnort @azkahanif @ateez-atiny380

Summary:

In a land torn by war, Y/N is the princess of one side, destined to lead her people to victory.

Seungcheol, a brave knight from the opposing kingdom, fights for his own cause with unwavering loyalty. The two are enemies, with their countries locked in a bitter conflict.

But when Seungcheol is gravely injured during a battle, fate intervenes. Y/N, while on a solitary walk in the forest, stumbles upon the wounded knight. Unable to leave him to die, she takes him into her care. As Seungcheol recovers, the two begin a tentative and secretive friendship, each torn by their loyalty to their respective kingdoms and the growing feelings they can't deny.

As their bond deepens, they struggle with the weight of their duty and the impossibility of their love. They are on opposite sides of a war, and every stolen moment spent together is a reminder of the consequences that could come if anyone discovers their secret.

As tensions rise and the war reaches its breaking point, Y/N and Seungcheol must decide what they're willing to sacrifice for each other. Can their love survive the turmoil of war, or will the forces around them tear them apart?

Read under cut

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The forest was thick with the scent of damp earth and early spring. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I wove between towering trees, their bare branches clawing at the gray sky.

I wasn’t supposed to be out here alone.

A princess wandering beyond the castle walls, especially during wartime, was reckless at best — dangerous at worst. But the court felt like a cage lately, and no one noticed when I slipped away. They were too busy whispering about battle plans and border losses.

The world outside was quieter.

At least, it usually was.

Today, the air carried a strange tension.

Like something was watching.

My boots squelched in the mud as I crossed a shallow stream, the water biting cold against my skin. I shouldn’t linger. If my guards found out I’d gone missing again, I’d never hear the end of it.

I was just about to turn back when a sound cut through the woods — a low, broken groan.

I froze.

Another sound, like someone dragging themselves across the ground.

Cautious, I moved toward the noise, weaving between thick roots and patches of bramble. My hand found the dagger hidden beneath my cloak — a gift from my brother before he left for the frontlines. I didn’t think I’d need it. Not this close to home.

But what I found wasn’t a threat.

Collapsed against the base of a tree, half-covered in dead leaves and dirt, was a man.

He looked young, but battle-worn. His armor — though battered and bloodstained — was unmistakably foreign.

An enemy knight.

For a moment, I just stared.

Logic screamed at me to run, to call the guards, to leave him here to die like he surely would by nightfall.

But something else rooted me to the spot.

His face was twisted in pain, blood staining the side of his head. His breathing was shallow, uneven. He clutched a hand to his ribs where blood soaked through the leather straps of his armor.

I should have turned away.

I should have left him.

But I stepped closer.

Up close, he didn’t look like a monster or a villain from the tales my tutors told me.

He just looked human.

Without thinking, I knelt beside him. His skin was clammy under my fingers as I checked for a pulse. Still alive — barely.

His eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy.

Deep brown, almost black, like the soil after rain.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. Only a shallow gasp.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I whispered, as if the trees might overhear.

He tried to move, but a pained groan escaped his lips. I gently pressed my hand to his shoulder to still him.

“Stay still. You’re hurt badly.”

His brows furrowed. He looked at me, truly looked, as if he couldn’t decide if I was real or not.

Or maybe he recognized the colors of my cloak — the symbol of my kingdom embroidered along the hem.

The enemy.

Still, he didn’t fight me.

Maybe he couldn’t.

My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. This was madness.

If anyone found me here with him, there would be no forgiveness. Harboring the enemy was treason.

But he was dying.

I couldn’t — wouldn’t — leave him.

Gritting my teeth, I slipped my arms beneath his and struggled to pull him upright. He was heavier than I expected, every shift of his body drawing a soft, broken sound from him.

Somehow, I managed to drape one of his arms over my shoulder.

Somehow, I half-dragged, half-carried him back the way I came, deeper into the forest where an abandoned stone cottage lay hidden among the trees — a place I’d discovered on one of my secret walks.

I wasn’t thinking about the war.

I wasn’t thinking about my people, or my duty, or the fact that this man could very well have killed someone I loved on the battlefield.

All I knew was that I couldn’t leave him to die.

Not here.

Not like this.

The door to the abandoned cottage creaked loudly as I forced it open with my shoulder, guiding the injured knight inside. Dust and cobwebs clung to the corners, but the space was dry and hidden — it would have to do.

I lowered him gently onto the broken remains of a cot, my arms shaking with the effort. He grimaced but didn’t make a sound.

I knelt beside him, pulling a small cloth from my satchel. I always carried supplies when I snuck away — habits formed out of necessity. I pressed the cloth against the wound at his side, trying to stanch the bleeding. His hand twitched toward his sword instinctively, but he was too weak to reach it.

“I told you,” I said softly, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

He studied me through hooded, pain-glazed eyes. There was suspicion there, of course. There had to be.

But also… something else. Confusion. Wariness. Gratitude?

“Water,” he rasped, voice barely a whisper.

I moved quickly, filling a cracked mug from the small barrel of rainwater I kept hidden near the cottage. He drank greedily, coughing as some of it spilled down his chin.

Closer now, I could see the details of him more clearly. Dark, tousled hair matted with blood. Strong jawline set in determination even now. His armor was marked with the insignia of Ereveth — the rival kingdom my people had fought for generations.

An Erevethian knight.

The enemy.

Yet here he was, wounded and helpless, and I — Y/N of Astren, the king’s own daughter — was saving him.

“What’s your name?” I asked, wiping the water from his lips carefully.

For a moment, I didn’t think he’d answer. But then, with great effort, he rasped,

“Seungcheol.”

The name lodged in my chest unexpectedly.

“Seungcheol,” I repeated quietly. “I’m Y/N.”

A ghost of something — maybe a smirk — touched his cracked lips.

“I know.”

My heart stumbled. Of course he knew. The princess of Astren wasn’t exactly a secret.

I worked in silence for a while, cleaning his wounds as best I could. Every now and then, he flinched or hissed through his teeth, but he never complained. There was a quiet strength in him, even now, hovering between life and death.

As the daylight faded into a misty twilight, I wrapped him in the cloak I had brought and sat beside the cot, my knees drawn up to my chest.

This was dangerous. Beyond dangerous.

But strangely, I wasn’t afraid.

Not of him.

He dozed fitfully through the night, murmuring in his sleep — words I couldn’t catch, sometimes in a language I didn’t fully understand. I stayed awake, listening, watching.

At one point, when he shivered violently from fever, I pressed my hand to his forehead. Too hot. I soaked a cloth in cool water and laid it across his brow.

His fingers brushed mine in a half-conscious gesture.

Not a grab.

Not a strike.

Just a brush.

As if seeking something solid to hold onto.

Without thinking, I laced my fingers through his, grounding him. His breathing slowed, tension easing from his battered body.

I sat there for a long time, hand in hand with a man who should have been my enemy.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

The next few days blurred into a careful, secret routine.

I visited the cottage whenever I could steal away from the castle — under the guise of long rides or walks — always careful to make sure no one followed.

Seungcheol healed slowly.

The fever broke after two terrifying nights, and he started eating small portions of the food I brought: stolen bread, dried meats, apples from the royal orchards.

He barely spoke at first. Only quiet nods or glances, conserving what little strength he had.

I didn’t mind.

There was something comforting in the silence between us.

A fragile, wordless truce.

One evening, as the sun dipped low behind the trees, I found him awake, sitting up against the wall with his injured arm cradled against his chest.

“You should be lying down,” I said, setting down the basket of food I carried.

He gave a rough laugh — dry and broken but undeniably amused.

“You keep saving me, Princess. I’ll start thinking you like me.”

I froze — just for a heartbeat — before recovering with a shake of my head.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I muttered, but my face burned with warmth I couldn’t hide.

His smirk softened into something gentler, something almost shy. He looked older when he smiled — wearier — but no less handsome.

“I owe you my life,” he said quietly.

“You owe me nothing,” I replied, meaning it.

But still, his eyes lingered on me like he didn’t quite believe that.

Like he was memorizing the shape of me in case I disappeared.

It scared me — how natural it was becoming, this comfort between us.

How easy it was to forget, here in this hidden place, that we were enemies by blood.

Later, after he drifted into another restless sleep, I stayed beside him, tracing the fading light on the crumbling walls.

My father would have me hanged for treason if he knew.

My people would curse my name.

Yet some stubborn part of me refused to regret it.

Seungcheol wasn’t a monster.

He was just a man.

A man who, even wounded and broken, carried a quiet kind of honor in the way he moved, the way he spoke.

And a man who — without knowing it — was beginning to break down the walls I had spent my whole life building.

The first time he managed to stand on his own, we celebrated with laughter that startled even us.

He wobbled unsteadily, bracing himself against the doorframe, and I rushed forward on instinct.

“Careful,” I said, slipping under his arm to steady him.

His hand gripped my shoulder tightly — strong despite the lingering weakness.

When he looked down at me, our faces were far too close.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just him:

The faint scent of leather and pine.

The sharp edge of his jaw.

The way his dark eyes softened when they met mine.

I stepped back hastily, heart hammering.

Seungcheol’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, but he said nothing.

Neither did I.

The silence between us wasn’t awkward anymore.

It thrummed with something unspeakable.

Something dangerous.

Something inevitable.

Days passed.

Spring bled into early summer, and Seungcheol grew stronger.

I taught him the safest paths through the woods.

He taught me how to better defend myself, showing me grips and footwork with surprising patience.

I learned he had two younger brothers back in Ereveth.

He learned I hated embroidery and court dances but loved sword-fighting in secret when no one was watching.

We didn’t talk about the war.

We didn’t talk about what would happen when he was strong enough to leave.

It hung between us like a storm cloud, waiting.

Because once he left, we would go back to our sides.

Enemies again.

Unless something changed.

Unless… we couldn’t.

One evening, after sparring clumsily with sticks outside the cottage, I stumbled and nearly fell.

Seungcheol caught me, his arms steady around my waist.

We stood there — breaths tangled, hands fisted in each other’s sleeves.

His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, a featherlight touch that set my skin alight.

I looked up at him, my lips parting slightly.

His gaze dropped to my mouth — just for a second — before jerking away, tense and restrained.

He stepped back, letting me go.

“I should rest,” he muttered roughly, voice hoarse.

I nodded, pretending my heart wasn’t breaking a little.

Because in that one moment, in the space between us, something had almost happened.

Something I wasn’t sure either of us could take back.

The next morning, I arrived at the cottage to find Seungcheol gone.

Panic tore through me as I stumbled inside, calling his name under my breath.

But then I saw him: crouched just beyond the treeline, sword in hand, eyes scanning the forest like a hunted animal.

I rushed to him.

He whirled around at the sound of my footsteps, raising the sword instinctively — only to drop it the moment he saw me.

“Someone was here,” he said grimly. “Tracks. Recent.”

I swallowed hard, heart racing.

If someone found him — found us — it would be the end.

Not just for him, but for me too.

“We have to move you,” I said urgently. “Farther into the woods. Somewhere safer.”

He didn’t argue.

That alone told me how serious it was.

We spent the day trekking through the dense forest, staying low, speaking little.

Every crack of a branch made my pulse spike.

By nightfall, we found another shelter — the ruins of an old watchtower long since forgotten by both kingdoms.

Exhausted, we collapsed against the stone wall, breathless and tense.

The fire we built was small and smokeless. We huddled close for warmth, shoulders brushing.

“You should go back,” Seungcheol said finally, voice rough. “It’s too dangerous for you to be here.”

I turned to him sharply.

“I’m not leaving you.”

His jaw clenched. “Y/N—”

“No.”

I met his gaze fiercely.

“I chose this. I chose you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His eyes widened slightly.

For a heartbeat, neither of us breathed.

And then he moved.

Slowly — painfully — like a man wading through deep water.

He reached for me, fingers trembling slightly as he cupped my cheek.

I leaned into his touch without thinking, my eyes fluttering closed.

When his forehead pressed against mine, I exhaled shakily.

“This is wrong,” he whispered, voice broken.

“I know,” I whispered back.

But neither of us pulled away.

His breath was warm against my lips. His hand trembled against my jawline.

We hovered there, on the precipice — hearts racing, fear and longing tangling like vines.

And then, slowly, he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was desperate and raw and aching — a kiss born from weeks of stolen glances and almost-touches and silent wanting.

I fisted my hands in his tunic, pulling him closer.

He groaned low in his throat, deepening the kiss like he couldn’t get close enough.

When we finally broke apart, gasping, I rested my forehead against his, tears stinging my eyes.

“We can’t,” I choked out. “We can’t do this.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, voice thick with pain.

“But I would rather die your enemy than live never knowing what this could have been.”

A sob escaped me, raw and helpless.

He caught it with another kiss — softer this time, aching with everything we couldn’t say.

Outside, the forest whispered and the war raged on.

But here, in this broken tower, there was only him.

Only me.

Only the impossible, inevitable thing blooming between us.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours.

Wrapped in silence and each other, unwilling to let the world back in.

But reality is a cruel thing.

It always finds a way.

By morning, Seungcheol was the one who pulled away first.

“We can’t stay hidden forever,” he said quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. His wound had healed enough for him to move, but not enough for him to fight the way he used to.

“We’ll find a way,” I said stubbornly, reaching for him. “We’ll figure it out.”

He caught my hand gently in his.

“Y/N,” he said, using my name like a prayer. “If they find you with me, they’ll say you betrayed your kingdom.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

I shook my head fiercely, blinking back tears.

He smiled — a soft, broken thing — and kissed my forehead before letting me go.

“We’ll need allies,” he said, voice steadying. “Friends we can trust.”

That was when the others began to appear.

Joshua was the first.

I found him in the woods one evening — tall, alert, wearing the colors of Ereveth but with none of the cruelty I’d been taught to expect.

He spotted me immediately but made no move to draw his sword.

“You’re the princess,” he said simply.

“And you’re an enemy knight,” I countered.

We stared at each other across the clearing, sizing each other up.

Finally, Joshua lowered his weapon.

“If you’re helping him,” he said, nodding toward where Seungcheol waited beyond the trees, “then so am I.”

Confused, I followed him back — and Seungcheol’s face lit up in genuine relief when he saw Joshua.

“Hyung,” Joshua greeted warmly, clasping Seungcheol’s forearm in the way soldiers do. “I should have known you’d get into trouble.”

Seungcheol chuckled weakly.

“Couldn’t have done it without her.”

He looked at me as he said it, and something warm twisted in my chest.

Over the next few days, more of them trickled in:

• Jeonghan, clever and quick-tongued, who somehow always knew where the patrols were.

• Wonwoo, silent and sharp-eyed, who could track through the woods without leaving a trace.

• Mingyu, giant and golden-hearted, who carried supplies on his broad back like it was nothing.

• Minghao, fierce and careful, who taught me how to move without being seen.

• Vernon and Dino, younger but loyal, willing to risk everything just because Seungcheol asked.

One by one, the bonds deepened.

They didn’t treat me like a princess.

They treated me like a comrade.

An equal.

It was both terrifying and exhilarating.

We became a shadow-band — slipping through the woods, avoiding soldiers from both kingdoms.

Seungcheol never said it aloud, but I could see the plan forming in his mind:

Find enough allies.

Make a stand.

End the war not with more blood, but with a new choice.

A new future.

But nothing ever stays hidden forever.

One rainy afternoon, as we gathered around a sputtering fire, Wonwoo returned from scouting with grim news.

“Your father’s army,” he told me quietly. “They’re combing the forests. They know you’re missing. And they know… they suspect you’re with someone.”

My stomach twisted.

“If they find us—” Minghao started.

“They won’t,” Seungcheol cut him off, sharp and commanding.

But when his eyes met mine, I saw the fear there.

For me.

For us.

We couldn’t run forever.

Sooner or later, we would have to choose:

Fight.

Or fall.

That night, Seungcheol found me sitting alone, staring up at the cold, clouded sky.

He sat beside me without speaking for a long time.

Finally, he said, “You deserve better than this.”

I shook my head.

“I want this,” I whispered. “I want you.”

He closed his eyes like the words hurt him.

“You’ll lose everything,” he said.

“Your family. Your crown.”

“I already lost my heart,” I said brokenly, voice shaking.

“You took it the moment you looked at me.”

His breath hitched — the first crack in the armor he wore so tightly.

And then he kissed me again — fierce and trembling, as if trying to memorize me.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was messy and desperate and terrified.

But it was real.

And in a world built on lies and bloodshed, that was more precious than anything.

We didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

We stayed wrapped around each other beneath a worn blanket, listening to the rain batter the ruined stones above us.

His hand found mine in the dark, fingers twining tightly.

When the first light broke through the trees, Jeonghan was the one who brought the news:

“They found the outer camp. It’s only a matter of time before they track us here.”

Panic flared across the group. Mingyu cursed under his breath. Dino tightened his grip on his sword. Even calm, quiet Wonwoo’s expression grew grim.

Seungcheol stood, every inch the commander he had once been.

“We move east,” he said. “Toward the river. We’ll lose them in the mist.”

“And after that?” Joshua asked softly.

Seungcheol’s eyes flickered to me.

“After that, we make our stand.”

We moved quickly, leaving behind the broken tower, slipping like shadows through the soaked undergrowth.

At the river’s edge, we made camp under a dense canopy of trees, water rushing cold and fast beside us.

As the others set traps and hid supplies, Seungcheol pulled me aside.

“I need you to do something,” he said, voice low.

I stiffened.

Whatever it was, it was going to be bad. I could see it in his eyes.

“You need to run.”

“No,” I said immediately. “No, Seungcheol—”

He caught my face in his hands, pressing his forehead against mine.

“If they catch you, Y/N, this war will only get bloodier. They’ll parade you through the streets, call you a traitor. They’ll use you as an excuse to kill more people.”

Tears burned behind my eyelids.

“I don’t care,” I whispered fiercely.

“I do,” he rasped. “I love you.”

The words shattered something inside me.

I choked on a sob, clinging to him.

“I love you too,” I gasped.

He kissed me hard — a kiss full of desperation, of everything we didn’t have time to say.

And then he pulled away.

“Minghao and Wonwoo will take you across the river,” he said, already stepping back like it hurt him. “They’ll get you to safety.”

“And you?” I cried.

“I’ll hold them off. Buy you time.”

“No—”

“It’s the only way.”

Around us, the river roared and the mist thickened.

The first shouts of soldiers echoed through the trees.

There was no time left.

Wonwoo and Minghao appeared at my sides, grim and ready.

Seungcheol pressed one last kiss to my forehead.

“Find me,” he whispered. “When this is over, find me.”

And then he was gone — running back toward the danger, sword flashing.

I screamed his name once, but Minghao clamped a hand over my mouth, dragging me into the river.

The current was freezing and brutal.

I fought it blindly, sobbing, as the sounds of battle rose behind me.

Somewhere out there, he was fighting for me.

Dying for me.

We stumbled ashore miles later, soaked and shivering.

Wonwoo built a small fire. Minghao wrapped me in a cloak.

But nothing could warm the hollow ache inside my chest.

Seungcheol was gone.

And all I could do was pray he was still alive.

Months passed.

Seasons shifted.

The war burned itself out, just as Seungcheol had hoped it would.

Without me to parade as a traitor, without a symbol to rally hate around, the fighting lost momentum.

Battles became skirmishes.

Skirmishes faded into uneasy silence.

The kingdom of Valeria — my home — and the kingdom of Ereveth — Seungcheol’s — finally agreed to a fragile, bitter peace.

But peace came too late for many.

Castles lay in ruins. Fields were scorched black. Families were broken beyond repair.

And Seungcheol…

Seungcheol was gone.

No one had seen him since that last stand by the river.

Some said he died fighting.

Others whispered he was captured and executed.

I refused to believe either.

I would not believe either.

He had told me to find him.

And I would.

I slipped away from the remains of court life — a court I no longer recognized, filled with hollow smiles and sharpened knives.

Dressed in plain traveler’s clothes, I set out alone across the ruined lands.

Joshua, Wonwoo, Minghao, Mingyu, Jeonghan — they had all disappeared into the ashes after the war ended.

Some went home. Some vanished into the forests, ghosts of a war they hated.

I didn’t know if I’d find any of them again.

I only knew I had to find him.

For weeks, I searched.

Through half-burned villages, through abandoned fortresses, asking quiet questions to those few brave enough to answer.

“Have you seen him?”

“Knight from Ereveth?”

“Tall, broad-shouldered, kind eyes—”

Most shook their heads sadly.

Some gave vague directions.

A few muttered that I’d be safer giving up.

But I couldn’t.

Because in my dreams, I still felt his kiss on my forehead.

Still heard his voice: Find me.

Finally, one night, in a tiny, forgotten village by the sea, I found a trail.

A woman with weathered hands pointed me toward the cliffs.

“There’s a man who comes down sometimes from the hills,” she said, squinting. “Walks like he carries the world on his back.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might tear free from my ribs.

I climbed the cliffs at dawn, the sea roaring far below.

The wind whipped my hair around my face, biting cold.

And then — through the mist — I saw him.

A figure sitting at the edge of the world.

Alone.

Still.

Alive.

“Seungcheol,” I whispered.

He didn’t move at first.

Then — slowly, disbelievingly — he turned.

His face was thinner. His hair longer, tied loosely at his nape.

Scars laced his skin — reminders of all he’d survived.

But his eyes…

His eyes were the same.

The moment he saw me, something shattered.

He stood so fast he stumbled.

I ran to him, feet flying over the rocky ground.

When I crashed into his chest, he caught me with a broken sound, arms crushing me close.

For a long, long time, we just held each other.

Breathing.

Shaking.

Alive.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at me — really look at me.

“You found me,” he whispered, voice raw.

Tears blurred my vision.

“I promised I would.”

He laughed — a soft, disbelieving sound — and then kissed me.

This kiss was different.

Not desperate.

Not afraid.

It was everything we had fought for.

Everything we had lost.

Everything we still had left.

Hope.

Home.

Each other.

The world was quieter now.

No more battles.

No more armies on the march.

Just the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs, the wind whispering through the trees, and the soft murmur of Seungcheol’s voice in my ear.

We stayed there, at the edge of the world, for hours.

Maybe longer.

When the world finally started to feel real again, when the chaos had softened into something warmer, we sat side by side, watching the sea stretch out endlessly in front of us.

“I thought you were gone,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Seungcheol took my hand, squeezing it gently.

“Almost was,” he murmured. “But something… kept me alive. I think it was you. I think it was the thought of you finding me.”

His words made my heart ache.

“I couldn’t leave you,” I replied. “Even when they said you were gone, I never believed it. You told me to find you, and I kept my promise.”

He smiled — small, tired, but real. “You always keep your promises.”

There was a pause between us.

The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

Finally, I turned to him, finding him already looking at me with that same unwavering gaze.

My chest tightened.

“What now?” I asked quietly.

Seungcheol’s thumb brushed over the back of my hand. His voice was steady, as if he’d known the answer for a long time.

“Now, we build something new. A life without war, without fear.”

I nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling in. “Together?”

“Always,” he promised.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

And for the first time in so long, everything felt right.

The journey ahead wasn’t going to be easy.

Nothing worth having ever was.

But now we had each other.

We stayed in the village by the cliffs for a while, letting the quiet heal us.

Seungcheol and I worked together to help rebuild what had been broken — not just the walls of the village, but the people too. There were no grand gestures, no applause. Just the soft, steady work of putting things back together.

Minghao found us a month later — a letter from Joshua, Jeonghan, and the others confirming they were alive and scattered across the land, finding their own way to peace. They’d all fought too hard to just disappear.

In time, we would be together again.

But for now, it was just the two of us.

As the months passed, Seungcheol and I built our own kingdom — one not ruled by swords and blood, but by choice. We learned how to love each other again, not in the midst of war, but in the quiet moments.

In the peaceful mornings where we’d share breakfast, laughing over small things.

In the evenings by the fire, where we’d talk about everything — and nothing.

And one day, I found myself walking beside him, hand in hand, through the gardens we’d begun to cultivate. The sun was setting, and the sky was painted in shades of gold and pink.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady, but his eyes full of something more.

I turned to look at him, my heart thumping in my chest. “What?”

He dropped to one knee, his face serious — but there was that familiar, loving smile tugging at his lips.

“Will you rule beside me?” he asked softly, holding out a simple, silver ring. “Will you stay with me, build a life with me, forever?”

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked down at the man who had been both my enemy and my salvation.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, Seungcheol. Always.”

He slid the ring onto my finger and stood, his arms wrapping around me as I kissed him, sealing the promise we had both made — to survive, to love, to live.

Together.

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen #scoups #jeonghan #joshua #wen junhui #hoshi #wonwoo #woozi #minghao #mingyu #lee seokmin #seungkwan #vernon #svt dino

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haroldsonlyangel · 2 days ago

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He’s literally everything!!! I loved their dynamic , the slow burn, how cheol is so sweet, cute, smooth, respectful, domestic,confident and most importantly how they both are whipped for each other !! He really had me blushing,giggling,kicking my feet and stuff and their first kiss swoon worthy for sure!! The whole fic has such a comforting, domestic and warm vibe and I absolutely loved this !!💗💗💗

how long before we fall in love - choi seungcheol imagine

the way i was smiling, throwing air punches when i wrote this. pure 100% fluff coming your way!!!🥺😭🤭 (my head screaming SANA GETS NYO KO as i write this)

you can follow me on x, my un there niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’re nursing the last of your drink, ice clinking against the glass as you swirl it with deliberate disinterest, hoping the guy beside you gets the hint. He doesn't. His hand lingers too close to your elbow, and every laugh he exhales smells like beer and desperation.

You've already tried subtle. You even lied about having a boyfriend — twice. Still, he leans in with that rehearsed smirk like he's the one doing you a favor.

You scan the room, fast. Desperation breeds boldness, and tonight, you’re emboldened.

Then you see him.

He’s impossible to miss. Seated at the far end of the bar, broad shoulders framed in black, head dipped low as he nurses something amber in a short glass. He looks like he belongs somewhere darker, quieter. Maybe someplace where men don’t smile, only nod.

You’re not even sure how your legs carry you there, but in three long strides, you’re beside him, heart skittering in your chest like it knows you’ve made a gamble. He glances up, and for a second, you're sure this was a mistake but there's no time for second-guessing.

“Hey, babe,” you say, and your voice barely wavers. “Sorry I took so long.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, and for one charged second, silence stretches between you like a fuse waiting to be lit.

Then his expression shifts. It's subtle, the faintest curl of his mouth, a spark of recognition in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“There you are,” he says, low and even, like the words were always meant for you. He slips an arm around your waist with a kind of confidence that feels too natural, too smooth.

You think you’ve pulled it off — until a voice slices through the act.

“Seungcheol,” she purrs. She’s suddenly there, close enough that you feel the static of her presence before you even see her. “You weren’t gonna introduce me to your little friend?”

You tense, barely hiding the wince. The stranger, Seungcheol, doesn’t move his arm.

His voice is calm, even, as if this happens all the time. “Not now, Jiwon”

“But babe—”

He doesn’t even look at her. “And how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that”

Something in his tone makes her falter. She huffs, audibly, but walks away with a forced flick of her hair.

You glance up at him, parting your lips to apologize, but he cuts you off before you can speak.

“You okay?” he murmurs, just for you and you don’t know why but you believe him. You nod.

He leans in just a little, just enough that the warmth of him slips past your skin. “You want me to make sure he stays away?”

And god help you, you say yes.

Seungcheol shifts in his seat, gaze sharp now, trained somewhere over your shoulder. You don’t even have to turn to know the persistent guy’s still hovering. You can feel the weight of him, orbiting.

“Stay close,” Seungcheol says, barely more than a breath against your ear. It shouldn’t send a chill down your spine, but it does.

He stands in one smooth motion, hand still warm against your lower back as he guides you forwar. You catch the guy’s expression the moment he sees who you’re with now. The faux confidence drains from his face in real-time, replaced by something caught between confusion and an almost primal, involuntary instinct to back off.

“Problem?” Seungcheol asks him. He’s not loud. Doesn’t need to be. There’s something in the way he holds himself, loose and deadly, like a predator who doesn’t have to growl to be heard.

The guy lifts his hands in weak surrender. “Nah, man. Just talking.”

“You were done talking when she walked away.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a statement. Inevitable. Irrefutable.

The guy backs off, muttering something that doesn’t sound like an apology, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. You exhale for the first time in what feels like minutes.

Seungcheol turns to you again, and just like that, the sharpness in him softens—no less intense, but different now. He looks at you like he’s cataloging something he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“You okay?” he asks again, but this time the question feels more layered. Not just are you safe, but what made you need someone like me?

You nod, slower this time. “Yeah. Thanks. That was… I didn’t expect you to actually go along with it.”

He shrugs. “You looked like you needed out.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—

“You wanna sit?” he asks, gesturing to his now-vacant seat. “I won’t bite. Unless that’s what you’re into.”

It’s deadpan. Almost. You glance at him and find the smallest glint of mischief tucked in the dark of his eyes.

You sit. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something else entirely but you get the distinct feeling your night just shifted on an axis you didn’t see coming.

You’ve barely settled into the seat beside him when you feel the disturbance before you see it. She’s back. Jiwon. Her heels click soft and calculated across the floor, posture loose but eyes laser-focused on Seungcheol. She doesn't bother with you, not really.

She stops at his other side, voice syrupy. “Thought I’d grab you that drink you like,” she says, holding it out like a peace offering. Like she’s done this before and won.

But Seungcheol doesn’t even glance at the glass. He doesn’t blink.

“I’m good here,” he says, calm as still water. “With my girl.”

It hits with the kind of weight that lands sharp but quiet. No performance, no dramatic pause. Just absolute certainty, smooth as silk and impossible to argue with.

You blink. My girl?

Then, as if on cue, he leans in—closer than he’s been all night. His hand brushes against your thigh under the bar, casual but unmistakable. The space between you disappears, and suddenly, all you can see is him.

The edge of his mouth tilts just slightly, a private smirk made only for you.

“I help you,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, just for your ears. “You help me.”

Like a switch, you slip into the role. No hesitation. No breath to second-guess.

You lean in until you’re practically folded into his side, your shoulder brushing his chest, the scent of him filling your senses like a hit of something you’re not supposed to want.

Your fingers find his thigh beneath the bar, light but deliberate, and when you turn your head to face her, your expression is sugar-laced steel.

“Thanks for keeping my boyfriend company,” you say, voice sweet enough to rot, “but we’re good now.”

Jiwon stiffens. You see it in the tight pull of her jaw, the way her hand curls around the untouched glass like she might throw it but she doesn’t say anything. Not really. Just a scoff, quiet and bitter, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd again.

The moment she’s gone, Seungcheol exhales a laugh. Low. Quiet. Almost impressed.

“Well damn,” he says, tilting his head to look at you properly. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

You arch a brow. “What, the spine or the spite?”

His grin widens, lazy and wolfish. “Both.”

You should pull away. You should return to your drink, your solitude, the night you had before this turned into something else entirely.

But you don’t.

Because now, you’re curious—and curiosity is a dangerous thing when someone like Seungcheol is involved. He smirks again, but there’s something different behind it then he leans down, slow enough to feel deliberate, and you feel it:

The brush of his lips against your bare shoulder.

Barely there. Barely anything. But it sets off a fire low in your belly, a spark you weren’t expecting and definitely weren’t prepared for. Your breath catches, and you turn your head to say something but you’re interrupted.

“Yo, Choi!” a voice calls out, casual and easy, and you look up just as two guys approach the table.

They’re both tall, well-dressed, and annoyingly attractive in that infuriating way that only works because they know it. The one with the long and cat-like grin lifts his brows as he takes in the scene. Your hand still on Seungcheol’s thigh, your body tucked into his side, his lips a breath away from your skin.

“Are we interrupting?” the long haired one asks

Seungcheol doesn’t move away. If anything, his arm tightens slightly around you. “If I say yes, will you go away”

The other one—gentler-looking, nudges his friend. “Jeonghan, stop being an ass. Hi,” he says, this time to you. “I’m Joshua. You?”

You give your name, and Jeonghan grins like you just told him a secret. “Cute. She’s cute.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just takes a sip from his drink but there’s something in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your hip that says plenty.

“You’re not usually the type to play house, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan adds, sliding into the seat across from you both. “What’s this, new leaf?”

“Maybe I like what I’m playing with,” Seungcheol says, and his voice is so calm, so unapologetic, that for a second, even you forget this started as pretend.

Joshua raises a brow but doesn’t push it. He just smiles a little, as if he already sees where this is going before either of you do. And when you feel Seungcheol’s hand settle more firmly against your thigh, like he’s staking a claim in front of his friends.

A few drinks later, your head’s pleasantly light, the warmth of alcohol and laughter still lingering in your chest. Jeonghan and Joshua had finally wandered off to harass someone else, leaving you and Seungcheol alone again, though somehow the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s alive.

You glance at your phone, blinking at the time. Late.

You push your glass away and sigh, “Alright, I should probably call it. Before I start thinking karaoke’s a good idea.”

Seungcheol chuckles, low and easy. “You’d make a great bad decision at karaoke.”

You shoot him a look, but you’re smiling. “I’m not drunk enough to embarrass myself like that.”

“Pity. I’d pay good money to hear you scream-sing something tragic.”

You snort. “You’re not even pretending to be nice.”

He tilts his head, mock thoughtful. “Did I ever pretend?”

You open your mouth to fire back something snarky, but the moment shifts. Just slightly. Just enough.

You glance toward the exit, suddenly uneasy. The weight of earlier brushes the edge of your thoughts, and now that the buzz is wearing down, the memory of that guy—the lingering stare, the way he didn’t get the hint—sticks.

Seungcheol notices. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, but his voice stays light.

“Want me to walk you out?”

You hesitate then nod. “Actually… would it be weird if I asked you to drive me home?”

His brows rise just a touch but he doesn’t hesitate. “Not weird,” he says. “I was hoping you'd ask.”

You raise a brow, teasing. “You were hoping?”

“I mean, you’re kind of glued to me tonight,” he says, smirking as he stands, grabbing his jacket. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

You follow him out, the air outside cooler than expected. He opens the passenger door like it’s instinct—like he’s done this for you a hundred times already—and when you slide in, he leans down just enough that your eyes meet.

“You trust me to drive you home?” he asks, voice lower now, a touch more serious, but still laced with that lazy confidence.

You look up at him through your lashes, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Should I?”

And just like that, the door shuts with a soft click and your pulse doesn’t quite settle the whole ride home. When he slides into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath his hands, you glance sideways at him, half-joking, half-not, voice just a little too casual.

“I’m not gonna end up in a true crime documentary, right?”

He smirks without looking at you, eyes on the road as he pulls out of the lot. “Nah. Too much paperwork.”

You laugh, but he doesn’t stop there.

“If I was gonna murder you, I wouldn’t have bought you drinks first. That’s just inefficient.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. Comforting.”

He glances over at you, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, his voice a bit softer now

“I mean, you approached me. Technically, this is your villain origin story.”

You feign scandal. “So I lured you in.”

“Exactly. Innocent-looking girl at a bar, bold enough to lie her way into my lap? Yeah, you’re the dangerous one here.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips. “You think I’m innocent-looking?”

He cuts his eyes toward you, a slow once-over that makes the air between you crackle.

“I think you’re a lot of things,” he says. “But innocent? Not buying it.”

And just like that, the car gets a little quieter. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

And you wonder, as the streetlights blur past the windows, what you’ve really gotten yourself into tonight.

“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise, a slow smirk curling at your lips. “So you’ve got me all figured out already?”

He glances over, and this time he doesn’t hide the smile.

“Didn’t say that,” he replies smoothly. “I said I’m not buying the innocent act. Big difference.”

You hum, dragging your gaze out the window like you're not grinning.

“Maybe I’m just mysterious,” you tease. “Hard to read. Dangerous, even.”

He snorts. “You’re definitely dangerous.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning back to him, playful but edged with something more. “Afraid I’ll break your heart?”

He laughs once but then his eyes flick over to you, and it’s different now. He’s not smiling anymore, not quite. His voice drops, soft but steady.

“Nah,” he murmurs, “I’m enjoying this too much.”

You don’t answer right away, and neither does he. The quiet stretches, dense with something neither of you name. But when his hand brushes yours over the center console—barely there, just a question—you don’t pull away.

“And you?” he says, voice quiet, like he’s easing into something he actually wants the answer to. “How come, out of everyone there… you suddenly let yourself strut my way?”

“I don’t know,” you say at first, then pause. “You just looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t ask questions.”

He huffs a laugh, amused. “You were banking on me being cooperative?”

“I was banking on you being scary enough to make the other guy piss himself.”

“And I was.”

You grin despite yourself. “So humble.”

He finally turns to look at you fully, eyes dark but curious, a faint crease in his brow like he’s studying you a little deeper now.

“But that’s not it,” he says. “Not really.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

“No. You could’ve gone to the bartender. The bouncer. Your friends, if you had any there. But you came to me.”

You’re quiet for a beat too long, because—yeah. He’s right.

So you shrug, pretending it’s simple when it’s not. “Guess I like walking toward the fire sometimes.”

He laughs again, deeper this time, but there’s something thoughtful behind it.

“Then lucky for you,” he murmurs, eyes still on you, “I don’t burn easy.”

And your heart? Yeah. It skips. Hard.

The next morning, Seungcheol walks into the office ten minutes late with zero regrets and exactly one iced Americano in hand, looking irritatingly composed for someone who got maybe four hours of sleep.

He’s barely set his cup down when Jeonghan’s voice sings from across the room.

“Well, well, well—if it isn’t Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Relationships strolling in like a man who definitely didn’t go straight home last night.”

Joshua looks up from his laptop, raising a brow with a barely contained smirk. “So… who was she?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just pulls off his jacket and hangs it up with surgical precision, like he’s trying not to indulge them.

Which, of course, only makes them hungrier.

“C’mon, Cheol,” Jeonghan pushes, trailing him to his desk like a cat stalking something shiny. “You had her in your lap half the night. You don’t cuddle in public. I didn’t even know you could cuddle.”

“Technically,” Joshua adds, “I think she was in the driver’s seat.”

“Literally and figuratively,” Jeonghan nods. “She had you wrapped. It was… inspiring.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and finally turns around, arms folded, leaning against the edge of his desk like he’s humoring children.

“She was someone who needed help,” he says evenly. “That’s it.”

Jeonghan’s eyes glint. “So you just happened to keep your hand on her thigh all night out of… community service?”

Joshua’s tone is gentler, but no less pointed. “You looked comfortable. Not pretending-comfortable. Just… real.”

Seungcheol hesitates. He hates that they’re good at this. That they know how to read the cracks in his tone.

“She was easy to talk to,” he admits. “Didn’t play games. No agenda.”

Jeonghan fake gasps. “Wait. You liked her.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it,” Joshua counters.

Jeonghan grins like he just won something. “What’s her name?”

Seungcheol smirks now, because this is the part he won’t give them. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And when he turns back to his desk, his phone buzzes once.

A message from you.

You: So… if I walk into your office right now, am I gonna ruin your mysterious, emotionally unavailable persona?

He stares at it for a second, then smiles—small and private. Maybe he is in trouble. He stares at your text for a beat longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard like he’s weighing something heavier than the words.

Seungcheol: Only if you walk in looking like last night. My reputation wouldn’t survive it.

Seungcheol: Free for lunch? I’ll come to you.

He hits send before he can think better of it.

Across the room, Jeonghan is still dramatically theorizing about your identity, now halfway into a ridiculous monologue about you being an international art thief who seduced Seungcheol for corporate secrets.

He ignores it because right now, he’s more interested in seeing you again and if that means sneaking in an hour between meetings and pretending he’s not the kind of guy who clears his calendar for a woman he just met, then so be it.

A little past noon, your phone buzzes again. You’re mid-email, squinting at your screen, when the notification pops up.

Seungcheol: Outside. Come down. I brought bribes.

You blink. Bribes? What does that even mean? Curiosity wins out fast. You grab your phone, smooth your outfit and head down.

The moment you step out, you see him leaning against a sleek black car that absolutely screams expensive and unnecessary, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, holding a paper bag and two drinks.

Your brows lift. “So this is you not trying?”

He grins, looking annoyingly perfect for someone who probably woke up late and still somehow managed to make the pavement feel like a runway. “Told you. Bribes.”

You walk up slowly, eyeing the bag. “What is it?”

“Sandwiches. From that overpriced place near here. Hope you’re not one of those 'just salad' people.”

You narrow your eyes. “I contain multitudes.”

He chuckles, hands you your drink. “Good. You’ll need them to keep up.”

You gesture toward the car. “So, this your day job? Picking up women and showing off your mysterious wealth?”

He laughs genuinely, this time. “Would you believe me if I said I’m just a humble middle manager?”

You give him a long, skeptical once-over. “Not a chance.”

He opens the passenger door for you again like it's a habit. Like he already knows you’ll get in and you do. Because lunch with Choi Seungcheol? Yeah. That sounds like danger worth walking toward twice.

You slide into the passenger seat, you glance at him as he rounds the front of the car and settles into the driver’s seat again, placing the food carefully between you.

“Okay, so what is it that you actually do?” you ask, peeling open the sandwich wrapper, the scent already unfairly good.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Management. Mostly.”

“That’s vague as hell.”

“Intentionally,” he says, shooting you a sideways glance. “You’ll find I’m very good at withholding.”

You snort. “Is that your way of saying you’re emotionally constipated?”

“No, that’s me saying I like keeping some cards close.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows. “Makes things interesting.”

You hum, eyes narrowing just a touch. “So you’re not gonna tell me what your job actually is?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not yet. I kind of like that you don’t know.”

You blink. “Why?”

He turns toward you fully now, one arm draped over the back of your seat, eyes lazy and unreadable but focused—very focused—on you.

“Because if you knew,” he says slowly, “you might treat me differently.”

Something flickers behind his tone. Not arrogance. Something quieter. Something worn and for a second, you forget you're supposed to be teasing him.

You hold his gaze. “Then maybe I’d rather not know.”

He searches your face for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for that inevitable shift he’s used to seeing in people when they do find out. But you don’t.

You just take another bite of your sandwich and speak through your smirk.

“So, Mr. Vague Middle Manager, are all your dates catered and chauffeured?”

That draws a full laugh out of him—deep and unguarded.

“This a date now?” he throws back.

You shrug with exaggerated innocence. “You did bring food. And bribes. And you’re staring at me like you wanna ruin my whole week.”

He hums, low and amused, eyes dropping to your lips and staying there just a little too long.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, “if I wanted to ruin your week… you’d know.”

And just like that, your heart forgets how to beat steady.

Again.

The place he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet side street. nothing flashy, no fancy valet, no five-star pretensions. Just the warm, familiar smell of grilled meat and the faint sizzle of something delicious already hitting a hot pan.

You recognize it immediately. The kind of Korean spot that’s half comfort, half chaos. Worn wooden tables, metal chopsticks in tin cups, steam clouding the windows from hot broth and soju-fueled laughter. A place where people don’t come to impress, they come because it feels like home.

He pulls the door open for you, and the ahjumma behind the counter beams when she sees him.

“Seungcheol-ah!” she calls, already bustling toward the kitchen. “Same table?”

He nods, bowing slightly in greeting.

You look at him sideways. “Regular, huh?”

He shrugs, the edge of his mouth twitching. “Told you. I like places where people don’t ask too many questions.”

She’s already setting the table as you both slide into the booth. The tabletop grill is already heating, meat—samgyeopsal, thick-cut and glistening—lands in the center with a satisfying thud.

He picks up the tongs like he’s done this a hundred times, which he probably has, and starts placing the pork belly on the grill, the sizzle instant and loud.

“Wow,” you say, smirking. “So this is how you impress women.”

“I’m feeding you, aren’t I?” he says, eyes focused on flipping the meat with practiced ease. “It’s a love language.”

“You do seem suspiciously fluent in this.”

“You gonna psychoanalyze me now?”

You lean your chin into your hand, watching him with lazy interest. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you cook.”

He glances up, brow raised, but there’s a flicker of something else in his gaze now. That slow burn again.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Flirting with me at a restaurant I come to every week? You’re treading into girlfriend territory.”

You pop a piece of kimchi into your mouth and smile like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“Too late.”

There’s something light about this but underneath, there's a current neither of you are pretending to ignore anymore.

He wraps a piece of grilled meat in lettuce, adds a bit of ssamjang and garlic, then holds it out across the table.

“For you,” he says, voice soft, hand steady.

You pause. Then lean forward, take it straight from his fingers, lips brushing his skin on the way.

And the look in his eyes?

Yeah, lunch just got a lot more complicated.

You're mid-chew when the ahjumma comes back over, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes sharp and curious as she sets another bowl of pickled radish down on the table.

She turns to Seungcheol with a knowing grin. “You’re not with the usual troublemakers today. Who’s this lovely girl? You got married and didn’t tell us?”

You almost choke. Seungcheol freezes for a secondbut then, smooth as ever, he swallows, glances at you, and smiles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Not married yet,” he says casually, sliding his chopsticks into the rice like punctuation. “But I’m working on it.”

Your eyes snap to him. Excuse me?

The ahjumma gasps, clearly delighted. “Aigoo! She’s pretty and patient—finally, a girl who can handle you! Yah, I prayed for this!”

You blink at her. Then at Seungcheol. He’s not even flinching. The man has the audacity to look pleased.

“Ah, he’s exaggerating,�� you say quickly, giving the auntie a smile and trying not to combust. “We just—”

“—Make a good team,” Seungcheol finishes for you, eyes flicking to yours with a glint of mischief. “She keeps me in line.”

The ahjumma sighs dreamily, clearly buying the whole act. “Don’t let him go, sweet girl. He might act cool, but he needs someone who’ll yell at him when he forgets to eat. This one’s stubborn.”

You nod solemnly. “He does give off that energy.”

“Exactly!” she points at you like you’re a genius. “You understand already! Just marry him.”

Seungcheol coughs into his drink, but he’s grinning now, and you can’t help it—you’re laughing, eyes narrowed at him across the table.

The auntie bustles off, muttering about bringing more side dishes for the happy couple.

You lean in, tone low and pointed. “Married? Really?”

He shrugs, unabashed. “What? You handled it like a pro. I’m impressed.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, sliding another wrap your way, “you’re still here.”

You hate how easy it is to smile at him. Hate it even more that he’s smiling too—like he likes whatever this is just as much as you do.

The ride back to your office is quieter, he pulls up in front of your building, shifts the car into park, and glances over at you.

You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You make it sound like I’m not planning on doing it again.”

You grin, leaning just a little closer. “Oh? Planning on making a habit out of me?”

His smirk is there, but softer now. “Thinking about it.”

You hop out before you say something stupid. Before he says something worse. But before you can shut the door, he leans across the console and says, quieter:

“Text me when you get up there. Just so I know you made it.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Yes, Dad.”

He raises a brow. “You really want to test that boundary this early?”

You shut the door before your brain melts and give him a mock salute through the window.

By the time Seungcheol pulls into the garage under his own office building, he’s five minutes behind schedule and vaguely irritated at how fast traffic moved now that he was in a rush.

He checks his phone in the elevator: one message from you.

You: Alive. Fed. Still thinking about that ssam you made. 8/10.

He grins to himself just as the elevator dings open on his floor. Unfortunately, his mood immediately sours when he sees who’s already in the conference room, arms folded, feet on the table like he owns the place.

Jeonghan.

The second Seungcheol steps through the door, Jeonghan looks at his watch dramatically.

“Five minutes late. How domestic of you.”

“Save it,” Seungcheol mutters, dropping into the seat across from him.

Jeonghan smirks like he’s been waiting for this moment. “So? Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. You’re flushed, your hair’s a little messy, and for once, you didn’t glare at anyone” Jeonghan taps his fingers against the table. “You’re basically glowing.”

Seungcheol sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just get through this meeting?”

“Oh, we will,” Jeonghan says brightly. “But not before you tell me if she’s single, if she has friends, and if your sudden boyfriend energy is gonna affect this quarter’s performance.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely.”

The days blur together. You two still talk, in between meetings and his hectic schedule he would always find some time for you. When he’s free he’ll go drive to you and grab lunch, wherever you want or sometimes a surprise.

It’s just past six when Seungcheol finally leans back in his chair, eyes dragging away from the spreadsheet he’s barely processed for the last fifteen minutes.

His fingers hover over his phone for a second before he gives in to the impulse—simple and direct.

Seungcheol: You free for dinner?

You:Yes. Come rescue me.

He smirks, already pushing back from his desk. Jacket on. Sleeves rolled. A very quiet kind of urgency in his steps.

On your end, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your coworkers have been hovering at your desk all afternoon, buzzing about Friday drinks like it’s the social event of the year. They’re already lining up shots in their heads, plotting karaoke and potential chaos.

“You coming, right?” one of them asks, nudging your elbow. “C’mon, you always dip. Just one night.”

You smile politely, already trying to edge away. “I actually have plans—”

“With who?” another cuts in, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been glowing all week.”

You blink. “What is it with people and this glowing thing?”

They groan. “So you do have a date. Who is he?”

Before you can lie—or dodge, or disappear into thin air—your phone buzzes again.

Seungcheol: Be there in twenty. What kind of rescue we talking? Fire escape or just dramatic entrance?

You bite your lip to suppress the grin that tries to surface.

“Just someone picking me up,” you say vaguely, grabbing your bag and ignoring the chorus of curious oohs that follow.

“You’re no fun,” one of them whines as you make your escape. “At least send us a picture! We won’t believe he exists!”

You wave behind you. “Exactly why I’m not sending one.”

They groan louder, but you’re already walking toward the elevator, pulse picking up just a little. You don’t know what this is with him yet—not really. But it’s enough to have you hoping the next twenty minutes pass just fast enough.

You make it out of the building just as the sun is dipping behind the city skyline, casting everything in that dusky golden glow that feels almost too cinematic for real life. As if on cue, his car pulls up.

The passenger window rolls down, and there he is, arm resting on the wheel, watching you with that lazy, low-key amused smile that somehow makes your heart skip like it’s late for something.

“You always look like you just walked out of a movie,” you say as you slide in, tossing your bag at your feet.

He glances over, that grin growing as he shifts the car into drive. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “Flattery before food? Risky move.”

“Not flattery,” he says, glancing at you as he pulls into traffic. “Observation. You look like you needed a getaway.”

You sigh dramatically, letting your head thud against the seat. “You have no idea. They were trying to hold me hostage for soju and noraebang.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel. “I’d pay to see that.”

“You would,” you mutter. “Anyway, thanks for the timely rescue.”

“Anytime,” he says, tone quiet but sincere.

For a moment, you both fall into comfortable silence, the hum of the road filling the space. It’s not awkward. If anything, it’s the kind of quiet that only settles when someone’s presence feels... easy.

“Where are we going?” you ask after a while, glancing at him.

He tilts his head, lips tugging upward. “Somewhere that serves food hot, drinks cold, and lets me look at you across the table without interruption.”

You arch a brow. “Is that your version of romantic?”

“No,” he says. “That’s my version of honest.”

Your stomach does that annoying little flutter again. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his hand briefly brushes your knee in a turn—accidental, maybe—but he doesn’t pull away too quickly.

The drive takes longer this time, farther out from the noise of downtown, the streets growing quieter, narrower.

You glance over at him. “You’ve got a thing for hidden spots, huh?”

“I don’t like crowds,” he says simply. “And I like places that let me hear you when you talk.”

You pause, caught off guard by the casual weight of it. “You’re smooth.”

“I’m observant,” he corrects, pulling into a tiny gravel lot tucked away

You step out and take in the place. No line. No obvious branding. Just the kind of restaurant people guard like a secret.

“This place looks like it has stories,” you murmur, tucking your hands into your coat.

“It does,” he says, rounding the car to walk beside you. “Mostly about good food. And about the owner being mildly terrifying if you show up drunk and disrespectful.”

You laugh, and he pulls the door open for you, holding it until you step inside.

It’s warm. Cozy. The scent of doenjang jjigae and grilled mackerel hangs in the air. The lights are soft, yellow, casting everything in that old-kitchen comfort glow. You’re seated in the farthest corner, a little nook with floor cushions and a small table already set with water, chopsticks, and folded linen napkins. The privacy of it feels intentional.

The owner, a silver-haired woman in a worn apron, comes over with barely a word, just a sharp eye and a small smile when she sees Seungcheol.

“You brought someone,” she says, voice raspy but kind. “She’s pretty. And awake, unlike the last idiot your friend brought.”

Seungcheol winces. “That was Mingyu.”

She waves him off, already handing you both menus like she’s decided you’re staying regardless.

You stifle a laugh. “Do all your regular spots come with built-in character witnesses?”

“Only the good ones,” he replies, flipping open the menu. “What’re you in the mood for?”

You pretend to study the list, but really, you’re watching the way he sits here—comfortable, known, but still somehow wrapped in mystery. Like there’s more under the surface that he only lets people see in pieces.

“You choose,” you say, passing your menu across the table. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

He takes it with a slow smile. “Dangerous trust.”

“You like that about me,” you say without missing a beat.

His eyes meet yours, steady and sure.

“I do.”

And the way he says it?

It isn’t playful. Isn’t light. It lands somewhere between a promise and a warning.

And suddenly, the quiet between you feels like something else entirely.

He closes the menu without looking at it for too long, then says something casual to the owner, his tone respectful but familiar. She gives you one last look (a little assessing, a little approving) before disappearing toward the kitchen with a short nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

He leans back, completely unbothered. “I did.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You said, ‘you choose.’ That’s verbal consent. Witnessed and documented.”

You snort. “Okay, lawyer.”

He grins. “You’ll thank me in a few minutes.”

And you do. Because when the food comes, it’s thin wheat noodles in a light broth, topped with julienned vegetables, sliced egg, seaweed, and just a hint of sesame oil. The aroma alone makes your eyes widen.

Your inner monologue might as well be standing on a table, screaming. He ordered noodles. My weakness. My love language. My eternal home.

“Are you a mind reader?” you ask, unable to hide your excitement as you pick up your chopsticks.

“I had a hunch,” he says, watching you with mild amusement as you practically dive in. “You look like someone who’d fight for the last noodle in a pot.”

You pause with your chopsticks halfway to your mouth. “Is that a compliment or a psychological profile?”

“Depends.” He’s smiling, elbow propped lazily on the table, eyes fixed on you. “Are you the type to share your noodles, or hoard them?”

You pretend to consider it, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends on who’s asking.”

He laughs, low and full. The kind that catches in your chest.

The food is simple, warm, deeply comforting. Not because of the food, exactly. But because of who’s sitting across from you. And how easy he makes all of this feel.

And when he steals one of your noodles just to prove a point? You let him.

As you both finish the last of the broth, the warm glow of the restaurant wrapping around you like a lazy blanket, you lean back on your cushion and stretch your legs under the table, nudging his knee with your foot.

You glance at the time on your phone and raise a brow. “It’s not even eight,” you say, mock-disbelief in your voice. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to go to bed right after dinner. Old-man hours already?”

“What, you think I’m boring?”

You shrug. “I mean… I don’t know. The cozy dinner. The secret spot. The soft lighting. This has bedtime-by-nine written all over it.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters, grabbing the check before you can even reach for your wallet.

You blink. “Wait. What was that?”

“I said,” he repeats, standing smoothly and ignoring your faux-innocent stare, “you’re lucky I like you.”

“Bold assumption,” you say, following him toward the door. “You don’t know me like that.”

He holds the door open, leaning into the frame as you step past him. “You say that, but you’re not running away.”

You pause outside, cold air kissing your skin as you glance up at him.

“I’d say that depends,” you murmur, lifting your chin slightly. “Are you planning to make the night more interesting or tuck me in with warm milk and a bedtime story?”

“I was thinking…” he steps a little closer, voice dipping, “maybe something in between.”

Your pulse flickers fast. Intrigued.

“So,” you say, eyes narrowing. “What now?”

He glances toward the car, then back at you. “Let’s drive.”

“That’s it? Just a drive?”

He shrugs. “You scared I’m secretly boring?”

You smile, teeth catching your bottom lip as you shake your head. “No. I’m scared you’re not.”

The city peels away behind you, all neon and noise in the rearview, replaced by wider roads and quieter corners. You glance over at him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift.

"You always drive like this?" you ask, the wind catching in your voice just slightly.

He glances over, curious. “Like what?”

“Like you're in a movie. Slow, steady. No destination, just vibes.”

His mouth tugs into that crooked half-smile. “Wouldn’t be the worst scene to be in.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “You're really running with this leading-man energy, huh?”

“You’re the one who asked me to rescue you. I’m just sticking to the role.”

"Right. So where's the dramatic monologue about how you're secretly emotionally unavailable but somehow willing to change only for me?"

“That’s coming in act three,” he says smoothly. “Right after the almost-kiss and right before I mess it all up.”

You’re laughing now, really laughing, and when you glance at him again, he’s not even pretending not to stare.

He clears his throat. “There’s a lookout just up ahead. View’s nice this time of night.”

“Another hidden spot?”

“You doubting my taste now?”

“Never. Just making sure you’re not lulling me into a false sense of security before you reveal you are, in fact, a very charming serial killer.”

He chuckles under his breath. “If I was, you wouldn’t’ve made it past the noodles.”

You hum. “Fair point. Still. You are dangerously smooth.”

“I could say the same about you.”

That brings a new kind of quiet. One with heat underneath it.

By the time he pulls up to the lookout you’re not sure whether you’re more captivated by the view outside, or the one inside the car.

He kills the engine but makes no move to get out. Neither do you.

“So,” he says after a beat, voice a little lower. “Still think I’m putting you to bed before nine?”

You smirk, turning just slightly toward him. “We’re well past bedtime, Cheol.”

And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous thing you’ve said all night. He huffs a short laugh through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement as he shifts to face you more fully in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

You tilt your head, feigning casual. “Just doing my due diligence,” you say, poking at the corner of the console with your nail. “Before this gets… you know. Interesting. You don’t have kids right? Or a wife waiting at home something like that”

He raises a brow, resting his arm against the back of your seat. “Interesting, huh?”

He doesn’t deny it. Just lets that lazy grin spread as he lets his gaze settle on you—like he’s trying to read between your words and the space between your knees brushing his.

“No wife,” he says finally. “No kids. No secrets.”

You blink. “Wow. A full set.”

He leans in just a little, voice lower now. “Disappointed?”

You laugh, the sound soft, breathless. “Relieved, actually. I’d hate to be a plot twist in someone else’s drama.”

“No,” he murmurs. “If anything, you feel like the beginning of something.”

You freeze just for a second.

“Are you always like this? Charming, smooth-talking, devastatingly good at timing?”

His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear, slow and deliberate. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Guess I’ll need more data.”

He laughs again—quiet, warm—and lets the moment linger in that hazy space between restraint and intent. Outside, the city glows. But in here, it’s just the two of you, suspended in that delicious kind of silence where everything feels possible.

You swallow lightly. “So… how much data are we talking? One night? Two? A whole series?”

His smile curves, lazy and full of mischief. “Are you asking how many dates it takes before I kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

“Depends how good the data is.” He leans in a little, not touching you yet but close enough. His voice dips, rough around the edges in that way that sends a shiver up your spine.

Your breath catches, pulse ticking a little faster, but you don’t lean away. If anything, you meet him halfway.

You exhale slowly, watching his eyes flick down to your mouth.

“You’re really not going to kiss me, are you?” you ask, a little breathless now.

He smirks, gaze lifting back to yours.

“I will,” he says. “But not because it’s expected.”

You blink, pulse stuttering.

“Then why?”

He tilts his head, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Because the second I do… it stops being light and easy. And I think we both know it.”

You sit there for a second, stunned into silence—because he’s not wrong. There’s a weight to this that neither of you are quite ready to name, but it’s there. Unspoken, humming like the low thrum of electricity before a storm.

So instead, you nod—slow, almost amused.

“You’re dangerous, Choi Seungcheol.”

He leans back just slightly, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

“And you’re trouble.”

You smile.

“So what now?”

He reaches for the gear shift, gaze still lingering on you.

“Now,” he says, “I drive you home before we both make very bad, very good decisions.”

And you don’t argue.

But as he pulls away from the lookout, your fingers resting dangerously close to his on the center console, you get the feeling this isn’t the end of the night.

It’s just the prelude.

The sky is painfully clear, bright blue with not a cloud in sight and the sun has no business being this aggressive before noon.

Jeonghan’s halfway through lining up his swing when he notices it. The stillness. The quiet hum of something off.

He looks over and nearly misses his shot entirely.

“Okay,” he mutters, club dangling from one hand as he turns toward Joshua. “Am I hallucinating or is Seungcheol smiling at his phone?”

Joshua, already sipping on an iced americano and way too comfortable in his obnoxiously pastel golf attire, raises an eyebrow and glances over at their friend, who’s sitting on the edge of the golf cart with his phone in hand, thumb tapping out something quick.

And yeah. He's definitely smiling. Not smirking. Not plotting someone’s downfall.

Actually, smiling.

Joshua leans closer, squinting dramatically. “Are we about to die? Should I call my mom?”

“Maybe he’s reading memes,” Jeonghan says, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Right,” Joshua snorts. “Because Seungcheol totally wakes up and chooses cat videos.”

They both watch him a beat longer.

Seungcheol finally glances up, catching their stares. “What?”

Joshua holds his drink up like it’s a toast. “Just wondering if we need to evacuate Seoul. You good, buddy?”

Jeonghan crosses his arms. “You’re smiling, Cheol. Like… full teeth. Sunshine smile. Are you in pain? Blink twice if it’s a hostage situation.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth don’t drop. If anything, they twitch higher when his phone buzzes again and he types out a quick reply before tucking it away in his pocket.

“Y’all are dramatic.”

“Oh no no,” Jeonghan says, hopping into the cart. “You don’t get to be mysterious. Who is she?”

“There’s no she.”

“Liar. You haven’t looked this happy since Mingyu fell into that koi pond.”

Joshua hums, thoughtful. “It’s the girl from the bar, isn’t it?”

Seungcheol doesn't answer which is an answer in itself.

Jeonghan squints. “Wait, you’re still talking to her? Damn. I thought that was just a one-night distraction.”

Seungcheol shrugs, grabbing his club and walking toward the next hole. “Maybe I like being distracted.”

Joshua raises his brows. “He’s whipped.”

“Absolutely whipped,” Jeonghan echoes, grinning like he’s already plotting how to make this his new favorite topic of conversation.

The reason for that rare, suspiciously soft smile on Seungcheol’s face? Easy.

It’s sitting in his phone, timestamped at 8:02 a.m.

A photo of your desk, where a bouquet of creamy white ranunculus and pale blush roses now sits in the center, like it owns the place. A handwritten note tucked between the blooms simply reads:

Thanks for keeping me up past my bedtime. - CSC

Your caption underneath the photo had been equally unfair.

You: You smooth bastard. You knew I liked flowers, didn’t you?

He hadn’t, actually but he guessed. Just like the noodles. And the way your voice lit up over the phone when he mentioned he had a surprise coming.

It was a hunch, like everything else about you so far, a series of guesses that kept turning out more right than he probably deserved.

You: Do I have to say thank you over lunch or dinner? Because I can clear my schedule.

Hence: the smile.

The same one he’s fighting right now, out on the golf course, while Jeonghan interrogates him like a nosy mother with a magnifying glass.

“She thanked me,” Seungcheol says finally, smirking to himself as he adjusts his grip on the club.

Joshua frowns. “For what?”

He doesn’t even look up as he swings. “For the flowers I sent this morning.”

There’s a pause.

“Flowers?” Jeonghan yells from the cart. “Oh, we’re officially in rom-com territory now.”

Joshua leans on his driver. “You used to make fun of me for that. Remember back then when I got my girlfriend flowers after two weeks and you called me a simp with no spine?”

“I was right. You were insufferable,” Seungcheol replies easily. “I, on the other hand, am charming.”

Jeonghan snorts. “You sent ranunculus, didn’t you?”

That actually gets Seungcheol to glance over, brow raised. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And because you’re literally the only person I know who flirts with florals like it’s a love letter.”

He shrugs, but the smug look doesn’t leave his face.

“She liked them.”

And really, that’s all he needs today. Not the perfect swing, not a quiet weekend, not even an answer to whatever it is that's slowly, surely happening between you and him.

You’re barefoot, hair up in a loose bun, sleeves shoved past your elbows, and a cleaning rag hanging off your shoulder like a badge of honor. There's a half-folded pile of laundry on the couch, your favorite playlist echoing from the kitchen speaker, and the scent of lemon cleaner still lingers in the air.

You weren’t thinking about him. Not exactly. Okay, maybe a little.

But still, when the doorbell rings, you freeze mid-wipe, glancing toward the door like it might be another delivery.

Flowers again?

You make your way over, still patting your hands dry on your pajama shorts, and swing the door open without much thought.

And your heart absolutely stutters.

Because standing there isn’t a courier. Or a stranger.

It’s him.

Choi Seungcheol, dressed down in jeans, a dark tee, and that unfairly calm expression that somehow looks even better in daylight. One hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other holding up a familiar-looking takeout bag.

“You said lunch or dinner,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought I’d split the difference.”

You blink, stunned and slightly underdressed for this plot twist. “You—wait, you’re here?”

He lifts the bag slightly. “Samgyeopsal dosirak. And something sweet because I thought you might need dessert after all that dusting.”

You let out a soft, surprised laugh, stepping back instinctively to let him in. “You could’ve texted.”

“I could’ve,” he agrees, stepping past the threshold, eyes flicking to the mess of throw pillows and laundry and general weekend chaos. “But I figured showing up gets me bonus points.”

“Bold move,” you say, shutting the door behind him.

He shrugs, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter. “You already called me smooth this morning. Might as well live up to it.”

You watch him for a moment, slightly in awe—and slightly mortified you’re wearing an old t-shirt and fuzzy socks while he looks like that.

“Sorry for the mess,” you mutter, grabbing a few stray pieces of laundry and shoving them toward a basket.

Seungcheol just leans against your counter, watching you with that amused, unreadable expression.

“Relax,” he says. “I kind of like seeing you like this.”

You pause mid-fold. “Like what? Disheveled and unprepared?”

“Comfortable,” he corrects. “Like yourself.”

You clear your throat and gesture to the bag. “Well… you coming all this way with food means you’re definitely staying to eat, right?”

He grins. “Only if you sit next to me this time.”

“Scandalous,” you murmur, already pulling out plates. “We’ll have to keep the blinds shut. Can’t let the neighbors catch me fraternizing with the flower guy.”

He lets out a low laugh as he moves to help, and just like that, the space between you feels smaller again.

You slide the plates across the counter toward him, eyes flicking up briefly to meet his as you settle into the rhythm of unpacking the food. The scent of grilled meat, garlic, and rice fills the space, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the easy comfort of it.

“How was your morning?”

He leans back a little against your counter, breaking apart his chopsticks slowly, like he has time—like he’s in no rush at all.

“Golf,” he says. “Jeonghan roped me into it. He and Joshua have this bet going about who’ll finally beat me. Spoiler: they didn’t.”

You snort softly. “Let me guess. You smiled once and they thought something was wrong?”

He looks up at you, surprised, then chuckles. “Actually, yeah. Jeonghan thought the world was ending.”

“Because you were texting me?”

His gaze lingers on you for just a beat too long.

“Maybe.”

You look away then, biting back the way your heart trips at the casual weight of his honesty.

You try to keep your voice light. “You like golf?”

“I like the quiet,” he says. “And the way it slows everything down. Plus, it's one of the few times the guys don't expect me to be in CEO mode.”

You blink. “Wait—CEO mode?”

His smile turns crooked, caught between smug and sheepish. “You didn’t know?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “You told me you work in management!”

“I do,” he says innocently. “Technically.”

You gape at him. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you're adorable when you're annoyed,” he replies, grinning as he sets the table with casual precision.

You shake your head, still reeling, still smiling despite yourself.

“Fine,” you say, settling down beside him. “You can be mysterious and charming and maddening later. Right now, just tell me more about your morning. What else happened?”

And he does. He tells you about the way Joshua nearly ran over Jeonghan’s foot with the golf cart. How the coffee at the clubhouse was abysmal. How the sun was too bright but the breeze made up for it. And you listen like it’s the most interesting story you’ve ever heard.

You finish the last few bites of your meal, chopsticks tapping against the empty container as you sit back with a satisfied sigh.

“So,” you say, stretching slightly, “since you’re already here, Mr. CEO—”

His brow arches, amused. “Oh, we’re using titles now?”

You ignore that smug little curve of his mouth. “Since you're already so generously spending time with a commoner like me, mind helping with a few things?”

He eyes you, mock suspicion in his gaze. “Define few.”

You push off the counter and gesture for him to follow you down the short hallway.

“It’s really just one thing. I’ve been putting it off because I like having a functional spine.”

You stop in front of your bedroom door, already bracing yourself for the impending chaos he’s about to witness. With a deep breath, you push it open and point to the far corner of the room.

“That,” you say flatly, “has not moved since I moved in. It’s heavier than it looks and it hates me.”

Seungcheol steps in behind you, eyes landing on the wide, solid wood dresser wedged awkwardly against the wall. He whistles low.

“Yeah, okay. That thing looks like it weighs more than I do.”

You cross your arms, already grinning. “Don’t be dramatic. I just need it shifted a little to the left so I can finally plug in the lamp I’ve had sitting on the floor”

“And you were just gonna… try to do this alone?”

“I tried. Got maybe an inch before I considered calling emergency services.”

He laughs, shaking his head, already flexing his fingers like he’s warming up. “Alright, move aside. Let me show you what those gym memberships are actually good for.”

You step back, arms folded, watching as he tests the weight, then—with alarming ease—shifts the dresser a few inches left, then a bit more, until it’s perfectly centered beneath the window.

“That’s it? That was like, two seconds.”

He turns, feigning a wipe of imaginary sweat from his brow. “You’re welcome, peasant.”

You scoff. “Okay, that’s the last time I compliment your arms.”

The sunlight hits him just right, painting golden streaks across his face and forearms, and for a second, the whole room feels brighter. Lighter.

“You’re trouble,” you murmur, half to yourself.

He catches it anyway, walking back over until he’s standing in front of you again, too close in that now-familiar, deliberate way.

“And you keep inviting me over,” he says, voice low and warm. “What does that make you?”

“Worse than I thought, apparently.”

He grins. “Good.”

And just like that—helping you move a dresser somehow becomes its own kind of intimacy. Domestic. Quiet. Dangerous in all the best, slow-burning ways.

Then something catches his eyes on something behind your desk. He drifts toward it, more curious than anything, his gaze pulled by the small burst of color on the wall.

It’s a collage of sorts, not perfectly arranged, but it has that personal, lived-in charm. Polaroids with slightly smudged ink dates along the bottom, movie tickets curled at the corners, scribbled notes, travel stubs, even a pressed flower or two.

A few things are clearly sentimental, a few probably meaningless to anyone but you.

But it’s the tiny folded receipt pinned neatly in the corner that catches his eye. Barely noticeable, until he sees the logo.

The bar.

He steps closer, mouth quirking slightly. “You kept this?”

You glance over from where you're fluffing the pillow he nearly flattened earlier. “Hm?”

He taps the pinned slip, and your eyes flick toward it.

“Oh.” You laugh softly, walking over to stand beside him. “Yeah. It felt... significant, I guess. A good story.”

“You keep a lot of stories, huh?” he asks, gesturing to the wall.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “I like remembering things. Even the dumb ones. Even the weird little in-between moments. They make everything feel more real.”

“Where’s the part where you almost got kissed by a stranger pretending to be your boyfriend?”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “You’re lucky I didn’t choose someone taller.”

“I’m lucky you chose me at all,” he says, quiet but clear, not teasing.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full—warm. Like the pause after a really good line in a movie, one that doesn’t need music or movement to make it matter.

You glance back at the wall, at the receipt, the night that started all of this.

“Guess that night’s part of the wall now,” you murmur. “Part of the story.”

His eyes flick back to you, amused. “So you’re the sentimental type.”

You raise a brow, lips twitching. “Why? That not fit into your little criteria?”

Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning you in that quietly intense way that always makes you feel like you’re being read instead of looked at. His voice drops, warm and smooth.

“I don’t think I ever had a real list.”

You scoff lightly. “Please. Everyone has a list.”

He grins. “Fine. Maybe I thought I’d go for someone less likely to keep bar receipts and concert stubs like museum exhibits.”

You feign offense. “Wow. So judgmental for someone who literally sent me florals with emotional implications.”

“That was strategic,” he deadpans.

“Mm-hmm. And I’m sure flirting with me in front of your friends was all part of some master CEO plan too.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you for a long moment, something unreadable behind that steady gaze.

From then on, the flowers keep coming. Not every day but often enough that it’s clear there’s a pattern. An intention.

Sometimes it’s a soft arrangement of lilies and baby’s breath that arrives late in the morning with a note scrawled in that clean, all-too-neat handwriting: Don’t skip lunch today.

Other days it’s bold peonies or deep red ranunculus, tucked into a glass vase that seems to match your desk without trying.

One morning it’s a single sunflower with a post-it: Because you were complaining about deadlines. Sun’s out now.

And in between the deliveries, there are lunches—casual, spontaneous. A text at 11:32 a.m.: You free? I’m craving something spicy.

Or dinner on the way home from work, when you say you’re too tired to cook and he offers takeout. He picks you up like it’s routine, like the two of you have been doing this for years.

He holds doors open, lets you steal bites off his plate, keeps track of which side of the booth you like to sit on. He remembers you hate soggy fries and that you get cranky when you skip breakfast. And when your wrist started aching from too much typing, a small ergonomic mouse showed up at your office two days later. No note. No message. Just Seungcheol, a few hours later at dinner, asking casually, You get that thing I sent? Like he hadn’t just studied your habits like they were blueprints.

One night, you tease him. “You always feed people this well when you’re trying to win them over?”

He glances at you across the table, eyes warm, steady.

“No,” he says. “Just you.”

And it’s not a confession. Not really but your heart answers like it is. He grins at that—slow and lazy, like he’s been waiting for you to say it.

“Careful now,” you say, voice light, but your eyes don’t leave his, “I might get used to being spoiled.”

He leans back in his seat, one arm draped over the back of the booth, and he gives you that look

“And what exactly would be the downside of that?”

You hum, pretending to consider it, swirling the last of your drink with your straw. “Mm, I don’t know. Expectations. Disappointment. Sudden withdrawal of dumpling privileges.”

He chuckles, low and smooth. “I don’t take things back once I give them.”

You glance at him sideways, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Sounds like a threat.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening. “Sounds like a promise.”

For a second, the noise of the restaurant fades behind the weight of those words—like the hum of conversation, the clink of plates, even the music playing overhead all quiet just enough to make space for the way he’s looking at you.

You feel it, the shift. Again.

And you could say something sarcastic, you could push it away with another joke—but you don’t. Instead, you let the moment hang there, rich and charged.

“You keep this up,” you murmur, “and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“Good,” he says. “That’s the idea.”

You swirl your drink once more, watching the ice clink softly against the glass before glancing up at him with a sly tilt to your head.

“So…” you start, casual—too casual. “How many more dinners like this before the kiss?”

Seungcheol’s fingers pause mid-reach for his glass, his eyes lifting to yours, slow and deliberate. There’s that smirk again—just a shade more dangerous now, edged with the kind of tension you’ve both been dancing around for days.

He leans in a little, arms resting on the table, and his voice drops low. “You keeping count?”

You shrug, the corner of your mouth twitching. “I’m just saying… that first night? You played the part really well. Had me thinking you were the type to go in for the dramatic, sweep-her-off-her-feet, movie-scene kiss.”

“I remember,” he says. “You were looking at me like you were waiting for it.”

Your laugh is soft, quiet. “Maybe I was.”

“So what number is this then? Dinner four? Five? Let’s call it four and a half. One of those was technically just noodles and complaining about work.”

“So what you’re saying is… I’m close.” You lift your glass to your lips, hiding your grin behind the rim.

“Closer than you think. Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth the wait.”

And you believe him. God help you, you really do.

“You’re really making me wait for this kiss, huh?”

Seungcheol’s lips part, not in surprise exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so directly. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second, and it’s subtlebut enough that your heart skips once, hard.

He exhales, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s trying not to let it turn into a full smile. “I told you,” he murmurs, “I make things worth it.”

“Yeah, but now I’m starting to think you like the anticipation too much.”

“I do,” he says without missing a beat. “But I like your reaction more.”

Your brows lift. “My reaction?”

“The way you look at me,” he says, quietly now, eyes not wavering. “The way you lean in just a little closer when you think I might—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just lets it hang there between you, heavy and electric.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper. Your heart’s hammering now, a rhythm too loud to ignore, and still he doesn’t close the distance.

“You’re really not going to kiss me,” you say, half a laugh, half a dare.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s deciding something. Then—

“I will,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “But not here.”

Your breath catches. “Why not?”

His eyes flick to the restaurant around you. “Because when I finally do, I’m not sharing it with a room full of strangers.”

And just like that, your skin is flushed, your chest tight, and you’re no longer thinking about how long it’s been—but how close you are now. How much more you want.

The moment you step out into the night, the cool air brushing against your skin like a sigh, his hand finds yours. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just warm fingers threading through yours like they’ve done it a thousand times.

You glance at him, heart kicking once against your ribs.

He doesn’t look over. Doesn’t need to. His grip is steady, his stride unhurried, and there’s something about the way he holds you—like it’s not even a decision anymore. Just instinct.

When you reach the car, he lets go only to open the door for you. Still without a word. Still with that same quiet, unrushed certainty. He waits until you’re seated, until the seatbelt clicks, before he rounds the front and slides into the driver’s seat beside you.

No questions.

No where to?

He starts the engine and pulls out into the street like he already knows. Because he does. He’s memorized your route home—left turns, shortcut alleys, that one spot where traffic always sucks near the crosswalk.

And for a moment, you sit in the silence of the ride, his hand resting on the gearshift, the lights of the city playing soft across his profile.

You lean your head against the seat, watching him through the slow hum of passing streetlights. “You’re a little scary when you’re this confident.”

“I’m always this confident,” he murmurs, eyes forward, that same grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh under your breath. “Cocky.”

He doesn’t deny it. But when he reaches over at the next red light, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand, there’s a softness in it—something that betrays the calm exterior. Something that says: I’m not rushing. But I’m sure.

And it steals your breath more than any kiss might’ve.

Seungcheol’s already at his desk when Jeonghan strolls into his office unannounced, like he owns the place. He’s got that look on his face too. mischief bubbling just beneath the surface, like he’s been waiting for this all morning.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his laptop. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jeonghan counters, already dropping into one of the chairs across from the desk, far too comfortable for someone who doesn’t technically work in this building.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Jeonghan grins. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll start. One: she completely held her own last night. Didn’t flinch once when Mingyu started rapid-ordering food like he was feeding an army.”

Recalling last night when Seungcheol took you with him for drinks out with the guys. Surprising everyone.

“She’s impressive,” Seungcheol says simply, and this time he does glance up, barely trying to hide the small, proud smile tugging at his mouth.

Jeonghan points. “That. That smile. That’s what I came here for. I knew you were gone the moment she toasted Soonyoung under the table.”

Seungcheol just leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “He challenged her. It’s on him.”

“And she won. You know what that means? She’s one of us now. And more importantly…” Jeonghan leans in dramatically. “You’re so in it, man.”

“I drove her home,” Seungcheol says casually, but the softness in his voice betrays him.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “And?”

“And nothing.”

Jeonghan groans. “You’re seriously dragging this out? You're the most controlled man I know, and even I was rooting for a kiss.”

Seungcheol just smirks. “Told her I’d kiss her when she’s sober.”

Jeonghan stares. Then throws his head back with a groan. “You’re hopeless. Ridiculously swoony and hopeless.”

“I like her,” Seungcheol says, tone low and honest.

And that—that—makes Jeonghan pause. His teasing drops, just for a second. Because when Seungcheol says it like that, not as a joke or a half-guarded confession, but as a fact... it’s real.

He leans back, quieter now. “Yeah. I know you do.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Jeonghan can’t help himself. “Still. If this ends in wedding bells, I’m officiating. Or, at the very least, giving the toast.”

Seungcheol sighs, already regretting letting him in.

Jeonghan grins again. “Don’t worry. I’ll start writing my speech.”

The city blurs past the windows in a soft hum of motion, headlights washing warm streaks of gold across your skin as you talk—casually, openly, like you always do now.

You’re curled in the passenger seat with your legs tucked under you, your shoes kicked off and your fingers fidgeting absently with the soft edge of the blanket draped over your lap. His blanket. The one he insisted on leaving in the car after you shivered just once during a late drive home.

Seungcheol doesn’t say much as you talk, but he glances over often—tiny flickers of attention between the road and you, like he’s memorizing pieces of the moment to revisit later. His left hand rests on the steering wheel, right one easy on the gear shift, the movement of his thumb mirroring the rhythm of your voice. Calm. Comforting.

You’re halfway through rambling about a disaster of a meeting you had that morning when your train of thought stutters.

“Oh,” you say, almost too quickly. “I—actually. Meant to ask you something.”

He hums, a lazy sound that rumbles in his chest. “Yeah?”

You hesitate. Just a second too long. He picks up on it immediately, his gaze flickering your way.

You’re looking down now, fiddling with the corner of the blanket, suddenly hyperaware of the lip gloss you left in his cup holder and the extra hair tie wrapped around his rearview mirror. There are little bits of you all over his car now. Just like there are little bits of him scattered across your days.

“So…” you start, trying for casual, but it comes out a little breathy. “There’s this wedding. In a couple weeks. One of my friends from college.”

You chance a glance at him. He’s still driving, still calm, but his head tilts slightly. Listening.

“I kind of... need a plus one,” you go on. “Well, I don’t need one, technically, but everyone’s bringing someone, and—” You bite your lip, nerves buzzing. “I just thought maybe… if you’re free, you could come? With me.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks, voice low, like he’s checking—really checking—that he heard right.

You nod, trying to keep your voice light, even as your heart feels like it’s doing cartwheels. “Yeah. I mean, you’d probably hate it. Lots of mingling. Dancing. Champagne. Small talk with strangers.”

He smiles a little. “And you want me to be your date.”

You blink at him. “Well… yeah.”

The light turns green. He doesn’t move. Not yet. His eyes are on you, steady and searching, and the longer he looks, the more you feel exposed—in a good way. In a real way.

“I’ll go,” he says finally, with that soft certainty that always makes your chest ache. “Of course I’ll go.”

Your breath whooshes out of you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, eyes on the road now as the car starts moving again. “But only if I get to keep pretending I’m your boyfriend.”

You laugh, startled by how easy he makes it feel, how warm your chest goes at his words. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Pretending?”

His grip on the steering wheel shifts. “You tell me.”

And you don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know but because the answer sits somewhere in the middle of your ribs, nestled against every glance, every ride home, every shoulder kiss and every moment he’s chosen to stay.

When you reach your building, he parks without asking for directions. Of course he does. He knows the way by heart now.

As you’re getting out, he catches your wrist gently. “Text me the details,” he says, voice lower now, more serious. “What time. What to wear.”

You nod, and your throat’s a little tight. “Okay.”

It’s one of those perfect afternoons. the kind that hangs suspended between spring and summer, warm without being too hot, a breeze just light enough to make your dress flutter as you wait outside your building.

You’re not waiting long.

His car pulls up exactly on time, and you catch sight of him behind the wheel through the windshield—dark suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that looks suspiciously like it was chosen to match the color of your dress.

Your heart kicks up, stupid and traitorous in your chest, because he looks good. Too good. Like the kind of man who belongs on magazine covers, not in your driveway.

And then he steps out.

He smooths a hand down the front of his suit jacket, one brow lifting the moment he sees you. “Wow,” he says, low and honest, eyes sweeping over you with a slow, appreciative gaze that makes heat crawl up your neck. “I knew you’d look beautiful, but... I wasn’t ready.”

You try for casual, but your grin gives you away. “You clean up alright yourself, Mr. CEO.”

He holds the car door open for you without a word, and when you slide in, you spot the little extra things right away. Your favorite mints in the cup holder. A spare hair tie looped on the gearshift. He doesn’t say anything about them, but the details are there—always there.

“You nervous?” he asks at one point, tone light.

You shake your head. “About the wedding? No. They’re the ones getting married. I’m just there to eat cake.”

He smiles. “About me being your date, then?”

You pause, then look over at him with a soft grin. “Not even a little.”

When you get to the venue, it’s like the entire world slows for a second. The moment you both step out of the car and walk in together—side by side, his hand hovering at the small of your back, your arms brushing as you walk—you feel it. The glances. The looks.

You were right. Everyone did bring someone. And yet somehow, you’re the one that people can’t stop staring at.

Because of him.

Because of the way Seungcheol exists in a room like he’s always been meant to be there—quietly powerful, quietly yours.

Introductions start slow. your friends immediately curious, trying to figure him out. But Seungcheol handles them all with the kind of smooth charm that makes you want to simultaneously laugh and melt.

He’s polite. Warm. Slightly reserved. But he doesn’t leave your side once, and when your hand accidentally brushes his under the table during dinner, he doesn’t pull away.

It’s only when you're both standing off to the side during a slow song, sipping champagne and laughing at the clumsy first-dance attempts on the floor, that he leans down, voice brushing your ear.

“You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you stop smiling since we got here.”

You glance up at him, heart thudding. “Yeah? Is that a bad thing?”

He meets your eyes. “No. I think I’d like to be the reason behind it more often.”

He holds out his hand. “Come dance with me?”

And with your fingers in his, his suit pressed lightly to your side, his palm warm at your back, you finally stop waiting. Because this, him, was worth every slow, drawn-out second.

You don’t realize how naturally it happens. How easily you lean into him, how right it feels to have your hand resting lightly on his shoulder while his other hand holds your waist, not too tight, but firm.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” you murmur, the tease threading through your voice.

Seungcheol lets out a low laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks down at you. “I had to learn. It was either that or embarrass myself at corporate galas.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “So I’m your rehearsal?”

He leans in, just enough that you feel his breath along your cheek. “No,” he says softly. “You’re the reason I’m glad I learned.”

That shuts you up for a second—not because you don’t have a comeback, but because the way he says it—earnest, grounded—makes your heart stumble in your chest.

“I still haven’t kissed you,” he says quietly, almost like he’s reminding himself. “And you’ve been very patient.”

“Painfully patient,” you whisper back. He smiles, but it’s different this time. Not teasing. Just full of something so genuine it makes your stomach twist.

“But this moment,” he says, pulling you in just a little closer, “this right here… I didn’t want to rush it. You deserve the good kind of build-up.”

You swallow. “So… this is a build-up?”

“Isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Every time I pick you up. Every dinner. Every time you leave your things in my car on purpose.”

“I don’t—” You try to defend yourself, but he grins, cutting you off.

“I like it,” he admits. “I like all of it. Even the fact that your lip gloss has now permanently scented my dashboard.”

You laugh, cheeks warm. “You’re very sentimental for someone who pretends not to be.”

“And you’re very brave for someone who said they weren’t looking for anything serious,” he counters.

That gives you pause. Because he’s not wrong.

You didn’t plan for any of this. But then again, you didn’t plan on walking up to a stranger at a bar just to escape a persistent creep either. And now… now you’re dancing with that stranger at your friend’s wedding while the night curls around the two of you like it knew.

“I still don’t know what we are,” you say finally, your voice lower, honest.

Seungcheol’s thumb brushes your waist gently, like he feels the shift.

“You don’t have to name it,” he says. “Not yet.”

“But you already have,” you murmur, meeting his gaze.

He looks at you for a long second. “Only in my head.”

You smile. “What is it, then?”

His grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

“Mine.” he says.

Just like that the music slows to an end, but he doesn't let go. And when the moment feels just too full, too warm, too close. His hand lifts gently to your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek. And this time, finally, he doesn’t kiss your shoulder.

He kisses you.

It’s soft at first. A gentle brush of lips that speaks less of fireworks and more of certainty like he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

You don’t even realize your hands have slipped up to his chest, anchoring yourself as his other arm wraps around your waist to keep you close. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the quiet, unspoken truth of it sinking into your bones—that this kiss was a long time coming. T

When you part, barely an inch between you, your forehead lingers against his. Your heart beats like it’s trying to memorize the rhythm of his.

“Finally,” you whisper.

Seungcheol chuckles, low and husky, still close enough that his breath grazes your lips. “Was it worth the wait?”

You tilt your head just enough to press another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you know after the second one.”

He smiles like he can’t help it, like something warm is cracking open in his chest. “Greedy.”

“Very,” you reply without missing a beat.

You don’t even care that you’re standing in the middle of a wedding reception, that people are milling around behind you with cake and champagne and whispered guesses about who you are. None of that matters.

Because he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing that does.

When you got to your building he offered to walk you up. Standing outside your door, your fingers are curled into the lapel of Seungcheol’s suit jacket, your mouth barely a breath away from his when the sound of someone clearing their throat slices right through the moment.

You both flinch, pulling apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

Your mom stands there in front of your apartment door, arms crossed and one brow raised with terrifying precision, the classic mom look of I have questions and you better answer them properly.

She blinks slowly, then turns to Seungcheol with the kind of pointed interest that has your soul trying to escape your body.

“And who,” she says, sweetly, “might this be?”

You swallow. “Uh. Hi, Mom. What are you doing here?”

“I texted. You didn’t answer. So I thought I’d drop off some side dishes I made.” She holds up the container bag like evidence. “Good thing I came, it seems.”

You’re nearly sweating. Seungcheol, on the other hand, somehow still looks calm. Like he didn’t just almost get caught mid-doorstep make-out by your mother.

He straightens, then offers your mom a polite bow. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Choi Seungcheol. I was just dropping her off after a wedding.”

Your mom gives him a long once-over, then side-eyes you. “A wedding? Interesting. And how long has this Choi Seungcheol been around?”

“Mom,” you groan, but Seungcheol beats you to it.

“Not very long,” he replies easily. “But I’m hoping to stick around a while.”

You gape at him.

Your mom narrows her eyes. “Is that right?”

“If she’ll let me.”

Your mom stares at him another beat. Then to your utter disbelief, she… smiles. “Hmm. Well. At least you’re polite.”

You’re still recovering when she presses the container into your hands. “These are for you. You too, I suppose, since you’re clearly being fed well.”

Seungcheol accepts them with a small bow and a quiet “thank you.”

Your mom gives him one last look, then leans in to whisper (not quietly at all), “She likes flowers. And she talks in her sleep.”

“Mom!”

She pats your cheek and strolls away like she didn’t just commit emotional homicide.

You turn to Seungcheol, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—”

But he’s already smiling. Like really smiling. “That was the best first ‘meet the parent’ ambush I’ve ever had.”

Seungcheol’s in his office early the next morning, already settled in behind his desk. His sleeves are rolled up, fingers tapping out a light rhythm on the edge of his desk as he hums a low, tuneless melody to himself.

He’s got that look on his face, the rare kind his staff sees maybe three times a year, a glint in his eyes like he just won the lottery and the stock market. Every so often, he pauses to check his phone, then smiles like someone just whispered a joke in his ear.

That’s exactly the energy Joshua and Jeonghan walk in on.

“Okay,” Jeonghan says slowly, not even trying to hide the suspicion in his voice. “Who are you and what have you done with our very serious, emotionally constipated CEO?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Good morning to you too.”

Joshua squints. “Is that... whistling? Are you—tapping your foot?”

Jeonghan drops into the seat across from him and kicks his legs up on the coffee table like he owns the place. “You’re smiling. Like smiling smiling. The last time you were this chipper was when we landed the Tokyo account and you got to yell at someone in perfect Japanese.”

Joshua leans against the wall. “No offense, man, but it’s kind of weirding me out. Is this like… a blood sugar thing? Are you okay?”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, stretching with a soft groan and a big, satisfied sigh. “I’m great.”

“Yeah. We can tell.” Jeonghan raises a brow. “So go on. Tell the class. What happened”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just glances at his phone again with that same soft smile playing at his lips.

Jeonghan and Joshua exchange looks.

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan breathes, sitting up straighter. “It’s her, isn’t it? The bar girl. Your girl.”

Joshua’s eyes widen. “The one who literally drank Soonyoung under the table?”

“She’s not my girl, yet” Seungcheol says quickly—but his voice betrays him with the slightest upward lilt at the end, like even he doesn’t believe himself.

Jeonghan leans forward, both elbows on his knees. “So what happened last night? Because whatever it was, you’re acting like a man in love.”

“I am not in—” Seungcheol stops himself, mutters something under his breath, then groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You two are insufferable.”

“Did she finally kiss you?”

“Technically,” Seungcheol replies slowly, “I kissed her. But only after she asked for the third time.”

Jeonghan lets out a bark of laughter. “Took you long enough, Romeo.”

“It wasn’t about taking my time,” Seungcheol mumbles, and then lowers his voice, more to himself than to them. “I just… didn’t want to screw it up.”

There’s a beat of quiet.

Joshua softens. “You like her.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

Jeonghan’s watching him, a little differently now. Less teasing, more thoughtful. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“She asked me to be her plus-one to a wedding,” Seungcheol replies, then glances at them, almost shy. “And I met her mom.”

Joshua and Jeonghan practically explode.

“You what?”

Seungcheol winces. “It wasn’t planned—her mom showed up at her apartment with side dishes and caught us on the doorstep. Thought I was her boyfriend or something.”

Jeonghan is beside himself. “And you survived? No wounds? No emotional damage?”

“She liked me.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Joshua says. “We’re done for. He’s in too deep.”

“Send help,” Jeonghan deadpans, placing a hand over his heart. “Our friend is gone. Replaced by this domestic, well-fed, love-struck clone.”

“I’m not love-struck.”

“You’re literally glowing.”

Seungcheol shakes his head with a small chuckle. “Shut up.”

But he’s still smiling.

Seungcheol’s phone buzzes once, then again—your contact lighting up on the screen. His hand darts for the phone almost too eagerly, thumb swiping before the second ring finishes.

“Hey,” he answers, voice dropping into something soft and familiar, like the two of you are already alone in a room and not with Jeonghan and Joshua both watching like hawks from a few feet away.

You laugh softly on the other end. “Hi. Sorry, are you busy?”

“No,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve got time.”

Jeonghan mouths liar and Joshua smirks.

“So, I was gonna text, but my mom insisted I call. She’s making dinner tonight and… well, she asked if you’d like to come?”

His heart skips in a way he’s not used to—it’s not nerves exactly, more like… something warm curling in his chest. He stands slowly, pacing to the side of the office, back turned as if it’ll make the conversation any more private.

“You sure?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” you assure him. “She literally made enough for an army and said, and I quote, ‘tell that polite boy to come hungry.’”

He chuckles, unable to help himself. “Guess I can’t say no to that.”

“Seven okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiles again, stupid and wide and absolutely forgetting that he is not alone.

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Yeah,” he says, still in that soft tone only reserved for you. “Looking forward to it.”

The call ends. He stares at the screen for a second longer before pocketing his phone, already mentally rearranging the rest of his day.

Then he turns around.

Joshua is grinning like a fox. Jeonghan has both hands folded like he’s praying. “Okay. Let’s try that again. You’re not love-struck?”

Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair, the soft grin on his lips refusing to fade. “She invited me to dinner. Her mom’s cooking.”

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan groans dramatically. “That’s domesticity. That’s serious.”

“You’re doomed,” Joshua chimes in cheerfully. “Next thing we know, you’ll be asking us to be groomsmen.”

“Shut up,”

You’re halfway through setting the table when the doorbell rings, and your mom, already at the stove with her sleeves rolled up, waves you off with a knowing smile. “He’s early. That one’s got good manners. Go let him in.”

You smooth down your shirt, trying not to look too eager, but your feet are already hurrying toward the door.

When you open it, Seungcheol is there dressed in that casually polished way that makes it look like he stepped off the cover of a weekend magazine. Button-up sleeves rolled just once, watch peeking out, hair slightly tousled like he ran his fingers through it before he knocked.

And in his hands?

Two bouquets.

You blink. “Are you trying to start a flower shop?”

He grins, lifting both arrangements slightly. “One’s for you.” He holds out the first—soft colors, delicate petals, your favorites, of course. “And the other’s for your mom.”

You take the bouquet, inhaling the sweet scent with a tiny smile before stepping aside. “She’s going to love that. You just earned, like, ten extra points.”

“I’m trying to rack them up,” he says lightly, stepping in and revealing the dessert box in his other hand. “Also, I may or may not have picked up your favorite. You know… just in case.”

You glance down and immediately light up. “You remembered?”

“Please,” he scoffs playfully. “You’ve only ranted about it, what, three times? Of course I remembered.”

You laugh as you lead him inside, his shoulder brushing yours in that easy, now-familiar way. Your mom peeks out from the kitchen, and her smile grows when she sees the extra bouquet.

“Oh, you charmer,” she says warmly, walking over to greet him. “Flowers again? You’re going to make all the other boys look bad.”

Seungcheol offers her the bouquet with both hands and a small bow. “I figured last time I came empty-handed, so I had to make up for it.”

Dinner’s warm and loud, your mom doing most of the talking while Seungcheol listens, chimes in with small jokes, and praises her cooking so sincerely she beams every time he opens his mouth. He’s relaxed here, blending in like he’s done it a hundred times, and somehow that’s the part that gets you.

Later, after helping clean up and exchanging stories with your mom, the two of you step out into the cool night air.

He walks beside you in silence for a moment, then glances over. “So... still thinking about replacing me with someone from a crime documentary?”

You laugh. “I don’t know. That guy probably wouldn’t have brought dessert and flowers.”

He nudges you gently. “Damn right.”

You turn to him, slowing a little on the steps outside your building. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

And there’s that pause again—that loaded, quiet moment. You can feel it, humming between you. All the things unsaid but understood. No labels, no big declarations. Just gestures and quiet moments and the space he fills beside you like he’s always belonged there.

You lean in and kiss his cheek. He’s already smiling before your lips brush his skin.

“Don’t make me wait forever, Mr. CEO.”

He grins, eyes flicking to yours. “Patience, pretty girl. I’ve got a plan.”

And somehow, you believe him.

The moment you step back inside, your mom's perched on the couch like she never moved. She's got a cup of tea in hand and a look on her face that immediately makes you nervous—too calm, too unreadable, which only ever means she’s up to something.

Seungcheol follows behind you, quietly helping carry the dessert box into the kitchen, but before either of you can pretend the evening is winding down smoothly, your mom speaks up—tone light, but very deliberate.

“So…” she starts, gaze sliding over to Seungcheol like she’s just making small talk, “are you gonna marry my girl, or what?”

You nearly choke on air. “Mom!”

“What?” she shrugs, totally unbothered. “You’re both at the right age. You like each other. He’s handsome, polite, he brings flowers and dessert. I don’t want to wait another five years for grandchildren.”

“Oh my god—” you groan, half-burying your face in your hands.

But Seungcheol? Not flustered. Not even close. In fact, the traitorous man has the audacity to smile. A slow, confident one that only makes your embarrassment worse.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you before looking back at your mom, “if she keeps letting me stick around, who knows?”

Your mom raises a brow, then nods approvingly. “Good answer. You’re growing on me more and more, you know that?”

Seungcheol laughs, and you’re halfway to combusting. “Okay! Time to say goodnight, this interrogation is over,” you declare, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the door.

“Bye, Mom,” you grumble over your shoulder.

Your mom just waves, clearly pleased with herself. “Bye, future son-in-law!”

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath all the way down the hall. When the elevator doors close, he glances at you, amused. “So… how long do I have before she starts dress shopping?”

You glare up at him, still pink in the face. “Don’t you dare encourage her.”

“Too late.” He leans a little closer. “But if it helps…” His voice dips, teasing. “I am starting to like the sound of it.”

The elevator hums quietly as it takes you both downstairs, your hand tucked into Seungcheol’s without thinking. You walk him out to his car, the evening air crisp and still, soft with city quiet. He unlocks the door, but neither of you moves just yet.

“I’m just warning you,” you say, voice teasing, glancing up at him through your lashes. “Next time you come over, she’s not going to be asking if you’re marrying me.”

“No?”

You shake your head, grinning. “Nope. She’s skipping right ahead to asking when you’re giving her a grandchild.”

He chuckles low in his throat, eyes twinkling. “That so?”

“I can see it already,” you continue dramatically, “She’ll be standing in the kitchen, apron on, casually stirring soup while dropping 'So when’s the baby due?' like it’s small talk.”

Seungcheol leans against the car, folding his arms, that amused smile never leaving his face. “Well… we have kissed now,” he says, playful but soft. “I guess that means I should be prepared for her to start knitting booties.”

You swat his arm, trying not to laugh. “You’re too comfortable with this.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” he replies easily, gaze settling on you in that way that makes your heart skip and stumble all at once.

Seungcheol shifts closer, one hand brushing your hip before resting there, gentle but sure. “And hey,” he says, voice low, “about that kiss…”

Your breath hitches, and before you can even answer, he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours—slow and deliberate, nothing rushed, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again.

He pulls back only slightly, close enough that his nose still brushes yours. “Still got more where that came from.”

You manage a breathless laugh, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. “Dangerous man.”

He grins. “Only for you.”

When he finally slides into the driver’s seat, you linger by the open door. “Text me when you get home.”

He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course I will.”

You step back, watching as he pulls out of the lot, his hand lifting briefly in a lazy wave. And as you head back to your apartment, you already know: your mom’s going to be impossible next time.

You barely make it three steps into your apartment before your mom, still lounging in the living room like she owns the place (she kind of does, considering she brought over food and stayed uninvited), looks up from her tea and levels you with that look.

Not smug. Not surprised. Just deeply, motherly knowing.

“Oh,” she says, setting her cup down with an audible clink. “I see what this is.”

“What’s what?” you ask, walking past her, pretending to be busy as you head toward the kitchen.

But she doesn’t let you off that easy. She turns in her seat and calls out—voice just a touch singsongy.

“You love the guy.”

“What?” You laugh, unconvincing. “I don’t—what? That’s a lot, don’t you think?”

She stands, follows you to the kitchen like a shark who smells blood—or in this case, feelings.

“I’ve been watching you all day. You were smiling at your phone like a teenager,” she says, opening the fridge like she owns that too. “And when he came over? You lit up like someone plugged you in.”

You open a cabinet just to have something to do with your hands. “He’s just… nice.”

“Oh, no. Not just nice. He’s thoughtful. Respectful. Tall. Brings flowers. Carries dessert. Helped you move furniture. That man looked at you like you’re the only person on the planet.” She shuts the fridge.

“And you my sweet girl, you looked right back like he hung the moon.”

You groan, leaning against the counter. “You really don’t pull punches, huh?”

She smiles, proud. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to see through the nonsense.”

The smile that crept onto your face when Seungcheol kissed you tonight is still there. You feel it even now, this warmth that’s settled behind your ribs. It’s soft and terrifying and real.

And when you look back up, your mom’s just watching you with that soft expression, the one that says she’s been waiting for this kind of happiness to find you.

You sigh, eyes rolling, voice barely above a murmur. “Fine. I like him.”

She raises a brow.

“Okay,” you grumble. “I really like him.”

Her smile widens as she turns back toward the living room. “Took you long enough.”

The phone barely rings once before he picks up, voice warm and low like honey over gravel.

“Hey, baby.”

You swear your brain short-circuits for a second. The word hits you with a quiet thud right in the chest, catching you off guard even though you should be used to it by now.

“Hi,” you say, a beat late, already smiling into the receiver. “Okay, I forgot what I was gonna say for a second.”

There’s a soft laugh on his end, the kind that rumbles just under his breath. “That’s a good sign.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

You lean against the kitchen counter, heart still doing that embarrassing little flutter. “I was just calling to see if you were gonna be busy later… I was planning to cook dinner.”

He goes quiet for half a second. Not because he’s hesitating—just because you know he’s already rearranging his whole evening in his head.

“Do I get to watch you cook?” he asks, voice lighter now, teasing.

You smirk. “That depends. Are you just gonna stand there looking pretty and touching nothing?”

“Depends. Can I taste-test?”

You scoff. “You’re just in it for the food.”

“Not true,” he says, soft again now, “but it is a very nice bonus.”

You pretend to sigh. “So… does that mean you’re coming?”

“I’ll be there,” he says without skipping a beat. “Tell me what time and I’ll bring wine.”

The ease of it makes your chest feel full, like the kind of full that wraps around your ribs and stays there.

The knock on your door is right on time—because of course it is. You’re still smoothing down your shirt when you open it, and there he is.

Wine in one hand. Flowers in the other. And that stupid smile on his face that already has you forgetting whatever it was you were about to say.

“Hi,” you breathe, just a little breathless at the sight of him. He’s in a casual button-down, sleeves rolled, hair a little messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over. He looks good. Too good.

“For you,” he says, lifting the bouquet

“You really don’t have to keep bringing these every time, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, already slipping out of his shoes and placing the wine on your counter. “But I like watching you smile when I do.”

You open your mouth to come up with a witty response, but it never makes it out. Because he’s suddenly in your space arms curling around your waist as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

Clingy. He’s so clingy tonight. And you love it.

“You okay?” you murmur, hugging him back.

“Just missed you,” he replies against your hair, like it’s that simple.

“You’re really not gonna let me cook, are you?” you ask, laughing as you try to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Nope.” He grins, chin resting on your shoulder. “This is a hostage situation now.”

“You’re clingy.”

“You love it.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I do.”

That earns you a kiss to the cheek. Then the temple. Then your neck. He’s shameless tonight. Unapologetically soft.

You try to cut up onions, but his arms stay wrapped around you the entire time, body warm at your back, like he can’t stand to be even an inch away. By the time dinner’s ready, he’s seated too close at the table, knees brushing yours under it, foot tapping against your ankle.

And when you pass him a bowl, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. Just holds it for a second longer, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I could get used to this,” he says softly.

You smile, eyes locked with his.

He’s standing at your sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, strong hands buried in soapy water. Your purple apron is tied securely around his waist. your apron, the one with little hearts embroidered along the hem and a faint stain from that time you spilled sauce and never quite got it out.

You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you glance up and pause, arms frozen mid-motion. Because this scene in front of you is almost too much.

Choi Seungcheol, your moody, broody, suit-wearing, don’t-mess-with-me CEO, is currently humming under his breath while washing your dinner plates in a heart-covered apron like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You wrap your arms around his middle from behind, chin pressed against the back of his shoulder. He pauses.

Then smiles, water still running as he leans back just slightly into your hold. “You done cleaning?”

“Mostly,” you hum. “I just needed a break to admire this sight.”

He chuckles, voice low, the sound vibrating through his back and into your chest. “What sight?”

“You. Domestic. In my kitchen. In my apron.”

“You mean your very fashionable, extremely purple apron?” he says, glancing down at it with mock seriousness.

“Mhm. It suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” you say, drawing out the tease. “You look like the type of man who says things like ‘dinner’s ready, honey’ and then washes the dishes without being asked.”

“If you wanted to brag to someone, you could’ve just taken a picture.”

It’s a little surreal, stepping into the bar again after all these months.

The lighting’s still dim, the music low and pulsing in the background, familiar laughter echoing from the same corner booth the guys always seem to claim. Only this time, there’s no desperate escape from a stranger’s attention, no half-baked plan to use the intimidating guy in the corner to save yourself.

This time, you’re walking in hand-in-hand with him.

Seungcheol is dressed down, a fitted black tee and jeans that still somehow manage to make him look unfairly good. His hand is warm in yours, thumb drawing absent little circles on the back of your palm as he greets the guys already mid-round of drinks.

Jeonghan spots you first, grinning like he’s been waiting. “There they are! The king and queen have arrived.”

You roll your eyes. Seungcheol just chuckles, guiding you into the booth beside him. His arm slides across the back of your seat, casual and easy, but his fingers find your shoulder and rest there, grounding you like always.

It’s comfortable—normal, now.

You catch Joshua glancing between you two, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Kind of wild to think it all started here, huh?”

You raise a brow. “What, the bar?”

“The act,” he teases, nodding toward Seungcheol. “Captain Broody pretending to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, nudging Seungcheol playfully. “Right. That little performance.”

“Wasn’t much of an act,” he mutters, just quiet enough for only you to hear.

You turn your head, surprised—and he’s already looking at you, eyes dark and soft under the warm glow of the bar lights. You swear you feel it in your stomach, that little flutter you still haven’t quite gotten used to.

He leans in closer, voice a little rougher. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

You arch a brow, teasing. “Forgot what?”

“That you strut your way right up to me. All wide-eyed and bold like I wasn’t five seconds from leaving.”

“Oh please,” you grin. “You loved it.”

His smile widens. “Still do.”

The music dips into something slower, something smoother. Around you, the bar hums with noise, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly near the bar. But in this moment it’s just you and him.

He tugs you gently, pulling you into his side until you’re almost in his lap. You go easily, leaning into him, resting a hand on his chest.

“So,” you say with a smile, tilting your head up, “is this the part where you tell me you’re no longer my pretend boyfriend?”

He pauses like he’s considering it, then leans in until his lips are barely a breath away from yours. “Mm... maybe.”

You lift a brow. “Maybe?”

He kisses you then, slow and sure, like there’s nothing pretend about it.

Like there never was.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls away just slightly, lips still grazing yours.

“I’m not your pretend anything,” he whispers. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

You smile, cheeks warm, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

“Well good,” you say, heart fluttering, “because I’m pretty sure my mom already considers you family.”

He laughs, the sound low and unguarded, and kisses you again—just because he can. And you kiss him back—because it’s him.

And because this time, there’s no act, no games.

Just the two of you—right where it all began.

#choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader

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pochaccoups · 1 day ago

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cw — a fluffy dad!cheol moment with his baby girl (ft. mom!reader)

“Appa, your hair is so long.”

Seungcheol’s daughter’s tiny fingers curl into the strands of his dark brown hair as he carries her from her bedroom to the bathroom. She’s right—it sweeps down the back of his neck, his bangs falling over his cheekbones. It’s the longest it’s been in years.

He sits her upon the counter facing the mirror and asks, “Yeah? Do you like it?” while batting his lashes. You’ve always told him he’s a princess raising a princess.

“I like it because it looks like mine!” she says, grabbing at her own hair. It doesn’t really, except maybe the colour, but she’s three and wants to look like her dad, so who is anyone to correct her?

He smiles fondly, his heart brimming with warmth as he grabs her toothbrush and hands it to her, squeezes a dot of toothpaste on it and watches her little hand make clumsy circles over her teeth. When she’s done, he rinses the sleep from her eyes and pats her delicate skin dry, and then it’s time to do her hair.

By now, Seungcheol has become an expert in hairstyling, probably more than even you are, having taken it on as one of his parental duties. He brushes it out, gathers half of it into one pigtail and secures it, then gathers the other half into another pigtail and secures it.

“What clips would you like, my love?” he asks, shaking the little box of her colourful hair clips.

“Uhhh, these!” she chirps, picking out a pair of pink ones with bunny faces on them.

His heart is doing spins and tumbles over his baby girl, and three years on he still can’t believe that something this cute is his creation. Although, he too can believe it because she’s also your creation. Still, every day he finds himself in awe that you had given him such a perfect little human. And she’s just sitting there, blinking at her reflection in the mirror as he slides the clips into the front of her hair and kisses the top of her head when he’s all done.

“So pretty,” he says, and he’s about to pick her up again until she makes a polite request.

“Appa, can I do your hair now?”

If she asked for the world, he would give it to her.

“Yes, baby, of course,” he says, and scoops her up into his arms. He grabs some of the storage boxes filled with hair bands and elastics, too. “Come on, we’ll go to the sitting room.”

Seungcheol places his daughter on the couch and settles himself on the floor in front of her so that she can reach his head. He’s not sure why he sits facing her, though it might be a subconscious inability to take his eyes off her, but she’s only three and she doesn’t question things too much, so she gets right to work.

Dainty fingers pull his fringe into one bunch at the top of his head and Seungcheol finds himself laughing already. He hands her an elastic and all she can really do is loosely loop his hair through it with intense concentration on her soft features that makes Seungcheol grin.

“Want me to tie it, my love?” he offers, reaching up when she nods to wrap it around his hair a few times. As he does that, she picks out a clip with a pink bow on it and slides it onto the front.

Her laughter bubbles through the room immediately, and Seungcheol’s chest flutters with affection.

“Appa, you look like Kkuma!” she exclaims, and he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket to open his camera, only to find that he, indeed, is a mirror image of his beloved Coton de Tulear. He snaps some selfies, makes sure to get his baby girl’s timid smile in them too.

“Should we go show mama?” he asks. She nods vigorously, so he plucks her into his arms, shuffling to the home office where you’ve been cooped up since 8 a.m. Bothering you is not an issue; you’d given him explicit permission to bother you unless you’re in a meeting, because otherwise your ‘job’ is you sitting there and playing mouse and keyboard.

Seungcheol lets his daughter be the one to knock on the door. In response, they hear a “yes?” in the form of your anticipatory voice. Seungcheol nudges the door open, heart warming at the sight of you in your comfiest attire, your hair pulled out of your face carelessly so that he can see every pretty feature that you graced your daughter with.

“Little princess did my hair,” he announces, pouting, winking, raising his eyebrows like he’s in a shoot. “What do you think?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into laughter immediately, nor can you stop yourself from leaving your chair and moving towards them so you can grab your husband’s cheeks.

“Oh, honey, you look so pretty,” you cry through giggles, watching as pink spreads over his cheeks. Affection boils inside you and you don’t resist the urge to kiss him, giving his lips a soft peck. “It suits you, appa.”

“I did it!” your baby squeals. She wants her credit, of course.

“Yes, you’re amazing, my love,” you gush, playing with the pigtails her father did. “Are you gonna do his hair like yours next?”

She gazes up at him with her big bug eyes, and you can only guess that she’s deciding that his current style is old news. “Yeah!”

“Alright then, go and do that and come back and show me, yeah?” you offer, smiling softly as she nods.

Seungcheol turns to leave, but before he can, you grab him by his shirt and bring your lips to his ear. “Don’t even think about cutting it, you hear me?”

He doesn’t have to say it for you to know when your husband has been contemplating a haircut. It’s a little longer, a little harder to manage, and you wonder how, after all the years you’ve spent gushing over his longer styles, he still hasn’t gotten it in his head to let it grow.

You free him, satisfied with image of (feigned) fear on his face. You catch him winking right before he closes the door.

#thediamondlifenetwork #scoups x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups fanfic #scoups imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x you #svt x reader #scoups x you #seventeen imagine #svt headcanons #svt fanfic #svt imagines #seventeen fanfic #[୨୧] — starring: seungcheol

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woncheolisms · 11 days ago

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2:25am. (choi seungcheol x reader)

summary: no one knows you better than him.

word count: 960

warnings: slight angst, fluff, nothing else it’s all wholesome stuff

The silence of the night is only broken by the overlapping sounds of many crickets chirping in the distance. The pavement is warm where you are sitting on it, your legs extended out in front of you. The streetlight above you is harsh, a contrast to how dark the rest of the road is. The air smells like…. nothing. A heavy, hollow nothing.

You blink slowly, feeling how heavy your eyelids are. Yet, every cell in your body seems to be thrumming, like they are all individually anxious. Your muscles are pulled taut, your fingers could imitate claws. You try to relax them, staring down at how they resist. Exhaustion pulls at your eyelids again.

Behind you, the convenience store door pings, indicating someone exiting. You watch Seungcheol’s broad silhouette step out, gaze zeroing in on where you sit a few paces to his left. The plastic in his hand crinkles as he moves, grunting as he plops down heavily next to you, busying himself in tugging out two bottles of whatever electrolyte concoction he had grabbed, as well as two smaller packets of what look like cupcakes.

“Blueberry?” You ask.

“Figured you would want something sweet right now.”

He figured right.

You don’t bother checking on the drink. You take the bottle he has screwed open for you, downing a long gulp of it immediately. He busies himself in tearing open the cupcake packet. Neither of you says anything.

Life hasn’t exactly been kind to you lately. At every turn, it feels like something is ready to go wrong, which isn’t new. Everyone has problems, but this is too much, and you don’t know how to deal with it. This is the first time that your problems have made you struggle this badly. You’ve been losing sleep, spacing out at work, and where you would usually enjoy your solitude very much, now you feel like you’re trapped and alone, and that you need someone.

Your hands had moved quicker than your brain tonight. Glaring at the shining screen of your phone that said 2:25am, you didn’t hesitate to call Seungcheol. It was only when his groggy voice questioned you on if everything was okay that you realized he was probably asleep.

Of course he was. You dumbass.

You didn’t say anything. Stumbled over your words trying to apologize for waking him up when he sighed and you heard shuffling.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

And he was. Ten minutes on the dot. Wearing sweats and a large jacket over them, stuffing your feet into some shoes and grabbing your coat before both of you trudged down the road, wandering aimlessly around the neighborhood.

You blink blearily at his profile now as he takes a swig of his drink, biting into half the cupcake in one go. His hair is in his eyes - he’s been growing it out - and shines a pretty caramel under the streetlight.

“Eat.” He tears open your packet and hands you the cake. You move as if on autopilot, doing what he says. It’s instinct. Seungcheol has always taken care of you. Despite how crazy busy he is, he is the most reliable person in your life. It has been this way for nearly a decade, and you don’t see it changing anytime soon.

He knows you better than you know yourself. He understands what you need even when you don’t. He is safe. He’s your best friend. You are madly in love with him.

“Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” Your voice sounds grating and stilted. Seungcheol nods.

“6am.”

You sigh and hang your head low. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

Your lips twitch, despite how heavy your head is. You can’t help but snort. Seungcheol cracks a smile too, and his cheek dips as the skin dimples. He polishes off his cupcake, brushing crumbs off his hands.

“Let’s keep walking.”

And you do. You circle the neighborhood twice over the next hour, working up a sweat under your coats. Seungcheol complains to you about Hoshi and Mingyu and whatever new choreography is giving his knee a hard time. The streets are completely void of people. It’s just you two, just the way you like it, and you let him whine and ramble on, grateful to leave your world behind for a while and immerse yourself in his.

The next day, feeling better than you had in weeks, you would realize he did this on purpose. To get you out of your own head. And your theory would be proven right for the millionth time. Seungcheol knew you better than you knew yourself.

You don’t remember the time when you got back to your place, only that your limbs had stopped humming and the feeling had been replaced with a heavy tug, like cement blocks tied to your ankles. You need your bed. You need sleep.

You barely register when Seungcheol pulls your jacket off, struggling with one arm for a bit. In those ten seconds, while in his personal space, you breathe in the scent of sandalwood and something citrusy.

The air no longer smells like nothing.

He tucks you in, childish, yet doting. You sink into the covers, black already swimming in your vision.

Your unfinished half of the muffin is in the oven the next morning, your half bottle of electrolytes in the fridge. There’s a sticky note on your bedside table. A simple smiley face. He uses those a lot.

You smile back.

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x you #choi seungcheol fluff #choi seungcheol x y/n #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fluff #choi seungcheol angst #svt x reader #scoups x reader #scoups x you #scoups x y/n #scoups fanfiction #scoups imagine

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fairyhaos · 6 hours ago

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◇ the way you make me feel // choi seungcheol

seungcheol x gn!reader, 2.6k+ words

tags: requested by anon, established relationship, fluff, mild angst, seungcheol is sooo down bad oh lawwd

warnings: pet names, 1 vvv mild curse word ig?? (ass)

notes: any fic where i get to write besotted cheol is a great fic! might be slightly ooc but oh well. who cares. ty anon for this request <3

“I'm going to be very honest, honey… this feels like a sleeping arrangement for a couple that's just had an argument.”

You laugh a little at the mild pout on your boyfriend's face as he stares contemplatively at the bed after you've suggested a rather… interesting sleep method that he's never really heard of before.

“It's really not,” you assure him. “Other couples do this all the time! And I thought it would be fun to try out too.”

Your boyfriend, Seungcheol, blinks at the bed before looking over at you, mystified.

“Really? People want to do this?”

“Yes, Cheol.”

“Hm.” Seungcheol frowns. “What did you say this was called again?”

“The Scandinavian Sleep Method,” you say cheerfully, hopping over to the drawers with all the different duvets and duvet covers that you and your boyfriend have collected over the years you've been living together. “Isn't it such a great idea? We sleep in the same bed, but we each have a different duvet so we get better sleep but still get to be next to each other.”

You begin pulling out different duvets, inspecting them and continuing to chatter as you do so.

“I know how much you love weighted blankets, but you know they're not something I'm a big fan of,” you say. “And you really hate my fluffy covers, for some reason. But if we sleep this way, then both of us can sleep happily without causing disturbance to the other's sleep quality!”

With a flourish, you turn back round to Seungcheol, the offending weighted blanket and fluffy cover in your hands, as if emphasising your point. There's a bright beam on your face, evidently eager to try out this new idea, but Seungcheol?

He's still looking a bit hesitant.

Which, understandable. You're introducing a new sleeping arrangement three years after you've been quite happily living together. Anyone would find that weird.

“If we don't like it, we can switch back,” you assure him. You shrug. “It's just a trend I saw online, Cheol. I thought it would be cool.”

Seungcheol pauses, and then smiles, nodding once. “Fine, fine. Let's try out, then. We'll see if the Scandinavians actually sleep well.”

You cheer, dropping the bedding and skipping across the room to launch yourself into Seungcheol’s arms. He catches you easily, laughing as he does so, amused at how delighted you are by his acceptance.

“Yes! I love you. Now I get to make the bed all aesthetic with different layered sheets!”

Seungcheol laughs again. “All right, sweetheart. Tell me if you need more sheets to fit in with your vision, okay? I'll buy you whatever you need.”

“Oh my god, suddenly I love you even more.”

───────────── 🗝

Admittedly, Seungcheol does love hearing you say that you, the absolute love of his life, love him (and any self-respecting boyfriend would feel the same), but he's wondering if this entire thing is really, really all that worth it.

Because, well.

Seungcheol hates the Scandinavian Sleep Method.

He harbours no hatred towards the Scandinavians themselves, of course, but their sleep method, for him, well and truly sucks.

Of course, he can understand why people like it. There are aspects he doesn't mind, too: such as how it's currently way less likely for him to wake up at 4am with a cold ass because you've stolen half the covers from him again. Or how he doesn't have to worry about the fluffy, fuzzy feeling of your sheets pressing creepily soft kisses against his ankles. Or how he can now actually sleep peacefully without finding that he's been suffocated by your weight on his chest because now, you actually sleep on your side of the bed.

Nevertheless, he hates this.

Unfortunately, he can't bring himself to say anything about this, because—

“I seriously think my quality of sleep has improved so much,” you say to Seungcheol one Sunday morning, beaming over your cup of coffee as he makes breakfast waffles for you. “The Scandinavians really know what they're talking about, huh?”

And your eyes are bright, sparkling as you say this, so full of life even though it's nine in the morning on a Sunday.

So Seungcheol smiles back, happy purely because you're happy, even though if you really pressed him, he'd admit that he's not really happy at all.

“I guess they do,” he says, turning back to the waffles. “Do you want honey with the waffles? Or the new maple syrup I bought you?”

“Ooh, maple syrup, please!”

And then Seungcheol had done all sorts of fancy tricks with the bottle of maple syrup, and you had clapped your hands and laughed, delighted, and Seungcheol felt a little better, the weight of his guilt that he didn't share your opinion beginning to lighten.

There's no real big reason why he hates this sleeping arrangement. Sure, it stops all your bad sleeping habits, but, truthfully, he… misses all those things.

He misses waking up to you all huddled up in the blankets, looking all small and adorable whilst swathed in the thick fabric. He misses cuddling you close and entangling his legs with yours in order to escape from the weird fluffy texture of your sheets. He misses feeling the comforting weight of you asleep against his chest, warm and secure like the physical manifestation of his soul, safely tucked against his side.

Now, you simply smile at him, face shiny and soft from your skincare routine, and give him a peck on the cheek goodnight before snuggling under your duvet, away from him, in your own little bubble of comfort.

Without him.

It makes him feel like an abandoned dog left in the rain outside of his owner's home.

Excuse him for being dramatic, but he's literally slept with you curled up in his arms for a very, very long time now. And these days, now that you're no longer with him and are miles away on the other half of the bed, he can't fall asleep by himself.

Withdrawal symptoms from cuddling must be a thing, because he's going through them right now.

“Just talk about how you feel, then,” is what any sane person would say about this matter, which is very good, very sound, advice.

However, it's also what Joshua says to Seungcheol when he complains to him about the new sleeping arrangement, and everyone knows Joshua is the least sane person in existence, so Seungcheol decides to ignore his advice.

Joshua rolls his eyes, used to but not pleased by Seungcheol's stubbornness.

“You're being silly,” he says, when Seungcheol vetoes his suggestion. “This is obviously impacting your sleep quality in a negative way, which is the exact opposite of what Y/N was hoping for.”

“But Y/N seems to be sleeping better,” Seungcheol argues. He rubs his eyes, and the world spins a little as he does so. “So I probably shouldn't say anything, right?”

“No, you should say something,” Joshua says firmly. “What do you think Y/N will do when it becomes obvious that this new arrangement is actively harming you, and yet you didn't say anything? Hell, if I found out my boyfriend wasn't telling me that kind of stuff, I'd get really mad.”

Seungcheol frowns. “What? Why?”

“Because you're my boyfriend?” Joshua says. “Uh—not actually mine, obviously. But that's how Y/N would feel. You need to communicate your feelings. That's what couples do.”

Joshua takes a sip of his tea, spinning around in Seungcheol's desk chair in his study whilst Seungcheol, the owner of the chair, is currently exiled to the small wooden stool beside it.

“Just think about how you'd feel if you were in Y/N's shoes. How would you feel if your partner wasn't telling you that they're sleeping badly and feeling increasingly more terrible throughout the weeks because of something that could be easily fixed by them talking it out with you?”

And oh, now Seungcheol understands. Now it makes more sense. He'd want you to communicate your feelings immediately.

Joshua must see the revelation on Seungcheol's face, because he snorts smugly. “I knew you'd get there in the end.”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol grumbles, and Joshua mocks him for how ridiculously macho-man he was being before. “I'll talk to Y/N about this tonight.”

“Well done,” Joshua says amusedly, spinning around in Seungcheol's chair so fast that its joints, even as expensive and well-oiled as they are, begin to groan in surprise. “I'm so proud of you.”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol says again, and Joshua laughs. “And get off my chair.”

“Hmph! You're so mean. I bought this chair for you, you know.”

“No, you didn't.”

“No, I didn't. But you believed me for a second, didn't you?”

“Definitely not. Now get out of my house before Y/N gets home.”

───────────── 🗝

It's one of those very, very rare days where you finish work later than Seungcheol, and so when you unlock the front door and finally make it inside, you're more than ready to just fall into your boyfriend's arms.

Except, the entire ground floor of your house is dark when you get home.

“Where is he?” you say to yourself, mystified. “Cheol? Where are you?”

“In our room!” he calls back from upstairs, and you take off your coat and shoes, dumping your bag by the doorway and bounding up the stairs two at a time to get to your boyfriend.

“Seungcheol! Why were the hallway lights off? Have you eaten dinner yet? What's— wait, what are you doing?”

In the middle of your bed, right over where the two halves of your bedding meet, Seungcheol is sprawled out in an upside down starfish shape, staring up at you balefully as you walk into the room, and you laugh a little at the state your boyfriend is in.

“Hello,” you say amusedly. “You look like you're sulking.”

Seungcheol just continues to blink up at you like a displeased cat.

You laugh again, bending down and kissing him on the forehead. “Definitely sulking, I see. What's wrong, baby? What happened?”

There's a long moment where Seungcheol doesn't say anything, and you continue to smile down at him, petting his hair fondly. And then, he frowns, and speaks.

“What do you think of our bed?”

You look over at the head of the bed, scanning it briefly. “I think it looks fine.”

It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because Seungcheol frowns harder.

“Why? Do you not like it?”

“I don't like it,” Seungcheol says, and sits up, turning around to face you. “I don't like this sleeping arrangement.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? I thought you didn't mind the Scandinavian Sleep Method.”

Seungcheol sighs. “I lied,” he admits. “I actually hate it so much. It's the worst thing in the entire world.”

Your face softens in worry, feeling something thick and bitter rising to your throat at the idea that you've been forcing Seungcheol to go through with something he hates.

“I'm sorry,” you say sincerely, sitting down beside him on the bed. “I didn't realise. You should've said something, Cheol. I would've changed back in an instant.”

Seungcheol, for how big and manly and good at acting as your guard dog he is, still always melts under your touch, and the moment you wrap your arms around his neck, he softens into your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder.

“Would you really?” he asks, muffled into your blazer, and you belatedly realise that you're still in your work clothes. You haven't even washed your hands.

“Of course I would,” you say in your best don't be silly voice. “I don't want you to be feeling bad.”

His hands wrap around your waist, warm and comforting and he pulls you in closer, hugging you even tighter.

“Sorry,” he says. “I feel like I'm being stupid. This isn't even anything big. It just… makes me feel really terrible, and I don't know why.”

“Hey, that's totally okay,” you say placatingly, threading your fingers through his hair and patting him consolingly on the back. “I told you we didn't have to carry on with this, baby. I said we could switch back whenever we wanted to.”

He squeezes you tighter, arms wrapping more securely around you. “I still feel bad. You liked this sleeping method.”

You laugh softly, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Yes, but not as much as I like you.”

If possible, he seems to melt even further into you at those words, and you smile, adoring how clearly he adores you.

“Come on, sweetheart,” you say affectionately, kissing Seungcheol's ear before untangling yourself from his embrace. “Let's start remaking the bed then, hm?”

You pull away from his arms, and Seungcheol is staring at you with big eyes, irises all melty soft. And then he nods, smiling slightly, looking like a pleased puppy as he gets off the bed and begins helping you take the covers off the duvets.

───────────── 🗝

It's unusual for Seungcheol to be so shy like this—normally, he's the one telling you to be more outspoken, more confident, so it's a nice change. You quite like being able to reassure him, gently tell him what to do, praise him and shower him with love in the way that he always does with you.

“So why did you hate the Scandinavian Sleep Method?” you ask him a bit later as the two of you sit in front of the washing machine, watching it spin your bedding round and round. Seungcheol had insisted that you wash all of it right away, because otherwise the two of you were bound to put it off for a whole month.

Your boyfriend shrugs. He watches the bedding get spun in circles again and again and again.

And then, he finally looks at you, clad in your classic two-piece cotton pyjamas, hair all a mess, your face softened and natural now that you've washed up for the night, all ready to go to bed.

You look so pretty like this, so open and comforting and god, Seungcheol had missed you.

Even though he sees you every day. But that's whatever. He's missed being this close with you at night, in this kind of domestic setting, where it's just the two of you pressed close together in your house as the rest of the world sleeps.

“That sleeping arrangement…” he begins quietly, and you look up.

“Hm?”

Seungcheol holds your gaze very seriously as he continues. “It didn't let me hug you.”

You blink. “What?”

“It didn't let me hug you,” he repeats, as serious as ever, and you want to laugh in fondness because it really is that serious for him. “I couldn't cuddle you to sleep. I hated that.”

“Oh,” you say, positively melting away at his reason, so unbelievably in love with him that your heart is goo in your chest. “That's so sweet, Cheol, oh my god.”

You lean over and pinch his cheek, cooing over him, and he bats your hand away with a groan, smiling.

“Go away,” he grumbles, but it's so full of warmth that the words carry no weight whatsoever.

“But then you can't cuddle me in your sleep,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly. “Unless… you don't wanna cuddle me any more?”

You gasp dramatically, leaning away from him for full effect, and then yelp when he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his side, preventing you from moving away.

“Don't say silly things like that,” he reprimands teasingly, laughter tinging the ends of his words. He kisses your shoulder. “Of course I want to cuddle you. It's the only thing I'll be doing every night from now on.”

“That's awfully cheesy,” you point out. “Sap.”

“It's all your fault.”

“Huh, I suppose it is,” you say proudly, snuggling into your boyfriend. “Glad to know I have such an effect on you.”

Seungcheol sighs, fond, and kisses your shoulder once again. “Oh, if only you knew.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery @aaa-sia

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hwangrfrnd · 2 days ago

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A relationship with Scoups [ part 2 ]

⤹ sinopsis. How I think it would be to be in a relationship with Cheol representing it with images from Pinterest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀، ⌕ PART I

#choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x you #scoups seventeen #scoups x reader #scoups x you #svt scoups #svt x reader #scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #hwangrfrnd #seventeen #scoups #cheol

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miaoua3 · 2 days ago

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Damn just reread both parts while in lecture and like tell my why i slayed this so hard cant wait to write the third and final part✊

Stay The Night?

Pairing: CEO! Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: shamless smut (MDNI), piv sex, oral (both receiving), mentions of the ex (ew), hickeys and scratches, no protection (don’t be silly wrap the willy guys, don’t make me smack you all),marking in general, possessive choi seungcheol, smallest amount of spanking, squirting

Description: after spending the night with the CEO and (unsuccessfully) trying to sneak away, Choi Seungcheol asks you to stay the whole day and later on, even the night. Will you say yes?

Basically part 2 to “Stay The Morning?”

Note: late present from me to you for 1000 followers on tumblr and 10k on tiktok🥰🫶 and also because i had the chance of smelling creed aventus aka the perfume cheol uses more regularly than the one i smelled that inspired part one of this and i got the urge to suck this mans dick so….bon appetit🥰

Warnings: yet again barely proofread lol im sorry i just hate doing that

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“take that dress off and get back in here, i want cuddles…and maybe something more.”

and who were you to deny him anything?

well, you were you, and so naturally you cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side as a playful smile spreads on your face, in a mockingly offended voice you said “i’m not taking anything off or letting you anywhere near me until you brush your teeth and feed me something. what, you thought the last night was completely free? you’re a businessman, you should know better honey.”

cheol chuckles deeply as he stretches, the blanket slowly sliding down his bare torso, giving you a delicious view of his chest, ribs becoming more prominent the further he reaches with his hands above his head.

groaning in satisfaction, he then throws the whole blanket off of him before sitting on the edge of the bed, softly messing with his bed hair. looking at you with the cutest smile, he then gets up.

in only his boxers. the muscles all over his body softly flexing. his thighs looking deliciously big as he takes the slow steps towards you.

sweet baby jesus.

the moment he’s standing right in front of you in his naked glory, you feel your throat go dry with need and desire.

well i’ll be damned, i already got my christmas present, and it’s not even december.

almost as if he can sense your thoughts, cheol chuckles deeply before quickly dipping his head lower so he can press a gentle kiss on your neck, his tongue lightly grazing your skin. goosebumps irrupt all over your skin at his action, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as he moves away a little, just enough for his face to end up right in front of your own.

staring at your eyes, his own a deep shade of brown, almost black with desire, cheol slowly exhales, almost like he’s trying to control himself.

stretching to his original height, he then takes ahold of your dress with his fingers, lightly tugging on it.

“you should go take a shower while i make breakfast, this dress must be uncomfortable to wear. i will have someone deliver you some clothes before you’re done in the bathroom.”

you raise an eyebrow, amusement playing in your eyebrows.

“or you could, y’know, give me one of your shirts. like all the normal guys do.”

something dark suddenly appears in his eyes, the little smile that has been tugging on the edges of his lips disappears at your words.

he takes another slow step towards you, so that there’s barely any space left between your warm bodies. looking down on you, he darkly says “i’m not like other men. you should know that until know, baby.”

you swallow hardly, but not out of fear or anything like that.

you swallow because that was so fucking sexy of him.

good lord, i need him again, as soon as possible.

he then slowly kisses your cheek, like a gentleman that he is, before he takes ahold of your hand and starts pulling you out of the bedroom.

“c’mon, i’ll show you where the bathroom is and how everything works. any special wishes for breakfast? anything you prefer or not? allergies? would you like coffee or tea maybe?”

you chuckle at his questions, quickly stopping him to gently kiss his cheek before looking at him with your doe eyes.

“coffee is fine, i’m not that big on breakfast but you have spent all of my energy last night, so maybe something light but filling would be good. and i’m not allergic to anything, not that i know at least. now, before you start to terrorise the kitchen, brush your teeth, romeo.”

you push him through the entrance of the bathroom door, his skin soft and gentle to the touch as you do so.

cheol just chuckles before he starts rummaging through his drawers, finally finding you a spare toothbrush so you both can get rid of the morning breath.

as you stand side by side, dutifully brushing your teeth, you both sneak glances of each other in the mirror.

you eyes focus on his bare chest and how they move with every little movement, how his soft stomach jiggles a bit too, as well as the dark happy trail on his lower stomach. the way his biceps pops put by him holding his arms so high is just as delicious as the rest of him.

his own eyes are trained on your face, how beautiful it looks with barely any makeup from last night left. but also because he’s only a man after all, he lets his eyes also travel down your body, lingering on how your boobs jiggle as you continue brushing your teeth.

what can he say, he’s a weak man.

after you’re done, you kick him out of the bathroom in order to take a quick shower, almost letting a “wanna join me?” slip out of your mouth, but he leaves before you can do as much.

the warm water feels amazing on your aching muscles, relaxing you so much so that you almost fall asleep while standing.

after a few minutes, you finish up in the shower, looking around for the clothes that he promised you, but to no avail.

just as you open the door to yell for help, you notice a bag waiting for you on the doorstep.

opening it, your jaw drops at what you find inside.

white lingerie. with a white slip on and a white silky robe, accompanied by white house slippers.

this sneaky little-

“so, is this what the big-shot and ceo of the prestigious company, choi seungcheol, dreams at night? what he lusts for and what he desires?”, you say as you walk in the kitchen, crossing your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him as you wait for an answer, signaling to your outfit with your head.

cheol just smiles innocently, his eyes just two lines from how wide he’s smiling.

“no, this is what a simple man who you have wrapped around your finger, cheol, dreams of.”

you roll your eyes with a smile at the smoothness of his answer, failing to add anything else to his answer.

he then pulls out a chair and points with his hand for you to sit on it. not used to this type of treatment from men, you almost giggle as you sit down.

he sits right beside you, taking your plate in his hand and slowly filling it with all the food that he made (which is way too much amount of food for two people, or so you think until you see him devour everything like he hasn’t eaten in months.)

you chat lightly as you eat, laughing at some of his very badly made jokes-is the laugh out of pity or because he’s just so cute? you will never tell know.

“so, any plans for today?”, he suddenly asks you.

you look up, pondering for a moment if you had anything planned, but nothings comes to mind.

“no, not really. maybe clean my apartment a bit? haven’t done that in a minute, understandably so.”, you chuckle emotionlessly, thinking about how your heartbreak prevented you from functioning normally.

cheol just gives you a weird look, not understanding why you would say that.

it is in that moment that you realise that he doesn’t know anything that has happened with your ex three weeks ago.

you reluctantly sigh, looking him directly in the eyes. “not to be party pooper, but i actually broke with my ex just a few weeks ago, because i found him cheating on me. with his coworker. in my bed. in my apartment. in my silk sheets. that i paid for. with my money.”

for a second there’s no sound coming from either of you, when you suddenly starts giggling a bit, wiping away a little imaginary tear, you continue “you could say that i’m a bit bitter-“, and then you take a look at him.

cheol just looks at you, or rather somewhere past you, his eyes murderous, hand gripping his fork so tightly it could snap in two any second.

your breath catches in your throat, an unfamiliar emotion overcoming you.

finally looking you directly in the eyes, still with the same look in them, he asks darkly “what’s his name?”

you gulp, looking away as you quietly say “it’s not important, I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

sensing that your mood has changed for the worse, cheol breathes in deeply and then out as a way to calm himself down before taking your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of it as he quietly says “for the record, he doesn’t realise just what hell of a woman he lost. and that his loss is somebody else’s gain, so. he’s stupid, who in their right mind would cheat on you?”.

your eyes move to look at him, his eyebrows scrunched a bit as if this is hurting himself.

you can’t remember the last time that a man went out of his way to make you feel so seen and appreciated. it makes your heart do this weird thing. like it stops beating for a moment but also like it sped up by a big notch.

you smile gently at him before you lean towards him and, for the first time since you two woke up, gently kiss his lips for a moment.

pulling away, you just respond “let’s finish eating before it cools off.”

seungcheol, as if in a daze from your kiss, just nods a bit, a dopey smile taking up half of his face.

you quickly finish up, helping him put the dishes into the washer before he leads you to the humongous leather couch that is right in front of even more humongous tv.

he sits down first, right in the middle of it before he pulls you down. seemingly he had a vision for everything that is happening right now, because before you can even get comfortable, he pulls your legs over his thighs, letting a hand rest on the bare thigh, massaging it lightly as he wraps his other arm around your shoulders, your head falling on his shoulder as he does.

well, okay then you think to yourself as you wrap your own arm around his bare stomach, rubbing his hip gently.

he turns on the tv, more so as a background noise, before he starts asking you all sorts of questions- what your hobbies are, who the two friends from last night were, where you are from as in like the city, you favourite colour and many other questions, the weirdest one being “have you ever thought how the dogs think? like are they barking in their mind, or is it maybe english or korean? or whatever the language of the country they’re in is? what about deaf dogs?”

you spend hours talking and laughing, for the most part you. he tells you the stories of his childhood, stories of his brother and how he accidentally smacked him with a baseball bat on the hand which inevitably ended up being broken, how he fell from the tree, stories about his friends who he met in college and still talks to on the daily, calling them “his kids”, all while he traces the hickeys and bite marks on your neck and shoulders.

you two talk until your mouth gets dry and he fetches you a glass of water for it.

deciding that he should take a shower, he says that you can put whatever you want on the tv and watch it while he does so, saying he won’t take long before he disappears behind the door.

you turn something random on, a documentary you think??? when you suddenly realise that you haven’t been on your phone the entire time, just like you haven’t heard from your friends since the last night.

looking around for it, you find it on the little table in front of the large window, the one you stood in front of as seungcheol kissed you for the first time.

you turn it on to see hundreds of messages and missed calls from jihyo and sana.

the last message from your group chat read “that’s it, if she doesn’t answer in the next 10 minutes, i’m calling the police.”

the message was sent 7 minutes ago.

lucky.

you sheepishly reply with an “heyyy guys haha what’s up”

you immediately get spammed with the messages, variating from “WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN” to “WAS THE DICK GOOD”.

i think it’s pretty clear which one of them sent which message.

you respond that you are still at cheol’s to jihyo’s message and that you probably will be home later tonight and that you can meet up then for the detailed story time of your escapades, and you respond with a photo of your collarbones and neck full of hickeys to sana’s message, sending a little wink emoji.

you can see that both of them are losing their minds, writing messages all in cap locks. just as you were about to read them all, you hear the door of the bathroom unlock.

you write a quick “gotta go, the man of the hour is back from his shower, gotta go and make him sweaty again ;)” before turning your phone off and focusing on him.

the sight makes you want get down on your knees and send a quick thank-you prayer to the god.

because there stood cheol, in all his naked and wet glory, black wet hair messily falling on his forehead.

and he only had a towel wrapped around his hips.

you unconsciously bite your lip as you watch him, sitting up straight as you see him walk towards you.

he finally stops right in front of you, his hips on the same level as your face. you go from looking at his happy trail to slowly raising your eyes to look him the eyes, his bulky form towering over you.

his dark eyes are trained on your face, his eyes as dark as midnight as he watches your teeth bite your lips in need.

his hand comes to your face, before his thumb slowly pulls on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

you don’t put any effort in closing your lips, letting them stay agape.

the same thumb starts to rub your lip, lightly dipping inside your mouth, your tongue poking it unconsciously.

suddenly, in the deepest voice ever, he says two words that make you completely lose all your self control.

“pretty girl.”

you grab his arm and pull him down towards you. he gasps in shock as he starts falling down. luckily, he has fast reflexes, so he quickly grabs the backrest of the couch, so he’s bent over you.

you loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer so you can kiss him.

cheol groans the moment he feels your lips on his, tongue prodding, asking for entrance to his own mouth. he obviously grants it, making your tongues meet in a battle for dominance.

you try pulling him even closer, making him kneel with one knee between your own legs. it is a wonder that the towel still stayed on up until this point. adamant on changing that, you use one hand to harshly pull it away, making his half hard on spring free.

like a woman possessed, you quickly use your hold on his neck to pull him to the side, making him fall on the couch.

just as he adjusts so he’s sitting comfortably on it, you slowly stand up in front of him.

eyes trained on you, unblinking, cheol’s mouth fall open when he sees you taking off the white robe, proceeding to take the white slip off too.

cheol never believed in heaven, but as you stood in front of him, in white matching lacy lingerie, with all of his marks on your body from last night, looking like an angel, he truly started to believe that this is the closest to the heaven that he will get.

reaching with his hands towards you, so he can pull you on his lap, you lightly redirect them, holding them in your own.

you are apparently set on giving this man a heart attack at ripe age of 29, because you then proceed to drop to your knees.

right in front of him, between his legs.

with his hard dick right in front of your face.

his dark eyes, pupils blown with desire, trace every movement you make.

you first adjust your hair a bit, so it’s not getting in your way, looking at him with what he can only describe as hunger of a lioness.

keeping the eye contact, you slowly lick the whole palm of your hand, making sure that it’s extra wet with saliva.

cheol gulps.

the moment that that very same hand wraps around his dick, he’s throwing his head back, a loud gasp escaping him at how sensitive it feels. his back comes off the couch, hand looking for anything to grasp on, only finding his towel instead.

you pump him a few times, looking at him, focused solely on his face, to see how he’s reacting to your touch-to you.

his eyes flutter shut, a groan rumbling somewhere from the depths of his chest, his torso expanding with every deep breath he has to take in order to control himself and not cum on your face this very second.

god, that last thought didn’t help him, at all.

you pump his dick some more, your hand not even being able to wrap itself around his dick fully, making you shiver at the thought of having the very same dick inside of you later.

deciding that enough is enough, you slowly lower your face when he’s not paying attention, until your lips wrap themselves around the head of his cock.

cheol moans the second he feels your wet mouth on him.

his eyes barely open themselves, he basically forces himself to keep them open, watching as you slowly push your head down more and more, until half of his dick is inside your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you pull back up.

you repeat the motion a few times just as slowly as you did the first time, enjoying his moans and groans every time the head of his dick hits the back of your throat.

deciding that you want him to be a complete mess, you start bobbing your head faster, hand wrapping itself around the base that your mouth can reach.

god, do you love the fact that his dick is so big you can’t even suck it fully.

something you certainly couldn’t say about your ex.

your mouth engulfs him, the wetness of it making him see stars. and when your tongue does that little things where it first wraps around the head, before sliding along his slit, right where he’s the most sensitive?

cheol sends a prayer up in hopes that he won’t cum right this second.

a strand of hair falls into your face, making you scrunch your face in mild annoyance.

seungcheol jumping to opportunity, quickly gathers all of your hair in his hand, making a ponytail out of it.

and as you go on, bobbing your head up and down his dick, saliva sliding down til it reaches his balls. cheol uses his grip on your hair to control your movements, moving your head in fast pace. you choke repeatedly as his dick hits the back of your throat, and seungcheol seems to like that very much, letting out a groan every time he feels your throat close around the tip of his dick.

as tears stream down your face, you feel yourself being so wet, you fear you might start dripping all over his carpet.

god, you truly hope you aren’t, because that is one dry cleaners you cannot afford.

you watch his beautiful face, head thrown back, long and black eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, lips red from him biting on them to suppress his moans.

he’s so beautiful, if you could, you would stay right here, between his legs, just so you can watch his face in pleasure.

“fuck, baby, that mouth. you’re gonna make me cum, ah, shit. look so pretty on your knees for me, sucking on this cock.”, he raps out, every few words interrupted either by a moan or a groan.

you feel him move your head even faster, as well as his hips buckling upwards, a clear sign that he’s close.

“shit, gonna cum in that mouth of yours, ah fuck, baby- you gotta- gotta stop if you don’t want to swallow it- i- ah-.” he continues to blab, but you don’t pay him any mind, focusing on sucking the head every time he moves your head upwards, and tracing the little vein with your tongue every time he pushes it back downwards.

his moans get louder, his hold on your hair gets tighter, hips stuttering as he’s right there, on the brink of cumming.

you remove your mouth completely away from his dick, immediately replacing it with your hand. looking him directly in the eyes, you say the words that finally push him over the edge.

“cum for me baby, all over my face.”

and that does it for him, spurts of pearly white cum falling on your cheeks, nose and lips. the last few drops you catch with your mouth, wrapping your lips around his sensitive head again in favour of swallowing every last drop of his cum, making sure that nothing is wasted and that he’s as clean as possible.

he moans loudly at your action, pulling your head away because he can’t endure the delicious torture.

you both pant, his chest moving up and down fast, beads of sweat gathered around the crown of his head.

you take the opportunity to finally take a deep breath in, feeling a little bit lightheaded due to being deprived of real oxygen for this long.

cheol slowly opens his mouth, looking at the artwork that is your beautiful face decorated with his cum. with a thumb, he swipes a bit of it away, holding it in front of your mouth as an offer.

you don’t hesitate a second before you wrap your lips around his finger, sucking on it like it’s the most delicious thing you have ever tasted.

cheol groans at the sight, quickly using the same hand to wrap it around the back of your neck, pulling you upwards so that he can kiss you. his tongue invades your mouth, massaging your own in such an erotic way it makes you squeeze your thighs together.

with the other hand, he reaches for your thigh, wrapping around the back of it and pulling on it. you gasp at the sheer strength of this man, because he lifts you up from the floor solely by the hold he has on your leg. for a second, you fly through the air, until your knee finds the couch.

you quickly straddle him, careless sitting down on his lap, his dick rubbing against the lacy material of your panties. he gasps at the sensation, still sensitive from the best head he has ever gotten from a woman.

in order to save his dignity, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you against him so your hips lift a bit from his dick, his lips still eagerly kissing, biting and sucking on your lips as he does so.

your hands find their home on his cheeks, holding his handsome face as you kiss him back just as enthusiastically.

at some point, after a few minutes, your lips naturally separate, but they stay close. panting in each others mouth, you use your hold on his cheeks to lightly brush your thumbs against them in comfort.

he takes a deep breath before he says in a hoarse voice “fuck baby, even though you look like an angel, that mouth of yours is so devilish.”

a giggle escapes you, leaving a quick peck on the corner of his lips. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

he takes the towel to wipe the remains of his cum off your face before he directs your head so it’s resting on his shoulder, leaving a fleeting kiss on your neck.

“gimme a few minutes baby, i will eat you out then so good, you’re gonna cry.”

and your only response is the shiver that runs down your spine.

for a few moments you just sit there on his lap, playing with his hair while his hands rub your back, lips leaving kisses every few seconds across your shoulders and neck.

you breathe in the smell of his shower gel and his natural smell, mixing in a way that it makes your eyes flutter shut on their own.

that’s another thing, you never found anyone to smell so good like you find cheol does. something about his natural smell is just so…him, and manly, and makes you feel safe and protected.

you wish you could stay here forever.

suddenly cheol’s kisses on your neck start to linger a bit longer, a bit wetter, and his hands start to stray a little bit more on your ass than usual.

you shift slightly just to get more comfortable as your legs started cramping, when you feel his half hard on. your mouth fall open upon realising that it’s showtime.

ever so slowly, you move your hips back, almost dragging your clothed pussy over his bare dick, making him inhale deeply at your action.

he lightly nibbles on the shell of your ear, before whispering directly against it “you little devil.”

you turn your head towards him, looking all innocent and coy as you say “but i thought i was an angel according to your previous statement?”

cheol narrows his eyes, before taking your thighs in his hand and picking you up slightly so he can basically slam you against the couch.

you gasp at the action, adrenaline filling your veins more so than the blood does.

he hovers over you, his hands caging you as he leans on them right beside your head.

you look at each other for a second, waiting to see who will play the first move, when suddenly, cheol rolls his hips right into your own, his dick catching on the lace of your panties.

you gasp at the action, nails immediately imbedding themselves into his back, eyes rolling so far back in your head you can see your thoughts.

“bad, bad girl. trying to play all innocent…”, he pauses before he leans even more in, so his lips are right against your ear again “…when just a few minutes ago you were choking on my dick, so prettily and desperately.”

unconsciously you inhale deeply, making him smirk a bit.

“what, don’t tell me you’re still thinking about it? still not satisfied? cumming down your throat wasn’t enough for you?”, and the condescending voice, the smirk, the satisfaction in his voice.

it pissed you off a bit.

harshly grabbing the back of his head, your nails digging into his scalp as you pull him in a harsh kiss, your other hand purposefully dragging your nails down his back, which makes him shiver.

you break the kiss off just as harshly before you answer to his question “no, i’m still not satisfied, so you better get to it, before i found somebody who is willing to do it.”

his eyes turn black with jealousy, fire lighting up in them. within milliseconds, he’s grabbing your neck and kissing you just as harshly as you kissed him, teeth biting harshly on your lips.

you moan as he continues to kiss you, almost like he wants to prove a point to you. teeth clashing, hands clawing at each other, his hand around your neck squeezing tighter and tighter, making you wrap your legs around his hips tighter and pull him into yourself as he does so.

he pulls away aggressively, and his next words sounding like a fact, like it’s written in the stars, linger in the air for a second.

“even if you wanted to, you could never find somebody who would fuck you as good as i do.”

eyes laser focused on each other, you just utter two words as a response.

“prove it.”

getting right to it, his mouth attaches itself on your neck, sucking even more hickeys to the pre-existing ones from last night. while his mouth is busy with marking your skin, his hand wiggles under your back, fishing for the bra clasp. once he finds it, he quickly undoes it, pulling it down your arms before throwing it somewhere over his shoulder with no care whatsoever, even when it sounds like it crashed into what suspiciously sounds like the vase he got from one of his business partners.

choosing not to care, he lets his lips travel from your neck, to your collarbones, over the navel of your breast, straying to one side so he can suck on one of your tits, softly biting your nipple that causes you to moan loudly and grasp his hair in your hands.

he does it for a few more seconds, letting his hand massage the tit that isn’t getting the same attention as the one in his mouth, before resumes kissing a trail down your body.

once he gets down to you hips, he looks up to you over his short bangs that are getting in his eyes. the said eyes look at you like a hawk, preying on you, excited to see your anticipation and shiny eyes looking back at him.

he just lets his lips and nose travel of the skin of your lower belly, making it flex from the tickling sensation. once they reach your left hip, he lets his lips envelope the skin there and suck on it, a hickey forming on its place.

letting his lips pop, he looks up at you as he lets his head move even lower, until his lips are hovering right over the lacy panties you are wearing.

you hold your breath as you wait to see what he next move will be.

god, you hope to god that he will just-

just as the thought crossed your mind, cheol puts his opened mouth over your clothed pussy, prodding at the covered slit with his tongue, paying the special attention to your clit. the fabric that is still on you makes his action all that more stimulating, making you throw your head back as you moan.

hands fly to his still wet hair, pulling on it harshly, maybe in hopes that you can pull him in deeper, make his tongue finally enter your hole.

almost as if he can read your mind, he pushes your underwear to the side with the two of his fingers. the moment he sees your pussy, glistening with wetness, his lips are on you, parting your lips with his tongue, entering your pussy. he swirls his tongue around the entrance, gathering all your precum before swallowing it all, moaning at the taste.

quickly he starts pulling on your underwear, mumbling something along the lines off “off, off, i need these off now.”, before he throws them over his shoulder too.

placing your legs so they are resting on his shoulders, he immediately prods with one of his fingers at your whole, letting your walls swallow it whole. his lips wrap themselves around your clit, sucking on it just the right way.

you close your eyes in pleasure, your desires finally being fulfilled just like you dreamed of them to be.

not only was choi seungcheol a walking dream, sex appeal on legs.

he was also between your legs.

he continues to fuck his finger in you, twisting his hand when he’s pushing it in and un-twisting it when pulling out.

after a minute or so, he pulls the finger completely out in favour of pushing two back in. you squeeze your thighs around his head as he does so, moaning his name.

“cheol…”

choosing to ignore you, he just speeds up his movements, tongue still playing with your clit.

you taste so good on his tongue, it makes cheol close his eyes and groan every time he swallows.

the longer he eats you out, the more careless and messy he gets. he lets saliva cover your whole pussy, almost dripping on his leather couch. he lets his fingers push in and out of you at merciless speed, the fingertips grazing your sweet spot every time he tries to reach deeper inside of your pussy.

it all makes you feel lightheaded, moaning mess, your back arch, so much so that your whole upper body almost lifts off the couch.

“ah! cheol, more, ple-please!”

cheol never one to deny his lady anything, just speeds up his motion, sucking on your clit while his tongue pries at your entrance along with his fingers.

just as you feel yourself on the brink of cumming, your moans getting so loud they ring inside of cheol’s ears, he pulls completely away, slowly getting on his knees to admire the mess that he made of you.

tears streaming down your cheeks, your hair making it look like you have a halo around your head.

your chest heave up and down as you try to regain some of the air, nipples rock hard under his gaze.

your skin so prettily lathered with the hickeys, marking what’s his.

cheol just then realises that he started calling you his inside his head, no other reason other than the fact that you earlier mentioned the possibility of going to other men to get what you want.

he will be damned before he lets that happen.

and then your pussy. god, it looks so pretty, glistening under the light, his spit mixed with your juices, smeared all around your lips and thighs.

cheol was never that interested in art that much, but he’s pretty sure that this-you, is what a masterpiece is supposed to look like.

he suddenly realises that you have been calling his name the entire time, whining and almost crying in frustration-in need.

“cheollie please just-just fuck me already.”, you say as you pull on him with the hold of your legs that have wrapped themselves around his hips.

he immediately leans down over you, caging you with his arms around your head, his lips immediately finding yours in a hungry kiss.

just as his hand reaches down to take his dick so he can finally push it inside your gaping pussy, he suddenly remembers.

fuck, he forgot the condom.

humming in your mouth, he mumbles against them “wait baby, I forgot the condom, let me just get it from the-“, but he feels your legs just tighten around his waist, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, preventing him from getting up.

you mumble through a kiss “if you get up now, i will cry and make myself cum, all without you.”

well, alright then.

cheol just groans at the thought of having his dick in your pussy, with no condom to get in the way of truly feeling the wetness of your pussy.

little to excitedly, he takes his dick in his hand, and for a second just teases your folds with his tip, sliding it up and down, catching on your clit as he pulls it down.

as you start whining softly in desperation, telling him “hurry up” in a soft voice, cheol decides that it’s time.

and then he’s pushing in.

you both gasp at the feeling- you at the mere girth of his cock, and he because of how wet it feels to have his dick in your pussy.

he pushes a bit more in, but once he feels resistance due to you clamping on him almost painfully, he just kisses your cheeks in comfort, mumbling against them “relax baby or i won’t be able to give you all of my cock.”

you breathe in and out in hopes that it will help you relax, and it does, with help of his kisses and his hand rubbing your waist in comfort.

after a minute or so, you nod as a way to tell him that it’s okay for him to move. he continues to pepper little kisses on your face as he pushes his dick more in, groaning every so often at the feeling of your walls squeezing around him.

when he finally bottoms out, cheol lets a big breath out, relieved that he didn’t cum, which he felt multiple times almost happen due to your tight little pussy milking him so much.

i can’t, not yet, she has to cum first before i do.

with that thought, he starts to slowly rock his hips, making a fluid motion out of it. he feels his tip grazing your sweet spot, which makes you gasp and moan lightly, as well as rocking your hips into his a little bit.

you turn your face towards him, your eyes telling him clearly what you want from him.

he immediately kisses you, tongues dancing a beautiful and harmonious dance for a second and then pulling away just to do the same not even a second later.

he continues with the slow pace, rolling hips so professionally it makes you second-guess his profession.

but once you breathlessly whisper “more” against his lips, he’s doubling his pace, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs.

you stop kissing him in favour of moaning directly in his face, which seungcheol seems to enjoy just as much as your kisses.

“feels good, baby? yeah? fuck, you moan so prettily, all for me, only for me, hm? nobody fucks you as good as i do right? the same way nobody begs for my dick as beautifully as you do.”

you try to focus on his words and to answer him, you truly do, but his cock filling your pussy, sliding in and out of you, and hitting your spot repeatedly makes you forget all and every thought, only being able to respond “yes yes yes” over and over.

he groans as your pussy pulses around him, making him quicken his pace even more, his hips and balls slapping almost violently against your skin.

the words keep leaving from his mouth, but you’re just too focused on enjoy him fucking you like nobody has ever before, that you don’t even answer a question he asked you.

seungcheol doesn’t like that.

he stops his hips from moving, and as you open your mouth to complain, he quickly leaves a strong spank on the side of your ass, a gasp leaving your mouth instead.

“i said- is this my pussy, pretty girl? nobody can fuck you the way i do, hm?”

his eyes as black as obsidian, looking for an answer in your tear filled ones.

you nod your head, moaning as you try to rock your hips into his.

cheol doesn’t like that either.

he spanks you one more time, just as hard, a little scream escapes you as he does. “use your words baby, or i won’t make you cum.”

you nod as you respond “yes, yes, only you can, nobody ever fucked me so good as you.”

he kisses you quickly, tongue teasing your lips for a second before pulling away to ask “who does this pussy belong to baby? remind me again.”, he finishes with another spank to your cheek.

you moan as you desperately respond “yours, belongs to you, only you, p-please stop teasing me-“.

before you can continue, he starts fucking you again, hips slamming into you that you feel yourself move upwards on the couch from the mere force.

you scream as he rocks his hips, tears freely falling from your eyes now. you don’t even realise just how tight your nails have imbedded themselves into his back, pretty sure that you are drawing blood from them.

not that cheol seems to mind, he just groans at every little thing you give him, groaning “yes baby, just like that” in your ear.

still, deciding to spare him an ER visit, you switch to pulling on his hair instead.

which seems to be an even better thing, because he in return moans so loudly, eyes scrunched up in pleasure as you do so.

“fuck baby, don’t do that or i’ll cum right now right inside you.”

the thought makes you bite your lips, as well as clam your walls even tighter around him.

he notices this, causing a little smirk to play on the edge of his lips. “oh? would my pretty girl like that? for me to cum inside you? to cream your walls? hm?”

he looks carefully for your reaction, hoping that he isn’t crossing any lines with what he’s saying. but as you nod your head quickly, desperately saying “please! please please please please cum, cum inside of me-“, he just groans, the thought of cumming inside you, painting your walls white while your pussy takes in every last drop makes him almost cum right there and there.

seeing that he can’t go on for much longer, he lets his fingers find your clit, rubbing it just as fast as he’s fucking you, putting on just the littlest of pressure on it, knowing that it’s enough to make you finish.

your scream echoes through the room, hands pulling on his soft but wet hair like a maniac, feeling your end nearing at rapid pace.

“i need you to cum for me princess, now, fuck, cream on it baby, lemme feel you-“

and it’s done, with a cry, you throw your head back, your thighs squeeze his hips and you cum. you cum so hard that you squirt a little all over his thighs, making a mess out of him.

he, seemingly also almost there, just needs a little bit of your help, mainly just you saying “cum, please, cum inside me, need it so bad cheollie-“, he thrusts once, twice before he’s cumming inside of you, moaning in your face as he does so.

rocking his hips for a bit, to make sure that every last drop of his cum is fucked deeply inside of your pussy, he then drops his whole dead body onto your own, his legs shaking from how hard his orgasm hit him.

although he is a bit heavy, you don’t complain at all, instead hugging him even closer, welcoming his bulky body to squish you. it’s almost like it makes you feel grounded, as well as helping you clear up your mind, haziness due to your own finish clearing up the longer he lays there on you.

you two just breathe heavily for a minute, trying to regain your breaths as you rub his back, while his lips softly kiss your neck and cheeks.

he turns your face to his own so that he can kiss you gently, rubbing his thumb on your cheek in comfort.

he breaks the kiss off, his boba eyes looking at you as he gently asks “are you okay baby?”

you just nod your head with a tired smile.

“i didn’t overdo it, right? everything was okay? wasn’t too much?”

your smile spreads a big wider as you whisper “it was perfect…you are perfect.”

he smiles a little before softly pecking your lips, stopping only at one kiss in favour of whispering back “you are the one that’s perfect…my baby.”

you just loop your hands around his neck to pull him towards you, kissing him deeply and slowly, letting all your feelings and words you don’t trust to say out loud speak for themselves through that kiss.

after a minute or so, you feel his dick slowly get hard again, making you realise that he hasn’t pulled out the entire time.

you softly say “sorry about the mess i made on your couch.”

cheol just chuckles as he responds “i could care less about the couch, especially not after i just had you squirt all over it.”

you shyly hide your face in his neck, groaning in embarrassment as he chuckles some more.

suddenly, he grabs your thighs before going to slowly stand up, all while still holding your body wrapped around his.

you gasp as you get picked up, clamping onto his dick as you feel the shift in the angle.

cheol just groans as he starts carrying you towards his room, spanking your ass one more time as he walks.

“i’m not done with you yet.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

after two more rounds of wild and fast sex, you two lay there on his bed, both on your sides as you face each other, a thin blanket covering your bodies as the sweat on your bodies starts to slowly cool off.

seungcheol just looks at your face, almost like he’s in awe that a woman like you is truly in his bed and that has given him a chance, running the back of his finger up and down your cheek as you two quietly talk in what now has turned a dark room. the night slowly crept on you two, which you didn’t even realise until you fell onto the bed after you had just finished riding him into oblivion.

night, which reminds you…

you should slowly go home now.

you push his silky black hair back, looking at his youthful face and small smile.

god he’s so beautiful, I want to see him again.

you smile small, a little bit of bittersweetness visible in it, as you say quietly“i should probably go home soon.”

his mood sours immediately, a pout replacing the smile on his cherry red lips.

the arm that has been wrapped around your waist under the blanket tightens, pulling you closer to his body, almost likes he’s trying to prevent you from getting up.

ever so quietly, he whispers in the mostly dark room “do you have to?”.

the lamp that is turned on and is your only source of light illuminates his handsome face, eyes sparkling from the said light, begging you not to go.

you smile sadly as you respond “i should.”

he stays quiet for a second, teeth gnawing on his lip as he thinks about your words.

you just lean in to leave one last kiss on his lips, letting your presence and smell linger for a bit before you pull away and start to get up.

as you are sitting on the edge of the bed, looking for your things, you hear him shuffle behind you, but don’t pay him any attention, thinking that he’s probably just going to walk you out.

which quickly changes once you feel his arms wrap around your hips from behind, face nuzzling in your neck.

you turn your head to look at him surprised, the top his head only greeting you in return.

he tightens his hug around your waist, his legs spread so that you’re basically sitting between them.

and then, in the quietest and most unsure voice he asks you.

“stay? please? tomorrow is sunday after all…and-and I don’t want you to leave… i don’t want this to be over yet…”

you unconsciously start pouting yourself at his voice, heart breaking at how sad he sounds that you have to go.

you fish with your point finger for his chin, saying a little “cheollie, look at me, please baby.”

after a second or two, he lifts his head from your shoulder, face red from the lack of oxygen.

you smile a little at him before you say “okay, i’ll stay, but tomorrow i really need to go, because i have work on monday and i can’t miss it.”

you pause for a second to gulp your nervousness down before continuing “and…”

he just looks at you with puppy eyes, seeing you get flustered in real time, but doesn’t say anything to interrupt you.

you just look at him a bit embarrassed as you finish “…who says that this has to end?”

cheol just blinks for a second before the implication of your words finally delivers in his head, making a big smile explode on his face.

quickly kissing you, he lets your bodies fall back on the bed, his arms still tightly wrapped around you, making it hard for you to turn around so you can kiss him properly.

god, choi seungcheol, what are you doing to me?

#seventeen #choi seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #scoups x y/n #scoups x you #scoups x reader #scoups seventeen #scoups #svt smut #smut #fluff #svt fluff

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mocchiixxx · 21 hours ago

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🍒 Words of Ruin Series #| 1: Choi Seungcheol | Scoups

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Realistic Idol Life, Fluff (at the end)

Warnings: Raised voice, emotional hurt, crying, regret, comfort

Summary: As the leader of SEVENTEEN, Seungcheol has always carried the weight of everyone’s well-being on his shoulders. But sometimes, even the strongest fall under pressure. After a long day filled with meetings, rehearsals, and no time to breathe, he snaps, unintentionally lashing out at the one person who never asks anything of him but love and support. You. The guilt eats away at him the moment your hurt expression registers in his heart. Can he fix what he broke in just a few seconds?

💌🍒💌

The clock blinked 1:47 AM.

You sat quietly on the couch in Seungcheol’s apartment, waiting, as you usually did. His schedules had been packed to the brim this week; back-to-back dance practices, variety filming, an overseas call with the label, and now, recording. You understood. You always understood.

The door slammed open with a gust of cold air and a worn-out S.Coups stepping inside, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of exhaustion. You quickly stood up, walking over to greet him with a gentle smile.

“Hey, I made some late dinner. Just in case you were hungry—”

“I’m not hungry!” he snapped suddenly, out of nowhere, voice harsher than thunder.

You froze, spoon halfway in your hand.

“I told you not to wait for me! Why do you keep doing this?” he continued, dropping his bag on the floor with a frustrated groan.

“I can't deal with this right now, okay?”

You stood there, silent. Your lips quivered a little, not because you were angry, but because that voice was so unlike the Seungcheol you knew. The one who kissed your forehead before leaving. The one who always said thank you when you made him coffee. The one who always told you he was okay, even when he wasn’t.

“…I just wanted to make sure you eat,” you murmured.

That was when he saw it. The way your eyes shimmered with tears you were trying to hold back. The way your shoulders curled inward, as if protecting yourself from the very person you loved.

“I’m sorry…” you added, stepping back slightly.

And that was the moment it hit him.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, Y/N— wait.”

You turned around, but he reached for your wrist gently, pulling you back to face him.

“I didn’t mean that. God, I didn’t mean any of that,” his voice trembled. “I just— today’s been hell and I didn’t sleep and I think I messed up the choreo and Hybe’s been calling nonstop and—”

He stopped, realizing his excuses didn’t matter right now. Not when you looked so broken over something he did.

“I yelled at you. You, of all people. You always wait for me, even when I don’t deserve it. You never complain. You love me so well and all I do is throw my stress at you. I’m so sorry.”

You finally looked up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks now. His heart shattered.

“I don’t want to be another burden,” you whispered.

“You’re not, baby, you'll never be a burden to me.” he said immediately, pulling you into a hug so tight it almost hurt. “You’re my peace. And I just ruined it. Please, please forgive me.”

You didn't respond right away, only clutching the back of his shirt as you let yourself cry into his chest.

And he stood there, arms around you, rocking you slightly. Whispering apologies. Whispering how much he loved you.

“I’ll do better,” he said after a while. “I promise I’ll never let stress make me forget how much you mean to me again.”

You finally looked up, wiping your tears. “Then come eat something. You can’t fix anything on an empty stomach.”

He smiled softly. “Only if you sit with me.”

You nodded, and as he intertwined his fingers with yours, you knew— this wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And he meant every word.

Taglist: @foxiesgf24 @viacb97

A/N: Yo! I'm back with a new series, it's been awhile hasn't it? I'd been busy practicing for our final performance and still am but I manage to write some one-shot so expect an update this following days. Oh, and I'm open for request, if you have any. I'm open to ideas from you guys. Have a great day!🫶

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ssentimentals · 1 day ago

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socups or minghao soulmate au where they have soul animals that only the soulmate can touch and the soul animals are really intelligent and end up leading them to each other?

hi anonie! ooh, this is such an interesting idea, thank you so much for sharing it with me :') hopefully you will like it and sorry for taking so long :(

prompt: soul animals

seungcheol huffs, watching his eagle spread his wings and take a leap without even looking back at him. lately, his soul animal has been restless, flying off more often than usual, leaving seungcheol alone for hours. he supposes it's a normal thing for eagles to do once they're in the new territory, but he can't help but feel incredibly guilty. bond with soul animals is a unique one: all feelings and thoughts are transparent between each other, so there's no way kkuma didn't feel seungcheol's nerves regarding moving to a different city. he's a bit terrified of the prospect of not knowing anyone and starting a new job, but he's also strangely hopeful in this naive way, when everything inside you wants to believe that something good will happen. he knows kkuma can feel it all, just like he can feel deep longing from him. 'what is it, buddy?' he asks once his eagle returns. kkuma is huge and sitting next to cheol with his claws grasping the bench, he attracts attention of everyone in the park. 'what's wrong?'

kkuma doesn't answer, not really. but the feeling of longing intensifies, paired with giddy excitement. cheol raises his eyebrow questioningly, reaching out to gently ruffle dark brown feathers. last time he felt same emotions from kkuma was when he met minghao's owl and they became best friends. chances of kkuma hitting off with another animal in past few days are slim, but seungcheol asks anyway: 'have you...met someone?'

kkuma nods. with a loud gurgle, he points towards the small lake in front of them. this park is right next to cheol's new apartment and they've been coming here for the past few days since moving in. 'someone on the lake?' he asks and kkuma nods. 'oh, nice. like.. a friend?'

their bond shivers and sings with a different emotion. one that cheol thought he'd never feel after he broke up with his ex. with a dry throat, he turns fully to his eagle, finding kkuma looking right at him with his piercing black eyes. cheol's ex wasn't his soulmate - she couldn't touch kkuma, but he thought it didn't matter at that time. he generally never really cared for soulmates, but the possibility of having one leaves him breathless. 'kkuma.. are you sure?'

his eagle nods. through their bond kkuma sends him strong sense of confidence and calmness, willing his owner to calm down and trust him. cheol smiles, petting kkuma's head. 'i do trust you, buddy. lead me to them, yeah?'

and lead kkuma does. in the most unconvinient time though - three days later seungcheol is in the middle of a loud argument with house manager due to lack of heating in his apartment, when kkuma suddenly barges into the room through the window, clawing at cheol's shoulders in a rather violent way. 'shit, that hurts- kkuma! i can't right now-' cheol stops, feeling urgency that rushes through the bond. 'wha- what's happening? what's wrong?'

lightly flapping his wings, kkuma cried out, physically dragging cheol towards the window. huffing in annoyance, seungcheol tries to fight against it, but to no use - his eagle only cries louder and digs his claws into his shoulders deeper. 'fuck- okay, i'm going, i'm going!' turning to house manager, cheol mutters: 'i'll be back and this heating issue is not over.'

he's annoyed and frustrated, but all these feelings vanish when he realizes that kkuma is taking him to the lake. seungcheol instantly spots the reason of kkuma's urgency - the most beautiful white swan he's ever seen is waiting by the water, a picture of grace and beauty.

'whoa,' seungcheol breathes out, stopping short of the swan. 'what a beauty.'

kkuma seems to think the same if the way he spreads his wings to show off is any sign. swan lets kkuma come closer and seungcheol gasps at the intense feeling of joy that surges through the bond. it's overwhelming; he barely manages to stand upright, watching as swan and eagle circle around each other. he turns when light footsteps echo close to him and when he sees you - he knows. it's crazy how he instantly knows that it's you. his soulmate.

'he's incredible,' you breathe out, your eyes locked on kkuma.

his eagle preens under the praise and steps closer to you. seungcheol watches in awe as you reach out and your hand settles gently at the top of kkuma's head. it doesn't go through it - you actually touch him. only soulmates can touch soul animals, seungcheol's heart skips a beat and yours does too - you look up at him in shock.

'hi,' he breathes out. surprised, awed. 'wow.'

'hi.' you sound just as breathless as him.

there's beat of silence and then you laugh, more out of shock than of anything else. seungcheol gets it, he really does; it's unbelievable. yo are unbelievable.

'they like each other,' you say, motioning to your soul animals.

seungcheol looks at them and then looks back at you. 'yeah.'

there's hope unleashing in his chest, his bond with kkuma sings with anticipation and excitement. you smile at him hesitantly and seungcheol reaches out for your hand. there's beat and then your fingers close around his too. he has a feeling that you two will like each other too. he has a feeling that he will not be lonely.

a/n: what an idea that was, loved it!! hopefully you did too <3 - nini

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my other seventeen work is here

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tick-tam · 5 days ago

Text

THIS!! I loved the pacing of the story it was something which really made me enjoy it. The details and the way all the characters create the perfect atmosphere is commendable. Also 30k words and not a single one wasted. This did justice to its length.

the hidden one

❝ i just saved you, mi corazón. you could at least thank me. ❞

PAIRING ▸ pirate!choi seungcheol x assassin!fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, some action, historical au, assassin's creed: black flag au (although you don't need to know the lore to read this), pirate au, royal au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slow burn, strangers to lovers, copious amounts of pining, mild depictions of violence, character death, forced proximity, so much banter, hurt/comfort, political tension, family issues, booseoksoon as the pirate underlings, lots of teasing, and there was one bed, sexual tension!!!, unprotected sex (i don't fw with 1700s contraceptives sorry), fingering, oral (f. receiving)

SUMMARY ▸ choi seungcheol is supposed to be dead. following a tropical storm, the notorious pirate loses both his ship, the golden corsair, and a majority of his crew to the cruel tides. now stranded in sevilla, spain, seungcheol and his three remaining sailors must find a way back to england; however, an unexpected altercation ends up tying their fate to you, an assassin who wants nothing to do with the four of them. despite your reluctance, he must work alongside you in exchange for a way back home. of course, complications arise once his heart decides to have a say in the matter, and, somewhere along the way, seungcheol realizes this mission is bigger than himself.

PLAYLIST ▸ he's a pirate by hans zimmer, klaus badelt, geoffrey zanelli • the medallion calls by klaus badelt • leonardo's inventions, pt. 2 by jesper kyd • assassin's creed iv black flag theme by brian tyler • mermaids by hans zimmer

WORD COUNT ▸ 31,390 words

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ wrote this for my alexios-pilled pookumsnookums @amourcheol :^) extended author's note here

Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds buried or the sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may and should be ventured; and on the other hand, captivity is the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man.

— Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

March 24th, 1725 Sevilla, Andalucía, Spain

AT FIRST, ALL HE COULD TASTE WAS SAND AND SEAWATER.

Choi Seungcheol only realized his body was aching all over when all feeling returned to the tips of his fingers. He was laying on his stomach on wet sand, occasionally roused back into consciousness by a cold wave that whispered promises of suffering in his ears. Still, his eyelids were too heavy for him to drag his brittle bones back up to his feet. The sun beat down on him—so hot that he was sure he would be roasted alive.

When he tried to get to his feet, his pruney fingers digging into the sand, getting under his raw-bitten nails, he had to squint before his eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. His lungs felt like they were on fire. His head hurt. The corners of his eyes stung from the salt.

He was on the shore of a beach.

When Seungcheol looked around, the area around him was surrounded by steep cliffs, jutting out of the ground like a carcass. That must have been why he was alone in the ocean cove; no one had spotted his motionless body for however long he had been washed up ashore. He couldn’t even tell how long he had been passed out on the sand.

There was nothing around him, so he must have lost everything while he was desperately paddling in the water. His robes and overcoat were long gone, leaving him in a loose white shirt and baggy trousers. At the very least, he wished he had his boots, but even those were lost to the sea.

His memories came back to him in fragmented shards of recollections—the raging storm, the shipwreck, the screams of his crew. The consuming guilt of being the only survivor. There was nothing for him to bring back to their families. Nothing to say to their hopeful wives and kids. And maybe there was hope that more survived, but the longer Seungcheol tried to think about it, he just remembered how the mast of his ship catastrophically collapsed while his crewmates were floundering around the deck of his ship, The Golden Corsair.

He laid on the sand for longer. Maybe hours longer. It was as if the grief left him immobilized, hardly flinching even as a particularly big wave crashed over him. His tongue felt so dry that he could barely open his mouth, but once he did, the corners of his lips tasted like salt.

And he felt guilty to even be breathing.

A captain was supposed to go down with his ship, yet here he was.

It was a miracle he survived, really. With the conditions of the sea and the harsh waves that threatened to pull him under, Seungcheol was amazed he escaped with his life. It was a stroke of luck that he found a barrel to keep himself afloat for as long as it did.

Seungcheol rolled over onto his stomach finally, and he dry-heaved until his lungs were burning.

“Oi! It’s the cap’n!” came a faint holler in the distance.

Seungcheol recognized the voice in an instant. His chest swelled with hope, giving him a final burst of strength to lift himself up onto his elbows.

Aching and bruised, Seungcheol got to his feet. His lips were dry and bitten raw; he could taste blood where his skin peeled. His tongue felt sanded down to the muscle. His gums ached. His knees felt like they were going to give out.

Three figures came running at him, stumbling and tripping over their own feet from the thick sand pulling them down. Boo Seungkwan, Lee Seokmin, and Kwon Soonyoung were frantically waving their arms over their heads to get Seungcheol’s attention, crying out their gratitude that their beloved captain was still alive. They were decent seamen, but most of the crew knew them as the musicians on board, beckoned over whenever somebody wanted to be entertained. But, oh, did they pour their heart and soul into their sea shanties.

“You lot!” Seungcheol croaked out, astonished. His throat felt as if he had swallowed a thousand blades. “How’d you survive the storm? Did… did anyone else make it? Did you see?”

He half-expected the trio to exclaim that the whole crew was waiting elsewhere, that they were just looking for him. However, the three gave each other wary looks and let their heads hang with deep sorrow drawn across their faces.

“Couldn’t find any of ‘em,” Soonyoung muttered sadly, cradling his injured arm. “Davy Jones must’ve took ‘em.”

Seungcheol almost thought he was hallucinating as soon as the words rang in his ears, and he hoped the sand would just swallow him into some pit.

Still, some fondness curled in his chest at the sight of Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung. Sure, he could’ve lucked out with more useful company, but at least he had three less souls to weigh over his heart.

“We thought you were done for when you fell with the mast, Cap’n. The rest of us had no clue what to do. Some of ‘em jumped out to help you, but… poor bastards—the waves were too strong,” Seungkwan explained, and Seungcheol could see that he had seen horrors beyond his greatest fears by the distant look in his eyes. “We tried to keep the ship afloat, but the waves were too rough. Seokmin went overboard first, then Soonyoung, then me.”

“Bit harsh on Soonyoung, weren’t they?” Seokmin recalled. “Kept hearing ‘let that oaf drown!’ from ol’ Whitehead when we tried to save him.”

“What?” Soonyoung choked out, deeply offended. “That bloody bastard. What did I ever do to him?”

“Told everyone he had a case of scurvy, I heard.”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” Seungcheol ruminated with a certain fondness that was quite different from the grief over the rest of his crew, mostly because everyone knew Whitehead was going to drop dead eventually—storm or not. “A sight that could put a man off his rum, it was.”

Seokmin shook his head in agreement. “Wouldn’t kiss my mum with that mouth.”

Outrage subsiding, Soonyoung gave a sideways jerk of his head in reluctant agreement. “That I did say, but to leave me to die over his bloody gums?” He scoffed. “No camaraderie these days. What did he expect me to do? Ignore his ugly kisser?”

Seungkwan scowled reproachfully. “I would have thrown you overboard meself, if I had the chance. You threw me clothes overboard over a lousy play last week!”

“You just do not understand the art of performance, Kwan.”

“What you will be understanding is how that tree branch over there is going to feel up your arse, Soonyoung.”

Out of his entire crew of feared pirates, Captain Choi Seungcheol was stuck with the three biggest buffoons of the seven seas.

“Oi!” he exclaimed in his booming voice, silencing the bickering immediately. He looked at all of them carefully before asking, “Focus, you scoundrels. What happened after?”

Seungkwan started, “I found Soonyoung ‘n Seokmin layin’ on the shore like a pair of ugly, dead fish—”

“Unnecessary comparison, don’t you think?” Soonyoung grumbled close to Seokmin’s ear.

“—‘n we ended up roamin’ the perimeter, but you’re the only one we found. It’s a miracle to even be alive, Cap’n… so it’s hard to imagine that the rest of ‘em… y’know, made it.”

His heart gave one final plunge into a pit of despair. As his three remaining crewmates harped on about the crash, the captain screwed his eyes shut. There were hundreds of people who feared the crossbones and skull sign because of his very name, and now Seungcheol had lost everything.

“We must find a way back to England,” Seungcheol muttered.

The three of them went quiet, as if they were waiting for Seungcheol to command them. He felt as though his brain was going a little funny from the scathing heat, and it took him several, unblinking seconds to process that they were expecting further directions.

Seungcheol looked around the stretch of the shoreline. They had nothing—no money, no weapons, no ship—and they were stranded on some unknown land.

But he was Captain Choi Seungcheol—the man who cheated Davy Jones countless times, the man who was feared from the islands of the Caribbean to the shores of Madagascar. If there was anyone who could get their way out of this predicament, it was him.

“We will need to find a ship,” he declared. “But in waters like these, we will need one that sails as smooth as The Golden Corsair. Let us first determine where we find ourselves.”

After several unblinking minutes of scanning the shoreline, he set off in the direction of the cliffs, and his crew of three followed him across the sand with heavy legs.

The four pirates made their trek away from the beach, walking barefoot on a dirt trail for what felt like ages. Seungcheol was persistent, though; he knew the area was familiar, and he was rewarded with the sight of a city bustling with life. After eavesdropping on a few conversations, he was delighted to realize that he knew what language the locals were speaking. He was quite proficient in Andalusian Spanish, having studied the language far before he became a pirate.

Seungcheol ordered his three men to go around and find out where they were and if there was a tavern nearby where they could rest. Seungkwan was told to get lost, Seokmin couldn’t figure out a way to communicate effectively with the locals, and Soonyoung lost his patience too quickly and ended conversations as quickly as they began. Their captain was the only one who managed to figure out that they were in Sevilla, Spain.

The silver lining in that was that Seungcheol already had a few acquaintances around Sevilla. His crew had stopped in the port a few times during their travels, so, naturally, he made a few connections that could prove to be useful. One of them would surely shelter them for a few nights.

In the center of the city, there were several booths lined up with merchants selling their goods. The market wrapped around the block; Seungcheol could hardly walk anywhere without being called over to buy something. In Seokmin’s case, he could hardly walk anywhere without getting distracted by something shiny.

This wasn’t the sort of place Seungcheol wanted to be in. There were thieves littered everywhere in these parts and his crew had nothing to defend themselves with. Moreover, Seungcheol had nothing to properly disguise himself, so if the Spanish authorities recognized him, he and his men would most likely be executed on the spot.

On the bright side, Soonyoung managed to knick some tattered shoes from a nearby pub. Apparently, he was lurking in the corner until a brawl broke out. While the men were drunkenly punching at each other and kicking off their boots to lunge at each other, Soonyoung snagged several pairs that were strewn aside as he walked out.

They wandered the market, looking for something to eat, but none of them had any money. Maybe if one of them could distract one of the shopkeepers, Seungcheol could sneak behind a booth and—

“Si no van a comprar, ¡no están bienvenidos!”

The sharp voice cut through the clamor in the market. Seungcheol turned immediately to see what all the commotion was about. Someone was refusing to pay? If everyone’s attention was diverted, then it was the perfect opportunity to grab some food from an unattended booth.

But, when he took a closer look, the woman being yelled at had the same disoriented shock in her eyes that Seungcheol once had. It was almost like looking in a mirror, seeing his old, cowardly self before him.

When he decided to become a pirate, Seungcheol left his cushy life behind without ever looking back. He was educated in languages, literacy, and arithmetics before he even realized his love for adventure. It was his aunt, the woman who raised him after his parents’ untimely deaths, who showed him that possessing great power was meaningless if you didn’t have the strength to protect others.

Initially, she was a pirate herself, but the Royal Navy enlisted her help as a privateer to take down Wukou ships. Her success was nothing but heroic, but she wasn’t rewarded like the other royal armed forces were. After the Royal Navy got what they wanted, they killed her silently and passed off her murder as a casualty of war.

That was the day Seungcheol decided he wasn’t going to sit quietly and comply. His pirate crew started small, but it grew over the years, and he was soon infamous across the Caribbean and a threat to the Kingdom of England.

Seungkwan’s eyes lit up with mischief. “This is our chance! While she distracts him, let us—” He cut himself off when he noticed his captain was no longer by his side, and Seungkwan whipped his head in every direction. “Cap’n? Where’d you go?”

With a retired sigh, Seungcheol walked over to where you were and put his hand on your shoulder. His dark, unkempt hair fell over his forehead, concealing the scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek.

He played the role of your husband, claiming that you weren’t very fluent in the language and were just asking for directions. The shopkeeper, who was pleased to hear an explanation he could understand, let you both off with a warning. Although a dark look was cast across your face, you went along with Seungcheol when he dragged you aside.

Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung exchanged odd looks after Seungcheol brought you over. They all seemed to be under the impression that their captain was out of his mind, and Seungcheol would be lying if he said the heat wasn’t making his brain feel funny.

“Excuse me—where are you taking me?” you demanded, bordering on fright when you realized that you had been dragged to an alleyway with four men surrounding you. “Unhand me at once!”

He pulled you behind a stack of crates that conveniently concealed the five of them from the bustling street outside the alley. Seungcheol realized his actions came across as threatening, but his words weren’t meant for others to hear, and he didn’t exactly want you to go around spouting that they were pirates.

Seungcheol released his grip on you, turning in time to catch your glare. His features softened and he let out a sigh.

He started, “My apologies for—”

Before he could get any more words out, Seungcheol felt his arm jerk forward before you managed to completely flip him over your shoulder and onto the solid ground. He grunted in pain, squinting to make out your angry face in the blinding sunlight. When he tried to budge, he felt the cool metal of your dagger pressing against his throat.

“What are you doin’ to our cap’n?!” Soonyoung shouted, although no amount of fury could mask how equally impressed he sounded. “And can you do it again?”

“Oi,” Seokmin whispered harshly, elbowing Soonyoung in the side, “ask her to do it to one of us, not the cap’n!”

“Right. Then how ‘bout Seungkwan? Give him a toss.”

Seokmin seemed to agree with this decision, giving the pirate a resolute nod of his head before turning to you. “Slowly, this time, Miss.”

“Do not flip me,” Seungkwan warned. “I have not stretched yet.”

You snorted, which Seungcheol assumed was you trying to come off as intimidating while playing off your amusement, but he kept his mouth shut because you happened to have a blade to his throat.

“Pirates,” you muttered darkly, gaze fixing on the elaborate tattoo inked on Seungcheol’s chest, barely concealed by his tattered shirt. “I did not think I would have to deal with pirates around these parts.”

“And what were you trying to do?” he fired back with a scowl. “That shopkeeper sounded like he was gonna have you kicked out of the square, or worse—arrested.”

“Well, I never asked for your help.”

“I just saved you, mi corazón.” Seungcheol sneered. “You could at least thank me.”

Through your hard, steely eyes, you let out a mirthless laugh as your knee dug into his thigh. “If you minded your business instead of drawing unnecessary attention to us, pirate, I could have just slipped past and been on my way. Yet, you still expect me to offer my gratitude?”

To be frank, Seungcheol was already having quite the day, but now he was starting to get a little ticked off. He had just saved your skin, hadn’t he? Was this how he was being repaid? With a knife to his throat instead of some plain gratitude? It wasn’t like he was asking you for anything in the first place, but the least you could do was thank him for his help. After all, he was the very reason you made it out of that situation without causing more of a scene than you already had.

Then, when he thought about it some more, Seungcheol realized how horrible of a misunderstanding this probably was.

He pulled you away from the bustling crowd and dragged you into an alleyway with three other men. There was surely room for misinterpretation there.

“Listen, I only meant to help—”

You rolled your eyes. “Help? All you did was cause a bigger scene. We are lucky neither of us got in trouble.”

“I still helped, did I not?”

“Are you an imbecile?”

“Among other unbecoming titles, I suppose so.”

“You are a pirate, aren’t you? Don’t you know that they will have your head if you are caught?”

“They must first catch me, then.” Seungcheol scoffed. “I’m curious, though, is this your first time thieving? Take it from a pirate: You must be less… conspicuous about these things.”

Furious, you opened your mouth to say something, but your expression quickly faltered, and you closed your mouth before any words could come out. Seungcheol didn’t let your nervous shift in expression go unnoticed, and he followed your gaze to the beam of sunlight spilling into the alleyway. Keeping your weight on the pirate, you peered behind the crate as if you were eavesdropping on someone.

Realistically, Seungcheol could’ve easily overpowered you. He was thinking about it for a good amount of time, but he decided to entertain whatever this was. Perhaps it was his natural curiosity, but he was far more interested in what you were doing in Sevilla than he was determined to get you off of him.

(You being quite beautiful also kept him from tossing you off of him, but that was beside the point.)

“Oi, Miss,” Seokmin whispered, crouching down to your level, “are you hiding from someone?”

Seungkwan and Soonyoung took this as their cue to do the same, exchanging confused glances and avoiding their captain’s pointed glares. Seungcheol was getting rather impatient with the lack of answers he was getting. His day had already gotten off on a horrible start, and now he had to deal with you.

“That is none of your business,” you answered, “and my name is not Miss.”

How aggravating.

“I think it is our business now,” Seungcheol said, firmer this time. “Running from someone? Is that it?”

But you were already shushing him, distracted by something else entirely. Your brows knitted into a frown as you (seemingly unintentionally) pressed the dagger against Seungcheol’s flesh a little harder, daring crimson to bleed through.

“... find her. She has to be around here,” came a deep yet sharp voice right outside the alleyway.

“Was there anyone with her?” another one asked.

“Four men, they said.”

“Split up and look for her. I care not if she is dead or alive, just bring her corpse back in one piece.”

Your shock eclipsed whatever secrecy you were determined to uphold, betraying your attempts to restrain your emotions. Seungcheol noticed a flicker of fear across your eyes even as you glowered. It seemed as though he had unintentionally gotten himself into trouble by association, which was a rather hapless way for one to get into trouble.

When Seungcheol was certain the men had stalked off elsewhere, he asked, “Are they looking for you?”

“Oh, no, it must be some other poor damsel with four men cornering her.”

“Cornering? You have me on the ground with a dagger to my throat. I would say you have the upper hand here, sweetheart.”

“Oh, please, you can easily get out of this,” you replied calmly, raising a brow at him, “but you aren’t.”

“Because I’d rather have a civil conversation first, unless it’s my knife you want against your throat.”

“You are unarmed,” you observed with a pointed stare.

Seungcheol stayed quiet. You were right on the mark with that one.

You continued, “And a pirate trying to be civil? You realize jests must be believable, right?”

“Listen,” Seungcheol started, wrapping his fingers gently around your forearm—the one still clutching the dagger, “We are not going to harm you, but you are in trouble, no? That is why you think we were going to hurt you?”

You scoffed. “If I thought you were going to hurt me, your men would be dead by now.”

His crewmates inched away from you slowly.

“Then you know we are not a threat,” he said. Seungcheol’s throat felt tight and he spoke in a voice as brittle as bones, “We are not looking for a fight or any of the sort. We were just trying to find our way back to England.” He then added in a murmur, “I swear we will not hurt you—swear it on my aunt’s grave.”

At first, he wondered if you would even care about a promise that could come off as seemingly empty to most. However, the way your eyes softened said otherwise.

You removed the dagger from his throat and shifted your body back onto the ground. He could see true sympathy in your eyes, but there was still something so guarded about you that made him feel dubious. Seungcheol got up to crouch behind the crates.

“Your turn,” he said, making a gesture with his hand.

You fixed him with a strange look. “My turn for what?”

“We told you what we are doing in Sevilla, so do enlighten us on your intentions, too. You are clearly not from around here, sneaking around like that.”

You spluttered. “I do not see why I have to tell you anything.”

Seungcheol looked at you carefully, and then he glanced at Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan, who already seemed to be devising a plan. Although his men weren’t particularly useful when it came to anything physically demanding, they were excellent when it came to putting on a show.

Soonyoung let out a heavy sigh. “It’s okay, Miss, we knew you wouldn’t be trustin’ of rotten pirates like ourselves.”

“Bless her heart, she doesn’t know that pirates like us can be tricked, too,” Seungkwan chimed in with faux dejection heavy on his tongue. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been stabbed in me back.”

(“Seven,” Seokmin answered. “I was one of them.”

“It’s a figure of speech, you fool.”)

“All the times I placed me trust in someone only to be treated like a bilge rat. Me mum always said it’s ‘cause I trust too easily, but”—Soonyoung choked on his words, sniffling rather dramatically—“can you blame me for havin’ too much love in me heart?”

This was a lie; Soonyoung cheered for bloodshed far too often to make such a claim.

“I don’t even have a mum,” Seungkwan wailed.

This was also a lie; Seungkwan most definitely did have a mother that was alive and well.

“Maybe a bunch of mangy dogs like us aren’t meant to have friends,” Seokmin added miserably. “Maybe we really are on our own.”

This, however, had some truth to it.

“You’re not alone, Seokmin.” Seungkwan gave him an earnest look as he reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “We have each other, mate.”

The silence that followed afterward was deafening. You stared at the three with a blank look on your face. Seungcheol held back a groan and closed his eyes out of frustration.

After a pause, you spoke, “Touching. Well, if you will excuse me, I shall be on my way now.”

Seungcheol started, “Wait—”

Just as you got to your feet, a gleaming flash of gold fell from your robes. You didn’t seem to notice at first, but right as your eyes widened with your alarm, Seungcheol had already gotten to the object first. It was an amulet hanging by an iron chain, and when he examined it closely, there was an engraving of an eagle on one side and a triangular shape on the other side.

He knew exactly what this was.

The mark of an assassin.

Seungcheol heard stories of assassins, of course—bits and pieces here and there—nothing substantial that he could place his finger on. For the most part, they were shrouded in secrecy, never to reveal their identity to anyone outside of their brotherhood.

Whatever business they had with pirates wasn’t something he had any clue of. Seungcheol recalled that Black Bart, a Welsh pirate who crossed swords with Seungcheol before, had worked in the shadows with an assassin before. No one knew of the finer details, but it was said that their partnership brought him more power and influence over the Caribbean.

He wasn’t too sure of the whole story, but his aunt had been in close relations with an assassin. She never disclosed much, as she wanted to keep Seungcheol far from danger during his youth, but he distinctly remembered when she returned home one day with an amulet that had the same engraving. At first, she refused to tell him what the symbol was, but after an eleven-year-old Seungcheol nearly snuck it out of the house to show his friends, his aunt sat him down and explained how dangerous it was to carry an assassin’s insignia.

But an assassin in these parts? What could you possibly be looking for here? Had he just ended up becoming your next target? There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but you snatched your amulet out of his hands before he could clear his head.

“Those guards are looking for you because of that, right?” Seungcheol asked, pointing at the amulet. He cut to the chase so that you wouldn’t take off running. His voice was hardly louder than a mumble when he continued, “You are an assassin, are you not?”

You flinched at his words.

Seungkwan rubbed the back of his neck. “Not a very good one, is she?”

“No.” Soonyoung shook his head in agreement. “Revealing it sort of defeats the whole purpose, doesn’t it?”

Surely, you recognized a losing battle when you saw one; Seungcheol already figured out who you were, and if you made a run for it, all he had to do was walk up to a guard and tell them who you were. He had a perfect description for you already, all thanks to the past five minutes of staring up at your face.

“Give it back or I will shove this blade up your arse,” you warned.

“No, I do not suppose I will,” Seungcheol replied with a mocking smile, dangling the amulet in front of your face for a moment before he put it around his own neck. “You will get it back after we get our ship.”

“Do you not have half the mind to know I can easily take it from you?”

“Not unless you kill me.”

You barked out a laugh, bewildered. “You think I am above murder? Me?”

“No, but I know you have the King’s men on your trail. You must be as dull as a rusty cutlass if you think you can take my men and I down without drawing attention.”

There was a moment of disorientation where you kept looking from Seungcheol, to the amulet, and back at the captain again. He almost felt bad because it seemed like you hadn’t ever expected to be caught up in such a situation, but perhaps this could be advantageous for the both of you.

He also knew that if you really wanted to, you could just kill them and move on, but that wasn’t the likely outcome. Someone was clearly trying to find you, and four dead bodies in the middle of the town square would surely be a dead giveaway.

“What do you want from me?” you asked sharply, your words venomous with shame and rage. “Gold? Treasure? I do not have any of that sort.”

“We need a ship,” he said. “But not just any boat—something of… royal caliber. That is the only vessel I suspect would sail as smooth as The Golden Corsair.”

You raised a brow. “Is that your ship? What happened to it?”

“It sank.”

“Oh. What a pity.”

“You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

“I have never been very fond of pirates.” You grimaced. “Anyway, you would have to be a complete buffoon to steal a Royal Navy ship.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have three of those.”

Seokmin tapped the captain’s shoulder, clearing his throat. “There are four of us, Cap’n.”

Seungcheol gave him a knowing smile. “I am quite aware.”

You fixed him with a curious look. “What’s in it for me?”

“Our word that we will keep your secret,” he vowed, “and we will help you with whatever it is you are here for. Having someone around who speaks the native language could prove to be quite useful, you know?”

You were eyeing the pirate carefully, as if you were deciding whether he would be useful to you or not.

“And one more thing”—Seungcheol took a step closer, so close that your bodies were nearly touching, and he looked down at you with a dangerous flicker in his eyes—“if you even think of hurting one of us, I won’t hesitate to finish you off myself, mi corazón.”

You seemed defeated for a very, very long time. Seungcheol and his crew sat with you for what felt like eternity until you finally dragged yourself up off your feet. After a resigned sigh, you finally came to terms with the fact that you couldn’t do much now regarding your identity being compromised.

Truthfully, Seungcheol was very hungry and tired. He wanted nothing but a nice, hot meal before he was lulled into a peaceful sleep. His brain was too scrambled to pinpoint how long it had been since he had food in his body last, and there was no point in trying to guess when his memory following the shipwreck was still hazy.

“I have a friend in Sevilla that can shelter us for a few nights,” Seungcheol had told you and his crew. “We are not going to get very far without food and water.”

He noticed that you started to crumble in the way the corners of your mouth twitched—not that Seungcheol was staring at your lips. The lure of a roof over your head and food on your plate seemed to sell you.

“I would like my own room,” you insisted.

“No objections here. I do not think any of us are keen on sharing a room with an assassin.”

“Will you be quiet?” you whispered harshly. “I will tell you this now: I have no intention of hurting innocents, but if you keep running your mouth, I am afraid I will have no other choice but to slit your throats before you can even scream for help.”

Seungcheol wasn’t particularly interested in responding to your threat, nor did he feel inclined to point out that he was sure at least one of them would react fast enough.

“Ray of sunshine, this one is,” Seungkwan retorted as he eyed you cautiously.

Most of the journey was spent in silence. You hardly seemed to want to engage in conversation, but Seungcheol was perfectly content with not spoiling the peacefulness of their trek with another slew of threats. Hunger and exhaustion were slowly becoming unbearable with each drag of his feet. He hoped that nothing had changed since his last visit to The Sleeping Bull, and that his old friend, Joshua Hong, was still the innkeeper.

Nightfall encroached upon them by the time they reached the building with dim candle light glowing through the windows. The smokey smell filled Seungcheol’s nostrils with a sort of familiarity and comfort that set his nerves at ease.

When he opened the door, there were a few men hunched over the nearby tables. They were all laughing at someone’s joke and toasting to several, trivial things that hardly needed a toast. Seungcheol spotted Joshua standing at the bar, wiping the rim of a glass with a rag.

Upon noticing the five people walking through the door, Joshua squinted from across the room and Seungcheol saw deep lines in his forehead before he set the cup down. Joshua had to walk closer to make out the group in the dim lighting, and his eyes landed on you briefly before he turned back to Seungcheol, face slowly stretching into a wide grin.

“Captain Choi Seungcheol? Is it really you?” Joshua narrowed his eyes to make out the scruffy, broad-shouldered pirate before straightening up. “It has been long indeed! Almost couldn’t tell it was you without the rest of your rowdy men,” he said brightly. “Take a seat at the bar, will you? Let me pour you all a drink.”

Seungcheol wasn’t sure if Joshua could pick up on the way his smile faltered at the mention of his crew, but he decided to skirt around the topic for now. It was no good getting emotional at a time like this.

“Bloody hell, it is good to see a familiar face. Do you have any rum, Joshua?”

“I’ve not had a drop of rum in ages.” Seungkwan groaned as he dropped his weight onto one of the creaky stools. “Not since our stash went dry on The Golden Corsair.”

“The poor bastard has not yet realized that we’d been hidin’ the rum from him,” Seokmin muttered to you, earning what Seungcheol decided would’ve almost been a smile if you weren’t so guarded.

Seungcheol made sure that you were in his line of vision as he took a seat a few stools away from you. Your hood was covering most of your face, but once your back was to the rest of the pub, you pushed it back far enough for Seungcheol to notice how guarded you looked. Your eyes flitted around the tavern suspicious—subtle enough for no one else to take notice. No one but Seungcheol, apparently, but he had good reason to keep an eye on you.

“On the house,” the owner offered, setting down pewter cups of rum in front of all of them before wagging a finger at Soonyoung, Seungkwan, and Seokmin. “You three drunkards better not dance on the tables again. Let me remind you that this is an inn.”

Soonyoung ran a bitten-down, yellowed fingernail against the grain. “But these beautiful mahogany tables wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t smashed the old ones in.”

“Consider it a favor,” Seokmin chimed in.

“An’ we stopped handin’ those out after ol’ Whitehead near tricked us into walkin’ the plank,” Soonyoung went on, “but you needn’t thank us, mate—no, no.”

“Aye. Did it out of the goodness of our hearts.” Seokmin flashed a crooked grin before looking over at Seungkwan, who had rum dripping from his chin. “Isn’t that right, Kwan?”

“I remember it clear as a foggy night.” Seungkwan hiccuped once, twice—(“That wouldn’t be clear at all,” you muttered under your breath)—and then pounded his fist against the wood before he continued in a drunken stupor, “Did it all for the betterment of this fine establishment!”

Joshua, who suddenly looked like he had gone through several sleepless nights compared to his sunny demeanor minutes earlier, promptly ignored the three as they went back and forth with their running gag.

Seungcheol’s interest wandered to the clusters of people at the tables behind them; there was a family who looked as though they had traveled a long way, one group who were progressively getting more and more drunk by the minute; and a man sitting by himself in the corner.

“It seems business has been good,” Seungcheol pointed out.

“Sort of,” Joshua grumbled. “Bunch of no-good people have been coming in and bringing trouble with them… dragging people out and starting a scene.”

“What sort of people?”

“I hear they call themselves the Templar Order.”

“Dragging people out? For what?” you spoke up, much to Seungcheol’s surprise, and you sat up a little straighter now that Joshua had your full attention.

The innkeeper sighed. “No one can say for certain, but I believe they are in search of something. What that may be, I cannot tell, but they’ve just been turning out folks’ pockets and leaving after threatening them. A most peculiar group of thugs, no?” He leaned closer and lowered his voice to say, “I suspect that Yoon Jeonghan over there has something to do with them. All he seems to do is sit there all day long, and he hardly takes notice whenever ruckus breaks out in here.”

Seungcheol turned his head to observe the dark-haired man in the corner. Jeonghan had his head down so that no one could clearly make out his face, but Seungcheol caught a glimpse of his eyes before he turned his attention back to Joshua.

“But what’re you doing here, Seungcheol? Where are the rest of your men?” Joshua asked, leaning onto his forearms. “I thought I wouldn’t see you lot in Sevilla anytime soon.”

“There was a storm,” Seungcheol started gruffly. “None of my men were prepared for how cruel the tides would be.”

“A storm?” Joshua’s eyes were wide with alarm. “So your crew…”

“All dead—except for these three here. Only God knows why the Devil’s Domain spared us.”

(Soonyoung snorted. “She probably felt sick to her stomach after swallowing Whitehead.”

“Like eating rotten meat,” Seungkwan blubbered. The three of them seemed awfully remorseful about Whitehead’s death, but at the same time, they couldn’t stop joking about it.)

The corners of Joshua’s lips turned down. He was silent for a long time, like he was mentally going over each face and name he could remember from Seungcheol’s crew. The captain understood him very well for that was what he spent the first few hours of being conscious doing. He ran through every name in his head—every face, every memory, every laugh shared. Even his three crew members went silent at the mention of the storm, and the Seungcheol took the silence as an opportunity to tip his head back and down his alcohol so that the burn down his throat would distract him from his stinging eyes.

“I truly am sorry, Seungcheol,” Joshua finally said. He took a moment to take in the captain’s haggard appearance, from his hollowed cheekbones to his unkempt, knotted hair. “Let me get you something to eat. You all must be starving.” He turned to shout out orders to the head cook, who immediately got to chopping up vegetables for a stew. “You should wash up here, too, when you can.”

“We are grateful—really.”

“What do you suppose you will do now?”

“I need to find a ship so that I can sail back, but… for now”—he held up his cup and tipped it as a toast before chugging the contents down—“we drink and forget.”

“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need until you can get yourself back up on your feet again.”

“Thank you, Joshua.”

“You needn’t thank me. You’re just lucky you came here now; this place will be busy soon because of Semana Santa. Even the royal family is here.”

“Semana Santa?”

“Holy Week,” you answered in Joshua’s stead, although you wouldn’t meet Seungcheol’s eyes when you spoke. “It is a Catholic event that lasts the whole week. Nearly all of Sevilla set aside their commitments to celebrate.”

“Is that the reason why you have come here, Miss?” Joshua asked in his buttery voice.

Your gaze flicked to the innkeeper’s before you responded, “Yes.”

Seungcheol had a feeling that your answer wasn't far off from the truth.

Your request for your own room was granted, much to Seungcheol’s surprise. He hadn’t guaranteed you anything, but it was a stroke of luck that Joshua happened to have two open rooms at his inn.

The room that the four pirates had to cram into was clearly only meant for one or two people to sleep in. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, though; Seungcheol had experienced far worse sleeping conditions in the past, and this was still far more comfortable than his private quarters on The Golden Corsair. Although the extra set of blankets that Joshua provided were paper-thin and the pillows felt like they had been stuffed with straw, Seungcheol was grateful for additional comfort.

After his crew members nearly got on their knees and begged him to take the bed, Seungcheol dismissed the idea with a definitive shake of his head and settled into one of the two makeshift ones. Soonyoung and Seungkwan ended up on the bed instead, stiffly shoulder-to-shoulder until Soonyoung slung his leg around Seungkwan’s while Seungkwan reluctantly wrapped an arm around the pirate.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Seungcheol’s body responded immediately. It was as if he had forgotten what he had been through in the last few days until this moment. Sleep caught up to him almost immediately, and he drifted into a heavy slumber.

Just before the first rays of sunlight crept into the window, Seungcheol was awoken by three loud bangs at the door. Soft groans echoed through the room as the others roused from their deep sleep.

Seungcheol could hardly tell whether he was standing on his own two feet or not when he found himself at the door, fumbling with the doorknob. He couldn’t imagine Joshua waking them up so abruptly, especially at this time, so the pirate couldn’t help the exhausted sigh that escaped his lips when he opened the door to none other than you.

“A fine morning to you, too,” you retorted, looking Seungcheol up and down for a brief second.

“Morning?” Soonyoung groused. “Us pirates require some daytime visibility before we consider it morning here.”

Seungkwan let out a tired grumble while still rubbing the sleep from his face. “Assassin, would it be so very difficult to let us sleep until the sun comes out?”

Seungcheol held the door open wider for you when he noticed the hard look in your eyes, signaling that you wouldn’t budge. He supposed whatever you had to say was only to be uttered behind closed doors.

You faced the four pirates and started, “The situation has escalated, so I must say this now. You told me that you would help me, so let me lay out our terms: We finish this mission, I help you find a ship to sail back to England, you give me back my amulet, and we go our separate ways. None of you will open your mouths about this arrangement—ever.”

Seokmin raised his hand.

You raised a brow. “Yes?”

“How would you know whether we choose to open our mouths or not?” The question was presumably a joke, judging by the way he turned back to look at Soonyoung and snicker, but there was zero amusement in your eyes.

“Well, if there is any suspicion of a threat, it will be swiftly eliminated. You will most likely find a blade shoved down your throat before you even think about opening your mouth. Understood?”

The color drained from Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan’s faces as they stupidly nodded along,

“I said we would help you,” Seungcheol said, folding his arms across his chest, “but you need to tell us what the bloody hell is going on first.”

“Something bad is about to happen here,” you said. “The Templars are planning a city-wide attack on the last day of Semana Santa. Domingo de Resurrección—the Resurrection of Christ. If we cannot stop them, everyone—and I mean everyone—is going to be forced into submission.”

“Templars?” Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “You mean the people Joshua spoke of last night? The Templar Order? Who exactly are they?”

“The Templars are a group that believe true peace can only be achieved through their control. They intend on eliminating the freedom of the people by imposing their own rules. They want to control humanity as a whole.”

Soonyoung, whose previously mortified expression had hardened into a more serious one, now had creases lining his forehead. “How could they possibly do that?”

“They found our Codex pages,” you answered grimly, “and they are using them to find the Pieces of Eden—ancient devices from the First Civilization, Isu, that hold an immeasurable amount of power. They can be used to influence human behavior, attain great power, control the mind… and we think they are here because they found the Apple of Eden.”

Seungcheol frowned. “The Apple of Eden?”

“That artifact is what they plan to use to control the minds of the masses that will be here for Semana Santa soon. The Apple grants the wielder the ability to control human minds and ensure absolute obedience. If they get their hands on it before we do, then our fate is no longer in our own hands.”

“That… that is simply ridiculous. They cannot—”

“Believe it or not, they most certainly can. These Pieces of Eden contain unmeasurable power far beyond mere human capabilities.”

“And these Code pages…”

“Codex pages,” you corrected. “They are ancient texts that contain Leonardo da Vinci’s greatest secrets, including the Pieces of Eden—what they do, how to use them, and even where they are. It was a grave mistake that they ever got in the wrong hands.”

“Da Vinci? The artist?”

Seokmin snapped his fingers. “The Last Supper.”

“Well, well, it seems we have a true patron of the arts among us,” Soonyoung mocked, nodding along as if he was greatly impressed.

“Artist, engineer, inventor—whichever you may call him,” you listed off. “I cannot reveal much, but he, too, refused to allow the Templar Order’s tyranny to persist.”

The weight of the conversation seemed to settle on all of their shoulders. It was difficult for Seungcheol to wrap his head around all your talk about classified manuscripts and ancient artifacts. Although the four of them were visibly more awake, there was a feeling of dread pitted in their stomachs. If what you were saying was the truth, then Seungcheol wouldn’t even have a home to sail back to if the Templar Order got what they wanted.

“So, where is this artifact?” the captain asked. “We must find it before they do, no?”

“That would be the… crux of the matter,” you muttered. “We need the Codex pages in order to do so, but I might have a lead: Yesterday, I was eavesdropping on the shopkeeper’s conversation with someone whom I suspected to be a Templar Knight. They were talking about where King Philip would be tonight.” You paused to shoot Seungcheol a cold glare. “Might I add, the shopkeeper you pulled me away from.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol blinked, feeling rather sheepish now. “Apologies.”

“So you weren’t stealing?” Soonyoung’s eyes were wide, looking between you and Seungcheol several times before flashing a sheepish grin. “Forgive our captain, will you? Thieving’s all we know.”

“I was trying to listen in, but he got suspicious and started a commotion,” you continued, huffing at the mere idea of excusing Seungcheol’s actions. “It is of no matter now. I still managed to find out where King Philip is going to be, and either the Apple of Eden is where he is, or…”

Seungkwan looked wary. “Or?”

“Or they already have it and want to get close to His Majesty to use the artifact on him.”

Seungcheol let out a dry laugh. “So, assassin, you expect us to believe that a fruit is going to be responsible for controlling our minds?” With those words, his crewmates’ nervousness dissolved, and they let out a few chuckles.

“It is not an actual apple, you blithering idiot,” you spat. “It’s… spherical, sort of like a dense metal ball, and it contains unmeasurable power. Do you know of Adam and Eve? The first humans of Genesis? They once used the Apple to wage war between the Isu and humans, so if it gets in the wrong hands, we are all doomed.”

The captain’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure how much of this he could fully believe, but you didn’t seem like you were lying. Either way, all he had to do was follow along until he had a ship to sail off on, so Seungcheol didn’t mind entertaining whatever this was for now.

“Do you have a plan, then? Do you know of King Philip’s whereabouts?” he asked you.

“There will be an opera performance tonight at the Alcázar. His Majesty will be in attendance, of course.”

“The Alcázar? And how exactly do you intend to get into the royal palace?”

There was a dangerous sparkle in your eyes. “You said thieving’s all you know?”

The pirates were, unfortunately, consistent with their image; Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were excellent at thieving, save for the times they started bickering in the middle of a heist.

The extravagant fashion of the nobility in Sevilla were often handcrafted by the most skilled modistas in the city. Rich silks sewed into elegant gowns and fitted justaucorps lined their shops, and the seamstresses were busying themselves with a plethora of requests from high society. As it was Holy Sunday, business was bustling since Sevilla had processions going on all day long. The upper class were attending gatherings after Mass and cultural events were held throughout the city, so the modistas were kept busy in their shops.

Of course, neither you nor the pirates had enough pesos or doblóns to afford such luxuries, so Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were tasked to rob three of the busiest workshops in the affluent districts. Seungcheol’s trust in them pulling this off was shaky, but you spent thirty minutes explaining exactly what they needed to bring back.

It was a surprisingly successful loot; Seokmin brought back a midnight blue silk gown that was embroidered with glittering beads of pearl while Soonyoung returned with a velvet long coat of a similar shade. Of course, blue was decided beforehand to stay discreet, but no one had expected the colors to be so alike. Unfortunately, Seungkwan was chased out, but he managed to snag a sapphire necklace set in silver.

“Cap’n,” Soonyoung marvelled, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye as he watched Seungcheol slide the black gloves over his hands, “you look like a sight for sore eyes.”

“Am I not always?”

“Since you are unarmed, I will answer that,” he said. “When we were out at sea for months on end, some days I mistook you to be a drowned rat.”

“Ah, you need not worry. That does not bother me, friend.” Seungcheol smiled good-naturedly. “I mistake you for that every day.”

The plan was not quite as simple as you made it out to be; you and Seungcheol were to dress the part of the nobility—enough to be let into the King’s palace without suspicion—and sneak into his study when the opportunity arose. Seungcheol wasn’t sure what exactly they were looking for, but he was confident that he could pull off the polished look of a nobleman.

The men of the upper classes often wore powdered wigs to show off their wealth, but Seungcheol had to settle for grooming the unkempt, tangled mess of locks on his head. He soaked his hair in the wash basin until he could run his fingers through it without them getting stuck, and then after borrowing some pomade off Joshua, Seungcheol styled his hair back into a ponytail. A few curls fell onto his forehead, but as much as he tried to slick them back, they were too difficult to tame.

He managed to shave his overgrown facial hair down to a stubble, although now the pirate couldn’t do much to hide his scar that ran down the upper half of his face. Still, he was undeniably more put together now. Hopefully enough to disguise himself amongst the elites of Sevilla.

The sun was set to dip below the horizon when Seungcheol knocked at your door. He felt strange in his new getup, but when you opened the door to reveal a remarkably polished appearance—charcoal-lined eyes and rouge-tinted lips accompanied by your flowing dress—the captain suddenly felt like a mere sailor admiring a mermaid of the deep.

The look he gave you surely wasn't affection but perhaps something a few degrees beyond basic interest.

“Ah,” you remarked, giving him a once-over and humming in approval. “You clean up well, Captain.”

His mouth felt too dry to respond, so Seungcheol simply gave you a polite nod and entered your room when you held the door open wider. You were a few inches taller because of your heels now, but the volume of your skirt was what really made you stand out. It was impossible to imagine how you looked before after he’d seen you like this.

“I’m nearly ready,” you said, picking up the sapphire necklace and holding it to your neck. “Could I trouble you for some help? This is a bit difficult…”

After a pause, you cleared your throat and Seungcheol realized that he had been staring at the floorboards for far too long.

He sucked in a breath. “Right. Could you move your hair?”

After taking the delicate jewels from your hands, Seungcheol waited for you to move your hair off the back of your neck so that he could fasten the chain around your neck. He moved so that he was standing right behind you, right where he could see the curve of your cheek and the way your chest rose and fell. Then, he moved the necklace around you and pulled the ends back to clasp them together. His fingers brushed against your skin as he did so, and although he felt like he was holding his breath the entire time, the task was successfully accomplished without Seungcheol staring at your nape for too long.

“There,” he said in a quieter, deeper voice.

You fixed the chain to position the gem at the center of your chest. “Shall we get going, then?” You walked toward the window and gestured for him to head out first.

“Surely, we are not to take the window as our exit?” He almost laughed at how inelegant it felt compared to how they were dressed.

“It would be best that we’re not seen. I would rather not be questioned on how we got our hands on these clothes.”

“Very well.” Seungcheol pushed open the pane and gestured for you to go on ahead. “Ladies first.”

The Puerta de la Montería was the grand entrance to the Alcazár. The high-rise stone walls separated the ornate palace from the bustling city, and the Gate of the Hunt was flanked by two lion statues that appeared to guard the entryway.

Seungcheol used to study architecture in his spare time. His aunt was a patron of the arts, and she gifted him several books on the art of construction and composition—guides to Baroque and Palladin design that Seungcheol spent nights flipping through and immersing himself in. He loved architecture for the same reason he loved art; they were both so intertwined in the way they echoed cultural shifts across time.

The course of history—the very passage of time—was something he could witness from the mast of his ship, even; it was in art, the world around him, and the everchanging architecture from the lands he traversed.

As they approached the entrance, he asked you, “Are we again pretending to be a married couple?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As we did in the square,” Seungcheol pointed out as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you recall, mi corazón?”

The withering look on your face nearly made him snort.

“Unfortunately, I do remember,” you replied, “and, yes, it appears we have no other choice.”

You slowed your pace to follow Seungcheol’s lead, but he grabbed your wrist before you could fall behind. “No,” he insisted, “we walk together.” He let go of you once you were by his side again.

“Fine.”

“And if we are to keep up this… charade,” he started again, “I must at least get your name.”

“Ah, I never gave you my name, have I?”

Seungcheol had only thought of referring to you as “the assassin” until now, and the very idea of you having an actual name had completely slipped his mind.

“You have not,” he answered. “Are you allowed to disclose that?”

“Of all the matters I have had to disclose thus far, my name is the least worrisome. It is of no significance nor am I very fond of it, but you may call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he echoed. “A lovely name—very fierce.”

“Look at that tower over there. Is it not a fine sight?”

“Changing the subject, are you?”

You sneered. “Take the hint, will you?”

“Well, if a shift in conversation is what you desire, I could go on at length about the architecture here.”

He was only half-serious, assuming you would find the topic to be completely dull, but your eyes twinkled with interest. “Do go on.”

“This palace was once a fort called the Dar al-Imara,” he explained as you two passed through the stone archway, following behind the couple that were well ahead of them. After receiving a nod of acknowledgement from the guards, they were permitted to pass through the gatehouse. Seungcheol didn’t realize he had been so on edge until he felt like he could raise his head high again. “It was home to the Abbadid king at the time.”

You quirked a brow at him. “How do you know that?”

“I know more than you think—I travel, I read, I study. There is only so much the world can hide from someone.”

A pause, then you said, “I see now. To be frank, I thought you spoke in a way that was more akin to a professor than a pirate. The innkeeper spoke of you as a feared captain whose name struck terror across the seven seas, but you are quite unlike the pirates I have encountered. It is not for the better nor for the worse; you are simply… not the kind of man I expected you to be.”

Seungcheol couldn’t respond for a minute, and perhaps it was because you hit the nail on the head. He was in academia long before he had turned to a life of piracy, so he had never been able to quite let go of the way he articulated himself for most of his life. It had always gone unnoticed, though, so he hadn’t ever expected it to be brought up. Not from someone whose name he didn’t even know.

“Never mind that, though,” you added, seeing how reluctant the captain was to answer.

The two of you were silent as you watched through the courtyard, quietly admiring the cypress trees that hung over the crystal pools. Silent chatter and the running water from the fountains filled his ears. Among the noblemen around him, Seungcheol felt like he was just playing dress-up even as he adorned himself in the finest silks and satins.

“I do have a question,” you continued once more. “How did you recognize the mark on my amulet?”

You must have been referring to the assassin’s insignia that Seungcheol still wore around his neck, tucked inside his garments. It didn’t feel right to leave it at the tavern, but it was all the more dangerous if he was caught with it here.

As for his answer, Seungcheol saw no reason to lie.

“My aunt was once a pirate,” he said. “After she left that life behind to raise me, she only kept a few treasures to herself. That amulet with that particular engraving was one of them.”

A horrified look crossed your face. “Then she…” You didn’t finish, but the implication in your tone was clear enough to him.

“There was no blood spilled for it to land in her possession, if that was where your assumptions were going,” Seungcheol replied firmly. He remembered it as clear as day—the memory of his aunt kissing the amulet, believing her nephew to be asleep at the time. “It belonged to someone dear to her, otherwise she wouldn’t have safeguarded it.”

His response seemed to absolve your misunderstanding, but then your interest was captured by something else entirely. “Your aunt was a pirate?”

“She was,” Seungcheol said with a surge of pride filling his chest. “She pretended to be a man most of her life because of it, but they eventually accepted her as she was.”

“What happened to her?”

“The Royal Navy told her she would be pardoned for her crimes against the Crown so long as she joined their forces to take down Wukou ships that were targeting their merchants. After they got what they wanted, they got rid of her. Never saw her or her corpse again. Simple as that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol met your gaze. “Are you now?”

“I am,” you insisted, and he swore he could see a hint of sympathy in your eyes. “She must have been a brave and honorable woman.”

“Never thought I would hear someone use the word honorable by a pirate’s name.” From an assassin, no less. Before you opened your mouth to protest, he continued, “I jest. Thank you for saying that—really. It means a lot to hear someone speak well of her.”

It must have been ages since Seungcheol spoke about his aunt openly. He loved her deeply, but it was a sore subject that he treaded carefully on. The last time he had been this open about his feelings, it was after having downed a bottle of whiskey on a particularly dreary night on The Golden Corsair. He had locked himself in the map room, too, so that no one would see him in such a fragile state.

“Do you have a plan on sneaking into the study, by chance?” he asked. “Or are we entering Hell?”

“I do not believe that is appropriate to say on Holy Monday.”

“I do not believe sneaking into the royal palace is very appropriate, either.”

You gave him a pointed look. “We did not sneak; they saw fit to let us enter. Now, hold your arm out for me when we go up these steps here.”

Seungcheol did as you told him to, and you placed your right arm over his left to make your way up the staircase to the Salón de Embajadores, or Hall of Ambassadors. He couldn’t help but notice how measured and graceful your pace was, while Seungcheol felt as though he was scrambling to match your stride as elegantly as possible. Yet, he couldn’t match how effortlessly you managed to carry yourself.

The ceiling of intricate Mudéjar woodwork and geometric patterns caught Seungcheol’s eye first. The Hall of Ambassadors was certainly fit for a royal audience with how the grand stage was illuminated in the vast room. The rest of the venue was packed with velvet cushions for the guests’ seating, and there was a throne for King Philip V at the back wall. His seat was on an elevated platform—perfect for you and Seungcheol to keep close watch on him throughout the show.

The king hadn’t yet arrived by the time the room was starting to fill up. Seungcheol wondered if he would make his grand entrance later on, and just as he lost himself in thoughts of how uncomfortable his clothes were, the audience rose to bow in the presence of the monarch.

“It’s His Majesty,” Seungcheol mumbled, nudging your side with his elbow. His eagerness got the better of him and he wound up elbowing you far too aggressively.

“Ow.” You shot him a venomous look and muttered under your breath, “Perhaps you have not been around many, but it is improper to jab a lady!”

“A lady? But are you not an—”

For lack of better wording, Seungcheol decided to hold his tongue. He figured it was the wiser choice to not reveal your rather scandalous occupation in a public setting—the royal palace, no less.

A reverent silence filled the room as His Majesty passed by the nobles and elites to make his way to the empty throne. Next to him, you stiffened. A chill went down the pirate’s spine when he made brief eye contact with the King, realizing he had forgotten to lower his eyes out of respect.

His eyes… something wasn’t quite right about them.

With King Philip and his men now at the back of the room, Seungcheol saw this as the perfect opportunity to slip away. “Now is our chance,” he told you as he sat down in synchronization with the rest of the guests.

“You cannot possibly be thinking about making our move now,” you returned in a low voice. “We must wait until the time is right. For now, we are spectators.”

Seungcheol couldn't help the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips.

It was a slip of the tongue, but he really couldn’t be bothered to sit through an entire show. On his ship, his men entertained the crew with jigs that any sailor could bellow at the top of their lungs. Not that Seungcheol had witnessed many opera performances in his life, but he wasn't too keen on sitting through hours of the grating sound in his ears. It must have been an acquired taste, one for the upper class, and Seungcheol simply hadn't developed an ear for such music.

He imagined his reaction would earn a glare from you, or maybe even a stab wound in the gut. You would surely rattle on about the importance of your mission until Seungcheol’s ears bled (and all before the opera performance even started!), so he braced himself for your wrath.

But then you giggled.

He couldn't believe his ears. Seungcheol thought he would be less intimidated if you pointed your blade at his throat instead.

“Your impatience is truly remarkable,” you said in a hushed voice. “You mean to tell me they made you captain?”

“Oh, you must hear of my adventures, mi corazón. There was no question that I would become captain.”

“I see your abysmal lack of subtlety was not a deciding factor. We are pretending to be part of this world, remember?”

His gaze dropped to where he could see a glint of steel at your wrist. It was something that would've been altered to match your measurements had you put in the request yourself, but since your dress was really adjusted for some other noblewoman (who was most likely very distressed about her missing gown right now), the sleeves were a size too big on you.

“My lack of subtlety? Sweetheart”—Seungcheol moved closer so that he could push the sharp tip of your blade further up your arm—“you could do a better job yourself.”

This seemed to properly fluster you, and you huffed before fixing your sleeve and turning your attention back to the stage.

“That was intentional,” you made sure to note under your breath.

“Oh, yes—certainly.”

“It was hardly visible.”

“If you insist.”

“Has anyone ever told you what a piece of work you are?”

“No,” the captain said. “I have received no such complaints. Rather, the number of women I have unknowingly charmed is quite troublesome. That must be my only shortcoming.” Noting the unimpressed look on your face, he smiled and lowered his voice to quote, “But, ‘what a piece of work is a man,’ no?”

You raised a brow. “Hamlet?”

“Oh? Have you seen it? I was lucky enough to watch it at the Theatre Royal in London a few years back. Had a business partner who—”

But you were no longer paying attention to him. Right as Seungcheol was about to explain how he got the tickets, you pressed a finger to his lips and hushed him. Normally, he would be baffled by such a bold move, but instead he followed your gaze to where King Philip was whispering orders to the palace guards stationed around him. The lights dimmed and the opera singer walked to the front of the stage, rousing applause and cheers from the audience, but Seungcheol had a strange feeling that the auditorium wasn’t safe.

One by one, he noticed, the king’s palace guards stalked off to examine the rows of seats.

“They cannot possibly be suspicious of us already,” Seungcheol whispered—more as a joke, initially—but his amusement dropped from his face when he added, “can they?”

“I’d rather not test our luck,” you replied, peering over your shoulder to scan the perimeter for any discreet exits. He felt your lips ghost the shell of his ear. “Stand up and hold your arm out for me. If anyone asks, I felt faint and you were simply accompanying me outside for fresh air.”

“That will draw attention.”

“Naturally. You must have noticed how flattering this gown is on me.”

Seungcheol paused. “I have, but—”

“Good, so we are in agreement, then?” you hissed through your teeth. “Stand up.”

“We were not spectators for very long, were we?” Seungcheol returned miserably before he stood up, straightening his back and extending his arm out to you. He had been the one dreading sitting through an opera performance, but he was starting to prefer the vocalist over the palace guards hunting them down.

Seungcheol owed their hasty escape to how dark the room was. The few attendees in their row were disgruntled by the movement, but they managed to leave through the exit as quietly as they entered. The palace was eerily vacant with everyone in the Hall of Ambassadors, and you were making a great effort to keep your wooden heels from clacking against the marble.

“Follow me,” you said under your breath before dragging Seungcheol by the wrist. He allowed you to tug him down the hallway and to the stairwell.

“What are you looking for?”

“His study.”

“Right now?”

Seungcheol stood firmly in place so that you would stop pulling him along. However, you simply let go of him and headed up the steps on your own. He sighed deeply and followed after you.

“Pray tell, what were you expecting? Did you think I was taking you for dinner and a show?”

Seungcheol, feeling his face grow warm, opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “Hold on for a moment. We cannot possibly just barge in. This is risky.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned on Seungcheol in the middle of the stairwell. “I thought I made it clear that this would be dangerous. If you value your life so much, then leave me behind and run, but I will not be stopping here.”

With that, you bunched up your skirt in fistfuls and kept walking upstairs. For the first time in Seungcheol’s life, he felt like had so much more to lose than his life. He had already lost countless men, his ship, and his pride. All he had left were three members of his crew and his own resolution to make it back to England, to bring some closure and peace to the families of the deceased pirates. He thought that since he was punished to keep living, he would at least do one last thing for his men and make it back alive.

But Captain Choi Seungcheol would never dare leave an ally behind to save his own skin.

Pirates had long been generalized as ruffians who only sought to pillage and plunder. That may have rang true for some, but for pirates like Seungcheol, who lived off of the thrill of adventure, words like yours only left him with adrenaline pumping through his body. Perhaps he was itching to feel that exhilaration once again.

Nimble on his feet, he jogged to catch up with you, crossing two steps at a time. You hardly made any gesture to acknowledge that he decided against turning his back on you, but Seungcheol swore he caught a small smile on your face before you turned to scan the perimeter.

The second floor seemed deserted, but there were so many doors that Seungcheol already felt discouraged at the prospect of finding the King’s study. He leaned against the frame of the arched window behind him, peering over his shoulder to catch sight of the palace guards prowling at the entrance. He supposed they had been alerted to be on the lookout.

As much as Seungcheol tried to push it down to think about later, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering just how the King and his men even caught onto them. He looked up at the paintings that lined the walls, staring right at the portrait of King Philip V. The pirate felt like he was being watched the same way the Bourbon King’s dark eyes bore into his.

That was a concern for later, though; the predicament at hand was enough to make the pirate’s head hurt. There were so many doors that Seungcheol couldn’t see how they could possibly find—

“There it is,” he heard you say, much to his bewilderment.

“How were you able to find it so quickly?”

“Come, pirate.”

“Captain,” Seungcheol corrected in a grumble as he followed you inside the study. He closed the door behind him as quietly as possible, fingertips twisting the doorknob as if it were glass. “I would much rather you call me by my name. There is something that irks me about your formalities, for some reason.”

“Very well, pirate.”

Seungcheol waited until your back was turned to roll his eyes at your stubborn attitude. He decided to change the topic, asking, “Say, what do those—er… code pages look like?”

“Codex pages, and I would not know. I’ve only heard of them.”

“What?” He looked askance at you. “How in God’s name are we supposed to find them, then?”

You were currently sifting through the papers that you pulled out from the folding front of the King’s bureau. Seungcheol could feel all hope for the success of this mission slowly dwindle as you simply shrugged in response.

“So,” he started when it got awfully quiet, “you mentioned you watched Hamlet? I had no idea there were theatre companies performing Shakespeare here. Lope de Vega has been quite a sensation in Sevilla, or so I’ve heard.”

“You sure have a great deal to say.” Your tone was flat, and although you turned your head to continue skimming through the papers, you answered, “I’ve seen it in Paris. My mother took me when I was younger.”

“Your mother must—”

“She is of no concern to you.”

A subject most delicate, was what Seungcheol gathered.

Then, you leapt to your feet with an excited gasp. “Seungcheol, look!”

He knew very well that you would intentionally avoid using his name if he pointed it out, so Seungcheol stayed quiet. However, if he was more honest with himself, he would’ve admitted that his heart jumped because of how you called his name rather than whatever your discovery was.

“Is it the Codex pages?”

“No, but these are official plans for Domingo de Resurrección. This is written proof that they are using that sacred day for something wicked,” you told him in an urgent breath, crossing over to his side to hand him the papers. Seungcheol ran his finger down the page, frowning as he skimmed over various decrees about regulating personal freedoms. “This is what they will announce and everyone will fall under their control. As long as they have the Apple, the people are doomed.”

“See this?” you went on, mortified. “The Templar Order intends to strip everyone of their freedom. They want to create a world controlled only by them.”

Seungcheol could hardly believe his eyes. The fine print read that refusing to comply with the new set of laws was punishable by law; that personal freedoms to choose one's occupation and future spouse would be restricted; that education would be manipulated to ban readings that promoted individualism and free thought! He had always known not to trust those in power, but this was corruption rooted deeper than Seungcheol thought was possible. It went far past the soil and embedded itself in the bedrock.

It infuriated him beyond belief. Made his gut roil with hot acid.

His aunt died because she was a pirate—died at the filthy hands of royal scum—and Seungcheol was never able to avenge her. It was almost laughable that he thought he could ever do anything about it, and now they would be able to cover up their dirty work entirely.

And they were planning to censor the very knowledge from books? That was right—a human who couldn’t speak freely would end up fighting desperately to express themselves somehow. The Templar needed to control the very thoughts and beliefs of the people, too. Limiting the opinions and perspectives from certain readings would certainly inflict a controlled worldview upon everyone.

The entire scheme was preposterous. It went against everything Seungcheol stood for, and he just felt wronged to lose so much in so little time. How could he possibly stand by and allow this to happen?

“You… you are certain of this, correct?” he asked, almost in a single breath. “Can the Apple truly manipulate minds like that?”

“It has been done before—many times over many years. It will start here, and it will spread across nations. The Templar’s reign will become ceaseless.”

His hands shook a little. He had to keep himself from gripping the sides of the pages too hard. If Seungcheol even lost a fraction of the self-restraint he was using right now, he would end up crumpling the papers and tearing them to shreds.

“It truly is much more pleasant when you are oblivious to it,” you continued in a sort of wistful tone, a mirthless smile on your lips. “You cannot stop a man consumed by greed; if he wants power, he will do anything for it.”

“What is the use of throwing away the world for power? When you come to realize that all has been lost in the pursuit of your own desires, then what remains?” After a beat, Seungcheol added, “What I mean to say is, they cannot get away with this.”

You gave him an uneasy look before thumbing through the stack of papers, pulling one of them out to show Seungcheol. It didn’t seem to be an official document, but it was a written outline of the events that would take place on Easter Sunday.

“It says here that they plan on using La Giralda for their announcement,” you pointed out. “I want to put an end to this, too, but we only have days.”

The pirate shook his head and scoffed. He, of course, had studied the history behind the Giralda Tower after his first visit to Sevilla. The great bell tower was positioned right next to the Sevilla Cathedral. Back when the cathedral was known as the Almohad mosque, it originally functioned as a minaret where a muezzin would call for prayer five times a day. How ironic that they were planning to manipulate everyone into submission at the same location where Christianity was imposed in order to erase Islamic tradition and culture.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol spat, “and I thought they could not possibly go any lower.” He bit down on his lower lip (far too harshly for he tasted blood almost immediately) while his brows furrowed. “Is it apparent when one is under the Apple’s influence? Visibly, I mean.”

“I am not entirely certain. It’s said there is a certain gleam in their eyes, as if they glow,” you confirmed before your expression darkened. “Why do you ask?”

“Earlier, when the King walked into the room,” he started. “I had a strange feeling when our eyes met…”

“Congratulations. It must be love at first sight.”

He fixed you with a glare. “Enough of that. I cannot explain it, but there was something off about the look in his eyes. It was exactly like they were glowing, like he had been possessed.”

“That must mean the Apple is already in their hands,” you said, and although you spoke calmly, there was undeniable horror in your words, “and the person controlling His Majesty is here.”

“Then we must find them!”

Although he spoke with a sense of unwavering determination, Seungcheol’s eyes unfocused and drifted to the window panel behind you. It was strangely perfect timing, but the distraction in the corner of his vision happened to be someone who looked undeniably dodgy. The pirate observed the odd person sneaking around the palace grounds with knitted brows as you spoke.

“We must, but it could be anyone.”

“Or it could be that suspicious gentleman lurking around the building,” he pointed out, jerking his thumb out the triple-pane window in the direction of the mysterious figure donning a white tunic that fell to their knees. The Cross of the Templar Order was branded right across their chest in a brilliant red.

You whirled around to peer out the window. Sure enough, your eyes grew as big as saucers at the sight, and Seungcheol had to grab your arm before you turned to hurry out the door. He had caught the figure just in time, and whoever it was appeared to be slipping out of the palace grounds undetected.

“That mark on his robes—it’s a Templar Knight,” you breathed out, attempting to wriggle your arm out of the pirate’s grip.

“Wait a moment,” Seungcheol said.

“But we must get down there before he leaves!”

“First, we need to put the papers back where they belong,” he reminded, letting go of you to walk over to the desk. He then froze at the sight of the King’s bureau. “Where did you come across them again?”

“It was right—ah, hold on, allow me.”

And perhaps it was because Seungcheol was so overwhelmed by the load of information about the King’s plans that he hardly noticed the palace guard opening the door to the study. By the time they were gawking at the man from behind the King’s desk, the pirate knew this would end badly. He only hoped that there weren’t reinforcements following suit, but judging by the shock across the man’s face, it appeared that he just so happened to stumble across them while he was doing his rounds.

A scornful look clouded the guard’s face, his sharp gaze moving to the papers in your hand. “What business do you have here?” Not quite a question that waited for an answer, but a warning of what was to come.

“Er…” Seungcheol paused. The situation they were in was not ideal; he had no weapons to defend himself, the assassin wasn’t doing much to feign innocence, and the palace guard before them was built like a beast. “We were trying to find the water closet,” he tried, careful. “I suppose this is not it.”

“Intruders,” the guard spat, guttural and dark, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard. “You have committed the grave crime of lèse-majestè, for which you must answer to His Majesty the King.”

“I do believe we just did far more than simply insult the King.” Seungcheol said, just barely loud enough for you to hear. “Is it really that serious of an offense?”

“It was merely contrived by men to spare them from criticism,” you replied in a dismissive, flat tone.

Seungcheol circled around the desk, starting, “Listen, we just—”

Before he could get any other words out, the guard raised his blade and swung in their direction, managing to land a blow on a vase and shatter it. He dodged just in time to narrowly avoid the attack, but he needed to disarm the guard before things got out of hand. Someone would surely hear if they didn't silence him quickly. Judging by the lack of reinforcements, Seungcheol was assured that the guard hadn't called for assistance yet.

He took the wind-up for the next swing as an opportunity to tackle the guard, driving his shoulder against the man’s gut to shove him to the floor. If Seungcheol had his cutlass, this battle would’ve been decided already, but he was now struggling to pry the sword from the guard’s fingers.

The guard kneed Seungcheol in the side of his ribs, which the pirate returned the favor by swinging his arm to deliver a heavy punch to the man’s jaw. His sides ached, but the adrenaline was keeping the pirate from keeling over. His attacker let out a ragged breath, panting and wriggling desperately to free himself. When his lips parted, presumably to call for help, Seungcheol struck him right in the mouth.

He was so caught up in pummeling the guard into unconsciousness that he just barely noticed the blade pressing against his midsection. Seungcheol caught the guard’s wrist just before the sharp tip was about to be plunged into his flesh.

He then felt a searing pain in skull, soon realizing that the guard had bashed his forehead against his and pinned him to the ground. Seungcheol was hardly able to make out anything but scattered bursts of light behind his eyes that wasn’t quite enough to stop him from grabbing ahold of the guard’s wrist again, stopping him from driving his sword into the pirate’s chest.

They struggled to fend each other off, gritting their teeth and mustering all of their strength to overpower the other. Seungcheol’s palms were being cleaved into by the sharp edge of the blade, but he had no choice but to grip the blade to keep himself from being slain. The tip of the sword pressed deeper and deeper against his sternum, daring to break skin and bleed crimson. Seungcheol felt his pulse in his neck jump dangerously as he tried to keep the guard from spearing through his chest.

He couldn’t just die here. This couldn’t all be for nothing.

But just when he thought it was the end of the line for him, the guard stilled. The sword slipped from his hands so helplessly, as if all the strength had seeped through his body at once, and the blade slid to the ground with a clatter. Seungcheol watched him teeter, stagger, and then draw in a shaky breath that sounded more like a death rattle in his ears. He coughed once, spraying blood against Seungcheol’s face, and then he fully collapsed on top of the pirate.

Dazed, he pushed the heavy corpse off his body, letting the guard’s body slowly bleed out on the floor of the study. The guard’s bleary eyes stared at the heavens above, unblinking. A burning sensation radiated from Seungcheol’s palms, white-hot anguish that nearly overwhelmed his senses.

At the same time, you came into view above him. Seungcheol watched as you used the guard’s uniform to wipe off the remaining blood from your blade. Then, you flicked your wrist, triggering some mechanism that allowed for the weapon to retract back into your sleeve.

“Now that he has been dealt with, shall we be on our way?”

He thoughtlessly wiped the fresh blood that stained his face, although it didn’t do much considering his hands were still bloodied, too. “Ah, yes,” he responded. “Er, thank you—for saving me.”

“We were compromised. There was no other choice,” you said as you spied from the corner of the window. “The Templar Knight is gone, but he might not have gotten far. We must leave before someone discovers us with… the body.”

“Agreed.”

Seungcheol wasn’t quite sure whether it was because he was drunk off the combat or whether he was still disoriented from a near-death experience, but he grabbed the King’s papers with blood-stained hands and crumpled them into his pockets before they snuck out again.

Unfortunately, the Templar Knight was long gone.

It was a pity, but Seungcheol had to bring you to see reason first, telling you that there was no point in chasing someone who left no trail. He understood your urgency, though. The King would soon discover that his papers were missing and one of his guards had been killed, and then there would be a bounty on both of your heads soon (if they ever managed to figure out the perpetrators).

There were five days left until Easter Sunday. They needed to find a way to stop the Templar Order by then.

As Seungcheol cradled his glass of rum at The Sleeping Bull, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way King Philip’s eyes glowed. It was something so subtle, like it could almost be mistaken as a trick of the light, but there was nothing in the room that could have reflected such a color.

There were a lot more guests occupying the rooms in the tavern now. Joshua was right when he said that more people would be coming in for Semana Santa. Earlier, when Seungcheol snuck back in through the window of your room, he had to wait an unbearably long time for the hallway to clear out so that he could hurry into his room. Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung nearly yelled at the way their captain barged in without warning.

He haphazardly stripped off his clothes, bunching them up and tossing them in a heap under the bed. His hands were still imbrued with blood, and although Seungcheol was no stranger to the sight, he couldn’t stop thinking about how the situation could’ve gone differently. Perhaps they wouldn’t have made it back if it wasn’t just the one guard that walked in.

It was pitch-black outside now—brilliant hues of sunset lost to a shroud of darkness. Sevilla was still in its rainy season, so the rainstorm that plagued the night wouldn’t stop pounding in his ears. He could hear claps of thunder every now and then, and surprisingly, Seungcheol never felt more comfortable. There had been countless storms they braved on The Golden Corsair, but the captain quite liked the feeling of being soaked to the bone and vulnerable under the sky.

While he was lost in his own head, Seungcheol looked up to see Joshua setting down a small pouch in front of him, tossing the rag he had just used to wipe down the bar over his shoulder. “Your, er… companion requested this earlier—the pretty one. I thought it best to hand it off to you.”

“Are you making me do your work, you bastard?”

“You expect me to deliver this to your lover at such an hour?”

“Lover?” He barked out a laugh. “Do not jest.”

The innkeeper’s gentle eyes widened in a scandalized fashion. “Is she not? Then, could she be a lady of the night? A secret paramour, perhaps?”

Seungcheol snorted. “Not a chance. I suppose you could call us… partners.” It was silent for a beat, then he asked, “Do you assume every woman’s occupation has to do with serving a man?”

“Of course not. I just know you are not the type to entertain someone without reason.”

A wicked grin stretched across the captain’s face. “We have been friends for many years now, Joshua, and yet you think so lowly of me? But, I must confess, me and her are of mutual benefit to each other. I think I shall keep her near for the time being.”

Of course, the actual reason had to do with matters that he could not explain to Joshua just yet. He trusted the man deeply—after all, Joshua Hong was the man who put up with his pirate crew for years and risked his life to shelter them from authorities—but whatever was going on seemed far too complicated to get the innkeeper involved. For his friend’s own safety, Seungcheol decided he would keep this to himself.

“She is quite a mysterious one,” Joshua ruminated, “perhaps as mysterious as the King himself.”

Oh?

“The King?”

“Have you heard of the whispers concerning his children?”

Seungcheol kept a calm and even tone as he spoke, “Oh, yes, I caught word of his son passing away recently. Smallpox, correct?”

Joshua’s mouth set in a grim line. “Indeed. It truly is such a shame.”

“Eight alive and three dead—still good odds, I reckon.”

“And one is said to be in hiding, or so it is rumored,” Joshua added. “Word has it that his second wife loathes the children of his first. The story goes that the King, so fond of his first daughter, took it upon himself to hide her away, fearing the Queen’s fury might one day fall upon her.”

Seungcheol let out a snort before taking a swig of his rum. “Now, that is a proper mess of family affairs, if I ever heard one.”

“Curious, is it not? Five children sired by his first wife—three dead, one in hiding, and only one son left unharmed. There is something most peculiar about Her Majesty.”

No matter what Joshua told him, however, Seungcheol couldn’t find it in himself to care about the state of the King’s family matters. A bad person was a bad person—point blank. If this rumor really was true, though, then perhaps that meant the Queen was also someone worth looking into. After all, there had been whispers of her control over court politics due to her husband’s declining mental stability.

“Yet,” Joshua went on to say, “at the very least, His Majesty has not made a mess of Spain like the Habsburgs did.”

“Not much remains to be spoiled, I daresay. What does the King do for the poor, for education, or for the economy?” Perhaps his words were especially charged because of the information they found in His Majesty’s study earlier, but Seungcheol was sure he was saying what needed to be said. “Look at how splendid the processions for Semana Santa are! People from vast lands could come to see them, yet the monarchy does nothing to share such marvels with the world.”

The innkeeper nodded in understanding. “And what a pity it is. There must be order, if we are to make progress. Without reformation, we shall remain stagnant.” He leaned back and sighed. “Yet, thus far, Sevilla has much to improve.”

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by one of the hostlers, Lee Chan, who came rushing in for Joshua’s assistance. Apparently, the horses were panicking because of the storm and they needed extra hands. Seungcheol was left to finish the rest of his drink in silence, quietly observing the guests who were gorging down their dinners.

Interestingly enough, the same man from the previous night was sitting quietly in the corner.

Yoon Jeonghan.

After some minutes of pondering on what the mysterious stranger’s intentions were (which led him nowhere), Seungcheol grabbed the pouch that Joshua had left and retired to his bedchamber. Seokmin was sound asleep, his snores filling the room, while Soonyoung and Seungkwan were playing cards in the corner.

He would bring the pouch to you in the morning, he decided. It was far too late for him to be knocking at a lady’s door, especially at an inn, of all places.

Once Seungcheol laid down, he tried getting some shut-eye. He wanted to do nothing but succumb to his exhaustion, but his mind was restless; all that raced through his head was you, the King, and the Templar Order. Tonight was a lot colder—a lot more dreary, too. Maybe it was because of the uneven flooring, or maybe it was because the flickering light from the candle couldn’t quite reach him, but Seungcheol found it difficult to get comfortable and allow himself to succumb to his exhaustion.

The only comfort he had was having his crewmates in the same room as him. It was something he would never admit out loud, oh no, but he had gotten far too used to having company. Back on his ship, whenever Seungcheol got restless at night, he could easily find a few of the men on his ship to keep him company. Since they operated on a watch system, there would always be pirates awake to attend to navigating the ship or keeping watch, or the occasional ones who were off-shift that the captain could drink and sing sea shanties with.

Seungcheol begrudgingly came to the conclusion that he couldn’t quite cope with being alone. That was perhaps why he set off as soon as he lost his aunt. He would’ve taken walking off the plank and plunging into unforgiving, icy waters rather than having no one.

The draft from the window wasn’t helping his spiraling thoughts. Seungcheol felt the chill down to his bones and each time he exhaled, curls of silvery vapor dissipated into the air. When he got up to try slamming it shut, the window pane would stay in place for a couple seconds before flying open again.

“The latch is faulty, Cap’n,” Soonyoung said. “We meant to mention it to Joshua in the morning.”

He grabbed the edges of the curtains. “Let me just draw the—”

Seungcheol went completely still when he noticed a figure standing several yards away, cloaked by the darkness. It was the same man from earlier: Yoon Jeonghan. The captain couldn't tell what the strange man was up to, but Jeonghan was just quietly observing the perimeter as he stood on the cobblestone pathway. Perhaps he was just lost in his thoughts as he was passing by, but this late at night?

And he was suspiciously close to the window closest to his—your window.

“What is it?” Soonyoung asked after Seungcheol closed the curtains in a flash. “Has the curtain torn, too?”

“There is a man right outside her window,” he said.

“Whose window?”

“The assassin’s.” The captain started making his way to the door. “I must warn her.”

Seungkwan grimaced. “Warn the assassin? You should be warning the man.”

Seungcheol initially let the words pass over his head as a quip, but after knocking on your door and watching it creak open, the pirate captain started to question who the real danger was when your hand flew out from the shadows to grab him by the front of the shirt. In a flash, you swung Seungcheol around and pushed him up against the wall, kicking your door closed with the heel of your foot.

The sharp tip of a blade was pressing against the side of his neck, right near his jugular vein. The only move Seungcheol dared to make was to open his eyes, meeting your fierce glare.

“What the hell are you doing outside my door?” you demanded, your breath hot against his skin.

He really should’ve told Yoon Jeonghan to be careful instead.

“Warning you about the person outside your window,” he returned with a grumble. “Mind putting the blade down, sweetheart?”

With a flick of your wrist, the blade retracted back into your sleeve—the same fashion you wielded the weapon earlier. Now that Seungcheol could process it properly, it was rather marvellous; he had never seen such a weapon. The contraption allowed your blade to remain unseen with a simple flourish of your arm. So this was the stealth of an assassin.

Still, he was slightly unsettled by the fact that you kept your blade under your bedgown.

“I noticed him not long ago. I drew the curtains before he could steal a look.” You pulled back, leaving Seungcheol to readjust his shirt around his frame. “What are you telling me for, anyway? Must I go take care of him?”

He realized that “taking care” of Jeonghan most likely meant something tragic and irreversible.

“Er—no, don’t act rashly.”

Seungcheol’s eyes hardened. This was clearly a dangerous situation for you, and he didn’t think he would be able to get a good night’s sleep knowing that he left you with someone suspicious loitering outside your window. But, for one, the pirate valued his life enough to not sleep in the same room as an assassin. Secondly, it was highly improper for him to share a room with an unmarried woman—wait, what if you were married? Choi Seungcheol, you poor excuse of a man, it would be improper either way!—not that the pirate cared much about social expectations or his reputation, anyway.

“How about I stay here for the night?” he proposed.

You gawked at him. “I beg your pardon? Stay here?”

“I feel uneasy about that man outside. It is best you do not stay here alone, lest you wake up to trouble.”

“But that is… that is completely out of the question—and indecent.”

“Need I remind you that I am a pirate and you are an assassin? I cannot say either of us are very proper to begin with.”

“Regardless, I can take care of myself perfectly fine.”

“I never said you could not.”

You gave him a strange stare, as if you were searching for a sign that you could trust Seungcheol. He was positive that you wouldn’t put your faith in someone you had just met on such unconventional terms. After all, he was getting a ship out of this before you two would go your separate ways. There was nothing warm in this partnership—not in the slightest.

He noticed you swallow thickly. “What about your men?” you asked.

“You want one of them to keep watch here instead? I shall fetch—”

“No, I meant that someone needs to protect them, too.”

Perhaps he sounded a touch too defensive, but Seungcheol couldn’t help letting out a huff and saying, “It would be in your best interest not to look down upon my men. To you, they may not seem like much, but they are a force to be reckoned with in battle. You ought to have seen how Soonyoung impaled two pirates with a—what? What is so amusing?”

A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips. “Forgive me, I was unable to hold myself back.” Before Seungcheol could get irritated at your words, you continued, “You seem to be rather fond of your men. I simply found it charming that you appear to see them as your own kin.”

The captain drew in a breath to calm his beating heart.

“What I believe is that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” he replied softly, so quiet that he could hear you swallow thickly.

“Well, I cannot speak on that matter, but I share your sentiment,” you said with a dismissive wave. The only light in the room came from the soft glow of the oil lamp beside your bed, and Seungcheol noticed there was no warmth in your gaze. “As for what you said earlier, should you decide to stay the night, my bed is strictly off-limits.”

Seungcheol’s face felt hot. That, of course, wasn’t what he meant when he proposed staying in your room, but to even be misunderstood was embarrassing. He had several trysts in the past that never left him with shame burning his cheeks, but now he felt hot over a simple command that was never meant to rile him up in the first place.

“I will be taking the floor, of course,” he said. “I do not have any intentions of sleeping in the same bed as an assassin.”

You scoffed, your words charged with offense when you spat, “And I do not have any intentions of sleeping in the same bed as a pirate.”

“Pray tell, why do you speak of pirates with such disdain?”

“It was you who spoke unfavorably of me first!”

“Nay, but I distinctly remember our first meeting—”

“Meeting? You speak of the time when you so rudely dragged me into that alleyway?”

“—‘I have never been very fond of pirates.’ Those were your words, no?”

“Possibly. What of it?”

“Well then, what is your issue with us? Do you take us all for criminals?”

Your jaw clenched. “You are indeed a criminal, but I don’t fault you for that, for I, too, am guilty of the same. What it is you fight for, I do not know, but what I do believe is that violence is sometimes a necessary evil. Though the law may deem me a criminal, my intentions were never born of malice.”

“I have no intentions of hurting anyone without reason, either.”

“Then you will find that you and I are the same. I do not do this because I want to hurt people; I do this because I want to protect the freedom of the people—our freedom.”

“Yet, in order to do so, you are bound to hide who you are.”

Your eyes glazed over for a few lingering seconds. “That is right,” you responded in a softer, sadder voice, “and it is my only regret.”

When Seungcheol tried to put himself in your shoes, he figured that assassins were doomed to live a life of solitude. He was always surrounded by the warmth and familiarity of his crew, which sealed the wound that ripped open his heart after his aunt’s murder, so it was difficult for the captain to think about what he would be like if he didn’t have people around him.

If Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan hadn’t survived that shipwreck, then Seungcheol surely would have lost his mind. He lived a life that relied on support from his comrades, and you sacrificed forming relationships because of your occupation.

Still, even if Seungcheol didn’t quite see the full scope of your situation, he still believed everyone had a chance to carve their own path, no matter the decisions they made. He once chased a dream, too, when he gave up academia to become a pirate and carry on his aunt’s legacy.

“As for the reason why I confessed my lack of fondness for pirates,” you went on, “it is because I envy you.”

He stilled. “Envy?”

What could possibly be there to envy? Seungcheol wondered if you had a few screws loose because no one in their right mind would want to covet a life where one had to constantly be on the run, never able to settle down and raise a family. You, on the other hand, kept your identity a secret, so you still had the chance to turn your life around.

It just made no sense to him, but then Seungcheol thought of how you kept rattling on about freedom this, freedom that, how you reacted to his aunt, and the gears in his head began to turn.

He spoke with an assurance that left no room for doubt. “You want to be a pirate.”

“A fool’s dream that I never grew out of,” you confirmed. “I shall admit, my upbringing was one of hardship and disappointment. I longed for adventure and… a sense of camaraderie that I was never able to have.” When the pirate took too long to react, you mumbled, “Ridicule me all you want.”

“Why would I ever ridicule you for that?”

His words left the room quieter than it was before, the tension so palpable that it nearly suffocated the both of them.

You hesitated before trying, “It is unbecoming of a woman—”

“There is no such thing,” he cut in fiercely. “If you think for one moment that I, of all people, believe such ridiculous notions, then you have me sorted out all wrong. I gave up my own academic endeavors to chase my aunt’s dreams—a woman with the same aspirations as yourself. If you believe it to be a fool’s dream, then we must be birds of a feather.”

Your lips parted ever-so-slightly, and Seungcheol reached around his neck to pull off the iron chain with the amulet, thrusting it into your hands.

“This is more than a ship,” he said. “I refuse to be a puppet to those who threaten my freedom.”

After a pause, your face broke into a small smile that somehow illuminated the room brighter than the candlelight, rivaling even the glow of the moon, and Seungcheol knew that whatever stirred in his chest was something he had never felt before.

As expected, the ground was cold and hard on his sore back. Even the hammocks back on his ships were cozier. Even the extra cushioning he had in the room with his crewmates provided far more comfort than the thin sheet you gave him.

The previous night, after Seungcheol informed his men that he would be staying in your room, they nearly fainted on the spot. Whether it was because they feared for his life or thought it was an indecent arrangement, the captain truly could not tell. (He was leaning toward the former, judging by how they sighed in relief to see him alive and well the next morning.) Before he left his room to head to yours, he pulled the edge of the curtain back to peer out the window again, but not a soul was in sight. Somehow, that was all the more unsettling.

He wound up handing you the pouch from Joshua, too, only to find out that it was a sewing kit meant to stitch up the gashes on his palms. The very thought of a needle and thread pulling together his flesh made Seungcheol wish he never gave it to you.

However, the fact that you requested it specifically for his wounds made the pirate feel oddly meek. You discovered that Seungcheol had hastily wrapped rags around his palms to hide the injury, but the cloth was soaked with blood and the cut would surely be infected if he took no further action. He ended up allowing you to take his hand in yours and sew the laceration together until it stopped bleeding profusely.

On the bright side, the stinging pain helped him fall asleep almost immediately.

The processions for Semanta Santa carried on during Martes Santo, the streets alive with teachings and parables being shared. There had already been several in the morning, some of which were silent and some of which were accompanied by saetas sung in a capella. Joshua told Seungcheol over breakfast that Holy Tuesday was full of religious floats that were designed to look as if they had come right out of the Bible, and although the pirate didn’t consider himself to be extremely devout, he was still amazed by the amount of detail that went into the celebration.

In exchange for their stay (that was completely free of charge, was what Joshua emphasized when he approached his dear friend), the innkeeper requested that Seungcheol help Chan in the stables. They were short on hands due to the influx of guests, so Seungcheol enlisted Seungkwan’s help to keep him company.

Soonyoung and Seokmin, on the other hand, were to follow you. The captain was slightly nervous that you would ask too much of them, especially with how you impulsively took him into the King’s study the previous day, but he was more at ease when you stated that you three were simply looking for anyone that could be a Templar Knight. The one person you wanted to look into was Jeonghan, which you only concluded in the morning, thus you were slightly disappointed that you didn’t confront him last night.

However, the search for Jeonghan was fruitless. You, Seokmin, and Soonyoung ended up returning just before nightfall with dismal expressions, and Seungcheol and Seungkwan even more so because of all the horse dung they had to clean up.

The next day bore similar results. The only thing remotely eventful was watching people play out The Passion—plays that depicted the events leading up to the death of Jesus Christ. Seungcheol was admittedly feeling much better about spending the day with you instead of being around horses, but no matter how long he strode across town and ducked into alleyways, there were no signs of any Templar Knights around. It was as if they were never even there, and he almost wondered if you and him had hallucinated the one knight.

On Holy Thursday, Jesus was betrayed.

“I see no way forward from this,” you said with a resigned sigh after yet another round of scouting out suspicious activity.

“But, Miss, you mentioned that this Templar Order would use the Apple come Sunday. The tower by the cathedral, aye?” Seokmin supplied. “If the worst comes to worst, we know where to find ‘em on that day.”

“That is true.” You let out a shuddering sigh, your shoulders still tense. You had been worrying at your lower lip all day—not that Seungcheol had been paying any extra attention to that portion of your face. “I am only concerned that they might carry out their plans sooner since they must have discovered by now that we stole the drafts of their schemes.”

We, as in Seungcheol. He started to wonder if he acted too impulsively. The papers were still stuffed in the pockets of the coat that he had strewn under the bed. Perhaps taking them was too obvious, but Seungcheol figured that the papers were safer in his hands than theirs.

“We will put a stop to this,” the captain assured.

With deep sincerity in his eyes, Soonyoung held up his hand and professed, “I solemnly swear it on Seungkwan’s life.”

Seungkwan scowled. “Swear on your own life, ye bilge rat!”

“I would rather not risk mine.”

Yet, the unease wouldn’t leave your brow. Once you noticed how fatigued the pirates looked, you said, “Return to the inn and get something to eat, you lot. I shall return after I’ve had a further look around.”

Seungkwan frowned. “Positive? Will you be all right to return on your own?”

Seungcheol found himself turning to you and saying, “I will accompany you,” before he even fully thought of the words in his head.

Thus, he wound up walking the same path around town for the umpteenth time with you by his side. His energy was only sustained by the torrijas he had scarfed down earlier and the smell of orange blossoms that lingered in the air.

“Say,” you told him, starting up a new conversation with a hint of embarrassment while they were passing by a group of children that were running about, “I am afraid I only vaguely remember the name of your ship. What was she called again?”

“The Golden Corsair,” Seungcheol answered proudly. “She was a real beauty.”

“What made you choose that name?”

“My aunt’s vessel was called the Golden Fortune. I took the first part of it… and I was eager to prove myself as a pirate in those days. I added ‘Corsair’ to the end for that reason.” He offered a fleeting smirk that was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Why do you ask? Were you envisioning yourself as part of my crew?”

“Not quite,” you said, and even though your hood concealed your face, he could hear the smile in your voice. They were past the square now, crossing a bridge that led them away from the lively crowd. “My dream was to one day command a ship of my own. I wished to name her ‘The Crown’s Revenge,’ but I suppose it is too bold of a name.”

“The Crown’s Revenge,” Seungcheol echoed to see how the words weighed on his tongue. “It suits you. I quite like it.” Then, with utmost caution, he pointed out, “Although, that is one way to put a target on your back.”

You laughed—a sound that he never really heard from you. It sounded rather nice in Seungcheol’s ears, much nicer than any sea shanty he’d listened to.

“If I am to make a statement, it must be bold, no?”

He eyed you warily. “You must have a death wish with the way you—”

“Seungcheol.”

“—recklessly. I simply cannot help but worry about—”

“Seungcheol,” you interjected in an urgent whisper once again.

The pirate followed your line of sight down the dusty road they were walking on, and he shuddered in the humid breeze.

A Templar Knight stood right across from them, ever so still, and despite the fact that they couldn’t see a face behind the helmet, Seungcheol was almost certain it was the same one they saw at the Alcazár. Yet, oddly enough, the knight didn’t engage, simply observing them for a short while before turning to walk off.

That was when Seungcheol noticed that inside his gloved hand was a golden sphere, emanating a faint glow.

He didn’t even have to look at you to figure out what it was.

Without another thought, he barked out a command for the knight to stop, running forward to catch up to him. He was sure he would regret such a hasty decision, considering he was weaponless, but before Seungcheol even found himself in arm’s length of grabbing the back of the knight, the bastard unsheathed his long sword and turned to swing at the pirate.

Seungcheol dodged, missing the strike by a hair and stumbling over his feet. Once he regained his balance, however, the knight rammed the pommel of his sword straight into Seungcheol’s temple, causing his vision to momentarily go black with pinpricks of white light scattering across his vision. His teeth rang from the impact. His head throbbed in slow waves that nearly felt unbearable, and searing pain gathered right behind his eyes.

He heard another shout, and when his blurred vision started to return with his rapid blinks, he saw you and the Templar Knight locked in combat. The pirate grumbled and scrambled to his feet. He used his foot to break off a wooden post that stuck out of the ground. The wood cracked and splintered off, leaving a sharp enough edge to attack the knight with.

The pirate then staggered forward to bash his newly-fashioned weapon over the knight’s helmet. The wood split down the middle once it made contact with the metal. The Templar Knight grunted and held the side of his head, giving you an opening to attack again.

In a fluid motion, your leg swept under the enemy, the ball of your foot striking the bone right above his ankle and knocking him off-kilter. Even when the knight attempted to remain upright, though, his knee buckled and his leg crumpled under him.

The Apple of Eden slipped out of the knight’s hold, rolling across the ground until Seungcheol lunged to grab ahold of it.

But just when he thought they had the upper hand, the Templar Knight retaliated with a second card up his sleeve. You let out a choked cry when the knight twisted your arm—the one concealing your weapon—and he spun you around to hold you at knifepoint with your own blade. You struggled to free yourself, but the assailant pulled out a dagger with his other hand and held it to your gut.

You couldn’t move an inch without either one of the blades pressing into you; it was either your own blade that would slice your throat, or the knight’s dagger that would plunge into your abdomen.

When you freed one hand to fight him off, the Templar Knight slipped his dagger back into his tunic and used his free hand to choke you instead. You gasped and kicked at the knight’s shins in a desperate attempt to be released, but his grip was unrelenting.

The Templar Knight kept staring ahead, and the pirate didn’t need to see his face or hear his voice to understand what the knight’s message was; it was either the Apple or you.

Amidst your struggle for air, Seungcheol made out your lips framing a word that he suddenly wished he could not comprehend: Run.

Honestly, the decision he wanted to make was clear to him, but you were telling him to do the exact opposite. This could be their only chance to retrieve the artifact from the enemy. This could be their only chance to put an end to the calamity that was yet to happen. Yet, even though Seungcheol had the opportunity to do the right thing, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to give you up.

He scanned the perimeter. When he looked closely, there were various other Templar Knights hiding behind walls and crates, waiting for their cue to attack, like a predator stalking its prey. This wouldn’t end even if Seungcheol ran; the knights would hunt him down until they were able to pry the artifact from his cold, dead fingers. They were outnumbered—and hopeless.

He could run. He wasn’t sure how far he would get, but maybe if he ran fast enough, he could lose them.

“Please,” you begged out loud this time, your voice no louder than a croak, swallowing hard when the sharp edge of the blade pressed harder against your skin. “Go.”

Choi Seungcheol would do the right thing.

The selfish pirate then realized that it was idiotic of him to think that he could ever be a hero. A man like him, who acted out of his best interests, couldn’t possibly save everyone. No, he could only think of himself first.

So, with bated breath, Seungcheol paused before handing over the Apple of Eden to the knight.

The Templar Knight released you and shoved you to the ground just before your eyes were about to roll to the back of your head. You were unmoving for a moment before Seungcheol heard you gulping lungfuls of air. The knight took the Apple, looked between you and Seungcheol, and then turned around without another word. The pirate could only watch helplessly as the other knights in hiding retreated, too.

He lowered himself to the ground to help you up. You refused his hand and got to your feet on your own, scowling as you did. There was something vicious about the way you glared at him, cold and unforgiving.

“We lost the Apple,” you rasped out in disbelief, and then you turned to look at Seungcheol with clear disdain. Your shout bounced off the walls when you yelled, “You lost us the Apple!”

“There were others,” he said. “He was going to kill you.”

“Do you understand what you have just cost us?”

“What I understand is that I saved your life,” he got out through gritted teeth. “If I did not let him take the Apple, you would be dead!”

“Then you should have let him! There is absolutely nothing more important than that artifact being in the right hands, Seungcheol. Surely, you must know that!”

“I do, but not at the cost of your own life.”

“Even at the cost of my own life,” you muttered darkly, “even if I am to meet the same fate as my mother.”

“Well, I refuse. I will not choose to let you die.”

“I am not giving you an option to choose me or the Apple. I am telling you right now that under any circumstance, you choose the Apple.”

He scoffed, bristled. “I really do not want to have this conversation right now. I cannot believe you are even saying this.”

“Well, I cannot believe you! The Apple was in our hands!”

Something inside him burst with hot, fiery rage, sweeping through him in an icy wash, and he turned on you. “Do you really hold such low value for your own life? Say I sacrificed you for it, say I abandoned you and ran off with the Apple—what then? What will I do with it? You yourself said that the artifact cannot ever go in the wrong hands, so what makes you think that I would do any good with it?”

You swallowed hard, the hesitation clear on your face. You pulled off your hood so that you could look Seungcheol in the eye, and he had never seen you struck with such agony until now.

“Because I trust you.”

Seungcheol’s heart stuttered in his chest before he regained his composure. “Then I must apologize because I do not regret my decision one bit. Even if I had a second chance, I would choose you over the Apple again.”

“I cannot… I cannot understand you one bit.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I made myself clear. What is it you cannot understand?”

You were shaking now—whether it was because of the vulnerability of their argument or how you were seething, Seungcheol couldn’t tell. On the surface, it must have seemed like such an absurd argument; two people heatedly confessing how much they cared for each other, yet their outrage kept them from truly seeing that.

“In that moment,” he started once more, “if it were me instead of you, would you choose to let me die or would you choose to save me?”

You could only stare at him in silence, almost statue-like if it weren’t for your bottom lip twitching in the slightest. The sky darkened with dark grey clouds rolling in front of the setting sun; there would be no brilliant splash of color across the sky for today’s sunset.

“Even as an assassin, when you murder in cold blood for a cause, you still cannot give me a straight answer to this simple question,” he continued in a low voice. “Tell me, Y/N, would you choose me or the artifact?” Seungcheol waited for a few moments to pass before he said, “If you feel as I do, then I sincerely hope you never feel the harrowing ache of facing the decision that I had to make back there.”

You and Seungcheol did not speak for the rest of the evening, not when you walked back to The Sleeping Bull, not when you ate dinner, and not when you headed to your respective bedchambers. Even when his men tried to press him for answers, he couldn’t bring himself to recount what happened because he knew it would just make him fume again.

Despite his exasperation, though, one thing had become more clear than ever: You had become too precious of an existence to Choi Seungcheol.

Seungcheol was still quite vexed the next day. It bled into his routine, too; he stabbed his meat with his fork far too harshly, he grumbled incoherently when he tried to dismiss his men’s constant questions about what happened, and he nearly broke the doorknob from how aggressive he was being. He assumed he would feel better in the morning, but when he discovered that you had slipped out of your room before dawn, the pirate was overcome with a bout of anxiousness.

Moreover, his behavior was rather unmannerly for Good Friday.

Joshua was especially worried when he saw Seungcheol in the morning. He even patted his head, which was an inane thing for an adult man to do to another adult man, who also happened to be one of the most fearsome pirates of the seven seas. In spite of that, the head pat did feel rather nice, he had to admit.

Most fearsome pirate, my arse, Seungcheol thought bitterly. I’m losing my damned head over a woman, and I dare call myself fearsome.

Since Joshua immediately picked up on Seungcheol’s bad mood, he let the captain off the hook when it came to work that needed to be done around the tavern. Instead, Seokmin, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan had to pick up the slack for him. The three men begrudgingly followed Joshua into the kitchen to get to washing dishes and cleaning the floor.

Seungcheol had enough of loitering about, so he set out to look for you. To be honest, he wasn’t keen on talking to you, but he had been worrying about your disappearance all morning to the point where it was eating at him. After the stunt you pulled yesterday, he needed to find you before he damn near lost his mind.

He ended up walking around town for hours until he stumbled upon you—by total coincidence, no less. Seungcheol cut across a field to take a shortcut when he spotted you (well, he more so recognized you by your hooded cloak) at a graveyard, kneeling down on the grass.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he called.

Startled, you nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. Seungcheol suddenly wished he hadn’t asked such a stupid question; it was Viernes Santo, for Christ’s sake, and you had already opened up to him about your dead mother.

Your eyes were sharp. “How were you able to find me?”

“Mere coincidence,” he answered. Seungcheol looked down to see that you had made a cross out of sticks, and although it looked small and flimsy, you were earnestly praying to it. He started to kneel down next to you. “Is this for your mother?”

There was a pile of stones supporting the twig that acted as the base for the cross. Seungcheol found a stray pebble beside his leg and gently placed it among the other rocks.

“No,” you said with your head still low and your eyes shut in prayer, “it is for your aunt.”

“What?” His voice came out in more of a strangled breath than an actual, coherent sound. Seungcheol felt like the wind had just been punched out of his chest, and he could hardly breathe when he looked at you. “What did you just say?”

“Today is about honoring the deceased. You said you were unable to see your aunt’s body, so I assumed you were not able to lay her to rest or make a grave for her.”

Seungcheol fell silent. The only sounds he could hear was the wind whistling through the tree branches and the blackbird that chattered softly in the distance.

You made sure to add, “If I overstepped, I apologize. I simply thought it was a shame for a woman of such power to be denied a proper burial.”

“No,” he said, louder than he expected it to sound. Damn it all, Choi Seungcheol had braved storms and battle that not even the strongest of the Guardia Real could face, and here he was, about to cry over a gesture unlike any other. He hadn’t even thought to do something like this for his aunt. “No, Y/N, it is just…” After a few moments of floundering, Seungcheol came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t be able to find the words to express how he felt right now, so he settled for saying, “Thank you.”

“Well, go on and pray, then. I am sure your aunt would find comfort in hearing that you are alive and well.”

Seungcheol clasped his hands together and, for the first time in years, he prayed.

There were years of stories that he needed to catch his aunt up on. He thought of all the good memories, all the battles won, all the friends he made, and he bottled it all up to send to Heaven. Seungcheol never quite understood what a connection to God meant, but with his head lowered and his lips framing a silent prayer, he felt as though an invisible string was keeping him connected to the skies above.

Once he finished his soundless prayer and noticed that you were also done, the pirate asked, “What about your mother?”

“She is here,” you replied with a smile, “and, fortunately, she is very loved. I am sure she can do with my attention being elsewhere for now.”

“I want to pray for her, too,” he said. “Can I meet her?”

Your expression faltered, a visible tremor running through your body.

“Then promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you will not look at me any differently as you do now.”

“Why would I?”

You didn’t answer, giving him a wilting look instead.

The two of you stood up, and Seungcheol followed you to the far back of the graveyard. Right in the middle was a grand headstone, standing out from the rest, with several bouquets lining the base of the grave. Ornate patterns were carved into the stone, depicting figures which Seungcheol assumed to be her with her husband and children.

Maria Luisa Gabriella of Savoy.

The King’s first wife.

For a moment, Seungcheol thought you were pulling his leg, which really wasn’t a funny thing to do at a graveyard. However, when he saw the solemn look in your eyes, he quickly realized that this was all very real, yet it was difficult to even process.

You were the hidden princess that Joshua was talking about. You were the first daughter that King Philip V concealed from his second wife.

“I do not remember much, honestly,” you started. “I remember her, of course—oh, I still cannot forget the way she sang to me, or the way she ran her hands through my hair—but, everything else—her death, my father’s mental afflictions, my step-mother’s harshness—it is all a bit blurry.”

Horrified, Seungcheol thought back to all the times he had insulted the Crown in front of you. All those times you simply let him call them such vile names, and you had been a princess this entire time. Come to think of it, that must have been why you knew exactly where the King’s study was; you had lived in the damn castle yourself.

The Crown’s Revenge. It all made sense.

“After my father remarried and Her Majesty became my step-mother”—you spoke of her with venom in your tone—“he had one of his guards escort me from the castle in the dead of night—all the way to France. I lived with a new family who took little liking to me. They were of humble means; I suppose this was to ensure that my name would never resurface. They cared little for my preference, so I kept to myself. When I came of age and could hold my own, I left that household and never once looked back.”

It was exactly the way Joshua recounted, but it was just impossible for Seungcheol to wrap his head around the idea of you being the lost princess.

Then, you pulled off your hood, tugging down the neckline to show your intricate insignia that Seungcheol recognized in a heartbeat, and as soon as he did, there was no room for any of this to be a lie. The insignia was made of a gold chain lain with intertwined Burgundian firestones, its pendant being a golden fleece that sparkled under the sunlight. No matter how much he racked his brain, there was no other way such an heirloom could be in your possession without alerting the city of a great theft.

It was the Distinguished Order of the Golden Fleece, given only to members of the royal family. The only reason Seungcheol could recognize it was because he had seen it resting on the chests of monarchs, and now it was on your neck.

“My father gave it to me before he sent me away,” you told him. “Should I ever need to find my way back to him, I suppose… though I do not desire such a thing.”

He only realized you were crying when he heard you sniffle.

Seungcheol wasn't sure what came over him, but he found himself pulling you into his arms so that your face was buried in his chest. You didn't resist nor did you pull away, so he wrapped his arms around your waist and kept you close.

He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks with his large hands, guiding your face to look up at him. “Choose whichever path you want; I will walk right beside you, no matter where it leads.”

Shakily, you raised your hand to place it over his, and your expression melted into the same longing that was drawn across Seungcheol’s face. At this moment, he came to realize that this was probably the first time he was able to look into your eyes for so long, allowing himself to drown in their depths. He had seen stars in the night sky that were dimmer than the ones in your eyes. Seungcheol swore he could kiss you right then and there, but he didn't.

In the middle of the graveyard, with blackbirds singing and the smell of orange blossoms lingering in the air, the captain held you in a tight embrace until your tears stopped.

Afterward, when the sky was painted with an array of bright hues, you and Seungcheol set up graves for the rest of his crew lost to the shipwreck. He sat with them until the sun dipped below the horizon.

That night, Choi Seungcheol was restless.

As he laid on your floor that night—far from your bed where the flickering light from the candle couldn’t quite reach him, not even if he stretched out his fingers—the emotion stirring in his chest, thick and soupy, was maddening. Every trace of longing he had felt, every shard of affection that dug itself deeper into his heart, became so all-consuming that he could not pinpoint any other feeling but pure, unadulterated desire.

Seungcheol had to get it out of him, even if it meant breaking open his ribcage to rip out the very organ responsible for this feeling. Bury those bothersome emotions before he could give name to them.

For the past few nights, he succumbed to his exhaustion within minutes of his head hitting the ground. As a matter of fact, the pirate hardly waited to make sure you were safely in bed before heading to bed, which raised the question of what the bloody hell was the point of him sleeping there? Still, you didn’t ask, his men didn’t ask, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything.

Tonight, however, the two of you hardly spoke, and their tension, albeit not being acted upon, was charged with electricity. Seungcheol craned his neck to check if you were asleep, but from the way you were positioned, he couldn’t really tell.

But just when he was about to give up and go to bed, you called out quietly, “Seungcheol?” And then, as if you were almost certain he wouldn’t answer, you hesitantly added, “Are you still awake?”

He cleared his throat. “I am.”

The two of you slipped into silence once again, with part of Seungcheol waiting for you to say something and the other half wondering why you even called out his name in the first place. It wasn’t comfortable silence; the air was dense with unspoken feelings, sticky and clinging to him like sweat-drenched fabric.

To yearn for someone deeply, enough to keep a part of them with you—Seungcheol could start to understand how his aunt felt when she kept the assassin’s amulet with her all those years. But it wasn’t just a part of you he wanted, it was all of you. In this moment, he wanted to hold you in his arms and never let you go. In fact, he was afraid that, if given the chance, he would completely lose himself in you.

Right when he was about to speak up again, you finally broke the ice.

“It would have served no purpose,” you said, turning to face him and clarifying, “running from that Templar Knight. There was nothing we could have done.”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “Finally seeing it now, are you?”

“Even if you were to run, they would have surely caught up to you.”

“Yes.”

“Even if you were fast enough, there were far too many of them.”

“Yes.” Seungcheol found himself sitting up properly now. “I should also mention that I was without weaponry. I had to use a mere piece of wood.”

“That is not my fault,” you said. “You ought to have taken the weapon off that palace guard.”

“At the time, I was not giving thought to taking a weapon off his lifeless body,” he grumbled.

You two lapsed into momentary silence again before you ordered, “Come here.”

“Pardon?”

“Come over here. I cannot see your face when you speak.”

“But I was not speaking.”

You released an irritated sigh, rubbing your brow with two fingers. “Just come here, pirate.”

With a grunt, Seungcheol pulled himself to his feet and made his way over to your bed. He took careful steps, as if he was sure you would tell him to turn back at any time, but you seemed much calmer than he felt. Perhaps your intentions weren’t in tune with where his twisted mind was going.

“Sit,” you told him, and Seungcheol took a seat at the edge of the cot. “Give me your hands.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Were you always so forward?”

“Give me your hands.”

Scoffing, Seungcheol let you take his hands in yours, turning them over so that his palms were up. He watched you as you carefully undid the wraps on his hands to look at the stitched-up wound. Now, his flesh looked as if it was pulling itself together, forming a pink scar where the stitches held. The discomfort didn’t quite bother him and he didn’t exactly need you to replace the cloth for him, but who was he to complain when you were so gently asking to hold his hands?

She was not very kind, he reminded himself. Nor was she asking.

Seeing you before him, however, was quite the sight to behold.

“You must attend to this daily, lest it becomes infected,” you said.

“Y/N.”

“Wash it thoroughly—”

“Y/N.”

“—and use a clean cloth—what is it?”

“I think there is something wrong with me.”

Your eyes widened in alarm, fear swimming in glossy pupils, and you gripped his hands tighter. “What? What is it, Seungcheol? Do you feel unwell?”

“Not quite,” he said. “I cannot stop thinking of that moment when that Templar Knight forced me to choose between you and the Apple.”

“You had no choice, Seungcheol,” you said. “It does us no good to keep dwelling on such matters. We cannot change the past.”

“It plagues me,” he told you with agony drawing his brows together. “Humanity, as we know it, could fall under complete submission; yet, in the face of that, I believe my mind was already set.”

“Stop thinking about it.”

“From the moment he laid his hands upon you, I knew what I was going to do.”

“Seungcheol, enough.”

He slipped his hands from your grasp so that he could hold yours instead, running his thumb across your knuckles, one by one. Seungcheol tried to focus on keeping the tension concentrated within him completely concealed, but it melted off his frame when his dark eyes met yours.

“No matter how much I think about it,” he murmured, “there was no doubt I was going to choose you over the world.”

You drew in a breath.

The flame on the wick flickered, its shadow cast across the wall. Seungcheol’s heart pounded frantically in his ears, and he begged for any sort of reaction to reassure him that you weren’t about to pretend that he wasn’t sitting right before you. He was fully expecting for his words to infuriate you, or perhaps you would deflect the conversation by telling him to get some rest, but what you replied with was something he never would have anticipated.

“I shall not hold it against you. I, too, cannot say with certainty that I would have allowed something to happen to you, either.”

At first, there was silence, and then it happened faster than Seungcheol could think, before he even realized he had already wet his lips and dropped his gaze to your lips. He closed the distance, kissed you so lightly that he was nearly unsatisfied, and then pulled away before the kiss could escalate into something else entirely.

“I apologize,” he got out in a rush. “I was simply—”

“Enough with your apologies already.”

This time, you reached over and pressed your lips to his.

It was soft. So soft that Seungcheol was sure this feeling would plague him for nights on end. He could feel your tenacity in the way you kissed him, but there was something meek about it, too.

Something between a groan and a gasp was caught in Seungcheol’s throat as his hand found the small of your back, running his finger down the notches of your spine. The way he needed you, it was almost primal. Their kiss was a quiet hunger that could not be satisfied, and their motions began to lose their subtlety once he slipped his tongue past your parted lips. The pirate couldn’t get enough as his hands roamed your body, as yours gripped his hair, and as they began to tug each other’s clothes off senselessly.

“I thought about this—all day—racked my head all night—” Seungcheol murmured, his words broken up by the kisses he started leaving down your jaw. “I needed to have you like this.” He let his lips drag down the column of your neck, inhaling sharply until you shuddered. He laved the tender spot with his tongue before sucking on it. “I cannot stop thinking about you. It drives me mad.”

“Seungcheol,” you gasped out, and oh, how the way you called out his name burned in his head like eternal damnation.

He was all but ripping your clothes off, pulling them off your body without a care. You did the same, tugging at his shirt and undoing his pants hastily so that Seungcheol only had to kick them off his ankles. He ran his hand down your bare arms when he realized that you were missing the contraption.

“Do you no longer sleep with it? Your hidden blade?” he asked, leveling his gaze.

You shook your head, and Seungcheol was overcome with the urge to kiss you again. His lips latched on to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin as he continued to undress you. Once the garments were strewn aside, he had to catch his breath upon seeing you completely bare in the dim, orange light.

Choi Seungcheol, hardened by years of battle and strife, was now utterly weak at the sight of your naked body.

Good God. You were a treasure like no other.

He aimlessly traced your hip bone with his finger, moving lower and lower until his hand was at the apex of your legs.

“May I?” he asked softly despite being seconds away from snapping completely.

You drew in an unsteady breath. “Yes.”

He grabbed both of your ankles and lifted them so that they were draped over his broad shoulders. Seungcheol wondered how long it would take him to map out your body in perfect detail, figuring out where exactly he needed to touch and kiss you to rouse such wonderful sounds from you.

A tremor ran through your thighs when he skimmed a finger across your engorged clit, and he smirked at how sensitive you had gotten already. As he pressed messy kisses to your neck, he moved two fingers in tight circles around your clit until you were whimpering for more.

He then paused to bring his fingers to his lips, maintaining eye contact with you as he wetted them with his tongue, and then he slipped one finger inside your slit so slowly in order to watch your face crumple as he fingered you. He wanted to commit this to memory, to forever be haunted by the look of pure desire on your face.

After Seungcheol slipped another finger past your folds, he started pumping them at a steady rhythm, although he held your body with his other hand like it was fragile glass. He felt a little winded by your eagerness, each moan driving him closer and closer to the brink of madness, and just as he felt that you were about to orgasm, he pulled his fingers out of you.

The mewl that escaped your throat made his blood rush to his cock. Seungcheol pressed a sweet kiss to your lips as an apology.

“I want to taste you, mi corazón,” he whispered. He grabbed your hand and pressed more kisses to your palm as you whined for more. “Will you allow me?”

“Have me—please,” you breathed out, “but we must be quiet, Seungcheol.”

His lip curved into a smirk. “Ah, right. Had I not known any better, I might have assumed you took pleasure in being heard.”

“That is simply not true,” you tried, unable to look him in the eye as you said it.

“I do not blame you. You have a most pleasing voice, particularly when you cried out—”

“Seungcheol.”

“No need to be modest, Y/N,” he crooned, “just allow me to take care of you.”

With a huff, you watched as his eyes flitted to your cunt, and then he lowered himself so that his head was situated between your legs. He pressed a surprisingly kiss to your cunt, grinning when you crooned in response. Pushing apart your thighs, Seungcheol experimentally rolled his tongue across your clit, and once he was satisfied with your reaction, he flattened his tongue and licked one long stripe along your folds. The moan that he got in return was a melody in his ears, and he couldn’t stop plunging his tongue between your slit to hear you sing again.

Choi Seungcheol had been starved.

He ate you out with precision, burying his face into your cunt and gripping your thighs tight as they wrapped around his face. Seungcheol was painfully hard himself, grinding against the bed as he devoured you for some friction that would relieve his ache.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been lost in you, only that the way you chanted his name like a broken mantra was spurring him to keep going, but a particularly languid curl of his tongue had you shaking with pleasure right under him. He lapped at your folds throughout your orgasm, keeping your hips pinned down as you arched your back.

In a lustful stupor, Seungcheol moved to slant his lips against yours again.

The back of your neck was slick with sweat when he grabbed it, but Seungcheol was more focused on how heavenly you tasted. He shamelessly grinded his hips against you, chasing the pleasure that he so desired.

“Seungcheol,” you panted out after breaking for air, and you immediately lost your senses again as the pirate started leaving kisses on the swell of your breasts, then your nipples. “You bastard, won’t you just take me already?”

“Filthy words for a lady.”

You rolled your eyes. “This lady keeps a weapon beneath her bed, and she may well use it on you if you do not act swiftly.”

Seungcheol laughed. He would have to do some self-reflection later because it was rather strange that your threats only turned him on more. Still, there were more important matters at hand; one of them was how longed for you so deeply that it was almost painful.

He lined up his stiff cock at your entrance, teasing your folds. With bated breath, Seungcheol held the side of your face and looked you in the eye as he pushed himself inside you. He moved his hand to silence the cry that nearly ripped from your throat, but he made sure to go slow enough for you to adjust. At his size, he needed to approach this carefully.

Initially, Seungcheol’s motions were slow and torturous despite his fierce need to have you as he wanted. Admittedly, he was restraining himself, allowing you to adjust to how he fit so perfectly inside you, how your bodies connected like they were molded for each other. Advance, hold, fall back—he thrusted inside you at different angles, different speeds, assessing which one would rouse a bigger reaction from you.

After some trials, however, he found a proper rhythm that you could keep up with. Seungcheol wiped the tears that streamed down your cheeks and left kisses in their wake instead.

Through his muzzy haze of lust, he growled against your neck. “Y/N.” Although he called out your name with a sort of soft reverence, the sharp snaps of his hips were unyielding.

Heat unfurled inside him as he pounded into you, and it was difficult enough that you had to feel so good wrapped around him and your voice kept stuttering with each thrust. Seungcheol almost found it unfair that you were so perfect for him. When you dug your nails into his back, blubbering about how close you were, his hands slid to hold your face and press your foreheads together.

“Come for me, mi corazón,” he murmured against your lips.

Your mouth fell open, but your orgasm crashed over you before any words could come out. Instead, your moan was the most beautiful sound that he had ever heard. In the haze of his pleasure, though, his hips bucked out of rhythm a few times before he was drowning in euphoria, cumming right as your walls clenched around his cock. Seungcheol did his best to fuck you through your orgasm with his sore muscle, helping you ride out your high for as long as possible, and then he pulled out once you were spent. The very motion made the both of you shiver.

The room was quiet now. Only the sounds of heavy breathing filled the space as Seungcheol pushed loose strands of your hair out of your face.

Neither of you said anything, but it was clear where your feelings laid. Even if you acted like this night hadn’t happened the next morning, Seungcheol would tell you how he felt all over again until he got the point across.

But he was sure that you wouldn’t pretend because when Seungcheol laid back down on the bed, you curled up next to him and buried your face in his chest.

Ah, thought the pirate, this is the treasure I have been searching for my entire life.

Daylight poured in through the window, the leaves from the citrus tree outside painting dapples of sun against the wall. Seungcheol was ready to breathe in the smell of orange blossoms and hold you close until you roused from your slumber, but you wound up jolting awake from the sound of banging against the door.

Seungcheol practically jumped to his feet to pull on his clothes as fast as he could. You did the same, using the blanket to cover your chest as you reached for your garments that the pirate flung away from the bed.

Soonyoung’s voice was loud and clear amidst the sporadic knocking. “Cap’n! Y/N! Open up, it’s us!”

“One moment!” he yelled back, flustered. The unrelenting passion from last night came back in a flash of memories, and Seungcheol couldn’t stop looking back at you as he recollected the way your legs felt wrapped around his hips.

Once you two were decent, Seungcheol hastily opened the door with an unenthusiastic look drawn across his face. His sailors had a penchant for choosing the worst possible times to get his attention, and one of those times was right now. However, once the captain laid eyes upon Yoon Jeonghan, who was scowling from under his hood, he immediately realized the gravity of the situation. He ushered them in quickly and closed the door before anyone else in the tavern noticed what was going on.

“Release him already,” commanded Seungcheol, who was wondering why Jeonghan was required to be held in place by three men; Soonyoung and Seokmin pinned his arms down his sides while Seungkwan had a hand clamped over his mouth. It looked like a rather unconventional embrace that neither party found comfortable.

“Are you mad?” Jeonghan’s words dripped with scorn as he backed up from the five of them. He readjusted his hood so that his face was concealed properly before asking, “What business could you possibly have with me, pray tell, that necessitates surrounding and accosting me in a public bathhouse?”

The three men were met with awfully scandalized looks from you and Seungcheol.

“We were clothed!” Seokmin tried, frantically. “We gave him a chance to listen, but the lunatic tried stabbing us!”

“That could have marked the eighth time Seungkwan has been stabbed,” Soonyoung said, gesturing to the pirate who was nodding along solemnly. “Consider how he feels.”

Jeonghan, however, remained unimpressed. “Be grateful that was all I did. Had I thought you were an actual threat, I would have gouged out your eyeballs back there.”

“Putting… that matter aside,” Seungcheol started, hesitating before turning to face Jeonghan directly, “I have wanted to speak with you.” He spared you a quick glance. “We both have, actually.”

Rattled, Jeonghan straightened up. “Me? Whatever you wish to—”

“You are an assassin, too, are you not?” you blurted out.

Seungcheol and his men exchanged appalled looks from behind you. Neither of them said anything but simply backed away to show that they had no intentions of asking the question you raised. Really, at this rate, they were doing a better job to mask your identity than you were.

Moreover, Yoon Jeonghan already suspected the five of them were mad for basically abducting him, and now whatever you were spewing was making the lot of you look even worse.

Jeonghan returned your question with an even stare, void of emotion. Just when Seungcheol thought your lack of subtlety couldn’t get any worse, you pulled the amulet with the assassin’s insignia off your neck and thrust it in the man’s direction.

“A Hidden One,” he echoed. “So, you must be here for the same reason as I am, then,” Jeonghan, much to their surprise, said with traces of amusement in his tone. “This little exploit of yours surely contravenes the Creed, no?”

“No,” you replied. “I have not betrayed the Brotherhood.”

“An assassin must never compromise the Brotherhood,” Jeonghan recited in a dark voice.

“I have not. I can promise you that my alliance with these pirates is trustworthy.”

“Then, where did they send you from?”

“France, but I came here out of my own accord.” You pointed your blade in his direction. That was right; only Seungcheol knew of your personal ties to this mission. “Now tell us where you came from.”

“Easy now.” Jeonghan held up his hands in surrender, a grimace on his face. “Syria.”

(“Terrible assassins, these two,” Seungkwan muttered. “No one practices proper anonymity these days.”

Soonyoung hummed in agreement. “Must run in their brotherhood.”)

Jeonghan pulled off his hood, revealing his dark hair that he kept tied back, and you slowly lowered your weapon. “How long have you known of my occupation?”

“I had my suspicions. I believed you to either be a Templar Knight or an assassin. Yet, were you a knight, you would not take kindly to seeing us right now,” you explained. “Seungcheol and I were attacked by a group of Templar Knights a few days ago. We had been attempting to track you down due to my hunch, but you were imperceptible—just like an assassin.” You then asked, “Are you aware of what is unfolding in Sevilla?”

“I am indeed. The Templar Order intends to bring everyone here under their command tomorrow. If you value your safety, I advise you all to leave the city without delay.”

“We will not,” Seungcheol spoke up. “We will see this to the end. I have already put my life on the line for this.”

“There is no time,” Jeonghan said. “After tomorrow, everyone will be under their control.”

“They have the Apple of Eden!” you blurted out, your tone bordering on desperation. Appalled, the man fixed you with an unsettled look. “We only wish to know what you know.”

Jeonghan eyed them all carefully, eyes flitting from one body to the next. Then, he said, “It is a long story.”

Although he looked reluctant to share, with their persuasion, he started to speak.

As Jeonghan started explaining, Seungcheol was almost convinced that the man was telling them some made-up story he created in his head. It sounded absolutely ridiculous, but his description of the Pieces of Eden matched up exactly with the way you recounted it.

According to the man, before humanity existed, there was an ancient civilization called the Isu—creators of the First Civilization. The Isu had capabilities and technological advancements far beyond our imagination, and they were the ones to craft the Pieces of Eden that had now been scattered across the world, holding unfathomable power.

Jeonghan happened to be a descendent of the Isu. This was only discovered once he joined the Assassin’s Brotherhood, but he possessed the ability to sense the Pieces of Eden. The assassin, with Isu blood running in his veins, could feel the power of the artifacts when he was close. The only problem was, he couldn’t tell exactly where they would be—just a general idea.

He then drew what the Apple of Eden was supposed to appear like on the floor, using his finger to trace the circular artifact and its intricate engravings.

“Oh, it is a ball,” Soonyoung observed. “I thought it would look more, er, appetizing.”

Jeonghan gave him a strange look. “Did you believe it would be an actual apple?”

“Or… apple-shaped, I suppose. It is in the name, is it not?”

Jeonghan ignored him and went on to ask, “You are certain the Templar Order is in possession of the Apple?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol replied. “We saw it with our own eyes.”

“The odd thing is… I feel its presence here.”

“What? You feel it in this room?”

“Its presence is not as strong in this precise location, yet whenever I approach this inn, I can sense that the Apple is here. I had once thought the Templars came here in search of the artifact, but now I believe they came to ensure that none others could claim it for themselves.”

“You believe it is hidden in this inn?” you asked, distraught. “Why would they hide an object of such importance here?”

“No one would suspect an inn,” Jeonghan said, “and no matter how long I have spent looking for it—sneaking into rooms here and watching Templar Knights turn out pockets—I cannot seem to find it.”

“There must be a hidden room of some sort, then,” Seungkwan said. “It must be like finding treasure. Treasure maps only provide the general layout, never the height or depth for where the riches lay.”

A shiver ran through Seungcheol’s body as a strange, foreboding feeling came over him.

Astonished, you turned to Seungkwan with wide eyes, lips framing words that you hesitated to say for a moment. “The Apple could be above or below us.”

Now, Jeonghan’s face was hard, taking on a serious tone laced with urgency when he asked, “Is there a cellar here? Or an attic?”

“I can go ask Joshua,” Seungcheol replied. “The rest of you should check the stables or—”

“Do that, but I have something to take care of,” Jeonghan said curtly. “If you find the Apple, make sure it stays in the right hands until I return. Remember: We do not breathe a word about the Pieces of Eden to anyone else. Understood?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I want to put an end to this right away.”

They had a plan, and it was set in motion.

Alright, they sort of had a plan.

Seungcheol was scouring the tavern to find Joshua, you and Seokmin were looking around the stables, and Soonyoung and Seungkwan were checking all of the rooms. On the bright side, most of the travellers were outside for Sábado Santo (although the atmosphere was eerily quiet from the vigils), so most of the rooms were unoccupied at the moment. It just so happened to be the perfect day for them to search the inn from top to bottom. That was, if they managed to find the artifact. Seungcheol was quite disheartened that Jeonghan, the only one who knew how to pick up on the energy from the Pieces of Eden, was the one who went out on his own.

After asking Chan and several other workers about Joshua’s whereabouts, Seungcheol finally stumbled upon him in the kitchen where his friend was noting down the morning inventory. The innkeeper looked shocked to see the pirate with a heaving chest and flushed cheeks, and he raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

“What trouble have you found yourself in now?” Joshua asked, his tone remaining lighthearted, but his expression quickly shifted once he realized that Seungcheol wasn’t pulling his leg. “What is all this about, Seungcheol?”

He cut straight to the point. “I need to know if this inn has a hidden chamber somewhere—perhaps a cellar or an attic.”

“There is a cellar, though it has not been used in ages,” Joshua told him, brows knitting together into a frown. Deep concern hung in his voice when he asked, “Why do you ask?”

“I must see it at once. Do you still have the key?”

It took Joshua a while to sift through several drawers and cupboards, searching for the old, rusted key that looked as if it was about to crumble into pieces. Seungcheol was anxious as he watched Joshua insert it in the keyhole, half-expected it to split in half, but then the innkeeper pulled open the door to the cellar with a loud creak that made the pirate swallow thickly.

“What is this about again?” Joshua held a large oil lamp to illuminate their way down the stairs, the wood under their feet creaking as they walked. The cellar smelled of mildew and something foul—as if something had died in there. He couldn’t imagine how many rodents and small animals had gotten in over the years. “If it concerns my inn, I would rather not be left in ignorance.”

At the foot of the steps, the space below opened up to a cluttered assortment of tables and books stacked on top of each other. He moved a marble paperweight to look at the stack of papers that were sitting around. Seungcheol examined some of them closely, trying to make out the handwriting in the dim light, but some of the documents were simply illegible. That was when he spotted parchment on the table with diagrams drawn in ink; most of the papers were full of scribbles and arrows pointing every which way, but there was something in particular that stood out to Seungcheol.

The Apple of Eden.

It was scrawled so messily, but once Seungcheol made out the words, he couldn’t mistake it for anything else. The drawing looked exactly as Jeonghan depicted and the same as he saw on the Templar Knight, too.

It had to be a Codex page.

Horrifyingly enough, when Seungcheol took a closer look at the mess across the desk, he came to realize that this cellar didn’t look as abandoned as he formerly thought. In fact, judging by the empty cup with dregs sitting at the bottom, someone had been here recently.

“I will explain everything soon,” Seungcheol told Joshua, albeit being completely distracted with his discovery, “but are you sure no one has—”

Just before he was about to finish his sentence, Seungcheol spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Something that made his stomach feel like a never-ending pit—falling, and falling, and falling. He could hardly move for a second, a cold wash sweeping down his back.

Draped over the head of a chair was the exact white tunic donned by the Templar Knights.

Seungcheol turned to look back at his friend, who was observing quietly from where he leaned against the wall. Slowly, the corner of Joshua’s mouth curved upward in faint amusement.

On Holy Thursday, Jesus was betrayed by his closest disciple.

On Holy Thursday, Joshua Hong was the Templar Knight that attacked him.

“How did this come to be here?” Seungcheol’s voice was oddly steady as he held up the Codex page, although he had to speak over his racing heartbeat. Something froze him in place and sent a chill down his spine. In his head, he was still hoping there was another answer to all of this, that his dear friend was simply joking around. “Tell me, Joshua.”

“Why, I placed it there myself,” was his smooth answer, shrugging as he said it.

“This was entirely your doing?”

“I confess, I never anticipated that you would ally yourself with an assassin,” he said, letting out a long-winded sigh. “It was never in my interest to turn on a friend—”

“You betrayed me,” Seungcheol interjected out of dismay. “My God. You have been feigning friendship, pretending to offer me food and shelter out of the goodness of your heart, yet all the while, you have been waiting to stab me in the back. Tell me, was it you? Were you the one who attacked us? Was it you who was present at the Alcazár?”

With that, Joshua reached behind him to pull out the small golden ball—the Apple of Eden—glowing faintly in the musty cellar. He confirmed Seungcheol’s gut feeling with a sick smile.

The pirate let out a threadbare breath.

“Does this answer your questions?”

Seungcheol’s chest swelled with fury. “How did you—”

“To be perfectly candid, it was far too easy,” he crowed. “You led the assassin directly to me, making it simple to ascertain your whereabouts. What truly surprises me, however, is that you are acting surprised right now when I so plainly revealed my intentions.”

It was a cold punch to his gut. Time slowed to a crawl as Seungcheol thought back on his conversations with Joshua. Through the haze, the innkeeper’s words pierced into his chest and straight through his beating heart.

“There must be order, if we are to make progress. Without reformation, we shall remain stagnant.”

“Bastard,” Seungcheol snarled through clenched teeth. Buried somewhere under layers of surging adrenaline and numbness was a mixture of dread and betrayal that he was sure to feel later once it sank deep in his bones.

“You can join the right cause, Seungcheol,” he said, his face devoid of mirth now. “Do you truly believe the world should remain in such a state? The Templars share the same goal as your companion; we only seek peace for everyone.”

“You wish to eliminate free will and whatever threatens the control you wish to impose,” Seungcheol spat. “You aim to strip us of our freedom. This is not the ‘peace’ you claim to desire.”

“Do you truly believe that humans will not bring the world to ruination if given free will?”

“I believe that if you will not even give them a choice, then you will never know the outcome.”

“This is for the greater good, Seungcheol. We must steer humanity in the right direction.”

“What the hell would you know about the right direction? See reason, Joshua,” he begged. “We have known each other for many years now. This is not like you. What makes you think I would ever choose anything over my own freedom?” His tone took a cold edge when he added, “What makes you any different from the scum who took my aunt’s life?”

A muscle worked in Joshua’s jaw. “Stubborn to the very end. It appears we do not see eye-to-eye, then.”

“Then, what is it? Are you in league with the King? Is that the reason those documents spoke of punishing free speech and the pursuit of knowledge?”

“In league with the King?” Joshua parroted, a look of faux sympathy crossing his face. He held up the Apple of Eden with his fingertips, almost mocking the pirate. “My dear friend, I control the King. Every decision he makes is ultimately guided by my counsel.”

Those glowing red eyes—it wasn’t a trick of the light. Everything that Seungcheol had seen was the work of Joshua’s manipulation, and the realization felt like a knife being pushed deeper inside him, inch by inch. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from hurling curses that he knew would only make the situation worse. Seungcheol had to think. He had to pull himself together and decide what he needed to do next.

Earlier, he surrendered the artifact so easily to save your life, but now Seungcheol could only see vengeance ahead of him. He wouldn’t let this opportunity slip past his fingers again.

Without any formal preamble, Seungcheol grabbed the marble paperweight off the desk and chuckled it right at the Apple of Eden, knocking the object from where it balanced on Joshua’s fingertips.

Joshua scoffed. “What are you—”

He was cut off by Seungcheol lunging at him, predator-like, and the two men were brawling on the cold, dusty floor of the cellar. The pirate straddled his body, pinning his chest down to deliver a hard blow to his jaw. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears that was so loud that Seungcheol could hardly process the hits Joshua was landing on him, nor could he hear his own fist colliding with the Templar Knight’s face.

Then, Seungcheol wrapped his hands around Joshua’s neck and strangled the man until he was red in the face. However, what he didn’t account for was that Joshua’s arm, which was raised over his head, had been trying to reach for the Apple of Eden that ended up rolling under a table.

Just as Seungcheol dug his nails into the tender flesh, Joshua slammed the metal ball against the pirate’s skull. Darkness curled at his vision, yet Seungcheol could still make out the knight murmuring something softly as he clutched the Apple.

Seungcheol grabbed the artifact to pry it out of Joshua’s hands, but the innkeeper didn’t look the least bit fazed throughout the struggle. Joshua used his legs to knock Seungcheol off-balance so that he was the one on top of the captain now. A malicious grin grew on the bastard’s face.

“The Guardia Real will be here soon,” he taunted, “and His Majesty. Once they find you, they will give you a punishment befitting a lowly pirate.”

“And you shall not even have a gravestone to your name,” came your voice from behind Joshua.

It all happened in a split second. You withdrew your hidden blade, jutting it in Joshua’s direction for him to dodge and grab your wrist. Seungcheol scuttled backward once Joshua’s weight wasn’t holding him down, and he looked around for something—anything—that he could use to help you out.

Oh, that was right. The cloak.

Seungcheol vividly recalled Joshua using a dagger against you that day. He slipped it back into the tunic when he had to put it away. In a haste, the pirate reached into the pockets of the tunic to pull out the dagger with the ruby-encrusted hilt.

“Assassin, Hidden One, murderer—whatever you call yourself,” Joshua sneered. “I shall see to it that your corpse rots here for—”

It was then that Seungcheol momentarily let go of all fondness for his old friend and ran forward to drive the dagger straight into Joshua’s back.

“—eternity...”

He was normal for a breath—just the one. Then, Joshua stumbled forward, shakily, and then slowly turned around to look at Seungcheol. The Apple of Eden fell from his hands, his eyes following its path before he collapsed to the ground as he tried reaching for it.

It was a pitiful sight to watch, really, but Seungcheol couldn’t tear his gaze away as Joshua clawed desperately at the artifact. This was a victory that Seungcheol couldn’t exactly celebrate because he had lost yet another friend, and it happened to be one that had been dear to his heart.

“Seungcheol,” the innkeeper pleaded in a choked voice, “help me.”

Your eyes were sympathetic when Seungcheol looked at you, and you gave him a nod as if to assure him that you would handle the rest. He turned his head just in time so that he wouldn’t have to witness you finishing off Joshua Hong with your blade.

Seungcheol only felt the passage of time start to move normally again much later; the events right after Joshua’s death were a bit of a blur, if he was going to be honest.

According to you, Jeonghan had come to find you after they all split up, confessing that he had always found Joshua to be suspicious. Apparently, he had been following the innkeeper for the past few days, but there was no reason for him to act upon that suspicion when he couldn't confirm anything. You ended up trailing Seungcheol and Joshua on your own because you couldn’t stop worrying while Jeonghan went to confirm his suspicions about a Templar Order base.

As expected, there were several Templar Knights stationed in one of the buildings Joshua frequented, so Jeonghan called the Guardia Real on them. The knights were seized on charges of conspiracy after the building was searched, but Jeonghan was banking on the cellar under The Sleeping Bull to have more incriminating evidence. Seungcheol initially saw this as a rash decision, especially when he couldn’t let the guards get their hands on the Codex page, but he remembered the documents he had stolen from the King’s study. He had just enough time to replace the evidence, handing over the Codex page to you instead.

Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan rushed in afterward (ironically right before the Guardia Real stormed the building), and Seungcheol had never seen them so crestfallen upon discovering that Joshua was the one behind everything.

You used the Apple of Eden yourself after that, lifting whatever manipulation it had over the King, and then you made sure to hide it before His Majesty entered with his guards. They seemed rather disoriented, to be honest; earlier, they were overcome with a compulsion to go to The Sleeping Bull, and now that impulse had disappeared into thin air.

Still, they were all very shocked to see the five of them standing around Joshua’s corpse.

What an odd family reunion, Seungcheol thought as he gripped your hand tightly, but you refused to speak or lift your head.

At first, they were being threatened with charges for conspiracy and crimes against the Crown, but once His Majesty spotted the documents that Seungcheol planted, a disturbed look crossed his face. Something told him that they wouldn’t be condemned to death today.

Due to the ordeal, the five of them were escorted to the palace—not as prisoners, but as guests. Until everything got sorted out, they were shown the slightest bit of hospitality instead of a prison cell.

Seungcheol never expected to find himself in the King’s study once again with His Majesty, standing in the same place where you killed one of his guards. In fact, if he moved his foot and looked at the carpet, he could see the mark of a faded bloodstain that wouldn’t come all the way out.

You were with his three sailors in one of the large bedchambers. Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were immediately swayed by the plates of food that were brought out for them, but you resorted to sitting stiffly in the corner until it was time to leave.

“You killed my guard,” King Philip V started in a stern voice, yet he didn’t sound like he was angry. He now had the full story that Seungcheol broke down for him (with your affiliation with the Assassin’s Brotherhood and the Pieces of Eden left out of the picture, of course). The pirate had to convince the King that Joshua’s involvement was not the work of an ancient artifact that controlled minds. “Not only did you disrespect me by sneaking into my palace, but you killed one of my men in this very room—right where you stand.”

It was actually you who killed his guard, but Seungcheol valiantly opted to take the blame instead. He wasn’t sure how your father would handle the truth about his daughter being an assassin, and he wasn’t keen on finding out.

“To be fair, it was your guard who first attempted to take my life.”

The King let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh. “I suppose.”

He supposed? What a prick.

Unexpectedly, His Majesty’s voice softened, taking on a tamer and gentler tone that almost sounded foreign. “Is Y/N well?”

Seungcheol stared at him, stunned. “You… you remember…”

“Of course. What father could fail to recognize his own child?”

Perhaps one that abandoned her at such a young age, Seungcheol thought angrily, but he decided against vocalizing it.

“She is in good health,” Seungcheol assured, “but I do not believe she wishes to see you.”

The King sighed heavily, nodding in understanding. “That is only to be expected. A father should never forsake his child, which is why I cannot bring myself to punish you today. I have committed a transgression far greater than any that has occurred.”

“I do not believe you can undo the harm nor repair your relationship with your daughter, Your Highness, but a simple acknowledgement carries a great weight.”

“Back then, I could get everything I ever wanted, and it only cost me my precious child,” he told the pirate, “but, without her, I had nothing.”

It looked as if it hurt him to say, like a blade had slipped between his ribs as he was framing the words. And then, a sad smile crossed his face.

“Is there anything as undoing as a daughter?”

Before Seungcheol could respond, there was a loud knock at the door. His Majesty commanded the palace guard to enter, and both Seungcheol and the King were shocked to see you by the guard’s side, your eyes cast down and the Distinguished Order of the Golden Fleece in your hands.

You looked up carefully, steeling yourself. “I wish to speak with you… father.”

The Crown’s Revenge was stationed proudly at the dock, its tall mast rising high over the crimson sails that flapped against the breeze. The mainsail billowed out as the wind filled it in, and as Seungcheol stood at the foot of the gangplank, he marvelled at the vessel’s impressive size.

Following your conversation with the King, Seungcheol couldn’t exactly say there was no bad blood between you and your father anymore, but there was something brighter about your countenance now. Reuniting with him and healing old wounds must have done wonders for the grudges you held close to your heart, but you still had no intention of staying with your father and carrying out your duties as a princess.

Your heart was elsewhere—with Seungcheol, with the sea.

“She’s got more faces than a deck of cards,” Seungkwan had muttered when he found out about your royal upbringing. “Assassin, princess—what next? Pirate?”

It had not occurred to Seungkwan that you would be joining them on their voyage back to England, and when he was struck with the realization, he nearly turned over his dinner plate from his clamor. You had gotten rather close with his mates over the past few weeks, but they still harbored a fear that you could possibly murder them in cold blood whenever you wanted to.

Seungcheol thought that it was perhaps a good thing that you kept them on their toes.

As for Yoon Jeonghan, you returned the Apple of Eden to him, along with the Codex page that had been in the cellar. He left on a rather cryptic note, assuring that he would cross paths with you again, although neither of you were sure of his destination. You were adamant on leaving your life as an assassin behind, though, which meant that they would need to stop at France after sailing to England.

His Majesty offered you riches beyond imagination. He clearly didn’t know what he could give you that would make up for years of separation, but you refused all of his gifts. Seungcheol, however, had a request that he could set aside his pride to ask for. That resulted in the five of them waiting two weeks for the kingdom to grant them a ship of their own. The rest of them were mortified by the name, but Seungcheol found it absolutely hilarious that he got the King to give him a ship called The Crown’s Revenge. It was something his aunt would’ve hollered at. Anything for the King’s daughter, he supposed.

“You need not have used my idea for your ship’s name!” you exclaimed at the port, downright flustered. “I was just… I was simply—”

The pirate turned to see you with the wind blowing through your hair, a fierce look on your face. He couldn’t help but laugh—not because what you said was particularly amusing, but because he had never seen anyone look so beautiful whilst arguing.

“I did nothing of the sort,” Seungcheol said. “You named your own ship, Captain.”

Your entire body froze. “What?”

“This is a ship from your father, after all, and I believe the time has come for me to relinquish the role of captain. You have bested me more than enough times already.”

(“And now she’s a pirate, eh?” Seungkwan shook his head from where he was sitting on a crate, quietly observing all the while. “Funny how the tides turn.”

Soonyoung, however, was grinning ear-to-ear. “What are we bettin’ on next? Queen?”

“Shut it before she makes ye walk the plank,” Seokmin muttered back.)

“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned, “do not humor me.”

“You needn’t worry, mi corazón,” he told you with a gentle smile, taking the leather tricorn hat off of his head and placing it atop yours. “I have already made up my mind.”

“Cap’n!” Seungkwan called from afar, cupping his hand around his mouth to amplify the sound. You didn’t look quite sure if he was referring to you or Seungcheol until he scolded, “Try to not send us to Davy Jones’ locker in our sleep, aye?”

Your face broke into a smile. “Very well, but the blade shall remain with me!” you called back, raising your arm to show the hidden contraption that was still fixed under your sleeve.

“Well, Captain,” Seungcheol started, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, “I am following your command. Where would you like me stationed?”

“By my side,” you said, reaching up to hold the back of his neck and letting his forehead touch yours, “is that acceptable?”

“Of course.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours—a quiet hunger that was never quite satisfied with just one taste. Cupping your cheek, though, Seungcheol knew that the way your lips felt against his was more valuable than any treasure he had coveted. It was the taste of freedom.

Freedom was the wind in his face, the taste of salt in the sea, the ocean slipping through his hands like sand. In the grand scheme of things, people never truly changed across eons of history, but one thing rang true: The only way for humans to progress was to protect their freedom, to protect the freedom of others, and to rise against the resistance that threatened their freedom. Seungcheol had never been more certain of this until meeting you. It was so clear now; when he looked at the people celebrating in the streets of Sevilla, when he looked at the birds flying high in the sky, it was freedom that persisted above all.

To him, freedom was you.

#svt #scoups #seungcheol #svt fic #scoups x reader #scoups pirate #svt pirate au

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