#svt enemies to lovers

[junplusone]

daughter of the sword, son of the wild ; jeon wonwoo

SUMMARY. you were supposed to kill him, he had no reason to keep you alive - and yet, the universe works in mysterious ways. what will you do when your path begins to unravel? how long until you realize the sword you wield can very well be used against you?

PAIRING. jeon wonwoo x f!reader

GENRE. enemies to lovers, rebel!wonwoo, assassin!reader, historical au, angst, some fluff towards the end, lots of introspection, junhao speak cantonese with each other in this universe

WARNINGS. language, mention of drinking, main & side character death (multiple character deaths), violence & blood (not graphic), kissing - slightly suggestive? but not really? read at your own discretion

WORDS. 34.54k

NOTES. um so... let the record show i did not originally intend for this fic to get this long. but! i can't believe it's finally done! this was a very engaging story to write and i genuinely enjoyed every moment of it. huge huge thank you to jay @ppyopulii & calli @hhaechansmoless for letting me scream about this and brainstorming along with me this fic would absolutely not exist without them!! so sorry for causing all of those crashouts guys... i love u so much i promise. anyways, that's all i have to say - i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing! xx (oh also if you see weird gaps between paragraphs that's the shift + entering i had to do to fit this in one post oops)

TAGS. @mochacoda @ppyopulii @jiabae @nerdycheol

PLAYLIST. tsunami - niki / gemini - jun / do i wanna know - arctic monkeys / sailor song - gigi perez / the cut that always bleeds - conan gray / close to you - gracie abrams

The night is quiet – a little too quiet, an eerie kind of silence that cannot be ignored. Wonwoo gets goosebumps on the back of his neck, hairs standing on end, and he knows immediately that something is wrong.

Silently, he taps Jeonghan’s shoulder twice. A signal. The older man raises his eyebrows, hand instinctively moving to his sword.

“We are not alone,” Wonwoo cautions him, taking careful steps forward. It’s a lucky thing that he’s mastered the art of staying calm in situations that are as suddenly critical as this. He and Jeonghan were only hoping to return home after a long day of travel, but now he has the feeling someone wants to prevent that from happening.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wonwoo suddenly catches an unmistakable glint of something that can only be metal. After all, the moon never lies.

Jeonghan has noticed it, too. “There,” he says, sword drawn, “behind that shed. Do you see them?”

“That cannot be any less than fifteen, at least.”

“Only fifteen? This could have been a lot worse.” 

Wonwoo is very familiar with that look, the impish smirk that Jeonghan always wears. Nobody knows what it’s meant to mask, but it has become something of a comforting sight.

“Do not get in your own head,” Jeonghan advises, offering him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Remember what we are here for.”

“Right,” Wonwoo nods, before ducking instinctively. The knife, having come out of nowhere, just barely misses the top of his head. We are surrounded, he realizes, surveying the area around him. There is no easy way out.

Jeonghan says nothing, bringing his blade out to parry an unsuspecting blow, slashing the man’s chest with one fluid motion. Wonwoo wonders how many years of this it’s taken him to draw blood with such an indifferent expression. 

How much practice does it take to effortlessly kill?

Well, the resistance will not fight itself, he tells himself as he sinks his daggers deep into his attacker, blood splattering onto his face. The metallic scent is not new to him.

There has always been a certain headspace that Wonwoo enters in situations such as these; everything aside from the battle is nothing but a blur. Seungcheol had always liked this about him, and praised his state of focus. 

Now, Wonwoo wonders if it is just a way to bottle up his fear.

Every wound he inflicts feels like a cut on himself. He can’t freeze up, he can’t – this is the mantra he repeats to himself in his mind, keeping Seungcheol’s advice with him. All he can do is hope it serves him well now.

The thoughts distract him only for a second. But that moment is enough, he realizes, bearing the brunt of a strong kick to the chest. Wonwoo stumbles backward, just barely dodging his assailant’s sword to his neck.

Close calls in this line of work are one too many, too often. 

Belatedly, he feels blood trickling down his cheek. He must have gotten nicked somewhere, comes the afterthought, as he spins his daggers between his fingers, stepping closer for the final blow. He braces himself again before letting the knife fly. The sound is sharp, but subtle. Wonwoo just barely misses flesh, the edge cutting through the fabric covering most of his attacker’s face instead.

For some reason, he freezes at the sight of your prominent cupid’s bow, and the way your skin glows under the moon’s light. You freeze, too, sword halted in mid-air. 

Wonwoo doesn’t really understand what’s going on, until he looks into your fiery, lash-framed eyes, and it hits him.

A woman, he realizes, bewildered. It is unheard of, nearly impossible – the emblem stitched onto the side of your robes tells him exactly who sent you, and he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Nobody associated with the palace would even consider sending a woman into the field, even with their best fighters.

And yet, here you are.

Wonwoo’s shock must have been mirrored on his face, because you take advantage of it and slash at him furiously. He’s fast – he’s trained for this, feet quicker than light – but not enough, for you manage to nick his torso with the edge of your sword.

Wonwoo falls back with a grunt, throwing a quick look over his shoulder. Jeonghan is making quick work of the men, his blade swirling around with effortless speed and precision. Bodies lie all around him; some dead, some hardly clinging onto their last breath. It makes Wonwoo sick to his stomach.

He staggers with every parry, trying to ignore the metallic smell that rises in his nostrils. You match him in skill and strength, he notes, strike for strike, and for the first time he finds himself struggling to put up a good fight.

And then, as aggressive as you have been, you back away for a second, alarm clear in your eyes. It catches Wonwoo off guard, the way you suddenly glance behind him to survey the empty valley and slink away into the darkness. 

“Wait!” he calls out gruffly, sprinting in your wake, but he’s already lost you. You are quiet, and leave no trace – the night is concealing, and amidst the tall grass and sparse roads, Wonwoo does not know where you have gone. The others have followed in your trail, and soon the valley is as silent as if nothing had occurred in the first place.

There is something akin to guilt. A stronger man would have been able to finish the job, he thinks, reminded faintly of Seungcheol. Empathy is a vice, for people like him. He should not have wavered at the sight of your face. Wonwoo could have finished you then and there, if not for the hesitation that held him back.

Jeonghan approaches slowly, wiping his sword against the grass and staining the blades dark red. “I cannot believe several of them still got away,” he says vengefully. “After this sort of ambush I should have wiped them all out one by one.”

“You say that like you were the only one fighting.” Wonwoo gives a sheepish half-smile. “It is my fault too, hyung.”

Jeonghan seems to soften a little at this. The vexed expression is gone from his face, replaced by something kinder, more forgiving. Carefully, he brushes the dirt off of Wonwoo’s robes, giving him a reassuring pat.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No.”

“I know when you are lying,” Jeonghan points out. His fingers graze the wound on his shoulder, and Wonwoo winces involuntarily. “Make sure you tend to this later.”

The journey home is mostly quiet. Wonwoo is not one for many words, and Jeonghan is not normally inclined to fill the silence, choosing to bask in it instead. It is late, and all Wonwoo wants is to be able to bathe himself and drift off to sleep before another day arrives. Maybe Mingyu is still awake, he muses, painfully aware of the hunger in his abdomen. It has been days of travel, and there is nothing like being back home.

Wonwoo can feel dawn coming on by the time he has returned to the familiar cluster of small houses. Surely nobody is still up, he tells himself, bidding a good rest to Jeonghan and gently letting the curtains fall behind him. He is carefully silent as he washes up, scrubbing away dried blood and bandaging his wounds in the small yard behind the house.

“Jeon Wonwoo, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Oh, dear. He would know that voice anywhere. He turns to find Hayun standing behind him, arms crossed sternly, and he thinks he’s never been more intimidated by her before.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Hayun purses her lips, frowning, and chooses to ignore the question. 

“Is my husband aware that you’ve gone and gotten yourself injured again, or do I need to inform him?”

Wonwoo sighs through his nose. “Please do not do that.”

She softens at this, a little. The look in her eyes shifts from disappointment to concern. 

“You must not put yourself in harm’s way on such a whim. How many times has Mingyu entreated you to look after yourself? What on earth even happened?”

“Jeonghan hyung and I were returning from the capital when we were attacked. He is not hurt,” he adds quickly, “but I am inclined to think it was a planned ambush.”

“You boys must be careful,” she emphasizes, taking a seat on a tree stump. “It is more important now than ever.”

He knows she is right. One wrong move, and it will all be for nothing. “Has Mingyu been well?”

“Better, I suppose.” Hayun’s fingers fiddle with the hem of her sleeves. “He is still recovering. But he is able to hunt on his own now, and walk without much pain.”

“That is good news,” he agrees, memories from the fateful night of Mingyu’s injury flashing in the back of his mind. “I have not seen him in a while.”

“Well, you are home now. He will be very glad to see you, and quite upset about your wounds,” she says pointedly.

“He will not know what I do not show him.”

“If you must.” Hayun rises, brushing the dirt off of her hanbok, and pauses. She is several years younger than Wonwoo, but the look in her eyes is one of motherly concern. 

“We will be careful,” he insists. She does not respond to this, just smiles wistfully and pats his shoulder. 

“Sleep, Wonwoo. It is nearly sunrise, and you have not gotten any rest. You will need it.”

He struggles for words. He does not know how to tell her that sleep has rather successfully evaded him lately. 

“Alright,” he says finally, and watches her retreat back behind the wooden door. Still, he does not move. His legs suddenly feel too heavy to stand, and his wounds ache with sorrow for all the blood he has drawn under the dark cover of the night.

Sparse light begins to filter through the sky, harkening the arrival of another dawn. The clouds split, and Wonwoo wonders what he could have been in another life.

Thirty-two casualties, eight injured, three missing. The numbers are against you, and you know it.

You have not had a moment of peace since arriving back at your quarters. This palace is much smaller than the king’s, and therefore busier, but you would not dare to complain. If anything, having company at all times is better than perpetual isolation.

“I do not think His Highness will punish you,” Seokmin assures you. As your right hand man and faithful friend, it is duty to say such things, even when he might not be absolutely certain he is correct.

“He is not a generous man. You know this,” you tell him, undoing and redoing your braid in frustration. “We are looked after as long as we serve his purpose. Tonight was the exact opposite of that.”

Seokmin’s silence vindicates you further. You pace anxiously in the room, awaiting your impending doom. Will he have you banished? Executed perhaps, for sheer and utter failure. You think of your sisters then, somewhere in your small village waiting for your safe return.

There is a series of harsh knocks on the door. A royal guard, by the look of his attire.

“His Highness would like to speak with you,” he says grimly. You throw an apprehensive glance over your shoulder at Seokmin, who merely nods. It is meant to be comforting, however it is everything but.

You follow the guard down the winding halls and into a room that has housed many meetings before, none of which ended remarkably well. The guard leaves you with a polite bow and shuts the door behind him. 

The room is dull, windows drawn and curtains closed. It is mostly bare, save for the sparse bookshelves and the table where the second prince Muyeol is hunched over a scroll. You lower your eyes, not daring to speak first.

“I have received news of recent events,” he says, finally. His voice is low, but sharp as an arrow.

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness.” He does not speak further, just watching you with those eyes that have seen years of war and rebellion, and it compels you to explain yourself. “I assure you, we tried our best. I did not anticipate–”

“I did not ask you here to listen to your excuses.” You realize now the way he so easily holds control over his men, and all those coerced into doing his bidding. Fear is a powerful thing. “I want to know how two village boys overpowered some of the palace’s most highly trained and able warriors.”

“I do not–”

“You had one opportunity to prove yourself,” Muyeol remarks, discarding the scroll he had been inspecting. Whatever light there is highlights the faint streaks of gray in his beard as he rises, stepping closer to you. “After all, it is unheard of for a woman to be involved in such activities, let alone be placed in control of the movement. Some of our allies are wondering if it is too much power, to such feeble a person.”

Your fists clench at your sides. This does not go unnoticed – he laughs, an evil and rumbling thing that only stokes the fire in your chest. 

“I am far from feeble,” you say with as much venom as you can muster, “and I believe I have proven so in the past. Do not forget I have been loyal to you and your cause for many moons.”

“True loyalty is not bought.” He picks up one of his knives, a beautiful, glistening weapon. Your breath catches as he points the tip at you, tracing the sharp edge along the curve of your throat. “I have not forgotten the circumstances under which you were brought here. Do you truly believe you would still be here if your family was not at stake?”

Tall flames, pungent smoke in your airways. A ransacked village lies in the distant path of your memories. You remember the price many have paid for attempting to cross this man, the consequences you are still living to this day.

“They are getting in the way,” he continues, coldly. “The commoners believe they are fighting for justice against the crown. It is turning into a problem, for I must rid my brother of the throne before they have the chance to.”

What a cruel man, you think. His words make you sick, but you swallow it down for the sake of your survival.

“I do not forget any allegiance I have pledged, Your Highness.”

The blade drops, and you finally take in the breath you’ve been holding. The air feels sickly sweet in your lungs. 

“I want them dead.” Muyeol drops the knife with a loud clang. “All of them. The uprising must be quashed. Bring me their bodies, so that we may burn them as an example to those who dare to ruin our kingdom. You know what is at stake if you do not.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He turns his sharp eyes to you, sly and unsettling. “You may leave.”

The feeling of dread does not leave even as you enter the courtyard, letting the gentle breeze lap against your cheeks. It is so late that you can feel the beginning rays of dawn creep up the horizon, and yet you are not tired. It strikes you then, in the lush expanse of the palace, that you are as good as powerless. That no matter how high you rise in the ranks, you are still a woman where there is room for none. And if only to make matters worse, you are a pawn in a cruel game that you would rather not be playing at all.

For the first time in months, you feel your eyes stinging with tears you should not let fall. You wish someone was there with you – Seokmin, Seungkwan, anyone – but that is not the case. 

Under the impassive gaze of the night, you are completely alone.

There is little time before your next mission. You assemble a small group of your most trusted soldiers and start to make your plans.

Your reluctance does not slip past your crew unnoticed. Three of them stay behind after you dismiss the others – your most trusted archers, and confidants. Friend is a precarious title in this line of work, but you have learned to make exceptions for them.

“I hope you know you can speak your mind to us,” Seungkwan begins. “What is holding you back?”

“It is nothing.”

“If it were nothing, we would have left for the foothills tonight.”

It is always uncanny how perceptive he is. “My thoughts do not matter,” you say, “so long as His Highness is satisfied and my sisters are safe.”

Hansol is perched on an armchair, eyes thoughtful. “Do you ever think of what you will do once this is all over? When the king finally abdicates and the people are happy?”

“I do not know if the people will truly ever be happy,” you say truthfully. “The second prince has promised action, and action is better than inaction. But he is not the good and kind man the people want for a ruler.”

“The same man that murdered his own son, for fear that he might lay claim to the throne.” Seokmin shudders. “I feel complicit in all of his crimes.”

You take a moment to really look at him, then, as well as the others. Not as soldiers, not as the deadliest archers this side of the river – but as mere boys of twenty-something, full of locked-up love for fallen friends and slain mothers and burning villages. 

What kind of person was Seungkwan at seventeen? What had been Hansol’s favorite fruit to pick and eat in the summertime? 

None of that matters, now. They all have shadows in their eyes; sisters, brothers, loved ones they have left behind. Muyeol had been correct. None of them are here because they want to be.

“One day, we will be on the right side of history,” you say, placing a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder. “But we cannot do that as corpses, and that is what we will be if we fail now.”

“You are right,” he says finally, after a few moments. He glances out the window, at the sun spilling the last few drops of light on the earth. “Please rest, Y/N. There will be a long day of travel, and an even longer hunt afterwards.”

“I will try,” you agree absentmindedly. You offer them your best smile, knowing they will always see through it, and bid them a good night, staying behind to watch what is left of the sunset.

That night, a man appears in your dreams. He knows your name, but you don’t seem to find this strange. Instead, you curl yourself further into the calm familiarity of his voice. You have not seen him since you were eleven, just a child who should not have known the grief that was about to befall her.

You are so brave, he tells you. You are so strong. Mother would have been so proud of you.

You reach for him, unconsciously. Am I really?

Yes. You are so much stronger than you know, little tiger.

A single tear seeps through your lashes, illuminated under the moon’s soft glow. You wake up in the morning and cannot remember your brother’s face at all.

The forest had been Wonwoo’s entire childhood. Raised him, in a sense.

There are faint memories of afternoons spent running in the tall grass, peals of carefree laughter while climbing the tall larch trees. His little brother had liked to catch dragonflies, particularly, letting them go after admiring their scintillating wings. Mingyu does the same, when he is able. The bittersweet likeness always puts something of a smile on Wonwoo’s face.

But that had been before the trees burned and the ferns went down in crackling flames, taking everything precious with them. Now, Wonwoo catches a glimpse of forsythia and barely feels anything.

Unlike the others, he has never been able to sleep in for long. It was hours ago when he first rose, shifting the blankets carefully so that he would not wake up Chan. His muscles are still very sore, wounds still stinging, but he basks in the warm sunlight and feels just a little more alive.

“You’re outside quite early.”

Wonwoo turns sharply. He is normally alone at this time, but Seungcheol is standing in the doorway, eyes heavy with sleep. “Mingyu will be elated to see you,” he adds. “Once he is awake, that is.”

“He seems to be more tired as of late.”

“We all are.” Seungcheol’s eyes dart to the bandages on Wonwoo’s shoulder, and across his torso. Unlike Jeonghan, he says nothing – his mouth settles into a thin line that can only be concern. “I am glad the both of you returned safely last night. The attack was a complete surprise. We did not think that the palace would send soldiers so far into the country.”

Wonwoo thinks of you, then, movements as fluid and graceful as a river. Had he dreamt all of it? He cannot quite recall your face, but he remembers the feeling of your sword on his skin and the smell of fresh blood.

“Do you think they will come again?”

Seungcheol takes a seat on the small wooden bench, patting the spot beside him. Wonwoo does as he is told.

“Wonwoo, do you know what makes a far greater weapon than your daggers and swords?” He shakes his head no. Seungcheol only smiles.

“Hope,” he continues. “When our enemies say we are too loud, too demanding, and wish us silenced or dead – that is the greatest ammunition one can have.”

Wonwoo certainly does not feel hopeful, especially not recently. It has been so for many years, under the current king’s rule: starve, or die trying not to. He says so, petulantly, and receives a pat on the shoulder in return.

“You will learn,” is all Seungcheol says. He is not so much older than Wonwoo, but there is a calm wisdom about him that makes it feel like there are many years between them instead of just the one. 

The conversation dissipates with the arrival of the others. The sound of laughter, such a rare and precious thing, echoes throughout the clearing. Mingyu approaches him with a grin and an ever so subtle limp in his step.

“You look a little rugged,” he remarks, pulling him into a careful hug.

“You are not so bad yourself,” Wonwoo quips back. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Hayun must have told you, but I’ve recovered very well. Chan still says I look a little silly when I walk, but you should not listen to him.” Mingyu gazes lovingly at his wife and Wonwoo feels a distant sting from a wound he does not have.

“Chan enjoys teasing you,” he says absentmindedly. “You make an easy target.”

“I always say that,” Jeonghan calls from where he’s perched on a tree stump, “and he still never listens to me!”

Mingyu only rolls his eyes at him, before turning back to Wonwoo. “What about you? You are not hurt too badly, I hope? Jeonghan was making a fuss out of it earlier.”

“He always does.” Wonwoo brushes a finger over the freshly changed bandages. “Do not worry. They are only minor injuries.”

Mingyu frowns, like he always does when he inspects and cleans the dried blood off the others’ skin. He often volunteers for it, saying it’s the least he can do to help, but the memories of his own scars never quite leave his eyes.

“You must take care of yourself,” he places a gentle hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, “especially now. Things are only getting more dangerous.”

“You sound more like your wife every day,” Wonwoo teases, but the tension in the air is real. He chooses to ignore it and leave all the words unsaid, like always. Hayun and Chan bring out steaming bowls of porridge, and they all eat together outside under the mid-morning sun. It is moments like this that feel like family. It never matters that these are friendships forged of blood and battle, never has.

Sometimes Wonwoo wonders if this is what he could have had in a different timeline, laying in the tall grass watching the clouds with his brother. Perhaps his father would have returned home from a long day in the fields, with fresh fruit and flowers for his mother in tow. But dwelling on the past that never existed is futile, and he knows this.

“I would advise you all to be careful being out, particularly after dark,” Seungcheol starts, once everyone has finished eating. He’s wearing that frown again, the one he gets when he’s especially worried. “I received word earlier from one of our ally groups in the southeast. Their village was raided at nighttime – many dead, even more missing. There is no telling which of us may be next.”

A hushed quiet falls over the circle. Mingyu folds his arms, eyebrows furrowed. Even Chan, who usually resorts to lighthearted jokes to handle bad news, is entirely silent.

“I am not trying to scare any of you,” Seungcheol adds. “But this is the truth, however harsh, and you should know.”

“Cheol is right,” Jeonghan agrees, “We should be alert and prepared. Always carry some sort of weapon on you, and never let your guard down.” Wonwoo notes the bleak look on his face – saved only for the rarest of occasions – and exchanges an uncertain glance with Chan. They will talk about it at some point, when they can speculate on their own time. 

It is colder in the evening, when the sky begins to dim just a little. Wonwoo had agreed, earlier, to exercise with Jeonghan before dinner, and the breeze serves to cool him down whenever they decide to take a break.

“It has been quite a while since we have sparred,” Jeonghan observes, setting his flask down.

“Shall I get the wooden swords?”

“No need. I think you have been past that for some time.” He only chuckles at the dubious expression on Wonwoo’s face. “Do not worry, I know you will not hurt me.”

“Well, that is not my concern,” Wonwoo laughs, “It is myself I worry about. You know you are a far better swordsman than I.”

At this, Jeonghan sets down his sword with a light sigh. “You must not underestimate yourself like this,” he says, gently this time. “Sometimes I feel that is your greatest obstacle.”

“I like to be realistic.”

“Your reality is shrouded by your own fear.” Jeonghan looks at Wonwoo, and it feels like he is staring straight through to his soul. “Do not be so surprised. It is clear in the way you move, and how you wield your weapons. I always see the regret in your eyes.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, shoulders slumped. “How do you do it, hyung? You make it seem so easy.”

“It is not. It never gets easier,” Jeonghan says, sadly. “Some of us are forged out of necessity. Others, courage. But it all leads to the same thing. These are still lives we are taking, regardless of how they were lived.”

Wonwoo watches him carefully, tries to remember what Jeonghan had been like when they first met. He was never the type of person to show how deeply he felt about anything, and still is not. There is a distinct change, however. He had been lighter back then – happier. The mysterious shine in his eyes is still there, but it is different now.

“What would you have done?” Wonwoo turns his observant eyes to his friend. “If you were not a part of all this, I mean.”

Jeonghan ponders this for a second, long hair shadowing his face. In all the years they have known each other, he has barely spoken about his childhood years. His village, his family – nobody knows much about these things at all.

“I do not know,” he says finally. “There was not much of an option, was there? I would have worked in the fields, like my father, and lived a simple life.” Then his expression turns solemn, and his lips form a tight line. “I might have married Haeun, in that timeline.”

This, Wonwoo knows about. He’s only heard her name once before, one night when Jeonghan had just a little too much makgeolli. Drunk Jeonghan was always very chatty, he recalls. But he doesn’t pry further, instead placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Wonwoo, do you know what happens when we die?”

“What?”

“My grandmother used to say that our brain still goes on for seven minutes,” he muses, “Even after our heart stops. Those seven minutes are supposed to be our life’s best memories.” 

Wonwoo thinks about this for a moment. “Is that true?”

“When I find out, I will not be able to tell you.” Jeonghan chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree trunk. “But I think that you would be in it, and all of our other friends. And Haeun too, I hope.”

“Do not say such things,” Wonwoo chides, turning away so that the troubled look on his face is not visible. “But it is a happy idea that our last moments of consciousness are spent in comfort.”

“Right? I thought so as well.”  Jeonghan lifts his head and glances back at the house. The smell of meat cooking – a rare luxury – fills the air, and Wonwoo is suddenly acutely aware of the hunger in his stomach.

“Come, Wonwoo, let us eat. It seems as if Mingyu is finished preparing dinner.”

The journey to the foothills feels much longer than it should be.

It is easy to distract yourself, however, and listen to the others’ chatter. Your horses walk slowly, occasionally getting sidetracked by a stray plant or butterfly, as Seokmin and Seungkwan bicker endlessly behind you.

Hansol’s yawn catches your eye, and you turn to him. “Tired?”

“No,” he says immediately, but the fatigue is evident in his eyes. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

He only shrugs. It is so very Hansol. “Everything.” 

An apt answer, you think. He is not so much younger than you, but he feels it – you wish for him to see and experience more of the world than you have. He still wears a specific type of curiosity in his eyes, the kind that gives you hope.

“What is your favorite fruit, Hansol?”

He thinks about it, then tells you he likes plums. Faintly, you are reminded of your youngest sister, the reddish-purple juice dribbling down her fingers in the summertime. Behind you, Seokmin says something about persimmons. Seungkwan lets out one of those loud, contagious laughs. You wish you could freeze this moment in time.

You glance up at the moon, an early crescent in the darkening sky. One of your men asks whether you will be stopping for the night, but you shake your head.

“We are not too far from our destination,” you explain, “and it is safer to camp nearer to people than here in the woods.”

“I, for one, do not know how I will sleep through Seungkwan’s snoring tonight,” Seokmin announces. “Nobody shall comment on the eyebags I will have tomorrow.”

You wait for the telltale sound of Seungkwan’s fist making contact with his arm – there it is, followed by Seokmin’s pained yelp. You laugh, having grown used to their antics over the years.

Hansol raises an eyebrow. “Are they always like this?”

“More or less,” you tell him. “They are serious when they need to be. I promise you are in good hands.”

“I believe you,” he says sagely.

As the minutes pass, you feel your eyelids growing heavy, the day’s exhaustion hitting you all at once. Seokmin’s bubbling laugh floats over to your ears, and you wonder how he still has the energy for it.

“Tired?” Hansol quips. You shake your head, laughing. It is not long before you begin to see the silhouette of houses in the far distance, glowing lamps dotting the horizon. Seungkwan cheers, eager for some respite.

Suddenly, a sharp sting blossoms at the tip of your ear. The group falls silent at the sound of your surprised yelp, and you bring a hand to your ear in an attempt to stifle the pain.

“What is it?” Seungkwan asks, anxiously.

Your fingers come away red. Blood.

The forest is silent, too silent – the birds have stopped chirping entirely, and the leaves do not carry the wind as they normally do. An eerie feeling rattles down your spine. You grasp the reins a little tighter. Somewhere between the trees, you catch the slightest movement, a flash of blue against the lush foliage. Seokmin sees it too, and his eyes dart to yours, questioning.

“We need to get out of here,” you declare, urging your horse into a gallop. “Now!”

Another arrow whizzes past your head and pierces a tree trunk. Hansol has drawn his bow, letting his own arrows fly. Panic flows through your veins and pools in your chest as you just barely dodge a spear.

Alarmed, you toss a look over your shoulder. The sounds of voices grow louder by the second, accompanied by the thundering hoofbeats of men in pursuit. Seokmin gives you an understanding nod and knocks one of the oncomers clean off his horse.

“What is going on?” Hansol urges, reaching into his quiver. “Who are they?”

“We do not have time to find out.” Some of the men have circled around, approaching you from the sides. You reach for the knife strapped to your thigh and hurl it with precise aim, lodging it into an exposed torso. But one man down does not spell victory – they outnumber you by far, and in a matter of minutes, will have you surrounded. Wildly, you look for something, anything, to provide a way out.

Not so far ahead, half hidden behind bushes, is a slightly less beaten path that branches off to the right. There is another trail further ahead, one that seems to loop around and double back. If you all stay together, you realize, you will be cornered in no time.

“We have to split up!” you shout, amidst the chaos. 

You can’t see Seungkwan, but you know he is frowning. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you insist. “You have to trust me!”

From your right, Hansol gives you a concerned look. “I will accompany you,” he says, shooting at someone behind you. You shake your head immediately, not liking the idea.

“No, Hansol. You cannot!”

“I must,” he protests. “I can hold them off with my arrows. Your sword is better suited for a much closer range.”

You think you will never forget this look in his eyes, such a far cry from the young boy he was when you had first met him.

“Alright,” you say reluctantly, catching a glimpse of sudden movement behind him. “Hansol, watch out!”

He whirls around sharply, but his reaction is not fast enough. Without thinking, you pull your sword from your belt and reach over so far you nearly slip off of the saddle, barely managing to pierce the man’s shoulder. Blood spatters across Hansol’s face, dotting his sunkissed skin. 

“Thank you,” he gasps. “I did not think they would catch up so fast.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching Seungkwan’s eye. He nods firmly, and it gives you the courage to turn back around so you don’t have to watch him and Seokmin tear off to the side, veering left into the thick forest. They will be able to hold out on their own; you have to believe this to be true.

Your pursuers have split, just like you planned – around half of them remain on the path behind you, fast approaching on horseback. You tug on the reins, a bit harshly. Hansol slows down to let you pass through the narrow side trail first.

“I will cover,” he assures you. “Trust me.”

That is all you can do  – making as much distance as you can and dodging stray arrows when they fly just past your head. You do not know who it might be that wants you dead so badly that they would ambush you at night, but as much as you rack your brains looking for an answer, you cannot find one. There are not many who know exactly who you work for, and even less among them who might want to hurt you.

“How much further?” Hansol yells over the commotion, blood dribbling from a gash on his shoulder. “I do not have infinite arrows!”

“I am hoping they will leave us be if we reach the village, if we can make it that far!”

“And how far is that exactly?!”

You turn to face him, but do not get a chance to respond. Before you can open your mouth, an arrowhead lodges itself in the divot beneath your collarbone. 

Sharp pain blossoms across your chest as the metallic scent of blood rises in your nostrils. You try to keep your grip on the reins, but your sight goes blurry, and your fingers let the leather slip. Faintly, you hear something that sounds like a shout of your name. But it is too late – your horse rears back, startled, and you cannot stay on any longer. You roll off, hitting the uneven ground with a sickening thud.

The dark red of your blood stains the rocky terrain below you as you attempt to get on your feet, but to no avail. You let out a pained groan, wondering whether Seokmin and Seungkwan have managed to make it to safety. 

And what of Hansol? You can only hope he makes it to the village unharmed.

The last thing you see is a vaguely familiar symbol, silver etched on dark velvet fabric, but it soon disappears into the night’s cover. Your fingers tighten around a pebble’s edge, and you send a silent prayer up to whatever god is willing to listen. The world disappears, and your vision goes black.

Have you been well?

Your voice is sticky in your throat. No words come out.

Wake up, little tiger. It is time. A whole world awaits you.

You try to fight it, burrowing yourself into that familiar warmth of your brother’s voice. It does not work. Instead, you feel him tumbling further and further away from you, and a strange light intensifies between your eyes.

You wake with a start. Above you is a ceiling you do not recognize, and around you is a room you have never been inside. Blinking twice, you attempt to orient yourself, but a sharp sting renders you immobile when you try to sit up. 

The only other person in the room is seated against the wall, crushing leaves in a mortar. She glances up at the sound of your rustling and lets go of the pestle.

“You are awake,” she observes, carrying the mortar over and kneeling beside you. Carefully, she peels back the layer of bandages and applies the paste to your wound. It stings a little bit, and you wince, not expecting the pain. “This salve should keep it from getting infected.”

The woman is beautiful, with soft features and long lashes. Yet there is a fierceness in her eyes that unsettles and comforts you at the same time.

“Hansol,” you breathe, struggling for words. “Hansol, where is he?”

She arches an eyebrow. “I am assuming you are talking about the boy we found with you,” she says finally. “He was not as badly injured as you are. Do not worry.”

Relief rushes through you, like a spring river. If Hansol is alive and well, then the others have to be, too.

“Where is he?” you repeat, earnestly. “Please, let me see him.”

The woman stares at you for a few moments before heaving a deep sigh, rising to her feet. She leaves the room for a minute or so, and returns with several others in tow. You try to sit up again, leaning yourself up against the wall.

The very first thing you see is Hansol, hands and ankles tied together with thick rope. Behind him are two men, one at each side, wearing grim expressions on their faces.

“What have you done to him?” you demand, albeit weakly. “Let him go!”

Hansol shakes his head at you, as if to tell you to stop talking. The men shuffle him over slowly and deposit him onto the floor so that he sits across from you. He leans forward urgently, eyes desperate.

“Y/N, you have to listen to me, they –”

His sentence is cut short. Without stopping to hesitate, the taller of the two men draws his sword and points it right at this throat.

“Do not hurt him!” you cry out, before succumbing to a coughing fit. The woman rushes to fill a small ceramic bowl with water and brings it to your lips, letting you drink slowly. The man pays no mind at all, and his sword remains in the air.

“Speak,” he says firmly. Hansol throws you a confused glance, the rope chafing his wrists as he fidgets under it.

“I do not know what you ask of me,” he says finally. The man takes a step forward, a subtle limp in his left leg.

“We know everything,” he says coldly. “There is nothing left for you to hide. We know exactly who you are, and who sent you.”

The blade does not drop. You watch Hansol swallow, nervous, as the metal glints threateningly under the morning sun.

“Please, you cannot hurt him,” you entreat once again. “He knows nothing, I swear. I brought him along to aid me.”

The sword’s edge points at you now, sharp and shining. The woman gives him a look, frowning slightly.

“Mingyu, please,” she murmurs. “She is not even able to stand on her own.”

Mingyu does not listen to her. He continues to glare down at you instead, hand steady. “Speak, then,” he demands. “And do not even dare to try and lie to us.”

Your eyes dart from him, to the man beside him, wondering what you could possibly say to save yourselves from the situation you’ve found yourself in right now.

“We are from the capital. The palace,” you clarify. Hansol watches you with wide, terrified eyes, but you are not telling them anything they do not already know.

“That much is clear,” Mingyu says. He gestures towards the sleeve of your robes, where the silver royal emblem sits. “But you have still not told us why you are here.”

“We were given orders,” you begin shakily. The uncertainty in your voice is making Hansol anxious, and you know it. “To find someone.”

Mingyu frowns, sword faltering slightly. “Who?”

You do not know what to say. That is, until another figure emerges behind Mingyu’s broad shoulders. Sharp, catlike eyes that could rival your deadliest blade bore into yours. You’ve seen those eyes somewhere before, for sure, but you cannot put your finger on exactly where.

A dark night flashes in your mind, tense silence in the foothills. You catch the moment of recognition in his eyes too, chapped lips parting just slightly. Yes, you remember that face now, those hands that had skillfully parried your own. The sound of your veil being sliced open still haunts you to this day.

You do not dare break eye contact, but you lift your chin defiantly and stare right back.

“Him.”

As much as he tries, Wonwoo cannot get the image of you out of his head: bandaged and bruised on the floor, and yet sporting the same fierceness he had first seen a few nights ago.

“It seems they came looking for you and Jeonghan,” Mingyu clarifies later. “Orders from the second prince. You heard her.”

Wonwoo just nods, staring out into the woods where Mingyu and Jeonghan had found you during their morning hunt. His nemesis, brought forth from the forest he’d grown up in.

“What should we do, hyung?”

“Well, they are more useful to us alive than dead. And we cannot let them go.” Wonwoo sighs, cracking his knuckles. “Where is she?”

“Hayun is helping her eat. Some porridge, I think.”

“And the boy?”

“He is with them. Do not worry, we have their weapons. And he cannot move with his limbs tied together,” Mingyu reassures him. “I wrote to Seungcheol hyung, too. He should return from the north within a few days.”

“Okay. Good.” Wonwoo laces his fingers together pensively, wonders how you came to be injured so badly in the first place. If you were after him, then who had been after you?

Mingyu takes another tentative step, then takes a seat on the bench beside him. Wonwoo isn’t sure why all his thoughts are stuck in his throat, refusing to present themselves as coherent sentences. It has always been easier to say what is on his mind to Mingyu – he has never once questioned his feelings, taking them all in stride.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?” He tears his gaze away from the sparrow perched on a tall branch and meets Mingyu’s earnest, concerned eyes. “Yes, Gyu. Do not worry about me.”

“Psh. I always worry about you. What kind of friend would that make me?” Mingyu laughs softly. “How is your shoulder?”

“Much better. I can move it further now. It should be completely healed within a week,” Wonwoo says, experimentally rolling his shoulder back and forth.

“That’s good.”

They fall into that easy silence again. Wonwoo feels the words bubbling up, but they never leave his tongue. There are too many feelings, and speaking feels like a certain kind of blasphemy to the quiet that lets him just be.

“How is your leg now?” he asks instead. Mingyu gives a lopsided smile, the one that exposes his sharp canine teeth.

“I keep telling Hayun I am able to go back out there with you, but she will not hear it,” he admits. Wonwoo sees her point, secretly; but this sentiment he would not say out loud. “I know I have been helping out where I can at home, but I still feel a little useless.”

“You are not–”

“It should have been me,” Mingyu lightly touches Wonwoo’s bandaged shoulder, “that night you were with Jeonghan. And every other night, too. Do not think I have forgotten each time you come home battered up and bleeding.”

“It is my duty too.” Wonwoo says it solemnly, can’t bring himself to look his best friend in the eyes right now. “This is not something you must feel bad about.”

Mingyu says nothing, choosing to blink away the unbidden tears in his eyes. Deep down, Wonwoo wonders if things would have been better today if that fateful injury had never happened. Mingyu had always been stronger – not just physically, but mentally. A born fighter, who would have truly known his place on the battlefield.

But it has been many months since Mingyu has lifted his weapon. Wonwoo, full of regrets and mismatched empathy a warrior should not have, needed to step up in his wake. If it had been Mingyu in the valley with Jeonghan that night, you might not have lived to tell the tale.

Wonwoo does not bring any of this up later, when he encounters Hayun in the kitchen. He just sits on a stool quietly, watching her stir the rice porridge.

“You look like you want to say something,” she begins eventually. He stiffens, not used to openly being called out.

‘No,” he denies. “I was just bored.”

“Now that is something I expect Yoon Jeonghan to say.” Hayun laughs. “It is alright, Wonwoo. You are not obliged to speak if you do not feel like it.”

So he does not, instead watching her tidy things up around the small kitchen. She balances several bowls together, passing him a plate.

“Help me carry the seaweed salad,” she says. “At least the boy will eat it.”

Wonwoo is used to doing as he’s told. He obediently follows her into the small side room, plate precariously in hand. Hansol, still bound by the fraying rope, immediately tenses up at the sight of him, but you do not stir. Well — you are asleep, he realizes, and rightfully so. He knows more than anybody how important rest is for an injury. Still, the sight of your lashes gently brushing the skin under your eyes irks him. He cannot pinpoint why.

Hayun sets the plates and bowls on the ground. The rattling seems to jolt you awake, eyes wide and then narrowing at the sight of Wonwoo. 

“I hope you have not come to execute us,” you say sharply. Wonwoo sees straight through your facade, can tell how you’re struggling to speak through the pain. Hayun only purses her lips, setting the bowl of rice porridge beside you.

“I know that we are at odds. But we are not barbarians,” she says gently. “You must eat.”

You lock eyes with Wonwoo once again, gaze unnaturally piercing. He is certain that under different circumstances, you would have your sword at his throat with no hesitation whatsoever.

Hayun brings the spoon up to your lips, but you jerk away slightly, assuring her you can feed yourself. She does not look convinced, but backs away to let you have your space, and glances back at Wonwoo.

“What are you waiting for?” she asks, gesturing towards Hansol. “Untie him.”

Wonwoo gapes at her. “You want me to untie him?”

“How will he be able to eat otherwise? You and Mingyu, really,” she rolls her eyes, “They are hurt and unarmed, and you have got a whole set of knives on you. Do you really see them as a threat right now?”

Wonwoo sighs, reluctantly gets to work on the knots tying Hansol’s wrists together. He is visibly scared; none of the defiance that you hold, and all of the fear you don’t seem to have. 

He sits there against the wall as the two of you slowly eat in silence. Hansol eats quickly, and very little, but you take your time. You have to, he supposes, thanks to the lack of mobility in your right arm. Hayun asks for your name, tentatively, and you tell her. Wonwoo lets it ring in the air before deciding that it suits you: sharp and angular but still soft, smooth rolling off your tongue. He doesn’t turn away until you catch him watching you, expression morphing into a glare.

Wonwoo is not as curious as Hayun, for sure. He only needs to know one thing about you.

“Who was following you here?”  He tries to sound as commanding as possible, nodding towards your wound. “Did you see who shot you?”

He observes carefully as Hansol immediately looks to you. He knows nothing, that is for sure. But you hesitate, just barely. A troubled look crosses your eyes for just a moment before it’s gone again.

“No,” you say finally. “I do not know.”

Wonwoo holds your stare, almost challenging. You do not break. Still, he senses your lie. He is not sure what exactly it is you are hiding, but there must be something. It does not matter just yet. There will be time to find out later. 

He helps Hayun gather the dishes afterwards, almost feels bad binding Hansol’s chafed wrists again. But no measure is too much, and he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“I will keep watch overnight. Just to make sure the boy does not try anything,” he tells her outside. “You should go in and get some sleep.”

Hayun raises an eyebrow at him. “You will stay up all night? Please tell me you are joking, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“Jeonghan and I will keep watch,” he relents, under her stern demeanor. “We will both be adequately rested.”

“You better be. Jeonghan likes to complain when he wakes up with eyebags,” she chuckles, wiping her hands. “I will leave you to it. Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

He mumbles a goodnight in return, trudging back to your room. There is a book lying on a stool, and he brings it with him to read. Why not?

Hansol is as good as asleep when he finally settles in the opposite corner. You are not, but you do not even spare him a glance as he sits down. Whatever, he thinks. At least he has something to bide his time until Jeonghan comes in and he can sleep. 

He opens the book eagerly. A romance novel, it seems. Wonwoo wrinkles his nose, and wonders whose it is. He had never been very fond of the genre, but it will have to do. Wonwoo flips to the first page, filled with avid descriptions of a fair maiden and a lush countryside, and wonders exactly how long of a night awaits him.

Sleep is a fickle guest, dipping in and out and toying with your consciousness. 

You cannot seem to surrender to any sort of dream for too long. Always your eyes fly open, gasping for breath even though you have not been underwater. The sharp-eyed warrior across from you does not spare you more than a threateningly curious glance.

It is when you wake up next that you notice he is no longer there. This man has rounder, softer eyes, and wilder hair. You remember him, too, from that night in the valley. Subconsciously, you note that he does not look half as vicious as he fights. He seems to sense your eyes on him, looking up suddenly from his paper and ink.

“Oh,” he says, a disarmingly playful smile spreading across his face. He whispers, so as not to wake Hansol. “I see you are healing well. Much better than the wreck you were when I found you, at least.”

This piques your interest, and you sit up straighter. “You found me?”

“She speaks,” he remarks sagely. “Yes, I did.”

His demeanor confuses you, to put it plainly. Everyone else had treated you with such coldness, and rightfully so. But he does not seem to have any qualms about speaking with you at all.

“I am Jeonghan, by the way.” At your bewildered expression he adds, “I know your name, but you do not know mine. Is it not impolite?”

“No,” you say bluntly. “I do not really care about your manners. Or your lack of them.”

He shrugs jovially, returning to his paper. “Just as well.”

A little more time passes in utter silence, before you impulsively break it. “What are you writing?”

Jeonghan raises his eyebrows, setting the brush down and turning the paper towards you. “I draw,” he says simply. “Sometimes.”

His nonchalance does not distract you from the impressive detail of the sketch. It is done with little care, but still executed well, a perfect likeness of a mountain range. You wonder how much this tells you about the kind of person he is.

“You are very different from the other one,” you observe.

“The other one?” Jeonghan tilts his head, before it dawns on him. “Oh. You are talking about Wonwoo? Yes, we are not very similar. But maybe that is why we make great friends.”

So that is the catlike man’s name, after all. You repeat it quietly, letting it coat your tongue and roll off of it. Privately, you decide it suits him — slick and smooth, and prickly where you would not expect. 

Friends, Jeonghan had said. A laughable thing – you cannot imagine Wonwoo smiling at all.

“When will we be allowed to leave?” you ask, after some thought. Jeonghan’s hand stills.

“I do not know,” he says. “Mingyu wants you dead. Wonwoo thinks you are more useful to us alive. I, for one, do not particularly care. There is nothing the palace can do to us if we are always one step ahead.”

“How long must we wait, then?”

Jeonghan shrugs without looking up. “I told you. I do not know.”

Your heart sinks a little, but you continue to watch him silently, adding thoughtful strokes here and there to his sketch. Somehow the repeated movement lulls you back to sleep, lids heavy and fluttering closed. Your brother does not show up in your dreams this time. Instead, you are surrounded by nothing. Nothingness is starkly different from darkness. It is simply empty, unsettling. 

An oddly familiar symbol flashes underneath your eyelids, burning through your vision. It reflects light from an unknown source, before blood dribbles over it, oozing out of the emptiness. You feel it everywhere, pain buzzing just underneath your skin in unbearable torment.

You wake with a start, breathing heavily. Nothing seems to be out of place – gentle sunlight, the same room you remember, Hansol in the corner. But everything you’ve just seen with your eyes closed continues to haunt you.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. A pang of sympathy strikes you; he has not spoken much since you were brought here. 

“I think,” you reply, propping yourself up with your uninjured arm. “Hansol, I must ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to tell me anything you remember from the attack,” you ask, seriously. “Anything. About what happened after we were separated, and about who they were.”

“I did not make it much farther than you,” he says ruefully. “I panicked after you got knocked off of your horse. I think it was sheer luck that they left after assuming we were dead. But one thing was rather odd, actually.”

“What?”

“Some of their robes,” he continues, frowning. “I am sure the royal symbol was on them. But those cannot have been real, right?”

You feel your heart racing, thumping along in your chest. You search Hansol’s eyes for any sign he’s lying, or joking, but there’s none.

“I saw it, too,” you say, hushed. “Just before I fell. I thought I was hallucinating.”

“I do not think you were.” Such a grim expression feels mismatched on Hansol’s face; so much conflict for one so young. “But how? And why?”

Apt questions, both of them. Your deduction seems almost bizarre, if you really think about it. Laughable, almost. Why would the second prince want to thwart his own plan?

But… it is not impossible.

You purse your lips. “I shall be honest with you, Hansol. I do not know why such a thing would happen – but I also know that man is not to be blindly trusted. So there is that, too.”

Before he can respond, someone clears their throat. Calmly, but loud enough to interrupt. Wonwoo enters the room with narrowed eyes, making his presence known.

“What are you two whispering about?” he demands, folding his arms. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“We are plotting out how to kill you and get away with it,” you say dryly. He does not laugh, instead staring at you with a coldness that could rival even the iciest glaciers.

“Very funny,” he replies, full of sarcasm. “Humor will not do you any favors here. Remember that.”

God, you really wish you had actually killed him that day. His smooth voice somehow irks you even more, drawing your cantankerous mood to the surface at record speed. However, you tamp it down, settling the frustration in your chest in preparation for the request you are about to make.

“Can I borrow some ink and paper?”

This gets Wonwoo’s immediate attention. He turns, eyebrows raised. For a moment you think he might just laugh it off and ignore you. And he would not be wrong for it, you realize – you are essentially a hostage in this small village, and neither he nor the others owe you a single thing.

“What for?” he says sharply. “Surely you do not think you will be able to trick us?”

“No, of course not,” you shake your head vehemently, heart sinking. “I would not do that.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “As if I am stupid enough to believe such a thing. What are you trying to do this time, call for reinforcements? Leave the target on my and Jeonghan’s back for somebody else to find?”

“No,” you insist, desperation seeping into your voice. “I must write to my sisters. It has been too long – there are some things I must tell them.”

A matter of life or death, you think silently. If Muyeol truly is after you, then he will certainly not draw the line at harming either of them. For a moment, you think Wonwoo might be considering it. He looks at you with that calculating expression he has, probably weighing the decision in his head.

“You are a fool if you think I am that naive,” he says, finally. 

You try not to show it, but your face falls. If there was one thing that provided a sense of normalcy for you in the capital, it was being able to keep in touch with your sisters regularly. They are, after all, the only family you have left. But Wonwoo pays you no mind, shuffling about and searching for something before he leaves again. You deflate a little. Hansol’s sympathetic look is meant to soothe, but it only makes you feel a little bit worse.

The rest of your time passes quite uneventfully. Your days are relatively the same now – not like you are able to do much, anyways, with your injury. Hayun helps you out when she can, occasionally stopping to make small talk, but you are otherwise alone. 

Mingyu and Wonwoo have decided that they would rather have Hansol help with the errands than waste away in a dark corner – you watch him lift bundles of firewood with a pang in your chest. At least he is accompanied by someone else, a boy named Chan who does not look a day older than him, and likes to make awkward conversation as they work.

You grow more anxious with every passing day, wondering why Muyeol’s men have not found you yet. Realistically, you should be thankful for each peaceful morning, but it does nothing but stir apprehension in your stomach. He may not be a good man, but he is a smart one. There are not many villages this side of the river, and you don’t think it will take him very long to find you.

Suddenly you think of Hayun, who has looked after you ever since you got here. You wonder if she, too, will soon have to face the aftermath of a razed home and a martyred husband, a family vanishing within minutes – a fate you would not wish upon anybody.

It is late one night, with Hansol away doing something or the other for Mingyu. You are moving your right arm back and forth, newfound strength surging into your muscles. With Hayun’s help, you can even stand now, but she is not here. 

It takes you a few moments before you realize Wonwoo is at the doorway. He remains silent even as you raise your eyebrows, prompting him to speak. Instead, he just approaches you and gingerly places two sheets of paper as well as a brush and ink on the floor beside you.

“You may write to your sisters,” he says gruffly. “One of us will read it to ensure you are not communicating with the palace. Hayun will have it delivered tomorrow.”

You stare at the paper, not knowing what to say. He watches you with careful eyes, waiting only a beat or two before turning on his heel to leave.

“Wonwoo,” you call just as he’s about to step out. He looks surprised at the sound of his name; perhaps even offended, but he listens anyway. “Thank you.”

Something strange flashes in his eyes, but only for a moment. He does not reply, only sparing you a curt nod before walking away. You sigh, and wait until he’s gone to pick up the brush and dip it into the inkpot. There are important things to be said, and not enough time.

To Soonhee and Soonja –

How are you both? I am sorry I have not been able to write recently. Unfortunately, things have gotten quite hectic as of late. But never mind that. I have gone to the foothills for some important business – I will tell you all about it later.

Please, do not stray far from home. Above all, do not travel to the capital. Send Jihoon, if absolutely necessary. Nobody will recognize him. But do not go yourself. I cannot tell you why just yet, but please, you must trust me.

Speaking of Jihoon – how are my brother-in-law and my darling nephew, Soonhee? I have not seen little Sangmin since he was a newborn, but I will visit as soon as I am able. Have you picked up any new projects lately? Tell me all about it when I come home. I always love to hear about it

Soonja, I have made a friend who is quite like you. He is gentle but strong, and likes to eat plums in the summer. I find myself missing you very much when I speak with him. And the plums, I will bring some home for you. They seem to grow quite abundantly in these regions. 

I find that something odd has been happening to me recently. I did not want to ask, but I feel that I must. Sometimes our brother comes to me in my dreams. He feels almost real. Soonja will not remember – but you must, Soonhee, you had been old enough, too. I never see his face; I cannot remember it. But he speaks to me while I am asleep, and I find myself aching when I wake up again. Does this happen to you, too? 

I am not sure. Maybe I am going crazy. I have not been sleeping too well; I suppose that would do it.

Anyhow, I hope this reaches you without any sort of delay. Please do not send any correspondence to the palace – or do not send anything more, for that matter. It should not be very long before I am able to come home again, and then I will tell you everything sitting across from you over dinner.

Be well, and take care of yourselves. Give Sangmin and Jihoon my love.

Yours, Y/N

Wonwoo cannot even make it halfway through your letter before he passes it to Jeonghan, desperately tearing his eyes away from the words on the paper.

“What happened?” the older man questions, unfolding it carefully. 

“I cannot,” Wonwoo repeats, shaking his head. “I know it is for our safety. But it feels too personal.”

“Oh, yes. How convenient that I do not have feelings, then,” Jeonghan says dryly, rolling his eyes. Still, he relents, scanning your letter. Satisfied with what he sees, he folds it up again and stands. “I will find Hayun. She should be able to have it delivered when she goes to the market.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo nods. He likes that Jeonghan never really asks questions, seems to know exactly when to stop digging. It works out for the two of them; neither of them pry, and neither of them answer. And if Jeonghan had asked – what would he have said? Wonwoo does not enjoy feeling most of his emotions, let alone talking about them. 

He had not planned on letting you write it in the first place. It was a simple decision, and Mingyu had quite agreed with him when he told him about it later over dinner.

But he had seen Wonjae’s face in the back of his mind, for a brief second. There was not a thing Wonwoo wouldn’t do if it meant he could write to him, or speak to him just once more. In the moment, he had not felt like depriving you of the opportunity he could never have.

Of course, he will not tell Jeonghan any of this. There are things he does not like admitting to himself, much less others.

Seungcheol arrives later that night, after everyone else is asleep. Wonwoo greets him silently, tells him to rest, but he is met with a stern demand to tell him everything. He fetches a bowl of water, sits Seungcheol down, and starts from the beginning.

“This is not good,” Seungcheol frowns. “It is only a matter of time before those same soldiers find their way to us.”

“We can handle them, can we not? We always have.”

“We always have. But that does not mean we always will. It is wise to exercise caution.” Seungcheol casts a wayward glance at the room where you and Hansol sleep. “What of them?”

“I would not worry,” Wonwoo assures him. “They have no weapons, and the girl is injured. I do not believe they are a threat.”

Seungcheol gives him a half smile. “It is good to have faith, Wonwoo. But do not trust blindly. Ever.”

I’m not, he wants to say. Petulant, like a child, and somehow that upsets him even further. Wonwoo wishes he was able to switch this part of him off, just like Jeonghan seems to do, but his mind does not appear to work that way. 

“What do you think we should do?” he asks instead. 

“Well, we will keep them here for now. There is not much else to be done.” He sighs, glancing up at the sky. “I am tired, Wonwoo. We will speak about this later. Good night.”

“Good night,” Wonwoo echoes, watching Seungcheol and his broad shoulders retreat into the house. He should be heading inside, too. But he does not move just yet, staying out for just a little longer before he sleeps.

When Wonwoo dreams, there are trees everywhere. Larches, like the ones he used to love to climb as a child. What a shame, that he had to grow up so fast. Wonwoo dreams, and there are fireflies. The nostalgic kind, that takes him to another time rather than a place. There is a warm fire, and a meal cooking somewhere off in the distance. If he listens closely, he can hear his brother’s laughter, just loud enough. 

Sometimes, Wonwoo dreams of a different universe. Another timeline, perhaps the one in which Jeonghan and Haeun could have been happy together. In this universe, Wonwoo does not fight. He sits in the clearing with his brother on a breezy afternoon, listening to the bush warblers sing. 

In this universe, Wonwoo is a fisherman, like his father. He teaches Wonjae how to cast the nets, and which spots along the river are particularly excellent for catching minnows. In his spare time, he reads, collecting books he likes from the market. Soon enough, he cultivates a small library of his own, a personal haven of sorts.

The worst part, however, is that this universe is not real. The river cracks, like glass. Fish scatter everywhere and the water goes dark. Wonwoo reaches out for his brother, but Wonjae has disappeared. The boat rocks wildly, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut out of the nausea it stirs in him.

This moment is when he wakes up. The image of his reflection in the shattering river always haunts him for hours. Like maybe it’s him that’s breaking, instead of the current.

He sits up in his bed, blinking the sleep away. Across from him, Chan rolls over, mumbling something intelligible. He has always been a heavy sleeper, which works out just fine for Wonwoo, who does not make much noise in general. The sky is still quite dark. Wonwoo peers out the window. It will be dawn soon, he realizes, catching the first hints of light at the horizon. No river to dip his feet in, no boat to cross it with. 

Just as well. He turns over, pretending none of it matters, and tries to fall asleep again.

It takes you another week and a half, give or take, to be able to walk on your own. Hansol helps, an arm steadying you as you take careful steps. 

This development is not welcomed by the majority of the others, particularly Mingyu and Seungcheol. Hayun just gives you a small smile and tells you she is glad you recovered without any complications. Oddly enough, you spend most of your time in the company of Jeonghan, who always drags Wonwoo along with him. It is quite tiring, even though you know it is merely a matter of security to have an eye or two on you at all times.

“Must you always look so surly?” you remark one afternoon. Wonwoo sits across from you in the room, having busied himself with a book, and raises an eyebrow at your question.

“Is that what you think of me?” 

“Yes,” you say, emboldened by the challenging look on his face. “I think you choose to present yourself as quite a joyless individual. I did not know it was possible to embody a cantankerous grandfather in a young man’s body.”

“I must say, I have never been so openly affronted by my own hostage before.” His expression does not hold any of the offense that his words portray. Instead, he seems subtly amused, almost – as if this is just child’s play to him. It irks you even more.

“Really?” you scoff. “And how many women have you taken hostage before, exactly?”

Finally, Wonwoo sets his book down. Ha, you think to yourself. I win. He folds his arms, keeps his piercing eyes trained on you. He might have been beautiful, you realize, if you did not despise him so.

“Only those who are bold enough to set a target on my back,” he says, an edge to his deep voice. “You are the first. And I intend you to be the last.”

“How valiant,” you retort.

“How ignorant,” Wonwoo corrects, leaning forward. “You are not invincible. Do yourself a favor and stay off your high horse while you are here.”

You raise your chin, defiantly. “And if I refuse?”

Wonwoo says nothing, only holding your level stare. The heat of his hostility is unmistakable, his sharp eyes burning into yours. You only wish you could reach for your sword and slash the tantalizing column of his neck, the glistening steel against his skin. But your hands remain where they are and you sit in place, jaw clenched and temper boiling over.

“Are you finished attempting to telepathically kill each other?” Jeonghan hesitantly pokes his head through the doorway. “I come bearing news.”

Wonwoo turns his attention to his friend, finally. “What news?”

Jeonghan does not answer him. Instead, he trudges towards you, pulling a folded piece of paper out of a pocket and handing it over. You frown up at him.

“What is this?”

“I think you should read it first.” You don’t like the mildly troubled look on his face, but you follow his advice and open up the folds anyways. Immediately, you recognize the handwriting, and your breath catches in your throat.

Y/N – 

I do not have much time to write this. I managed to get away and ride to your village, based on what little you told us. I am taking your sisters to a safe house further away from the capital, as well as Jihoon and the baby. I hope Hansol is still with you. 

Those who attacked us had been palace soldiers; Muyeol’s men, every single one of them. This must have been planned – I thought about it every way, but I am not convinced it was an accident. It could not have been. We were never supposed to carry out this mission, Y/N. We were meant to die before even succeeding.

Seungkwan did not make it. He was shot in the neck, and I could do nothing to save him. I buried him near the riverbank with some peonies, just as he would have wanted. 

Do not write back, lest it is intercepted. Be safe. 

Seokmin

You do not say anything for a few precious moments. It is so much information all at once, on this tiny scrap of paper. How ironic that simple words have such power to change your entire world with one sentence?

Muyeol’s men, every single one of them.

“I knew it,” you mumble to yourself, crumpling the paper beneath your fingers. Dismay gives rise to anger in a volcanic chain reaction that ripples violently through your entire body. “I fucking knew it. Of course. How could I have been so blind?”

“You were unconscious,” Jeonghan interjects, unhelpfully.

The same man who had promised you many things in return for your unwavering loyalty, now targeting you – you are not surprised, and you do not have the right to be, either. The realization is ugly, but it is the truth. You had always known what kind of a person he was, but back then it had only mattered that you and your family were guaranteed safety. It is not like that, anymore.

Jeonghan just sighs. “I am assuming now is not a good time to say ‘I told you so’.”

“I told you so,” Wonwoo says flatly. You glare up at him, blinking the unshed tears away. Suddenly you hate him even more for being able to stand there unflinching, while you slowly lose everything and everyone.

“I wish I had killed you that night,” you tell him with quiet anger. “I never would have had to come here, and Seungkwan would still be alive. I am ashamed I did not have the courage to fulfill my task the first time.”

Wonwoo does not answer, just casts his eyes to the ground with his head slightly bowed. You want more than this absolute silence from him – something, anything in response to everything you throw out. But you get none, just his eyes avoiding yours.

You wait until you are alone to open up the paper again, the words blurring together on the page. Gently, you trace a finger along the characters of Seungkwan’s name, the memories rushing back like a flood. Never in a million years would you have thought you’d be remembering him like this, images flashing in your mind.

Seungkwan, who had liked to lighten things up with a joke or two and a contagious laugh. Seungkwan, who once swore to always have your back, and never broke his promise to the end. You had looked after him with such care, treated him like the little brother you never had. You remember teaching him how to shoot an arrow for the first time ever. It was raining that day, but he had insisted on going out to the grounds regardless. It is a comfort, you suppose, that he had gone down wielding that same beloved weapon.

Hansol does not take the news any better than you had. He does not believe you at first, reads Seokmin’s letter again and again until it finally sinks in that he will never hear one of Seungkwan’s spur-of-the-moment puns again. You want to reassure him, but you do not go to comfort him, recognizing his need for space.

They might not have been very close, but they had always taken well to each other, and they had been the same age. Now Hansol will continue to grow, and Seungkwan will be forever twenty-two. 

Neither you or Hansol cry, but both of you come threateningly close.

The letter wears thinner the more you read it, but you cannot help but grasp onto Seokmin’s words – what if you lose him too? You try to soothe yourself with the knowledge that your sisters are safe, but your anxiety does not let your mind rest at all. It is suffocating, to sit in this room with nothing but your and Hansol’s grief and the echoes of a voice you’ll never hear again. With what little strength you have, you wander outside, limping slightly. 

The wind is sobering, and you inhale a greedy lungful of the crisp mountain air, letting it linger in your lungs. The treeline is a comforting sight. Seungkwan had always loved nature. At least his soul will rest easy.

“Watch your step there,” Wonwoo’s rough voice comes from behind you. “You will fall.”

You’ve never whipped your head around faster. He stands, a bit awkwardly, hands laced together behind his back. His eyes linger on your injured leg warily. 

“Careful,” you retort, “or I might think you actually have a heart deep down in that twisted soul of yours.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Must you make it your absolute mission to constantly antagonize me?”

“You are acting surprised – as if there is any chance on this earth of me tolerating your presence,” you tell him, settling on a wooden bench. To your surprise, he follows suit, perched gingerly on the other end.

“What was he like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Seungkwan,” Wonwoo clarifies. “Your friend.”

Hearing the name sends a pang to your heart, but you cannot help but give him a strange look. “Do you always pretend to have a conscience in front of your hostages?”

Wonwoo scoffs, the first real emotion you have managed to draw from him all night. “You are far too cynical for your own good,” he remarks. “It is truly a wonder how you ever managed to navigate society like that.”

“Do not underestimate me,” you say crossly, “I contain multitudes.”

Both of you fall silent again. The night speaks instead, with the occasional howling of a gust of wind, or an owl hooting in the distance.

“Seungkwan was one of my closest friends,” you murmur, emboldened by the cool breeze. “I would have trusted him with my life. I did, too, on many occasions. There was not a moment where he was not there for me.”

Wonwoo hums, in some sort of agreement. “That is a good friend, indeed.”

“He is. Was,” you amend, attempting to swallow down the lump in your throat.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“I do not think I believe you,” you let out a mirthless laugh. “But I will pretend so for your esteem, and my own mood.”

He nods sagely. “You have my full permission to take my words purely at face value.”

“I do not need your permission,” comes your quick reply. Wonwoo seems to take it in stride, like that was precisely the sentence he was expecting to leave your mouth. You do not particularly like that he acts as if he has you all figured out. A dangerous thing it is, to be known by essentially a stranger.

“You will keep many heartwarming memories with him,” Wonwoo adds. “Those are forever.”

“I hope so,” you nod, trying to conceal your sniffling. “He loved oranges. God, he was crazy about them,” the words slip from your tongue before you can even think, “He would talk about going to the island for them all the time. And he dearly loved to sing. He was very good at it, too.”

“What kinds of songs?”

“Ballads, mostly. He and Seokmin would burst into song at such random times. I remember being annoyed,” your voice breaks, “I cannot believe I was annoyed. I would give anything to hear him sing again. But I used to scold him so much.”

“Well, it is always a loving heart that chides the most.”

You catch a stray tear on the tip of your finger before casting a wary glance at Wonwoo. He does not meet your eyes, but stares into the woods as if there is something there he longs for. His normally cold gaze shines softly – for the first time, you might even feel a pang of empathy for him.

“Is this another tactic I do not know about?” you ask instead. “Lulling women into a false sense of security, so that you can converse about their dead friends before slashing their throats?”

Wonwoo’s plush lips immediately form a scowl. “I am not so much of a ladies’ man as you might believe.”

“How do I know you are not lying? You certainly look the part!”

He opens his mouth to fire back with his own retort, but he stops short all of a sudden, a small smirk on his face instead. “Did you just call me handsome?”

You give him your most appalled look. “I called you the equivalent of a rake and that is how you understood it?”

He shakes his head, clearly amused. “I hope that was not an insult to my intelligence. I quite know a compliment when I see one.”

“I do not even know why I bother conversing with you,” you say incredulously, standing suddenly out of frustration. There is a half-hidden root before you, but you do not see it – your foot catches, and you stumble forward. On instinct, Wonwoo reaches out, catching your arm before you tumble to the ground.

His touch burns, invisible flames scorching the skin as his fingers encircle your wrist. You lock eyes with him for a mere moment, the surprise in his expression mirroring yours. But the instant passes, and you immediately rip your arm from his grasp.

“Do not touch me,” you say sharply, rubbing your wrist.

“I did not want to,” he defends, “You would have fallen instead.”

You flash him a deep frown. “I would rather faceplant into the ground and lose my two front teeth.”

Guilt flashes in his eyes, and you almost feel bad. Instead, you wrap your arms around yourself, shielding your skin from the cold. The warmth from Wonwoo’s touch is long gone; you find yourself craving the soft burn of his fingertips again. It is all so unexplainably wrong. You really should leave, before you say something you might regret. That sharp tongue has always been your double-edged sword.

But Wonwoo gets to his feet instead, gesturing towards the bench’s smooth wood. “Sit,” he says gruffly.

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I am not interested in taking your place.”

“I insist.”

“Why?”

He hesitates, just a little. “I thought you might want some time with yourself. Alone. Fresh air always helps, too.”

You want to find your most piercing words, fashion them into a venomous retort, and throw it at him – but nothing comes up. He is right, and it does not fail to get under your skin.

“You sound rather confident.”

For the first time, Wonwoo smiles. It is a tragically beautiful thing; the expression does not reach his eyes, and the very corner of his mouth remains slightly downturned. Grief seems to taint him like a shadow that refuses to leave, and for just this moment you forget just how much you loathe his existence.

“You are not the only one who has lost somebody,” he says simply. 

“You know, then.”

He shrugs halfheartedly. “It has been quite some time.”

You ponder your next question for a moment before asking it. “Does time truly heal all wounds?”

His mouth opens with an answer, and then it closes again, plush lips forming the beginning of an unsaid word. You watch him consider your query carefully, and wonder just where his thoughts come from. A part of you wants to ask, spurred by curiosity; but at the same time you are not so sure you want to know. Perhaps you are hesitant to see him as he is – not your adversary, but just Wonwoo, carrying his own ghosts on those weary, broad shoulders.

“Only if you want it to,” he says finally. 

Softly, a far cry from earlier. All of the bite has disappeared from his voice, replaced by something gentle and raw. His presence is no longer looming; he is simply there, like the sturdy oaks of the village you grew up in. It is a new feeling, and you do not like this strange ease.

But you think more about his answer as the words sink in. Is that why it had been so hard to let go of your brother? It was silly; laughable, even. You had not kept anything to remember him by, but he was always there in your dreams when you truly needed him. Had that subconsciously been your doing? How long would it take for you to let go of Seungkwan, too?

“Maybe I had not willed it,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows.

“What?”

You meet his confused eyes. “Oh – nothing.”

“If you did not mumble so much, it might be easier to hear you,” he says, with all the attitude he can muster, and immediately you know that the precious truce-like moment has passed. You paste an equally irritated expression on your face, to match his.

“And I thought you were leaving,” you return sharply. “But you are still here.”

“That I am,” he observes quietly. “Well. Goodnight.” 

He lowers his gaze to the ground and turns, footsteps growing farther as he retreats to the house. A conflicting feeling rises in your throat as you watch him walk away, shoulders just a little slumped – the stature of a man with a myriad of stories and no voice to tell them with.

Wonwoo’s eyes, full of misted secrets, flash in your mind once again. Involuntarily, you shiver at the memory. You had never before met a man as calmly infuriating as him. If that does not ultimately spell out danger, then you don’t know what does.

From somewhere between the thick trees, Seungkwan smiles down at you. Reassuring, like a warm hug that you don’t deserve, and it stings. You try to recall his soothing voice, and cry freely into the night’s embrace.

The restless feeling in the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach does not cease.

Instead, it festers, boiling over and into itself by the day. It grows, even when he wills it not to. And worst of all, it seems to heighten inexplicably when you are near, and he is rendered helpless. He is always reminding himself that no matter how familiar your words might feel sometimes, you are everything but – your cynicism and your instantly sharp tongue are just two of the many things he cannot stand about you.

Still, there is that pull. Like a magnet, but only worse. Against his will, a part of him cannot help but be captivated by the enigma that you present yourself to be.

And, of course, there is that other thing.

The thing that, as he sits and watches you tell your story to Seungcheol, becomes more and more difficult to deny. You are no less resplendent in the sun than you are in the night’s glow, he realizes. Perhaps this is what he deems most dangerous about you. In his mind, you are indisputably beautiful – in the way that one might look on in awe as a tsunami’s ominous wave rolls up to the shore, despite being fully aware of the havoc it will wreak.

Wonwoo is sure that if he ever called you a natural disaster to your face, you would attempt to take a knife to his throat. Either way, he keeps the thought to himself, guarded and untouched.

He watches as Seungcheol returns your weapon. Your eyes seem to shine a bit brighter once the sword is in your hands, slender fingers wrapping around the hilt like it is the most familiar thing in the world. Wonwoo cannot help but revisit an old memory as you touch the blade, almost reverently.  He had been on the receiving end of that sword once, the cool metal drawing blood from underneath his skin. And he probably should feel a touch of apprehension now that you wield it once again, but strangely enough, there is no such emotion. Only respect, and wonder.

You promise Seungcheol something – he does not hear, too busy in his own loud thoughts – and the older man smiles gently. Belatedly, Wonwoo wonders what it is. Choi Seungcheol does not smile often, especially not with the events that have been happening as of late.

What he does not expect is for you to approach him, sword loose in your grasp. He tries to ascertain something, anything from your expression, but your poker face seems to be quite good. Finally, your lips break into a tiny smirk. Wonwoo’s heartbeat accelerates straight out of nowhere.

“What? Do not tell me you are frightened,” you say, a bit smug. “The blade is still sheathed.”

“That is a bold assumption you are making.”

“You seemed quite worried the last time this sword was pointed at you,” you continue. The wind whips your hair around, and you look viciously wild. It is a sight for sore eyes. “Afraid, even. Was that an assumption, too?”

There is challenge in your eyes. Wonwoo knows that this is effectively the equivalent of playing with fire, but he figures he still has space. It has not burned him yet.

“If it is a duel you wish for, then a duel you will get,” he says, lowly, “but it is in your best interest to wait until you are fully healed. That way you will at least have a fighting chance.”

You scoff, affronted. “Oh, my. These are the words of a man with severely misplaced confidence.”

He returns your inflamed glare. “And the delusion of a woman who stands on her own imbalanced pedestal.”

The air is charged, suddenly. Wonwoo fights the urge to look away and avoid the intensity in your eyes that he just cannot ignore. Eventually, he folds, turning away to clear his throat.

“At least make yourself useful and accompany Jeonghan and Mingyu when they go to hunt,” he retaliates, though it comes out with a little less bite than he originally intended. You only roll your eyes at him before you walk away, loosely braided hair swinging lightly amidst the breeze. 

The days pass as they always do, for the most part. Wonwoo is no stranger to routine, and rarely does he find it monotonous. It grounds him, until you come in like a typhoon and leave his brain in a muddled wreck. But he lets it be, for his own sake. Admitting that your aftermath is not as ruinous as it seems feels like a sort of betrayal to the life he has always known. And so he lives with it, warring emotions brewing in his chest. He trains with Jeonghan, teaches Chan how to fight, and the sun keeps on rising.

Good things often arrive with pomp and circumstance, while unfortunate events tend to creep up silently and pounce when you least expect it. It is quite a sunny day, and Wonwoo finds himself feeling more at ease than usual. The tall grass brushes against his knees as he takes his steps, very silently.

And of course, there you are, close behind him. He had not originally intended on bringing you into the forest to hunt with him today, but Mingyu had accompanied his wife to the market, and Jeonghan had insisted on taking an off day. Reluctantly, and upon Seungcheol’s wish, he had asked you to come along.

From his side, you suddenly nock an arrow. Wonwoo pauses for a second to take the sight in – your sword suits you, but you handle the bow so elegantly, the wood smooth beneath your fingers. You close an eye, pulling the string back, and he snaps back to his senses.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, quietly.

“Shh,” comes your reply. “If you end up scaring our lunch away, I will not forgive you.”

Wonwoo searches the foliage for any sign of life, but comes up blank. “What are you even aiming at?” he questions, squinting. “At this rate, we will not have lunch at all.”

You smile then – a sly, knowing thing – and release the arrow. It hits something between the leaves, and the unmistakably distressed crow of a pheasant follows not soon after.

“See?” you tell him, wearing that smirk he detests. “Lunch.”

“Luck,” Wonwoo corrects. Still, he follows along, somewhat astonished. He had not seen anything; not a single movement or flash of color. He wonders if this, too, will remain a mystery.

The way you move through the forest is awfully reminiscent. You slip around the thick bushes and the tall grass, weaving between the trees easily. A part of his heart burns at this. The forest is his realm, not yours, but you have adapted quite seamlessly.

The alarm bells begin to go off in Wonwoo’s head when you are not too far from the house, just skirting the edge of the woods. He tilts his head, listening carefully, before turning to you. To his surprise, you look equally concerned.

“Do you hear that, too?”

“Yes,” you confirm. The sound of hoofbeats on dirt roads grows louder, as does the unease in his chest. He exchanges one troubled glance with you and breaks into a sprint with you following right on his heels.

The very first thing that Wonwoo sees is Seungcheol, standing with his arms folded. A fearsome glower sits on his face, and he is saying something, but Wonwoo cannot quite make the words out. Chan stands behind him, mouth set in a deep frown.

You gasp, suddenly. Wonwoo feels a tug on the edge of his robes, and his eyes trail down to see your fingers clutching the soft fabric.

“Palace soldiers,” you whisper, nodding towards the house. There are at least twenty, if not more. They have not drawn their weapons just yet, but even from this distance the tension in the air is palpable.

“We should go see what this is about,” Wonwoo urges. But you do not move, still crouching beneath the wisps of tall grass.

“I already know what this is about,” you tell him. Your voice is firm, but it’s the look on your face that gives you away. For the first time, Wonwoo sees a sliver of fear in your eyes, and the memories that seem to haunt you by night. “I cannot lose Hansol, too.”

Wonwoo’s heart clenches, and he briefly thinks of Wonjae. “You will not.”

“You do not know that!”

“You will not,” he repeats, insistent this time. “Hansol will be alright. We will go down and see what they want, and hopefully it is something we can reason with them about.”

He almost thinks it won’t work, but you stand finally, still uncertain. You just shake your head, mumbling something under your breath he doesn’t quite catch, but he does not pry any further.

Wonwoo hears your sharp inhale as you approach the scene, and feels a sudden pang of sympathy. He had not thought about how it would feel to be confronted by the very men you had worked alongside with, maybe even the same men who had fought for you, who had ended up turning on you in the very end. You could dissolve into enraged fury here and now, and he would understand.

“What is going on here?” he demands. The others have come out, too, and you make a beeline for the house, presumably trying to find Hansol. 

“I do not know,” Seungcheol says quietly. “They have not told us anything.”

Wonwoo does not have any more arrows in his quiver, but he is hyper aware of the daggers he always keeps strapped to his belt. He scans the surroundings; the men have arranged themselves into a half-circle, surrounding them and effectively blocking off any possible escape routes.

From behind him, he hears your panicked voice. “Where is Hansol?!” you ask, desperate, but all Jeonghan can say is that he does not know. The distress in your question is all too familiar, takes him back to a time that had left him desolate and alone.

One of the soldiers shifts, eyebrows raised. He draws his sword, and instinctively, Seungcheol takes a step back.

“You,” he says coldly. It takes Wonwoo a few seconds to realize where exactly the blade is pointing. “It seems we have finally found the traitor.”

“That is bold of you to say. I am not the one who turned my back on those who were loyal to me,” you declare. “By that logic, Lee Muyeol is as much of a traitor as I am.”

One of the foot soldiers steps forward menacingly, and immediately Jeonghan’s hand goes to his sword. The man that had spoken earlier – presumably the captain, due to his robes – just chuckles lazily.

“Do not think we are unaware of who you are. You could be easily thrown into prison,” he says. It is the world’s most diplomatic threat. Wonwoo feels the hair standing up on the back of his neck. “But you are merely country bumpkins, and the second prince has never found much trouble dealing with you lot. Give us the girl, and you live.”

“Only I choose where I go. And I go where I please,” you reply coolly, stepping forward. Wonwoo shoots you a look, wonders if this is another one of those situations where your stubbornness is getting the better of you while he prays that it isn’t.

The captain laughs mirthlessly. “His Highness was certainly right about you. What a foolish decision, indeed, to employ a woman. And one with such a foul mouth as yours, at that.”

Wonwoo isn’t sure what exactly it is that makes him reach for his knives, but his fingers pull at his belt in an attempt to arm himself. The soldier in front of him already has his sword out, though, and before he knows it he’s dodging a well-time slash.

This is the exact moment he will remember as when all hell breaks loose.

Someone charges Seungcheol at full speed – a terrible idea, Wonwoo thinks, to attempt and tackle a man of that stature and build. Jeonghan has already drawn the first blood, deep red splattering all over the light blue robes he had chosen for the day, and Chan quickly follows suit.

You do not have a weapon in hand, but you deliver a strong kick to the gut followed by an elbow to the face that had to have hurt like hell. Wonwoo makes it a point to ask when you were trained in martial arts later.

Both of the soldiers that are on him are significantly taller, and stronger. He feels a sharp sting blossoming at the side of his cheek and doesn’t register the slow trickle of blood down to his jaw until later, instead driving one of his knives deep into a collarbone. The man lets out a pained groan, but he stays on his feet nonetheless.

Wonwoo almost uses his other dagger, almost. But for just a split moment, something stops him, and his hand hesitates. A mistake, for it buys his assailant time to pick up his sword that clattered to the ground sometime earlier.

Thwack!

The man freezes, eyes wide as an arrow pierces his chest. A patch of red blooms on his robes as he slowly falls to the ground. Wonwoo just blinks down at him, breathing heavily at the close call. Where did it come from?

The markings on the arrow look oddly familiar. The fletching is unmistakably Mingyu’s handiwork, recently made. Wonwoo glances behind him, scanning the rocky terrain, and sees a flash of movement, red cloth darting behind a tree. Slowly, he smiles to himself.

Hansol.

Another arrow comes just as quick as the last one, felling the second soldier faster than Wonwoo can retrieve his knife. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeonghan toss you your sword, and you catch it with a practiced ease, slashing it at another soldier in one fluid motion.

Wonwoo wonders if you should really be out here, considering your bad leg, but he supposes an extra layer of protection in the form of Hansol raining down arrows couldn’t hurt.

Somewhere, something is burning. Wonwoo can smell the crackling at the same time he eats a punch and the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. He loses his footing and stumbles into a tree, rolling over as he narrowly dodges a stab and the blade lodges itself into the trunk.

In the distance, he can hear someone yelling his name. Faintly, like he’s in a world of his own. That familiar buzzing grows louder again, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop it from rendering him absolutely immobile. This is the part he dreads, more than anything else. Once again, he wonders what Mingyu would do in his place, the kind of man Seungcheol would expect him to fight like. Even worse, the kind of person you might hate him for being.

“Wonwoo!”

Smoke billows into the air, and he barely manages to sidestep another blow. Without hesitating, he throws a dagger with all the precision in the world, and you whirl in out of nowhere, following up at the last second with a single powerful strike.

“Thank you,” he gasps, feeling every molecule of air in his lungs, “I am sorry, I–”

“No apologies,” you say firmly. Your cheek is bruised, lip split – blood is smeared across your face and stains your fingers as you yank his knife from another not yet dead body. Fearless as you are, as Wonwoo wishes he was. He wonders if this is what the goddess of war incarnate looks like.

“Behind you,” he calls out instead. You do not even bother to look as you sink your blade into the soldier’s abdomen, drawing it out as quickly as you had struck.

“Good call,” you tell him. He feels like his stomach might flip.

Wonwoo’s vision clears a little bit, head still spinning. The soldiers seem to be retreating, at least those who are still alive or somewhat injured; the last few are hasty to mount their horses, riding away in a frenzy. Smoke catches in his throat – why is there smoke?

“The house,” he croaks out, coughing violently. “The roof, it’s on fire.”

“I know,” you say, “A part of it caved, but nobody was inside. Chan is putting it out.” Then you frown, a particularly worried expression. “Wonwoo, what happened? Are you alright?”

“Nothing. Yes.” Wonwoo coughs again, clearing his throat, and tries to bring himself to his feet. “Where is Seungcheol? Is everyone okay?”

He lets you pull him up, against his better judgement. Aside from the fact that he can feel every wounded part of his leg, he is suddenly reminded again of the surprising coolness of your touch. True to your words, half of the roof is sunken in, the wood black and burnt – but it is nothing that is not fixable, if he and Mingyu have at it for an hour or two. Otherwise, he is satisfied to see there is no other damage to the house, and thankful that Hayun had not been inside.

He watches as Hansol emerges from his spot, perched on top of a boulder on the hill. You gasp, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Do not ever disappear on me again,” you say, sternly. “I thought they had found you.”

“No, I am sorry,” he shakes his head, bashful. “I should have fought with you. But I did not have any other weapons, and I was not sure what to do. I thought I could be more useful from a hidden spot.”

“You should not be sorry,” Wonwoo cuts in, “I cannot tell you how many times you nearly saved my life down here. You have excellent aim.”

Hansol takes the compliment with slightly red cheeks and a mumbled thanks under his breath. Wonwoo notices how you lean on him for support as you walk, wincing when you put more weight on your injured leg.

In the distance, Jeonghan and Seungcheol sit together, propped up against the fence. No – Wonwoo squints a little – Seungcheol is propping him up, one arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders and his other hand pressed against his torso. Chan stands above him, speaking frantically. 

That cannot be right, he thinks, trying to shake off the dire feeling on his shoulders.

It is not until he gets closer that he realizes Jeonghan barely has his eyes open, lashes fluttering as he rests his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder. To Wonwoo’s complete horror, he understands that it is the deep red of blood that soils Seungcheol’s fingers where they rest over Jeonghan’s robes.

He feels you balk slightly beside him, and that is all the confirmation he needs.

The tears that have caught on Seungcheol’s lashes are unmistakable. Jeonghan himself sports a wry smile, and he has never been a better embodiment of the irony of life than in this moment. There is a small cut just below his eye, and it is clear just how much strength it pulls from him to take each precarious breath.

Wonwoo barely feels anything as his knees hit the ground. He does not know what to say, where to put his hands; he had not been given any time to prepare for what to do as he watches a dear friend breathe his last.

“What happened?” he manages, finally.

Seungcheol shakes his head, starts to say something but none of it comes out intelligible. Wonwoo swallows down his next question, sharp and prickly as it goes down his throat, and carefully takes Jeonghan’s outstretched hand in his instead.

“You promised,” Seungcheol says, clearly this time. But his voice still wobbles, thick with despair. “Before we started all this, remember? I made you swear never to take a blade for me. You promised, Jeonghan.”

The latter only smiles. “Do not be so dramatic,” he rasps weakly. “I did what had to be done.”

Jeonghan’s nonchalance never fails to pull a laugh out of everyone, but this one comes out half like an amused snort, and half like a sob. His fingers tighten just a little around Wonwoo’s, and he holds onto him like he’ll slip away if he doesn’t.

Every memory comes rushing back — each morning he had turned down going to hunt together, all the times he went to bed early saying he was too tired to train. Now he’s stuck wringing out all the time he could have had with him, collecting every precious second. 

It’s a wrecking thought, the if only I had known.

Wonwoo slips back into the present at the quiet call of his name. 

“Hyung,” he answers, softly. He waits for something, anything more — but no words come. Another laborious breath rattles through Jeonghan’s lungs. Seungcheol presses his face into his dear friend’s hair to hide his expression, but he is not fooling anybody.

In this moment, Wonwoo is not sure of anything. He does not even know where his tears end and the blood begins to pool beneath him. But he feels exactly the moment Jeonghan breathes his last, his fingers losing their grasp on his own hand.

Seungcheol knows it, too, lets the sobs finally wrack through his body. He had not wanted Jeonghan’s last moments to be filled with unpleasant memories, but he is left picking up all of the pieces.

A soft thud interrupts the moment. Mingyu is at the gate, Hayun at his side. Shock is written all over their faces and in the basket that rolls onto the ground.

Mingyu’s eyes are questioning. They have always been able to communicate like this, and right now Wonwoo knows exactly what he is asking. Suddenly, and selfishly, he wishes it was not possible.

He has to shake his head. No.

Jeonghan’s hand is still warm in his. A terrible trick by the universe, he thinks, to rip him away from the earth so cruelly. Bring him back, he wants to shout, but he knows it will not change a thing. It is all out of his hands.

Wonwoo lets another heavy tear fall onto his friend’s lifeless skin, and prays that Jeonghan’s final seven minutes are as happy as he deserves.

The weeks that follow are full of solemnity. Everyone carries a particular kind of guilt, balancing it precariously between their shoulders.

Nobody fixes the roof. It is the least of their worries, and you know this. If anything, it is a reminder – a memorial of sorts. You avoid looking at it, so that you are spared from the recollection of that day’s events.

It is a strange thing, grief. You had not known many things about Yoon Jeonghan; and yet you find yourself mourning him in the pockets of stray minutes you find in the day. Your guilt is different from the others – if the soldiers had killed you in the forest that day, he would be alive still. The universe has a cruel way of keeping balance.

Seungcheol, for one, carries himself like a ghost. You cannot get it out of your head, the way he had sat by Jeonghan’s body for hours and hours afterwards, as if his pleas would magically wake him again. He had seemed hollow, even as he placed the magnolia flowers Jeonghan had adored so much on top of his grave. 

Wonwoo barely speaks at all. But where Seungcheol is a blank slate, he is a muddled canvas. You had once thought him emotionless, cold – oh, how wrong you had been. Sorrow hangs from every sharp corner of his body where it does not leave his mouth in the form of words, rolling off his shoulders and crashing against his calves. In his eyes lies an anguish you recognize all too well. An identical one rests somewhere, deep in your heart, and has for years.

Where the others fold in on themselves, Hayun unfurls. She tells you stories; of Jeonghan’s antics when he was younger, of Mingyu when they had known each other as children, and many more. It feels like a revival, and you listen intently as you help her with errands, wanting the full picture. 

Occasionally, Wonwoo is already there when you walk in, ready to assist. He does not say much while Hayun talks, but the look he has always given you has changed. It is not so coarse now, smoother round the edges, and significantly less malicious. 

Observant as ever, as he has always been.

The air is always thick with settled misery, and you find it difficult to fall asleep at night. Your nightmares wake you, and they are the exact same every time. It is always dark, always empty – you reach out, but for what you do not know. There is nothing there, and you always fall deeper into a black hole that seems to extend infinitely all around you.

Every time, you wake with a gasp. Hansol is always peacefully asleep beside you, dead to the world. You never manage to stay in bed through the sunrise. More than anything else, you wonder why your brother does not appear in your dreams any longer. It is your own personal distress, albeit silly. He is not even real anymore, but you take his sudden silence as desertion. 

One day, you find a crumpled piece of paper fallen just behind a shelf. You pick it up to toss it out, but your curiosity gets the better of you at the last minute, and you unfold it carefully.

It is a simple sketch. Not one you have seen before, but after hours of observation, you would recognize the hand that drew this anywhere. The frustrated scribbles in a corner and light retracings are a dead giveaway.

There are footsteps behind you. You do not need to look to know that it is Wonwoo. Belatedly, you wonder when you learned what his presence feels like.

He nods, towards the paper. “What is that?”

You pass it to him. Like you, he recognizes it instantly. The first sound of amusement in weeks leaves his throat, a little snort.

“So very Jeonghan,” he says. You know exactly what he means.

Wonwoo’s eyes are subtly red and puffy. This you had seen not so long ago; you will never forget the way he had wept over Jeonghan’s body, tears streaming down his cheeks relentlessly. It was a sight you did not want to witness again, ever. Just being there had put your own heart in serious danger of cracking, if only a little.

Are you alright? The question almost slips from your mouth. But you already know the answer, so you just hold your tongue.

“Did you need something?” you ask instead.

“No.” Wonwoo shakes his head a bit, a habit you’ve noticed he’s developed to toss the hair away from his forehead. “Hansol wanted to spar a little. Thought it would take my mind off of things.”

You smile to yourself. Hansol had always been this way, knowing just the right thing to do. “And did it?”

Wonwoo thinks about it, tongues his cheek before nodding. You take in his figure – this tall, broad man rooted in hesitation in front of you. The cut on his cheek has healed well, you notice, leaving a scab behind. The bruise on his jaw is not yet gone, but the discoloration should dissipate within a few more days.

The moment hangs, suspended in the air. Neither of you move, but nobody says anything either. You watch him weighing his uncertainty, eyes shifting from the wall to the floor and back to the wall again. The awkwardness only grows by the second.

Wonwoo breaks the silence first. “How did you go on?”

“What?”

“After Seungkwan,” he clarifies. You wonder at how he says his name with a particular sort of reverence that has your chest warming at an inhumane level. “After the letter.”

“I did not have a choice,” you tell him, ruefully. “I have always been fighting, always running. It never stops. Seungkwan knew that, too. If I had given up, I am convinced he would have come back as a spirit to haunt me.”

The corner of Wonwoo’s mouth lifts slightly at your attempt at a joke. As the days blur past, you have come to collect those little smiles and pocket them away. Those rare moments have become tiny fragments you choose to cherish in your masked silence.

“There are so many regrets,” he confesses suddenly. “So many things I wish I had not said, or done. So many times we fought over such stupid things. It all comes back now.”

“It always does. But you cannot change the past.” 

It had for you, too – but you suppose it must have been infinitely worse for Wonwoo, who had held Jeonghan’s hand as he drew his last breaths. You had, at least, been spared the agony of watching Seungkwan die. The realization sparks a newfound ache in your heart for all that Seokmin had to go through alone.

Wonwoo’s mouth opens again, and you subconsciously hang onto his next words. It is unexplainable how he sparks your curiosity, your intrigue, snagging your attention at every turn. Somehow you had each already begun to unravel yourselves to the other, whether you knew it or not.

“I must tell you something,” he starts. You nod, gesturing for him to go on. “Seungcheol has been planning something. Not just a resistance – a movement, for change. Something this country has not seen for many years.”

“That is good,” you agree, unsure where this is going.

“We are working with allies, small groups all over the country. It is all coordinated; we will reach the soldiers before they find us,” Wonwoo continues, determined. “We must remove Lee Muyeol from power for good. The people cannot continue to live like this. We are fortunate enough to be able to mostly live off the land, but thousands are left starving. It will not do. Even the young prince would be more just, more caring than his puppet ruler of a father.”

It dawns on you, slowly. “Jeon Wonwoo, are you asking me to help you stage a coup?”

He winces slightly. “It sounds horrible when you put it like that.”

“Alright, then. You are trying to oust the king’s brother from power, effectively also putting a dent in the king’s reign itself.”

“Infinitely worse, for sure.” He chuckles, then, a bit of mirth slipping into his eyes before he grows serious again. “I do not expect you to agree. But I want you to know that you have this choice before you, if you choose to take it.”

You fidget with your fingertips, weighing it in your mind, because you know that after all is said and done, Wonwoo is correct. Your own family had fallen victim to the violence that had erupted after food became a scarcity in the north, and it had torn your childhood apart. Suddenly you think of everyone you have lost – Seungkwan, Jeonghan, your brother whose face you cannot recall. A certain indignance rises to your throat at the very thought.

“You do not have to answer now,” Wonwoo repeats, and he turns to go. But you have already made up your mind in the time it takes him to reach the doorway.

“Wait!” you call out. “Wonwoo, wait. I want in.”

“What?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You should not ask questions if you are not prepared to hear the answer.”

“I heard you,” he confirms, voice gravelly. “But… you are sure?”

“Yes.” You fold your arms. “Why? You do not think I can hold my own?”

“What? Of course I do.” Wonwoo’s eyes soften, just a little, though his tone retains some of the attitude he always seems to have on standby while speaking to you. “I have watched you kill a man with no hesitation in one single blow. Do you think I am stupid, blind, or both?”

“I do not believe you would want me to answer that question,” you say sagely. You succeed in drawing an exasperated half-smile out of him again, and a part of you wonders why you enjoy it so much.

Wonwoo catches your gaze mid-chuckle. You cannot look away, and there is that inevitable pull again, the one that always leaves you a confused mess. A voice inside your head is screaming at you to tear your eyes off of his, but you do not, refusing to be the one to break first.

“We will discuss this more with Seungcheol. After dinner,” he says, at last. “Meet us outside. Do not be late.”

Wonwoo has begun to wonder if this is not as good of an idea as he originally thought.

You and Seungcheol frown at each other, clearly in a standoff. Wonwoo has been keeping time; the two of you have been arguing about the best route to the capital for the past twenty-four minutes, and he does not know how much longer he can listen to this.

“Following the river gives us the best chance at survival,” you point out, tapping the map that is spread out on the table. “I do not see what else is up for discussion.”

“It also makes us easier to follow and find. Do you want to get caught before even reaching the city?”

Wonwoo groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. No progress has been made at all – in fact, he thinks you’ve all taken quite a few steps in the opposite direction.

“Alright, hold on. We cannot take a total detour. That will waste too much time, and we will still be at risk of getting caught early. However,” he continues, even though Seungcheol is currently glaring daggers at him, “We cannot risk going along the river the whole way. Remember, we must travel on foot.”

“An amazing idea,” you mutter, arms folded.

Wonwoo ignores you and traces along a separate route with his finger, dragging it up and eastwards. This path dances along the riverbank before sharply moving out, staying concealed while making the most distance in the interest of time.

“This might be better,” he says. “Or if we set off towards the western mountains before swinging back. That could work, too.”

“I will think about it,” Seungcheol grumbles. You just shake your head indignantly. That, in itself, is a peace offering in his book. Wonwoo doesn’t complain and takes what he can get.

Time passes like this; slow, but grueling. Every second seems to weigh on his bones, shackles on his wrists and ankles. He does his best to ignore the dread pooling in his stomach and soldier on.

He visits Jeonghan every day without fail. Never at the same time as Seungcheol, who makes his visits in the morning – he goes at night, armored by the breeze. It is not much work, for they had buried him over the hill, under the magnolia tree he had loved so much. Sometimes when the wind blows through the branches, it is as if Jeonghan’s voice carries through the wind.

Wonwoo sits, knees hitting the dirt. The sun is low over the hill, flickering as it slowly sets.

“Well,” he starts. “At least Y/N and Seungcheol have stopped fighting now.”

He can almost hear Jeonghan’s response in his mind. The man would have had some witty comment ready, a clever response always at the tip of his tongue.

“We leave in a few days. Just the three of us. Mingyu did not speak to me for a week when I told him he was to stay back with Hayun and the others.” He presses his palm against the soil, remembers what it had felt like to hold Jeonghan’s hand for the last time. “But I do not think he is well enough for this journey, still. I know you would have agreed.”

Wonwoo has developed a habit of pausing between sentences. He does not know why. It is no longer a conversation, just a monologue that Jeonghan will never actually get to hear.

“I wish you were here,” he says finally, throat thick with a feeling he does not really want to name. 

There are always many things he catalogues during the day, little tidbits of information he would have told Jeonghan immediately. A new family of rabbits up the hill, or a particularly pretty patch of wildflowers in the woods. But none of it ever matters, really, by the time he sits in front of the lonely headstone again. All of those words disappear again.

It all boils down to this. I miss you. I wish you were still here. Come back. Who am I supposed to tell about the birds when you are no longer with me?

It does not matter. The birds keep chirping, and the world goes on. Quietly, in its own way. The trees and the flowers will not remember Yoon Jeonghan the way Wonwoo does, sharp and playful and gently prickly in all of the right places.

Sometimes, you are there too. You always leave as he arrives, and Wonwoo used to wonder bitterly why you even bothered to come, but he thinks he understands now.  Rather, he basks in your presence, knowing that under your rough exterior there is a woman who understands how it feels to constantly grieve.

He even asks you to come with him, the morning of your departure. It is still hours to sunrise, and he would be a little surprised that you are awake, if he did not already know that you’ve always had trouble sleeping. You look a little tired, and a little taken aback by his request, but you follow him anyway, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes.

The silence is thick. He can sense that you are waiting for him to speak first, but he does not feel any pressure. Only patience.

“He was everything I had ever hoped to be,” Wonwoo says quietly, when his mind settles. You give him an odd look.

“You do not need to be Jeonghan,” you tell him. “Just you.”

“I looked up to him. I learned from him.” He clenches his fist, dirt crumbling beneath his fingers. “Chan deserves to have somebody like that, too.”

You meet his broken gaze. “And he already does.”

Wonwoo cannot seem to get enough of that look in your eyes. Sharp, but earnest. A rare thing, and so he tries to preserve every last second and archive it away in some safe corner of his mind. He commits the rise and fall of your shoulders to memory, filing away the soft curve of your lips for a later thought.

The goodbyes are quick, though Wonwoo does not like to call them that. He lets Mingyu hug him, warm hand patting his shoulder, and reaches out to ruffle Chan’s messy hair affectionately. 

“I still wish you would let me come with you, hyung,” the younger grumbles, leaning into the embrace. “I can fight, too.”

“I know you can,” Seungcheol soothes him. “But that is why we need you here, in case they come again. You are more than capable.”

Hansol sighs to himself, but Wonwoo catches it anyway. He feels the same way as Chan, burned by the guilt of being told to stay back instead of fighting a battle he was complicit in. But you had told him it would be all right, and promised to return safely. Wonwoo himself made no such promises, and nobody had asked it of him. He knows better than to swear things he will not have control over. Your optimism sends a twinge of sadness to his soul.

He turns to Mingyu, who looks on with an unreadable expression, fingers gently intertwined with Hayun’s. “I hope you are not still upset with me,” he says gingerly.

“I could not ever stay upset with you.” Mingyu’s eyes are shiny, threatening to spill the tears. “Not at a time like this.”

Wonwoo knows what he means. This may well be the last time they speak. There is no telling what will happen at the capital, and who will come back alive. He wants to tell Mingyu not to worry, but the words don’t come, just an understanding nod. Between them, nothing more needs to be said.

The first hints of light begin to peek out as the three of you set off. The dawn emboldens Wonwoo, as it always has. He carries the small satchel of food Hayun had meticulously packed over his shoulder, tying the ends across his torso so he can move hands-free. Seungcheol has the map, currently unfolded in his hands, and you follow with a compass, darting between the trees silently.

None of you speak much – a given, for this sort of journey. Wonwoo trudges on quietly, occasionally mumbling a heads up for you when there is a loose rock or a particularly large root. He waits, always, for your quiet thanks to make its way back to his ears.

He does not dare look back. Not when the sunlight filters through the forest canopy at just the right angle and sets you alight. You are already bright, a blazing force. Wonwoo does not believe himself strong enough a man to behold you in all your illuminated glory. His already grieving heart hurts a little more at the sight of your brilliant eyes.

Instead, he keeps his eyes forward, takes in all the green around him. The forest revives him with every step, every gentle brush of his fingers against a tall blade of grass. Just for now, it allows him to forget – the blood, the blade, the battle. In this moment, there is no war; just the creeping vines and sturdy larch trees that have always been there, and will always be.

“Do you hear that?” you murmur softly. Wonwoo tilts his head, listens carefully. He can just barely make out the sound of a lively current, water splashing onto the stony bank. Seungcheol notices it, too, checking the map again.

“We are making good progress,” he says, satisfied. “This should not take us more than three or four days, give or take. We should arrive at the same time as the others.”

Wonwoo nods, knows exactly what others Seungcheol is talking about. People just like them, who had suffered the same things but worse, and decided to do something about it. Young men and women who had lost families and a means to put food on the table, who had not been as fortunate as they had. Those from the southeast, far from the woodland vegetation, would have had it the hardest.

Seungcheol turns, then, saying it is a good time to stop and eat. You make a beeline for the river eagerly, and Wonwoo follows along, light on his feet the whole way through.

The grass becomes sparser the closer he gets, giving way to rocky ground. The river runs fast, the current swirling up and crashing against the boulders studded alongside it. It is a beautiful sight, for sure, but Wonwoo is distracted by you gently dipping your fingers into the water and basking in the coolness.

“What are you standing there for?” you ask without turning. Faintly, he wonders how you knew he was there, but he approaches you still.

“You seem to enjoy the water,” he observes. You smile, lightly reminiscent.

“Well, I am from the north. Very landlocked,” you say. “I only visited the coast once, when I was a child. I barely remember it. But I do know that the current is a wondrous thing, as alluring as it is dangerous.”

Wonwoo has to bite back the words on his tongue, the ones that want to say that that is exactly how he would describe you. His downfall, his double-edged sword. But he would never say it out loud, knowing what he is to you. 

Which begs the question – what is he to you? Not a friend just yet, not a captor anymore. Just someone to fight alongside with, just another person. Just Wonwoo.

Just you, you had told him earlier that morning. It warms him, from the inside. He has not forgotten at all.

Instead, he takes a seat on one of the large boulders beside you, rummaging through the satchel for a flask and something to eat. “Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly,” you shake your head. “But I would not say no to some water.”

He passes you the flask, as well as a small package. “You need to eat,” he says. “Seungcheol says we will not stop until sunset.”

Wonwoo watches you drink, sweat trickling down the column of your throat and pooling at the base of your neck, then looks away sharply. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel, to see you like this – so resplendent as you simply just exist in the world around you. 

“Will you visit home again soon?” he asks instead. “You know, after…”

He knows you don’t need him to finish the sentence, the latter half left unsaid. You think about it, popping a slice of dried persimmon in your mouth.

“After,” you agree, swallowing. “I must. It has been too long since I have seen my sisters. Too dangerous, to go there again. I do not want to place a target on their backs.” Your eyelashes sweep your skin as you lower your eyes to the ground. “My presence has already caused two casualties. There cannot be more.”

Wonwoo’s heart aches. He had wanted so badly to blame you in the days following Jeonghan’s death, trying to find somewhere to place the anger in his chest. But he could not, in good conscience, hold you accountable for it. 

“It was not your fault,” he says quietly. 

“You do not need to say that. I openly blamed you for Seungkwan’s death, and this is the same thing.” A singular tear falls from the corner of your eye into the river below. Wonwoo looks away, to give you some semblance of privacy.

“I did not take offense when you said it.”

“You should have.” Your voice is thick with guilt. “I would have, if I were you. I was so cruel.”

“It is alright, ” Wonwoo says. “I understand.”

You look at him ruefully. “I understand, too.”

The two of you sit like that, side by side, basking in the gentle sunlight. Wonwoo looks on as you remove your boots, dipping your legs into the water. A tiny giggle escapes your throat as you watch the colorful fish that dart around, weaving between the reeds. It is a new sound. He tries his best to memorize it, while he can.

The moment does not last. The reverie is interrupted by Seungcheol’s voice calling out for you, and Wonwoo knows that it is time to keep moving. He packs up his satchel again, standing as you dry off your feet, and offers his hand to help you up the rocky slope once your boots are back on. You eye it warily for a few seconds before taking it, careful with your steps.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” Wonwoo waits for you to let go of him first, the feeling lingering on his fingers. He turns to go, but you pass him the last dried persimmon slice, stopping him in his tracks.

“I did not poison it, if that is why you were hesitating,” you add, before softening a bit. “You did not eat earlier, either.”

Wonwoo can’t find the words to reply just yet. Instead he huffs a little laugh, accepting it graciously. The fruit is chewy and honeyed, but it sits on his tongue just a touch sweeter than he remembers. Whether that is real or his mind’s own doing, he does not know.

Emptiness, again. But it is warm this time, strangely familiar. You stretch your arms out around you, but there is still nothing.

Ah. There you are.

Immediately you relax, relief rushing through your body. What took you so long?

Patience, little tiger. An affectionate laugh, one you recognize all too well. It simply was not the time. 

I thought you had gone. For good.

There is no response. Just that familiar tenderness curling itself around you and lifting you up. To where, you do not know. You cannot see anything above you, nor below. It is dark, everywhere.

Remember this, sister. When the truth shows itself, it will never do you good to hide from it.

What does that even mean? You nearly ask the question, but everything begins to spin relentlessly. Your vision blurs – not that there's anything for you to see – and the sheer pressure of it all forces you to tear your eyes open.

You are met directly with an unobstructed view of Wonwoo’s face. Even in sleep, he is rather beautiful. The soft dawn’s glow rests gentle on the slope of his face, leaving his sharp features illuminated. You sit up slowly, shivering when the cool wind hits your face.

This is not new to you. There had been many nights where you had slept beside Seokmin and Seungkwan, on all of those assignments you carried out over the years. Hell, you had even shared the floor with Hansol for the past month or so.

But this is different. You have to fight the urge to observe him closer, taking in the curl of his lashes and the mole that sits beneath his right eye. It is magnetic, and unsettling.

The dream has left you restless. You get to your feet quietly, to avoid waking the others, and duck out of the tent. Seungcheol had said it would be best to leave at dawn, but you had not felt like waking them just yet. They will be up sooner or later, you think, stretching.

You take the time to walk around a bit, taking note of the plants and flowers that are so different from the ones back home. The newness of it all is scintillating. The northern regions are dry, and unwelcoming to both flora and fauna alike. But here they flourish, reflecting bright colors into the surrounding forest. You think about another timeline where your adolescent years might have been filled with this kind of wonder, instead of the smell of burning wood and blood.

The seconds move on their own. You do not know exactly how much time has passed by, just that the sun is a bit stronger now, and you can feel the heat on your back. 

A sudden call of your name has you flinching out of surprise. It is muffled by the thick forest, but it comes again, closer this time. Instinctively your hand goes to your belt, but you realize that you have left all of your weapons inside the tent.

There is a loud rustling behind you. You turn sharply, and a few twigs snap. Wonwoo emerges from the leaves, all wide-eyed and panicked. He just stares at you for a few seconds, chest heaving like he had been running.

You blink at him, confused. “... Good morning?”

“You are alright,” he breathes, fingers gripping one of his knives so tight his knuckles go white. It is more of a confirmation to himself than a question. He scans you, like he is checking for any sign of injury. “You disappeared. We did not know where you had gone.”

You arch a brow at him. “Are you okay?”

Wonwoo lets out a painstaking breath. His shoulders shake with relief, and something else. “I fall asleep with you next to me, and when I wake up, you are nowhere to be seen. Do you see the problem here?”

“No, because I am completely fine,” you explain, suddenly provoked. “I just wanted to walk a bit, stretch my legs.”

“How am I supposed to know that if it looks like you have simply vanished?” He folds his arms, jaw tight. “Did it not strike you to wake one of us up if you were going to stray so far?”

“It was not far,” you shoot back crossly. Your surprise is slowly beginning to morph into a specific frustration that only seems to rear its ugly head in front of Wonwoo. “If you did not think I could last twenty minutes by myself, you should not have asked me to come with you.”

Wonwoo frowns deeply. “That is not what I meant.”

“It sounds exactly like it.” You raise your chin, feeling challenged, and take a bold step forward. The ball has been tossed back to your side of the court, and the burning flame in Wonwoo’s eyes only feeds your temper. “I should have known you were the kind of man who underestimates everyone’s capabilities, except your own.”

The words come out much harsher than you intend, and it surprises even yourself. You see it as the sentence leaves your mouth, the flash of hurt in Wonwoo’s sharp, angled eyes. It’s gone before you can truly register it, replaced by something more intense than vexation that you cannot place.

“We are supposed to look after each other,” Wonwoo says, harshly. Yet there is a strange softness in his expression that you would have almost missed if you weren’t paying such close attention. “Your safety is a part of my responsibility.”

“My safety is my own responsibility,” you retort. When had you gotten so close? The mere inches that lie between you and Wonwoo are charged with an anger that eventually pools out into something else, something much more perilous. Your tone picks up all the sarcasm in the world as you say, “Help me understand, Wonwoo. Why should you care so much?”

It all happens so fast, and yet the seconds feel slowed down. You do not know who moves first – you take another step, he leans into you – but the moment Wonwoo’s mouth meets yours, something clicks. His lips are slightly chapped, a consequence of long travel and the dehydration that follows it. You take the opportunity to swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, biting gently, and the groan that leaves his throat is music to your ears. It delights you, the way he seems to melt into your touch, and you kiss him back with matched fervor.

“Why should I care?” Wonwoo’s head dips to your jaw as he repeats your question. “You are a force of nature. The sun and the moon and the stars, all at once. I know you do not need protection. And still my heart seems to ache, when you are not safe.”

“Wonwoo,” you breathe, unable to form any other thoughts. Your fingers tighten even more around the soft cloth of his robes, tugging him closer.

“You are so strong, so clever – so sharp with the words you use. Infuriating, but equally captivating. And that,” he says, dragging his lips down the column of your throat, “is the most dangerous thing of all.”

It is dizzying, so much so that you barely register the tiny sound of satisfaction that escapes your throat. Embarrassing, in any other scenario. 

But it is Wonwoo, holding your face with all the gentleness that had not been there just five minutes ago, and so it does not matter at all. Not even as you tilt your head to the side, his soft hair tickling your skin, allowing him room to press an almost reverent kiss to your collarbone. The feeling burns, but in a way that feels like you are floating.

Wonwoo’s eyes are unreadable when he finally looks up at you. The air is fraught; you open your mouth but nothing comes out. All the words are stuck in your throat as you try to hold onto the sensation of his mouth against yours. You probably look a mess, and so does he – but he is a work of art even now, hair mussed and lips slightly swollen, cheeks flushed under the morning sun.

In the distance, you hear your name again. This voice is different, a bit rougher. As if on instinct, you and Wonwoo separate like repelling magnets, immediately putting a few yards’ space between each other.

“Seungcheol,” he says, not looking away from you.

“We should go,” you add quietly. He nods, but you cannot let go of the comfort you had felt in his arms. A strange, new feeling. Did you want more of it? What do you want?

You do not get to finish that line of thought. Seungcheol stumbles in, nearly tripping on a large root and steadying himself with one hand on a tree trunk.

“There you are,” he says, frowning slightly. “Are you okay? You were not there when we woke up. We were worried.”

“Wonwoo is here. I am alright.” You dare to glance over at him, just for a second. He watches you like you are the moon that rises in his night. “I should have woken you both, I am sorry.”

“All that matters right now is that we are all alive and well.” Seungcheol shifts his eyes between you and Wonwoo. Suddenly you are aware of how close you two are standing, and how it must look. You discreetly shuffle backwards, heat rising to your cheeks.

Wonwoo clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze. “Shall we get going? We should have already left by now.”

Seungcheol nods. “We will need to stop at a safe house right outside the capital to regroup with the others. It should not be too long a journey left, if we make good distance.”

You glance up at the sky. The sun is already quite high, growing brighter with each passing minute. To reach the capital by nightfall, you have no choice but to leave now.

It is with an unsteady heart that you make your way back to the tent, chest heavy with the implications of everything that has just happened. You cannot rid your mind of the memory, Wonwoo’s touch setting your body alight. Somewhere along the line you had begun to find him enchanting rather than irritating, reluctant affection replacing the hatred you had harbored so long ago. 

You watch him smile at something Seungcheol says, light hitting his features just right, and wonder at how he had once been the man you were set out to kill.

Between your thoughts, you try to ignore the way Wonwoo���s hands gently brush against yours, knuckles knocking against each other. He doesn’t look at you, but you feel the same tension emanating off of his broad shoulders and bowed head. To say something now is to break the precious silence, and so both of you remain quiet.

Seungcheol hoists the supply bag over his shoulder and pulls out the map again. You press your palm against the ground, trying to memorize the sights and sounds, and set off further north.

To say that Wonwoo is losing his mind would be a violent understatement.

He had not known, really, what had possessed him in that moment. All he was thinking was you, you, you, as you had glared up at him fiercely with those eyes. It was a mixture of sheer relief at the sight of you, unharmed, and the utter tenderness that had risen into his chest that had set off his mind.

And you had kissed him back – he cannot forget how your fingers had tangled themselves into his hair, tugging gently. A part of him knew, he thinks, that that would happen. It had been evident in the way you had leaned into him, almost challenging him to do something. But he has never been the type of person to let himself hope on such high stakes; at least, not until now.

Seungcheol eyes him warily. “You look unwell. Did you not sleep enough?”

“I did,” Wonwoo mumbles, for lack of a better answer. He watches Seungcheol accept his response, before glancing back at you. The tension is palpable, and he only hopes the older man remains blissfully unaware of everything that had previously transpired.

“Well, I do hope you both are not at each other’s throats again. We cannot afford to have internal issues right now.”

Oh. That is how he chose to understand it. Wonwoo senses you stiffen behind him, bites back a quick retort about how he technically had been at your throat, and chooses to reply with a quiet hum of agreement. A few beats pass before he speaks again, only filled by the sounds of their quiet footsteps and the occasional songbirds’ chirping.

“What about you, hyung?”

Seungcheol gives a weak half-smile. “I am still walking,” he says. “Still moving, as always. There is no path but forward.”

Wonwoo knows he is not talking about their current journey. He had not spoken to Seungcheol much after they had buried Jeonghan. The older man had often preferred his solitude since then, shutting himself inside his room or throwing himself into busywork. Seungcheol has never been the kind of person to unburden himself unprompted. Wonwoo will never truly know if he does not ask.

“Is it any better?”

Silence. Seungcheol reaches into his pocket, and opens his fist to reveal a small magnolia flower. It is a bit wrinkled and worn, but still beautiful as ever.

“Not really,” he says. “It does not magically happen. Not unless you want it to, and it is stubborn even then.”

The message is somewhat cryptic, but Wonwoo knows just what he means. He senses the lingering grief that swims in the corners of Seungcheol’s eyes and knows that the conversation is over.

He does not get a chance to speak to you again until well past midday. It is hotter now, and with the tree cover slowly growing more and more sparse, there is no shade to seek shelter under. Wonwoo catches you fanning yourself with a hand as you take the new terrain in. He has always enjoyed watching you like this, full of that natural curiosity you like to indulge yourself in away from the life that demands your complete strength. A sparrow takes flight, and you follow its path with your eyes. You are beautiful under the bright sky.

You turn before he can announce his presence somehow, observing him for a moment before gently patting the spot on the rock next to you. Wonwoo does not decline it, settling carefully into the space you’ve designated specifically for him. He almost reaches out for you, almost.

“I can tell you want to say something,” you begin, sounding a tad amused. “Spit it out.”

Wonwoo has a thousand possible questions at the tip of his tongue. Should we talk about it? Do you feel the same? Will I be able to take it if you tell me it was all just a mistake?

“Are you ready?” he asks instead.

You shrug. “No such thing. If this is the last thing I do, I might as well throw myself in headfirst.”

“Do not say that,” Wonwoo murmurs. It is somewhere between a gentle rebuke and a plea. You turn to look at him, eyes brilliant and earnest, and he does not know what to do with himself. If he looks closer, he might see that there is a hint of affection that lies in your gaze.

“Why not?” You laugh dryly. “You know as well as I do that some of us might not make it back home alive. I am not so proud to assume that I might be one of the lucky ones.”

“I wish you would have a little more faith in yourself,” he says.

“Faith will not change a thing. If I am meant to die, it will happen.” You twist a dry blade of grass between your fingers. Wonwoo feels his heart twist in a similar way. “At least that way I might see my brother again.”

Wonwoo turns his head sharply, surprised. “You have never mentioned having a brother.”

You smile, but it does not reach your eyes. For such a usually joyous expression, you look rather despondent, mouth set in a thin line.

“Had,” you correct softly. “Even that is a stretch, I think. He left me with nothing but the sound of his voice and his name. I was so young, I cannot even remember his face. I will never know if we share the same eyes, or nose.”

Wonwoo thinks of Wonjae, briefly. He has always mourned the loss of the years they could have had, but he had never really thought to savor the memories they were able to make instead. He wonders how much more resilient he’d have to be, to honor Wonjae’s life with none of those moments intact.

“Tell me about him,” he says.

“There is not much to tell,” you shake your head, “It will not bring him back.”

“It is the only way you can keep his memory alive,” Wonwoo counters. “You can start with simple things. Like his name.”

A tiny grin curves your mouth upwards. “Kwon Soonyoung,” you say. “If you think I am a force of nature, you would have thought him a storm. A torrent.”

Wonwoo tries to ignore your recollection of his own words and focuses on the newness of the name. Powerful, and smooth as it is strong. “Like brother, like sister, then.”

“Well, of course. He was my twin. We shared a lot of things.” Subconsciously, you lean closer to him as you talk. “But he was older, by several seconds, and he never let me forget it. Little tiger, he used to call me. He was not even that much taller. I always told him to knock it off,” you huff, “but he never did.”

“That is a fitting nickname,” Wonwoo says, just a tad amused. 

“He thought so, too.” You smile fondly. “He was obsessed with tigers – I remember this, at least. Very passionate, strong animals. I suppose I can see where the resemblance lies.”

“He sounds like quite the character.”

“He was. Or he might have been; I do not really know. He did not get a chance to grow into the person he wanted to become.” 

Wonwoo hesitates just barely before asking his next question. “How did he…?”

You smile gently. “You can say it, Wonwoo. It has been over a decade.”

“Still. There are some wounds that time cannot heal.”

“I suppose that is true.” Wonwoo watches your shoulders tremble just a little, and takes the leap of faith, letting his arm rest around them comfortingly. He is half surprised when you do not reject it, instead melting further into his warm touch. “Soonyoung was always brave, almost to a fault. It cost him his own life, in the end.”

“You do not have to talk about it,” he says gingerly. “I should not have asked.”

“No,” you chuckle through the welling tears. Wonwoo wants so desperately to wipe them aside, to kiss the salty sorrow away from your skin. But he knows that if you do not cry about it now, you never will. “I have kept it to myself far too long. Even Soonhee and Soonja do not know what truly happened in those last moments. The royal guard arrived out of nowhere, and within minutes it was obvious that it was a losing battle. But I stayed back to help him, like a fool. I did not want to leave him behind.”

“I believe you are far more courageous than you think.”

“Not then. At that moment, I was being stupid,” you say, voice shaky. “I think I knew, even then, that he would not survive it. We were so young, and he had hardly been trained with a sword. I remember him yelling at us to leave while we could.”

“And you stayed.”

“I did. I thought there had to be some way we could all escape, for sure. But it became clear that it was not possible.” He watches you shut your eyes tightly, exhaling. “That was the first time I had ever lifted a sword in my entire life. I barely made it out. His sacrifice was almost for nothing.”

“But it was not,” Wonwoo points out gently. “You are still here. Still fighting. I am sure he would be proud of the woman you have become.”

“I hope so,” you whisper. “I try to live fearlessly, as he did. As brave as he was, even when he knew it was the end.”

Wonwoo hums, lets your words sink in. You had comforted him just like this, not so long ago. The memory is not lost on him.

“You do not need to live like your brother,” he says. “Just live for yourself.”

A quiet sob leaves your throat. He had not intended on saying anything that would make you feel even worse, but your head drops to his shoulder as your tears soak the fabric of his clothes. Wonwoo does not say anything, instead opting to rub his thumb in consoling circles over your skin. He feels his heart ache impossibly as you cry, but remains still. Sometimes, silence is the best remedy.

He waits until your breathing slows and your sniffling comes to an end to shift slightly, using the large misshapen rock behind him as support. Your head still lies on his shoulder, and he basks in the feeling of being someone you would let yourself lean on. 

“Sorry about that,” you say softly, wiping your eyes.

“No need to apologize.” He rests his chin against the top of your head, doesn’t push any further. The two of you just sit together, taking in the moment before it is time for the inevitable trek to continue yet again. For the moment, the conversation is more or less over. 

But Wonwoo grapples with the swirling feelings in his chest for far longer than that. You have him utterly curious, safely storing away each new piece of information he learns about you. Yes, you are one of the strongest people he knows – but when did that begin? What made you have to build up these sturdy walls? If anything, you only prove more and more admirable each time.

The more he learns, the more in love he thinks he is.

It is well past nightfall by the time the dirt path gives way to the paved roads of the capital and the surrounding towns. Seungcheol tells both of you to stay as quiet as possible and follow him discreetly down the bustling roads.

The safe house is tucked away in a more isolated part of town, far from the crowded centers with their night markets and food stalls. It is small and unassuming, with the lights dimmed inside. As they approach, Wonwoo can just barely make out hushed voices from inside.

Seungcheol raises a hand to the door, knocking in a particular rhythm. There is a few seconds of silence before it opens slowly, a shrewd-looking man at the door. He eyes the three of you warily.

“Name?”

“Choi Seungcheol. Fourth southwestern province.” 

The man considers it for a moment before swinging the door open. It is warm inside, a sharp contrast from the night’s cool breeze. Wonwoo offers you his hand first, helping you up the steps and into the house.

He can’t quite hear what Seungcheol and the man are talking about. He only catches a name —Myungho, it sounds like. He’s got an interesting accent to his words, but only a light one. Wonwoo would not have caught it if it weren’t for the complexity of the words, consonants rolling over like waves.

“Tomorrow night is when we fight,” Myungho says quietly. “Make yourselves comfortable here, in the meantime.” Then his gaze flickers back to you, somewhat surprised. “You did not mention you were bringing a lady.”

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

Wonwoo watches as Myungho’s eyes linger on you. Not judging, but evaluating. There is something in his narrowed eyes that seems like it should sting, but does not.

“Not at all,” he answers simply. “We will adjust sleeping arrangements accordingly. Would the lady prefer a separate area?”

“No need,” you say firmly. “I know space is a bit tight here. Just a corner will do. Thank you, though.”

Myungho bows his head. “Of course.”

Wonwoo follows you and Seungcheol further into the house. It is not so big, but there are not that many men inside in the first place. Just as well. There is a genuine concern for lack of safety in great numbers.

Suddenly, you gasp. “Seokmin?!” 

One of the men by the kitchen area looks up at the sudden call of his name. Wonwoo watches as he rushes towards you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders excitedly.

Of course, this is no stranger. He recognizes the sharp nose and the shape of his side profile, has heard about the deep friendship you share with him, but still — a sharp pang of a feeling he doesn’t really like travels straight through his chest.

“I did not know whether you were alive,” Seokmin says, tears already spilling from his eyes. “I only had to hope that after losing Seungkwan, I had not lost you, too.”

You laugh, but Wonwoo knows the sound too well. That specific laugh is reserved for when you are trying not to cry. “You have not, Seokmin. I have been well.”

“And Hansol?”

“Hansol is well, too. He stayed back,” you explain. “I did not want to risk his life, as well.”

Seokmin sighs out of utter relief, then turns his earnest eyes to Wonwoo. There is a flicker of recognition in them.

“Oh, right. This is Seokmin,” you tell Wonwoo. He returns the polite nod, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Wait, I remember you,” Seokmin says, a bit sheepishly. He does not need to explain any further. It is all written in the slightly embarrassed expression on his face. Of course – as one of your most trusted men, he would have fought alongside you at every turn. 

“You, too,” Wonwoo returns awkwardly. He glances between you and Seokmin, sensing there is much to be said. “Well, you both should catch up. I will be with Seungcheol if you need anything, okay?”

You grace him with a small, grateful smile. Somehow you glow even brighter, though the lights are dimmed. “Alright. Thank you.”

He bows, bidding Seokmin a good night, before meandering around the house. The smell of cooking stew rises from the kitchen, and he is suddenly aware of the hunger in his stomach. He pokes his head into the kitchen area and finds Myungho speaking in another language with the man chopping up radish on the counter. Seungcheol sits behind them, conversing with an older man with streaks of gray in his hair.

He raises his eyes once he registers Wonwoo’s presence. “All okay?”

“Mm.” Wonwoo takes his seat, perching on another wooden stool. “Y/N seems to be settling in well. She seems comfortable.”

“That is good.” Seungcheol gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is Kim Minseok. He used to serve in the royal guard. He is retired now, but he has been extremely helpful to us in terms of intelligence and communication.”

Wonwoo bows his head in greeting. Minseok just laughs heartily, watching him with a mix of pride and amusement.

“Well, it is nice to finally meet you,” he says. “Choi here has told me all about you over the years. I had thought you were just a myth until now!”

Wonwoo flushes deeply. “All good things, I hope.”

“Ah, you worry too much. You are too young to be so cautious! Enjoy it while you can, eh?” Minseok takes another long sip of whatever liquid in his cup. “I hope to see this prowess Seungcheol speaks of soon enough, then.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

Wonwoo zones out for the rest of the conversation, just letting in a few words here and there. They discuss strategy, and possible routes – he knows that none of that will truly matter in the end. There are only two ways tomorrow night will go, and out of those only one will prevail. It is already written. No matter how much Minseok or Myungho might want it, it will not change to their whims.

From the corner of his eye, he catches your reclined figure against a wooden chair. You laugh at something Seokmin says, eyes crinkling in that rare joy he so loves to see in your face. Wonwoo has never wanted more for all of this to be over sooner, just so that you might be happier, like this. No more fighting, no more spilt blood. Just you and your smile.

Myungho’s voice pulls Wonwoo out of his swirling thoughts. Seungcheol stands, pushing his stool out, and pats him on the shoulder gently.

“Come,” he says, offering a warm smile. It is one of the first Wonwoo has seen in weeks, and he savors it. “Dinner is ready.”

The stew is comforting, the heat warming your fingers through the ceramic of the bowl. You fold in on yourself even more, pulling your limbs closer to ward off the cold. Beside you, Seokmin is in a similar position as he spoons another piece of eggplant into his mouth.

You savor the taste carefully, mulling over everything he has told you so far. Of utmost importance was any sort of news from your sisters, and hearing that they were doing well brought you the most relief. Sangmin suffered through a fever, he mentioned, but he had recovered within a few days. That, thankfully, had been the worst of it.

Briefly, your eyes wander over to Wonwoo’s broad figure, listening intently as Myungho talks. His hair falls just short of his eyes, veiling his sharp brows and his tanned skin. A sight to see, under the low lights.

“You are distracted,” Seokmin observes, hiding a smile.

You tear your eyes from Wonwoo with a start. “No?”

“Oh, come on. You are not as closed a book as you think. And am I not allowed to be curious?” he asks. “You have told me quite literally everything, except for the man you arrived with. How can I not have questions?”

“I arrived with two men, Seokmin.”

“Yes, and only one of them has bothered to look in your direction twenty-five times in the past ten minutes. I am not blind, you know.”

This makes you sigh deeply, wondering if what he’s said is true. But it might very well be. You are not blind, either, as much as you would like to delude yourself into believing.

You do not tell Seokmin about the incident in the forest. That memory burns too bright to be shared. But you recount the slow evolution of your feelings towards Wonwoo, the slippery slope that had started as resentment and has now brought you to a precarious camaraderie.

You do not tell him about the strange new feeling in your chest, either. Or the fact that the deep-rooted affection in some corner of your heart has begun to sprout too prominent for you to ignore. This, you keep to yourself. If you do not say it, it does not have to sound as real.

Seokmin listens intently while you speak, as he always has. Nods along, as you describe the particularly difficult moments. He laces his fingers together once you finish, ever thoughtful.

“Well, he is quite handsome,” he says. “No complaints from me.”

“Seokmin!”

“Alright, alright,” he soothes, rubbing the spot on his arm where you had just hit him. “You are so violent. What sort of friend would I be if I did not give you my two cents, after all?”

You glare at him playfully. “An uninjured one.”

He holds both his arms up, feigning surrender. It draws another laugh out of you as you take another bite of stew, the flavorful spices dancing on your tongue. It is a sharp reminder for you to enjoy these happy moments while they last.

The house quiets down after most everyone has finished eating. You offer to help with the dishes, but Myungho insists that you sit, so you make yourself useful and towel dry the bowls after he washes them. Another man takes it upon himself to wipe down the counter, and the two of them chatter away in a vaguely familiar language as they work.

“Oh, dear. Forgive my manners,” the newcomer says suddenly. His accent is quite similar to Myungho’s, but a little less noticeable and smoother around the edges. “My name is Junhui. I live across town, actually, but I came over here to help however I can.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, offering your own name in response. He smiles widely, eyes forming half crescents. “How do you both know each other?”

“Junhui and I are cousins,” Myungho explains. “But my family came here from China many years after his. My father was a paper merchant, and it was easier to find business here at the time than back home.”

You hum in understanding, taking in the new information. “You did not follow in his footsteps?”

“Almost. But I backed out, in the end.” Myungho smiles, his first of the night. “I did not want to sentence myself to something I knew I would detest. Instead, I moved up here to start a new life. I opened a restaurant here four years ago, along with Junhui.”

“That is a sharp pivot,” you remark.

“Perhaps. But you do not truly live until you dare to change.”

You look around the house again. If you squint, you can see it in your mind’s eye– remnants of a lively business, steaming bowls of soup and the chatter that comes with a well-fed crowd. The walls might have been painted red, decorated with small golden flowers. None of it is there now, only the ghosts of happy times.

“What happened?” you ask, quietly.

Myungho’s silence speaks volumes. Junhui sighs heavily, setting his towel down.

“Customers began to dwindle. It was not safe for them to be out so often, so of course it was not good for business.” He frowns as the memory sets in. “Eventually it was not enough to sustain ourselves. So we closed it down.”

“Royal intelligence was not fond of us, either,” Myungho adds. “There were many people who would gather here to discuss the government, and propose political change. Of course, none of it went under the radar. It was all rather frustrating for those in power.”

You watch as Junhui looks down at his hands as if he’s mourning those precious years. Everyone carries their own ghosts, grieving in a different way. But more than that, you feel guilty – you had, after all, fought on the side of those who abused their power and oppressed their people for years. The circumstances are beyond the fact. You are still complicit.

“That is terrible,” you say honestly. “I am sorry it happened that way. Truly.”

“No need.” Myungho smiles again, but it is sadder this time. “Nothing really ever dies, does it? We were not about to let the space go to waste. Now we operate out of here. It was two years ago, I think, that we started to use this house for… what do you call it?”

He fumbles to find the word for several seconds, before Junhui says something in a smooth Chinese dialect.

“Ah,” Myungho says finally. “Resistance.”

You understand, now. The spark in their eyes is one that has been burning for a long time, and it will not go out anytime soon.

“We are very thankful,” you tell him. “Without you both, this would not be possible.”

Junhui waves it off sheepishly, shaking the dark hair away from his forehead. “Alright, alright. That is not so. It has taken the effort and cooperation of many people for the movement to reach where it is right now.”

“Still,” you insist. “You have laid a sturdy foundation. Your work will not go in vain.”

“That is not something you or anyone else can guarantee,” he says sagely, “but I will accept the sentiment in the name of hope.”

You give him a wry smile. “Hope is all we have.”

Junhui mirrors your expression, but there is a particular weariness in his eyes. “I only wonder if it will be enough.”

The three of you finish cleaning up in silence, only broken by the occasional remark or stray joke, and you bid them goodnight when the dishes have been done and the kitchen is spotless. The others seem to be settling down, and you wander around for a bit before finding your spot beside a wall, just as you had requested.

The day weighs down on you, and you are suddenly aware of the soreness in your muscles from the days’ travel you’ve been doing. You lie down and let your body rest against the floor, reveling in the warmth of the heavy blanket. Apprehension pools in your stomach, but you try not to think about the events to come, instead focusing on your own steady breath.

You hear Seungcheol and Wonwoo speaking quietly before they lie down on their mats, too. The light goes out, and you close your eyes to feign sleep until you actually succumb to your dreams. However, you are not fooling anybody. Wonwoo shifts a little beside you, and you are painfully aware of the distance between you and him.

“I know you are awake,” he whispers. You peek out from under your blanket – you can barely see him in the dark, but your eyes adjust to the lack of light rather quickly. “You are quite terrible at pretending.”

“I did not ask for your opinion, Wonwoo.”

“I am giving it regardless.” He is quiet for the next few seconds, then says, “Having trouble sleeping?”

“What do you care?” He laughs dryly, a twinge of melancholy in his voice. “Please do not make me answer that question again. I do not think I can bear it.” Heat rises to your cheeks suddenly as the memory rushes back to you. It replays in your mind like a flashback, and you will your heart to slow itself. And yet, you savor the closeness, aware of the heat radiating from him next to you. “Sleep,” you say instead. “There is a long day ahead of us.” “You cannot say that as you look so deep in thought,” he counters. “Tell me what is going on that intricate brain of yours.”

You try to ignore the deepness of his voice and the rough edge it carries as you sort through your thoughts, attempting to find the words for them. There is no easy way to do it, but it feels a little better when Wonwoo is right beside you.

“I am afraid,” you confess suddenly. “As much as I try not to be. I spend my time wondering, what would Soonyoung do? And after that I wonder if I am capable of being half the person he was.” “You are,” Wonwoo says firmly. “And I know that you know it, too.” How strange a feeling, to have him pinpoint your exact thought so quickly! You peer at him, just barely making out his features, and grip the blanket just a little tighter. The realization that this could well be the last night you ever spend in his company is chilling. “I had a brother, too, once,” he continues softly. “I carry his ghost on my shoulders as I once carried him. But I cannot let that memory hold me back from fighting for what is important. And neither can you. Does that make sense?” You hum in agreement, letting it sink in. “You know, you did not strike me as the older brother type.” He wrinkles his nose. “What is that supposed to mean?” “Well, I thought you were an only child, for sure.” “Now you are just slandering me for the fun of it,” Wonwoo complains. A sudden laugh bubbles from your throat, spilling out into the silence, and you clap a hand over your mouth immediately to stifle the following giggles. He smiles, chuckling softly. “And you will wake everyone in this house, if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you rebuke, settling back in. The weight of his previous words sits on your mind again. “You understand then, how it feels.”

“Mm.”

The two of you lie there, staring up at the ceiling of what used to be Myungho and Junhui’s livelihood. Silent understanding passes over you, like it always seems to. Your heart beats twice as strong somehow, when it is him that occupies the place at your side, and you fall asleep with that sense of security blanketing your mind.

Morning comes in the form of Myungho’s sharp voice. You quickly learn that as kind as he is, he does not seem to like coming off that way, and much prefers a steady routine. The floor is clear within minutes under his supervision, while Junhui gets to work on breakfast. You offer to help him, but he just waves you off, so you sit on the countertop and chat with him as the porridge cooks.

Wonwoo joins you both a few minutes later. You almost laugh at the sight of him – messy hair and tired eyes – and it warms your heart.

“There you are,” he says, voice still heavy with sleep. “I was wondering where you had gone.”

“Nowhere far. Just keeping Junhui company.” 

“I see that.�� He sits on the taller wooden stool, wincing as he rolls his shoulder. At your questioning look he says, “Definitely slept wrong last night. I think Seungcheol might have kicked me in his sleep, too. Multiple times.”

“Maybe you deserve it,” you shoot back playfully. Wonwoo’s mouth curves up into a knowing smirk that has your knees just a little weak.

“Anyhow, he seems very stressed,” he says. “I did not want to bring it up unnecessarily.”

“Everyone is on edge today,” Junhui agrees, stirring the porridge. “Even Myungho woke up in a terrible mood, if you could not already tell. Tonight is the night everything could change, for better or worse. Some of the men have already come to terms with the fact that this might be their last day alive.”

“But it might not be,” Wonwoo puts in thoughtfully. “Not necessarily.”

“That is true. But nobody knows.” Junhui sprinkles a pinch of salt into the pot. “Some feel it is better to resign themselves for the worst than to hope for the best. And who am I to tell them how to think?”

His words settle solemnly into the air, and he notices the sudden tension, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.

“Oh, do not be so serious. Would you want to live your last day in such gloom?” You shake your head no. “I thought so! Now get out of your head, and come eat this while it is still hot. I can see the gears in your brain turning already.”

You take the bowl he hands you gratefully, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. The first spoon of porridge is almost magical as it goes down your throat, and you savor the different flavors on your tongue.

“This is so good,” you tell him. “What did you even put in this?”

Junhui just winks at you. “Years and years of practice,” is all he will say. “Chef’s secret.”

The afternoon that follows is sweltering, at best. Sweat trickles down your back as you spar with Seokmin, wood knocking against wood as he parries your every strike. Wonwoo watches from the side, letting the last few drops of water fall from the flask into his throat.

“This weapon feels so wrong in my hand,” Seokmin says when you finally take a break, catching his breath. “I fear I am utterly dreadful with a sword.”

“Why did you not bring your bow?”

“I thought about it.” He shakes his head wryly. “It feels so detached. There is only so much you can do with limited arrows and such great distance. It is a great weapon, to be sure, but I feel quite useless at times.”

“Seokmin,” you scold, “you know you are one of the greatest archers I have ever met in my life. You are the opposite of useless.”

“But this is not the time to be passive. I wanted to do more.” Seokmin smiles wistfully, dangling the wooden sword from his fingers. “So I started training with one of Jihoon’s old swords. I am by no means perfect, but it will do.”

You pause for a moment, taking it in. He had never done anything but follow orders, both Muyeol’s and yours. And yet the guilt still hangs over his shoulders, ever present.

“Seokmin.”

“Yes?”

“You are certainly not dreadful.” You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It is new, that is all. And your skill is quite excellent for someone who has wielded a vastly different weapon for most of his life.”

A bright grin spreads across his face, a bit sheepish. “That is kind of you to say.”

“I mean it. Truly.” You pat his back gently. “Go rest, alright? You did well today.”

He nods and bows his head slightly. You watch his retreating back until he disappears behind the doorway, one hand on your hip as you bear the brunt of the midday sun. I need water, you think, walking back towards the rock Wonwoo’s sitting against.

He seems to know what you want before you have to ask, passing you a filled flask before you sit down beside him. “Good fight?”

“Definitely.” You take a long sip of the cool water. “Seokmin has improved so much. He used to hate it back at the palace. He only ever wanted to shoot arrows all day.”

“He seems very dedicated,” Wonwoo agrees. “That will serve him well in every regard.”

“Certainly.”

There is a heavy pause. Neither of you looks at the other. You can tell there are words at the tip of his tongue that he won’t say. But you do not comment on it; the same is true for you. You sit there beside him, watching the clouds hang in the sky, and savor the moment.

Eventually, you break the silence. “If I do not make it –” “No.” You give him a funny look. “You do not even know what I was going to say!” “I do,” he says quietly. “I feel like you have been meaning to say it for a while. But I was hoping I could delay it.” You soften at his words, intense tenderness squeezing at your heart. Gently you lay your head onto his waiting and ready shoulder, your chest rising and falling in time with his. “It is like Junhui said,” you tell him. “Nobody knows. Neither you, nor I. But I wanted to tell you, just in case.” “Don’t,” Wonwoo pleads. “You can tell me afterwards. We will have all the time then.” “You cannot be sure.” A small smile forms on your face despite yourself, and you tuck yourself further into him. “Listen, Wonwoo. I know you have detested me for a majority of the time we have known each other.” “I–” “I do not fault you for it.” You place a hand on his arm to calm him down. “If I said I did not reciprocate that feeling, it would be a blatant lie.” Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Are you seriously monologuing about how much you despise me right now?” This pulls a sharp laugh out of you. “You would know if you listened instead of talking!” “Alright, alright,” he concedes, amused. “Please continue.” You huff in acceptance, pulling your legs closer to your body. “If we do not have tomorrow, then you should know I have appreciated every gesture of kindness you have shown me, at every turn. For giving me space, when I needed it. For talking, when I needed that instead. You have always given me room to breathe.” “I would do it over and over,” he whispers, breath tickling the top of your head. “For you.” You sigh deeply, shutting your eyes and willing yourself not to cry. “Please, Wonwoo. It is far too soon to say that.” “It cannot be. I have been thinking it for quite some time.” He brings his hand to your wrist, fingers tracing light circles over your skin. “Only I did not know when to say it. Or how. But if we do not have tomorrow, as you said, then you should know this.” “I think I have known for a while,” you say soberly. Wonwoo lets out a quiet ha!, a half-laugh. “Even better, then.” You are about to vocalize the next witty comeback that materializes in your mind to dissipate the rising tension when a sudden noise breaks out back inside the house. You hear someone yelling for backup, doors slamming, and a pained scream – in that order. You exchange one worried look with Wonwoo, rising to your feet, and break into a sprint. Seungcheol finds you first, a rare panic in his eyes. He heaves a relieved sigh at the sight of you both, taking Wonwoo by the shoulders. “Where is Minseok?” “What?” Seungcheol repeats his question, more frantic this time. You watch Wonwoo shake his head, immensely confused. 

“Hyung, what happened?” “Kim Minseok, that bastard,” he fumes. “I should have known. All of the signs were there. That lying son of a bitch handed over every single piece of information he had and ran for his life. He’s been working with them for years!” Shock ripples across Wonwoo’s face. You had not met the man, but you get the idea that even he had not seen it coming at all. “You must go,” Seungcheol urges. “Both of you. Find somewhere safe to stay for now. You cannot let them find you!” “No,” you say firmly, drawing your sword. “This is my battle. I am not going anywhere.” Wonwoo nods, knives already in his hands. “I cannot, hyung. I swore to fight with you. You cannot expect me to break it now.” There is sheer despair written all over Seungcheol’s face – but no time to do anything about it. A soldier steps through the doorway, swinging his axe, and you slash at his torso furiously. Blood splatters all over your clothes and the side of your face, the metallic scent quickly filling your nostrils. You turn and look at Wonwoo. The fierceness in his eyes mimics yours, and you feel a new confidence begin to rise into your chest. “Now or never,” you say. Chaos reigns inside the house. The walls are as red as they may have been four years ago – but with blood this time, instead of paint. Myungho is backed up against a wall, holding off two royal guards with his spear. You lunge, stabbing one of them in the side, and he quickly finishes off the other, returning your gesture with a grim nod. You do not know where Seokmin is. You do not think you could pick him out amidst the mayhem; everything begins to blur together impossibly. Only the metal of your blade remains clear in your vision as you defend yourself with everything you have left. The noise seems to lessen, just a little. You stumble outside, only to be met with a horrific sight. “Junhui!” You rush towards him, and he winces as you approach. He struggles to keep himself on his feet, one hand pressed firmly against a deep gash in his side. “Go,” he says weakly. “I will be fine.” “But –” “Go!” His hand comes away deep red, blood dripping from his fingers onto the ground. “We do not have time. You have to go now!” You stare at him for a few conflicted seconds, before tearing your eyes away from him and swinging wildly at the man behind you. But your footing is unsteady, and you slip on a stray rock. His dagger brushes the corner of your ear, and faintly you register the sharp sting that begins to blossom. When you catch your breath again, you come face to face with a pair of eyes that send chills down your spine. Muyeol’s expression reflects none of the panic that’s in yours. In fact, he seems almost amused at the look on your face, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he cleans off his sword against the tall grass. It has been so long since you’ve seen him, that you’d forgotten how disturbing his presence could be. “I thought my soldiers had finished you at least the second time around,” he says. The cruelty in his voice never fails to make you flinch. “But to see that you have joined these fools? Tch. I am wounded.” Your hand does not tremble, sword still in the air. “Drop the act. I am not so stupid as to be fooled by your words again.” “Oh, my.” He chuckles, an evil sound. “You were not fooled even the first time, my dear. I made no effort to hide my intentions. But you willingly carried out all the dirty work you were told to do.” “You held my family and their lives over my head,” you snap back. “I was not willing, then.” He merely shrugs. “I did what I had to do.” Anger bubbles up into your throat, and you lunge instinctively, bringing your sword down in what would have been a harsh strike. Muyeol parries it lazily, slicing your arm instead. You hiss at the sudden pain and come forward again, unable to stay calm. He clicks his tongue again. “Still the same,” he remarks. “I would have thought you learned how to control that inconvenient temper of yours by now.”

“You do not get to have to say in when I get angry!” You punctuate your last word with a furious slash. This one lands – the sound of blade against skin is satisfying, and you draw blood just shy of his collarbone. He looks a bit surprised. Good, you think. You deserve it. Muyeol seems to have as easily inflamed a temper as yours. He is much older, for sure, but his movements are rather fluid for his age. You are light on your feet, just barely dodging his well-timed strikes. “You should have died that day,” he snarls furiously. He feints with his right – and you fall for it, a short lapse in judgement. One strong kick sends you tumbling to the ground, and before you know it the edge of his sword is flush with the skin of your neck. “What a shame, then. But do not worry. I will be sure you meet your fate today.” “You will do no such thing.” Muyeol laughs, a deep rumbling that comes from his chest. It is a sound that you have learned to detest over the many years. “The words of a woman on her knees,” he muses, pressing the blade into your throat. You wince at the sensation of it piercing skin, feeling the first drop of blood trickle down to your collarbone. “Choose them wisely, would you? They may well be your last.” You open your mouth to give another sarcastic remark. But out of nowhere, a sharp dagger flies through the air just past your head, lodging itself squarely into Muyeol’s shoulder. He roars in pain; you take the short window of opportunity to grab your sword and lunge for his neck. This time, you do not miss. His dark eyes widen in momentary surprise – he loses his grasp on his own weapon, crashing to the ground as he struggles to draw his next breath. He falls with one arm outstretched, clinging to a last hope, and you might have taken it a year or two ago. Things are different, now. You regard him coldly, and you do not move. You wipe the side of your face, catching your breath. And you should have some remorse, but it is hard to find it for the man who had a hand in turning your life into a living hell. All you can feel is the subsiding rage, still coursing through your veins. Wonwoo is beside you before you know it. He does not ask anything. His eyes only shift between you, and Muyeol’s body on the ground. You meet his questioning eyes and nod slowly. “Wait. The knife,” you say, before he can get a word out. You crouch down, fingers closing around the hilt and pulling it from the lifeless shoulder. When you pass it to Wonwoo, your fingers brush ever so subtly, staining his fingertips dark red. “Thank you.” “Always.” His answer comes without hesitation. It bears relief, and something else you don’t dare name. “Are you… are you alright?” “Alive,” you say, huffing out a weak laugh. Wonwoo shakes his head, fingers coming up to swipe a stray drop of blood away from the cut on your face. You startle at the sight of his eyes welling up with tears, face battered and bruised, and it stirs up a whole torrent of emotions in your own chest. “You are so strong,” he says, thumb brushing your jaw reverently. “You did it. You are free now.” Your vision goes blurry as the weight of Wonwoo’s words sink into your soul. Tenderly, with all the care carried in his deep voice. You let yourself crash into him, fingers grasping his robes as his arms wrap around your torso gently, holding you close. For the first time, the weight that has been sitting on your heart for years feels lifted, light. You can even hear Soonyoung’s voice in your head now, quietly under the current. Live now, little tiger. Live the way you always wanted to. The sky bursts, and it begins to pour. The heavy drizzle takes the dried blood on your skin with it, but the open wounds still burn. It is no matter, not anymore. The white cotton of your clothes runs deep red, and your decade long battle is over.

There are quite a few more hurdles to go over, even after Muyeol’s death. None of them are easy to swallow down. The attack had resulted in more lives lost than injuries, a significant dent in everyone’s esteem. You are particularly shocked to see Junhui’s body among them, his cold hand in his cousin’s. It had not been so long ago that you had last spoken to him; it weighs on you still that you may have had a chance to save his life, if only you had listened to your gut. Myungho does not shed a single tear. Perhaps this is his way of mourning a loved one, in powerful silence. “I cannot control the passage of time,” he says quietly, over his dearest friend’s grave. Still he does not cry, but you think he might come awfully close. “We are all victims. Junhui’s fate has only collected him first.” You watch him murmur something softly in muffled Cantonese; some sort of farewell, perhaps. You will never know. It is very likely that you will never see Myungho again, even if he chooses to remain in town. “Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. “For everything. Truly.” He waves you off, wearing a faint smile. “No need. It was the least I could do for you all.” You wonder how he will hold up now, whether the little old house meant for two will feel a bit too lonely and large for just him. He might repaint the walls a bright red, but it will never be the same again. It is with a heavy heart that you regroup with Seungcheol and Wonwoo. The latter is tending to a small wound on his arm, wrapping the bandage around it carefully. You stop him and offer to do it instead. He lets you. “When will you leave for home?” Wonwoo swallows thickly. “Soon, I suppose.” “You will travel overnight?” Gently, you finish dressing the cut, but your fingers linger over his skin. “I do not think that is very safe.” “After everything we have done so far, this might be the least dangerous journey we make.” You take him in solemnly, allowing yourself to lean into him a little. Seungcheol takes note, but says nothing — turns away a bit, as if to give you a little space. “This will bring a new dawn to the country,” he continues. “The young prince Jisoo is said to be a fair and just man. He will be twice the ruler his father is. The council members are in overwhelming support of him, so the king will likely be pressured into abdicating.” “It is about time,” you agree. “I have quite high hopes for him.” “Mm.” Wonwoo turns his hand over so that his fingers are laced with yours, warmth seeping into your skin. “Will you go home now? I would imagine you have much to say to your family.” Family. You think of your sisters and Jihoon, and little Sangmin. Of Wonwoo, and how easily he seems to fit into your life, like the final piece of a puzzle. “Come with me,” you say. “Seungcheol, too. Stay the night, at least, and have a warm meal. Seokmin will be able to take us there.” He shakes his head. “Y/N, I cannot impose on your family like that.” “You would not be imposing,” you insist. “I am asking because I want you there with me, Wonwoo. Besides, I might join you both on your journey back. I want to see Hansol, and visit Seungkwan one more time.” Wonwoo’s firm expression softens as the last words sink in, thumb rubbing soft circles into your hand. “All right,” he finally concedes. He glances back at Seungcheol, who gives a willing shrug. “If you say so.” It is not so far to your sisters’ house, once you have bid your sad goodbyes to Myungho and the others. The familiarity of your surroundings slowly comes back to you as you follow Seokmin through the winding stone roads and grassy hills. Every step unlocks childhood memories you had shelved away, years and years ago. You point at a large pine tree nearby. “I used to sneak out and come here with Soonyoung all the time,” you tell Wonwoo. “We would play around, making up stories. He taught me how to read there, too.”

“Sometimes the stories you tell make me wish we knew each other as children,” he muses, chuckling softly. “That might have been nice,” you say, looping your arm in his. “But this is just as precious.” “That it is.” You feel Seokmin’s knowing eyes on you – he will say a range of things later, from ‘I told you so’ to ‘So you did think he was handsome!’, and you will laugh and tell him that sometimes love will find you even when you do not necessarily ask for it. He glances away, amused, and you have to resist the urge to click your tongue at him. The gate is drawn shut as you first approach, but you could not ever forget the familiar slope of the roof, and the tiny patch of flowers to the right of the main doorway. Seokmin calls out brightly for Jihoon, breaking into a jog, and you look back at Seungcheol and Wonwoo with a smile. “Home,” you say. Soonja runs out first, crashing into you with a loud squeal. You let her cling to you. It has been far too long since you have listened to her excited stories and endless chatter, and you hug her tightly. “I missed you,” she says petulantly. “You always take so long!” “I am sorry,” you chuckle, tearing up. “Really. But I will not be away for weeks at a time anymore. My work is done.” She brightens at this. “Promise?” You laugh, intertwining your pinky finger with hers. “Promise.” The sun is softer now, in the sky, and the heat does not burn as much anymore. You make introductions as the air settles into something more comfortable. The ghosts still linger, but they are not heavy anymore. You wear them like a warm scarf now, instead of shackles. It is a new kind of homage.  The house is lively, with more people inside. Seungcheol and Jihoon seem to get along perfectly, discussing something between themselves, while Seokmin entertains Soonja’s endless questions. Soonyoung should be here, but his absence does not leave a hollow space quite like it used to. He is in every pillar instead, his life written into every single corner of the room. You sit with Soonhee, helping her here and there in the kitchen, updating her on the events that have occurred while you were away. “You have had quite a life so far,” she says, once you’re finished. “But I admire you for it, you know. You have never once let it stop you from anything. Never said ‘it is what it is’ and sat down. That is a sign of resilience.” “I did not have a choice,” you tell her. “All the same.” She smiles, reaching over to dust a stray piece of straw out of your hair. “You grew up faster than you should have. I always worried it would hold you back.” “And now?” “Now I see I did not have to worry in the first place.” Soonhee glances over her shoulder, back to the main room. Wonwoo sits cross-legged by Sangmin’s cradle, listening to the infant babble endlessly. He nods along as he smiles, pretending to hold the conversation. It is a tender sight. “I am curious about this man you have brought with you, though.” You flush deeply, not sure what to say. Soonhee notices and merely laughs, thinly slicing up a carrot. “I hope you know you are not as hard to read as you might believe,” she adds. “He clearly brings you a lot of joy.” Seokmin had said the exact same thing. You bring your hands to your cheeks, resting your chin in your palm. For as long as you can remember, there was always a torrent in your heart, restless emotions brewing and spilling over. But there is something about Wonwoo that allows you a rare peace, an ease that you had previously thought impossible. “He does,” you say quietly. “He learned to love me as I am, even when I did not want to know myself.” Soonhee gives you a knowing look. “You have found yourself a good man, then.” Everyone gathers on the floor to eat, a feeling you have not experienced in a long time. But you know that the wait was worth it. What better way to spend an evening than in good company, with good food? The soup is warm as it goes down your throat, and so is your heart.

Jihoon laughs at the sight of his son happily blowing raspberries into Wonwoo’s face – a funny sight, for sure. The latter just smiles contentedly, one hand carefully balancing the baby in his lap. “What can I say?” he shrugs, meeting your sparkling eyes. “I must be awfully good with children.” This pulls another round of laughter from everyone else, you included. Wonwoo’s gaze does not leave yours, even from across the room. Impossibly magnetic, but you no longer resist it. Instead, you let it tug at you, reveling in the feeling. It is not until all the dishes are put away later that you finally sidle up to him again, having stepped outside for some fresh air. Wonwoo sits on the front step, eyes turned up to the sky, and you carefully tuck yourself into his side. “Tell me what you are thinking,” you ask of him. He takes your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I am thinking about the nice weather we are having,” he murmurs. “And your sister’s small garden. Junhui would have been quite delighted to see it.” “He would have.” Your heart aches, then. “I pray that his soul rests easy. He was a good man.” “Me, too.” Wonwoo squeezes your hand, a way of comforting you. It will be alright. “But above all, I am thinking about how content I feel right now. My mind is at peace.” “Is that so?” “Mm,” he hums, thumb brushing against yours. “You cannot pretend to believe otherwise, Y/N. Not when you are with me. Not when you are the reason.” Warmth spreads throughout your body. You remain silent, no words coming up – but they do not need to. Even without saying anything, Wonwoo seems to understand your love. Quietly, carefully, as he is. As he always has been.  It occurs to you now that perhaps this was what you had been chasing after your entire life. Serenity. From inside the house, Sangmin’s little giggles carry out into the open air, followed by his mother’s cooing and Jihoon’s satisfied laugh. The breeze is cool, but not too chilly – a perfect summer night. Wonwoo brings his head down to rest on top of yours, and you sit there taking in the peaceful quiet by each other’s side. You think you will be alright.

thank you so much for reading dotssotw! have a wonderful rest of your day! much love, hershey xx return to masterlist

[simpxxstan]

Nobody Else (part 1)

pairing: chaebol!wonwoo x chaebol!fem.reader

genre: enemies with benefits to lovers, smut (minors do not interact please), mild angst

summary: the girl who was proud about making her own destiny, the boy she swore to never interact with. sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone, even yourself. because who would've seen any of this coming?

chapter word count: 13k

warnings: honestly, way too much smut. cockwarming, oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving), usage of sex toys, orgasm denial, gagging, overstimulation, dom-sub dynamics, public sex (i don't even know if it's feasible, please suspend your beliefs about reality while reading aah), unprotected sex (please do not do this irl), breast play, spanking, use of spit during sex, usage of petnames (darling, babe, sweetheart for female), usage of word slut (for female), usage of sir and daddy (for male), sir kink, daddy kink, office sex, use of profanities, lots of bickering. let me know if i missed something out!

a/n: and we're back. (or are we?) honestly, i write when i get the time. and i don't know when i'll get my schedule to clear up again </3 hopefully within a few months my life will be back on track.

hope you enjoy this!!! posting this in two parts because it's way too long otherwise. do leave your thoughts, i swear reading them makes me so happy. open to hearing criticism too so pls my inbox is right there for you to rant. have a nice day!

You’ve known Jeon Wonwoo since the age of eleven, but you’d never thought you’d end up like this. Being in the same social circles as you and your family, the young Jeon heir had never really been your friend. However, that did not mean you didn’t meet him. In fact, you met him quite often. He went to the same school as you, he was always there at the parties you went to, and everyone around you kept talking about him. No matter what the season or the age, everyone was infatuated with Jeon Wonwoo. 

Objectively speaking, no. 

Subjectively speaking, not at all. 

You could never understand why one would find a man with no beauties to his personality, nothing to his merit except a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and those never-changing black clothes, attractive. Apart from that, he never exchanged a friendly conversation with you. Never a moment of warmth. And you reciprocated the feeling absolutely. You had no desire to seek his favour. He simply never left the periphery of your life, and it annoyed you. But not enough to bother you. You’d grown used to the sight of the tall boy, who never spoke to anyone except his tight-knit group of absolute losers. And he should have remained in your periphery, never in your focus. You wanted nothing to do with the cold, arrogant nerd. 

So naturally, you’d never, in your wildest imaginations, thought that you’d be here, sucking his dick off under his desk while he engaged himself in a meeting on his desktop. You had been in that position for hours, your mouth lolling over the wetness surrounding his penis, both from your saliva and the slow trickle of his pre-cum. While he has switched from meeting to meeting, both with corporates in Korea and internationally, his suit impeccable and the glasses sitting neatly on his nose, you’d cockwarmed him. That would’ve still been fine, had you not enjoyed it so thoroughly that it had become a routine for you both over the months. 

After a solid two hours (and a few more minutes), he’d allowed himself to push back the chair a bit, pull his pants down further, spread his legs wide enough to meet the annoying temptation that had been bugging him for so long, and thread his hands into your hair, indicating you to step out of the haze you’d fallen into and get on with the job. And oh boy, you’d obeyed. At this point, it was a reflex for you. Feeling the way his hands caved your jaws and neck, you leaned into his touch, all while keeping your eyes on the little twitches he made on his face. Perhaps it was his need to be dominant, or perhaps it was just his arrogance, but he never slipped during sex. Even when you were giving him the most mind-blowing blowjob, like right now, using techniques you’d picked up over time, slipping your tongue under his cock to feel his veins throb around your tongue, gently nipping the foreskin to make the red tip burn harder, and taking him into your throat completely without a moment of a gag reflex. He’d never show you how much he liked it, never praised you, never revealed that he wanted it as much as you did. 

It was all a part of the act, you knew that. 

It was designed to make you more eager to perform well, more eager to earn his praise, more eager to put your all into this. 

Jeon Wonwoo, with his signature cold stares and the arrogant tilt of his smirk, would break you every time, and you’d come back for it, again and again, addicted mindlessly, like a drug. 

Eventually, his cum would flow down your throat, and you’d feel his body relax against yours, as he let you lay your head on his thighs for a few moments to recuperate. 

But never enough. 

“Up, sweetheart. I thought you had a party to attend.”

He helps you stand up, smirking at the pool of your cum on the floor where you’d been sitting, with the bullet vibrator parked deep into your pussy, which had given you endless orgasms and sent you into heaven, all while you’d felt the weight of Wonwoo’s warmth on your tongue. 

His words bring you back to reality, as you limp towards the washroom to clean yourself, slowly breaking your daze. “I do. When are you going to change?”

“I don’t want to. I’ll look good even if I don’t doll up.” With a snicker he goes back to his desktop, and you roll your eyes at the implication of his words.

“I still don’t understand why you’d ask them to deliver the dress here.”

“It is pretty late. Imagine if I’d have to go back home, change, and then leave for the venue. Too much hassle. I would have to leave an hour back. Your place is much closer to the venue.”

“And so you chose to make my bedroom your vanity room?

From Wonwoo’s vantage point in the study, he has a direct view into the master bedroom, where you’re settling yourself into a fresh pair of lingerie and the jumpsuit, which had been designed exclusively for you, for this occasion. The jumpsuit was perfect, made to look professional and yet classy, just as the event demanded, and in midnight blue, your favourite shade. You smiled while wearing it, your secretary had truly learnt your style well and ordered the perfect outfit for you. 

“I’ll be out in ten.” You can feel his eyes on your figure, even from the distance.

You’re too engrossed in fixing the zip on your back to notice Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his eyes fixated on you. 

“Do you need help?”

You give him a look. There’s that semi-permanent smirk lingering on his face, he knows he’s pushing your buttons. Outside of sex, you would never ask for help. In fact, you wouldn’t ask Wonwoo for anything. What could he do for you that you couldn’t do yourself? 

He doesn’t say anything else, he quietly steps in and takes grip of the zip. After pulling it up, he doesn’t say a word, carefully watching you wear your scanty makeup. It could be a little creepy, but you surprisingly don’t mind. Or perhaps you just don’t care. 

“Ah fuck. I forgot to bring the lip gloss.”

“But you just wore lipstick?”

“No,” you turn around and outside of Wonwoo’s periphery. Slipping your feet into your heels and putting on the earrings that had also been sent by your secretary, you told him, “The lip-plumping one. It makes my lips look nice. Well, nicer. They’re already quite pretty, as I’ve been told.” You hear Wonwoo scoff behind you, and you turn around to face him. 

“Well, how do I look?”

His hands are in his pockets, his shirt buttons are halfway opened and his hair is messy, but he still looks better than you do after all this effort. 

“They’ll love you.”

You smile. That’s more than enough feedback from Jeon Wonwoo. He doesn’t have to praise you outside sex if he can’t do it while fucking.

“They always do.”

_

And they do. The photographers, the journalists, the social elites, the ministers, their wives, their mistresses, the chaebols, their heirs, and their bastards. Everyone loves you. How could they not? You’re perfect in every way possible. At twenty six, you’re at the height of your life- young, charming and intelligent, everybody wants you. Ever since you took your father’s already prospering business to new heights four years ago, straight out of grad school, by introducing Korea to the world of AI like they’d never seen before. The industry had not just been disrupted by your introduction of AI to the field of healthcare and diagnosis, but also awed by the sheer magnanimity of your creations. You hadn’t spent years perfecting your ideas in vain. 

Everyone wants a little bit of your time, a little word with you, slipping in a plea and a pickup line in the same tone, and you love the attention they throw at you. Honestly, this is where you were born to be. The spotlight is where you deserve to belong. 

But eventually, the crowd dissipates, leaving you walking towards the bar looking for a martini, arm looped into the arm of your sister. “Y/N-ah, I tell you, let’s go to Jeju this weekend! The weather is perfect now- not too hot, not too cold. The forecast also recommends visiting now!” She tugs at your arm playfully, and you smile fondly. She knows your answer, but she never stops trying. “And what about your husband?” “I need a break from him, please. He’s getting on my nerves!” “Darling, it’s your hormones.” She slaps your wrist. “No! Stop saying that. Kyungmin says the exact same thing, in the exact same tone! It’s so annoying. Stop ganging up against me! Anyway it’s not my fault I’m pregnant. The least he can do is take care of me. If he can’t take care of me now, how is he going to be trained to become a father? Huh? How will he take care of our daught-” “You don’t even know that.” “I do. I have a feeling.” “You can just say you want a girl, you know. There’s nothing called ‘a feeling’.” “Damn it. Just because you have a trash sixth sense doesn’t mean you can dismiss mine, my intuition never goes wrong!” 

And you’ve reached the bar, and the bartender serves you your drinks- just a virgin mojito for your sister though. “The canapes are great.” “Hmm… But I’m craving oranges! That’s why we should go to Jeju, yah!” “Unnie, you’ve gotta stop. Don’t excite yourself more than you need to. Do you want orange juice?” “No, eww. Not this artificial flavour.” “If you really want to go to Jeju, take Kyungmin Oppa and go. Don’t ask for me- I’ll never be able to keep up with your tantrums.” “Hmm. That is true. Now that you mention him, I suddenly miss him. For all my complaints, I still love him though-” You giggle at the sudden sappy tone of your sister, tuning out parts of her endless chatter, while your eyes search for someone in the crowds. 

Jeon Wonwoo stands out, so he’s easy to find. 

He’s wearing the same suit he’d worn earlier, not changed like he had told you. He looks tired and yet, good. Before you realise it, he’s looking back at you, and walking towards where the two of you are standing. 

“Oh! Wonwoo-yah! How have you been?” Your sister asks, ever friendly. She’s the only one in the family who doesn’t show that the Jeon and Y/L/N families are rivals in business and hence, avoid speaking to each other. That norm wasn’t broken by you. To be fair, even the nights you spent together had very little conversation. No orgasm-induced dopamine could break through the wall of your egos to encourage you to be friendly with each other. Hell, outside of the bedroom, Wonwoo isn’t even attractive enough to catch your eye. 

“Hmm, I’m good, Noona. I see your baby is growing fast. How many weeks left?” His tone is courteous, formal, and sweet. Makes you want to laugh at how different he sounds from the usual voice you hear him speak in. 

“About eleven weeks to go. This trimester has been killing me, I swear. I’ve told Kyungmin I don’t want any more kids. Ever. I don’t think I can go through this again, and I haven’t even gotten to the pain of delivery yet. I don’t even know if I can go back to skating after this.”

You scoff. “As if. First get over your never-ending honeymoon period. Then talk about not having any more kids.”

“I support Y/N here. The company will need an heir, and I don’t see anyone else providing any.” 

You sigh. There he goes. You roll your eyes at him, “An heir doesn’t have to be through blood relation. Merit exists. But then how can I explain this to someone whose existence is owed to nepotism.” 

“Rich of you to say so.”

You take a step closer to Wonwoo, too riled up by the calm way he’s speaking. “I’ve built my world from the ground. From level zero. I haven’t just sat on a throne that was presented to me.” 

“Forever the brat, huh? Running your mouth even in public, begging me to shut it?” You notice that Wonwoo has also come closer to you, and you can smell the cologne off him. He’s a solid four inches taller than you, even when you’re wearing heels. But you stare right back into his eyes, yours angry and his cold and superior, as usual. You wonder for the n-th time if his blood even runs warm. You’re tempted to retort back, disgusted by the below-the-belt remark, going off-topic, but your sister’s gently pulling your arm, reminding you that you’re in public. “Back off. Don’t make a scene, guys. Let’s not ruin the evening?” She puts on her best smile to calm you down, and you step away, seething in vain. Wonwoo’s smirk never leaves his face as you two bow and walk away. The way he’s looking at you reminds you of other memories. 

You suddenly wonder if your sister had heard the comment or not. Considering her though, probably not. Thank god it was her and not someone else. 

_

The rest of the party flows seamlessly. You’re spiralling slightly in your head though- overthinking can’t be avoided. The way Wonwoo was successful in riling you up has shocked you, to say the least. There have been a thousand such instances, but you don’t remember losing your temper to this extent in any of the situations. But somehow, Wonwoo talking about you not being interested to have children vexed you so much? It just didn’t add up. 

It’s the first time you’re doubting your current situation. You’d been absolutely convinced that settlement between the two of you was more to your benefit than his. It wasn’t like you had a dearth of men wanting to fuck you. It was quite the opposite. But a few scandals and rumours had taught you that keeping your private life discreet was the optimal choice. Especially if you were a woman and people simply assumed you’d sucked someone’s dick to get ahead in life. 

But the arrangement with Wonwoo was so perfect. He wanted discretion, so did you. He didn’t want to get involved with a random hookup who could get pregnant, you didn’t want a random hookup to get you pregnant. He wanted someone to match his wavelength, and you needed a vent for your stress. Now that you consider the drastic improvement in your energy and efforts, in retrospection, becoming Jeon Wonwoo’s submissive had been the best decision of your life. 

_

It had begun quite suddenly. At your sister’s engagement party. Everyone was delighted with the new couple, especially you. Your sister had never shown any desire to join the company, satisfied with following her passion of ice skating. And now she was getting married to her boyfriend of five years, the love of her life, and everyone was left fondly jealous of the pure happiness on her face, even you.

Perhaps it was because of this jealousy that you’d decided to flirt with Wonwoo at the after-party. Against your better judgement, you’d drifted towards him by the end of the night, until your knees were touching on the barstools, and he was leaning back looking over your figure again and again. I was wondering which spot would be ideal for me to bite first- your collarbones, your cleavage, your thighs or your belly button, he would tell you later. God knows why you’d suddenly decided to find him attractive after fifteen years of knowing each other, but that was it. You’d ended up in a hotel bed that night, fucked until tears ran down your cheeks, begging him to go harder and faster whenever he slowed down to look at the mascara dripping down your face, leaving hickeys all over the soft skin of your breasts, not letting you rest of a second of the night, going at it till dawn. 

“Wonwoo… I can’t…” you’d begged, your words muffled through your panties stuffed into your own mouth, the overstimulation hitting you hard as you squirmed against his tongue fucking his cum back into your pussy. “You can, sweetheart, give me another one… hmm? Do you want to be a good girl?” 

And you had let loose. Given yourself up to him, to make or break you, as he wanted, and then put you together one by one as the sun rose up in the sky as you’d drifted to sleep. The next afternoon, you’d woken up feeling like a new person, and decided it was the best night of your life. The man in question was nowhere to be seen, but you didn’t care. The bliss ran too deep. 

Sadly, not deep enough. The overthinking kicked in a few hours later, and you cussed yourself for becoming so easy for an undeserving man like Wonwoo. Just because he’d made you cum and given you a good time didn’t mean you’d go against your rational thoughts. In a way, he was no better than your best dildo. Except you liked your dildo. You simply did not like Jeon Wonwoo. The arrogant brat had been the type of man you’d avoided all of your life. You hadn’t seen him work hard in school, and now that he had inherited his father’s company, you didn’t see him work any harder either. Sure, Jeon Estates was doing better than ever, but that was only because the economy was booming and the housing market was doing well. He had done nothing extra. Unlike you, who had built your world yourself. You’d never taken your father’s prosperity as complacency, and strived to make a name for yourself. And now people knew of Y/L/N Corporation as synonymous to both your father’s name and your name. 

And you had, like a silly stupid girl, gone and slept with this very man. 

And you had liked it. 

That was the worst bit. An accidental hookup would have been fine. But no, you wanted to sleep with him every night, if it meant he’d treat you to the same feast you’d blissed out on last night. There was a certain happiness in giving up to him, letting go of the constant worries that burdened you down, and allowing him to take control, but god knows how you ended up trusting him so much in bed.

Anyway, you reconciled with yourself, it’s just a one-time thing. It’s not like it’s going to happen again. 

You were wrong. Jeon Wonwoo had picked you up that evening and taken you directly to his house. 

“What did you want to talk about that you couldn’t do in your car?”

“The chauffeur was there.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Jeon. You can just say that you regret last night, cause honestly, same. Don’t want to dwell on it.” You were in a rush to leave, because you didn’t want to think about the memories in this same house the night ago. 

“Are you sure?”

His question had taken you aback, as he watched you with his hawk eyes, licking his lips.

“Y/N, I … couldn’t tell you in my car that I didn’t regret it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

You’re speechless, waiting for him to continue, as he took another step forward. 

“Wonwoo, I… you know this is a bad idea.”

“I do,” he chuckles darkly. “You look like a bad idea, as I’ve known for years now. But when I see you wearing that hideous turtleneck to hide the hickeys and that tiny skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, I keep remembering the way you submitted to me last night. For all your big talk and your attitude, you obey pretty easily, huh?”

You stand up, indignant. “Wonwoo, you can’t use that against me. Listen I know we’re not friends-”

“Be my submissive. I want, no fuck, I need you. You’re perfect.” He’s standing an inch away from you, bending his neck gently to look into your eyes. His mask slips for a second. A million emotions flit through your brain, and you’re deliriously begging for your intelligence to kick in, but there’s something about the subtly layered desperation in Wonwoo’s voice that makes you curious. 

“What are your terms?”

_

You look at Wonwoo across the dining table. He looks as put-together as ever, not a hair out of place, as he converses with the middle aged-men sitting next to him while eating dinner. He quickly notes your glance and looks back, and you turn your eyes away before he catches the blush along your cheeks. 

No, there’s nothing wrong with the arrangement. It works perfectly in your favour. As long as nobody knows. 

_

You’re wrapping up a meeting with the board members of the company, when you get a call on your phone. It’s Wonwoo. Excusing yourself from the meeting, you pick up the call while walking back to your office.

“Hello?”

“Are you going to the Paris Conclave?”

The invitation for the event had arrived just that evening, the first time they were inviting your company. It had made you gush with excitement, happy that you’d been able to take your company to this prestigious conclave. Moreover, this would be the first time you’d be visiting Paris, one of the few dream destinations of your life. Due to a packed professional schedule, you had hardly been able to travel for the past few years, and the thought of going to Paris made you naturally happy.

“Yes, of course. Getting fomo? I can get a croissant back home for you.”

“I can get my own. See you there.”

He cuts the call. 

What was that? He’s going to the conclave as well? That’s impossible. Jeon Estates had never been invited before this-

“Jisung-ah.” You call for your secretary, who appears at your side quickly. “Has the Jeon Estates been invited to the conclave?” 

“Ma’am, I- why, yes. I hadn’t checked the list for their name.” His voice drops as he speaks, mirroring the disappointment rising in you too. So, it wasn’t only you who had been invited for the first time. 

Fucking Jeon Wonwoo. Even had to call you to rub it in, the nerve. 

“Well, we’ll just have to outshine them there. I’m sure we shall. Please organise a meeting with the team leaders and managers today so that we can get the presentations perfected.”

Your secretary bows to you and leaves you alone in your office. 

_

Paris comes sooner than you had thought, and you’re bursting with excitement. Nervousness too, a little bit. But your confidence isn’t so easy to rattle. You’ve picked out your choicest outfits for the trip, hellbent on making it memorable. You’ve even kept a few days extra in hand to allow you free time to travel the city. 

You had asked your sister if she’d wanted to come along, but she had said that her doctor hadn’t deemed it safe for her to travel by airplane now. “I’m so jealous! But there’s nothing to be done.” “Go with your husband and your baby afterwards.” You’d kissed her forehead when bidding the final goodbyes before leaving for Paris.

There was just one little worry worming through your brain. Not even a worry, just an irk. Jeon Wonwoo would also be there. You’d have to compete again for the spotlight. As if the jerk deserved to be there. 

“Ma’am, do you want to go through your speech once more?” Jisung asked you from the seat next to you. You smiled, the younger man was definitely nervous by the look on his face. “Why, are you scared I’ll forget? You know I take vitamins every day to strengthen my memory.” “I do, but-” “Don’t worry. Don’t let anxiety deter you from forming the memories of the fun times you’ll be enjoying there!”

Fun. 

As if. Jisung knew well enough that you rarely had time for fun, and consequently, neither did he. He saw you overwork yourself every day, staying at the office till late, obsessed with perfection, ensuring no loose ends were visible. Even if you tried your best to send him home when his work time ended, he wanted to stay back out of compassion for you. He was truly the best secretary you could’ve asked for. He was godsent- he’d learnt your habits and your thinking process within days, and soon he produced documents and answers before you asked for them, pre-empting your thoughts. After working with you for three years, he was good enough to be your clone- that’s why you sent him to many events and meetings as your representative if you couldn’t make it. You knew he’d handle it as well as you would, and report all the key details to you at the end of the day. 

“Yes, Ma’am. I hope it all passes well. We’ve all worked hard.”

“And hard work always pays off, you know that Jisung-ah. Now, sleep quickly so that we’re not tired due to jet lag once we land there.”

_

They’ve assigned Wonwoo a seat next to you at the conference table. As if seeing his face here wasn’t bad enough. 

“Will you never leave me alone?” 

He scoffs, “Me? You’ve been at my tail since you were a kid.”

“Oh shut up. Inside school, outside school, at parties, at funerals, at my graduation, at my sister’s wedding, you’re always fucking there. And now you’re here, to steal the spotlight. Not that you can anyway. Don’t try too hard Jeon, you’ll just look pathetic.”

“It’s funny how vain you are. You think I have any desire to steal your spotlight? Go ahead, be the talk of the party, by all means.”

“And I will! I don’t need your permission for it.”

“Hmm-”

The rest of his words get tuned out as the convenor of the conference begins their speech. You turn your eyes towards them, but you can feel Wonwoo’s eyes burning on you. 

“What did you say?” You whisper to him. 

“Never mind. Do you want to go out tonight?”

“Go out?” You turn your head towards him, leaning in, incredulous. 

“For dinner.” 

You almost burst out laughing. “And pray, why would I go with you?”

He scrunches his nose and pushes up his glasses. “You’re going to miss out on seeing the Eiffel Tower?”

“No. In fact, I have plans on going today myself. But you didn’t tell me why I’d-”

“Come with me.” He turns his face away from you, his expression cold and unreadable. 

“Hell nah. We don’t know each other, okay? Just because we’re both newcomers here does not mean we have to maintain solidarity or any of that shit.”

“You’ll regret it, sweetie.”

“I regret nothing.”

“We’ll see.”

_

“Jisung-ah! You were scared for nothing. That presentation was flawless.”

“Yes Ma’am. I know our team always works hard, but the nerves never stop,” the young man looks much fresher after the conference wraps up for the day, his tie undone slightly. You can easily understand how his mood changes reflect in his facial expressions and attitude after the long hours you spend with each other on a daily basis. 

“Are you still up for going to the Eiffel Tower tonight? I’m planning on skipping the post-conference dinner. But if you want to stay, I won’t force you to come with me.” 

“No Ma’am, I was thinking…” he hesitates, but you raise your eyebrows to urge him to continue. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to visit the Eiffel Tower again, so I do want to go with you … but after that I’d like to go to one of the clubs in the nightlife zones? I’ve heard from friends that the Paris nightlife is crazy.”

“Ooh!” You pat him on the back, “Yes please Jisung, finally you’ve started to act your age. Go, be young and wild, I’ll cheer for you!”

“You won’t come along?”

“Oh no. I’m way too old for that. Plus I never was into the club scene. And for real, you should go out and enjoy without me sometimes. People will start thinking I’m your girlfriend.”

Jisung opens his mouth to say something, but ends up just smiling shyly. “Okay Ma’am. Then should we leave for the Eiffel at 7 pm?”

“Yes. Pick me up from my suite then.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

_

“Sorry Ma’am, the Eiffel Tower has been booked out for the evening. It’s been a really sudden booking, and we’re sorry for the inconvenience, but it’s just been booked out completely by a private party and no external visitors are allowed.”

You’re wearing your best white silk Gucci dress, the one you spent your entire salary on as soon as it was released at last year’s Fashion week, and a stunning Cartier necklace, ready to spend the best evening of your life atop the Eiffel Tower, savouring life at its finest… but no. Some jerk just had to book it for this evening. 

You slide up to the lady at the front desk, whose bored expression does nothing to calm your nerves down. Jisung has tried his level best to convince her, but it’s failed. So you try the one thing you know always works. 

“Ruth-” you see her name from her name tag pinned on her chest. “I can outbid the private party.” 

“I’m sorry Ma’am, I didn’t get you.”

You laugh, a careful measured laugh, to hide your irritation at having to say it again. “I said, I can pay you more than whatever the private party’s booked it at. I just want ten minutes. Isn’t it a win-win situation for all of us? Ten minutes for me, and your private client can enjoy it for the rest of the night.”

Ruth smiles, pitifully. Wretched woman, she’s clearly not affected by your offer. This is what seeing too many rich people in a day does to a person, it immunes them to bribe, you think. Well, it’s her loss. 

“I’m sorry Ma’am, but we really cannot accept your offer. It’s against our rules-” 

“Let me speak to your manager, Ruth. Trust me, when they hear my name, they’ll let me in,” you smile again, attempting to remain amicable instead of bursting out into the wildest Korean slang.

Ruth smiles again, “You are, currently, speaking to the Manager here, Ma’am. We simply cannot allow any external visitors tonight. Can we book a slot for you tomorrow? If you’d like to visit again, in the morning or later.”

Jisung tries to interject, but he sounds resigned. He seems intimidated by Ruth, and frankly speaking, you get it. He’s just twenty four and spends over thirteen hours in a day with you, so he’s not used to snarky women. Well, apart from you, and you’re never snarky to him.

“Ruth, my dear. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m here at the Paris Conclave.” You say your name solemnly, expecting it to have the same effect it has in Korea, but alas, the woman remains untouched as ever. “I’m dreadfully sorry Ma’am- wait, did you say Y/N Y/L/N?” Your smile becomes wider. Oh so it does have the intended effect. “So you finally will let me in, huh? You do know who I am.” 

Suddenly Ruth’s demeanour changes and she’s smiling pleasantly. “Oh Ma’am, the private client has specially informed us to allow you in. Only you.” “I’m sorry, what? Why would they suddenly ask for me-” “Mr. Jeon told us that you would be here. I’m so sorry for the miscommunication, Ms. Y/L/N-”

“Mr. Jeon?!” You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you bitch. Aloud you say, “Mr. Wonwoo Jeon?” “Yes Ma’am. He’s booked the entire place for the evening. He has been waiting for you too,” Ruth smiles graciously, doing nothing to relieve your confusion. “There has been a mistake. I don’t think he meant me. We’ll leave now-” “Ma’am, I’m sure there’s no confusion now. Mr. Jeon asked us to bring you up as soon as you arrived. We’re sorry to keep you standing here on your date night.” “Date night? This is ridiculous. Wonwoo and I are not-” Jisung whispers into your ears right at moment, noticing your bloodshot wide eyes, “Ma’am, I think there’s no point fighting with them on this,” he says in Korean. “This lady seems adamant, and you shouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to visit the Eiffel Tower when it’s lit up so prettily. Even if it is with Mr. Jeon,” you wince at his suggestion, and he smiles apologetically. He’s right, you realise. 

“Okay, but Jisung comes with me.”

“I’m sorry Ma’am.” Oh I’ve had enough of your sorries. “No one except you are to be allowed up.” 

“Wow. First you say no external visitors. Now suddenly I’m allowed and Jisung is not-”

“Ms. Y/L/N, these are simply instructions from my client.” 

Jisung bites his lip and says, “Well I guess it’s not written in my fate then. Ma’am, don’t miss out on my account. Please enjoy. I’ll just go downtown and waste the night away. I’ll see you tomorrow then? Please make sure to eat dinner!” You’re seconds away from whining and pulling another tantrum, but Jisung whispers fighting to you in his soft indulgent tone that he uses on you whenever you’re being a brat and he needs to take care of you. And then he’s gone, and you have no option but to face Ruth. That bloody woman. “Welcome to the Eiffel Tower, Ma’am. Please accompany me as we take you to the top.”

_

At the top, Jeon Wonwoo stands with a glass of champagne in his left hand and his mobile phone in his right. 

“If you’re going to work on your phone and not enjoy the view, why the fuck did you book this place out?”

You walk towards the man standing in the open air viewing area, and he smiles at you. The annoyingly handsome smile, where his eyes crinkle up, and his perfectly white teeth are revealed in a rare display. 

“You came. I knew you’d come.”

“How so?” A server appears from nowhere and offers you champagne too, which you accept. You’ll soon switch to whisky though, to calm your nerves down. 

“You’re easily predictable. You act like any other average tourist, although you pretend to be such a princess.” 

“Everyone comes to visit Eiffel Tower on their first day in Paris, Wonwoo, there’s nothing weird about this-”

“Exactly. Average. Me? I personally prefer to see it from the window of my hotel, so that I can see it in its glory without experiencing this slight dizziness and bling of the night view.”

“You’re stupid. That’s why you have such stupid preferences. This night view? Priceless.” 

“Let me inform you, darling, it cost me a hell lot to book this. So not priceless.”

You laugh, looking at Wonwoo, who’s leaning against the railing facing you, and then back at the gorgeous night view. The Champs Elysees looks glorious with the lights. You can sense Wonwoo leaning in closer. His cologne and perfume mix to create a dark, musky smell that’s new. You’ve never smelled this on him before. “Why did you book it? That’s what I've been asking since forever.” 

“I want to fuck you against this railing.” 

You choke on the champagne, before catching your breath and turning back to face him. 

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.” He maintains eye contact, but in that cold, nonchalant way of his, like he didn’t just propose the most scandalous thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Aren’t there cameras?”

“Will pay for them to be turned off.”

“That��s probably illegal.”

“I don’t care. I’ll pay enough. Plus, I’ve already located the blind spots.”

You take a deep breath. As ashamed as you are to admit this, it does turn you on. A lot. If Wonwoo would touch you under your dress, he’d find evidence of the same. Sex like this- in public, definitely the most outrageous thing you’ve done. But Wonwoo suggesting it? The fact that he booked this place out on a probability that you’d come and a hope that you’d agree to it? The more you think about it, the hotter your body feels. You can feel your nipples straining against your dress in the cold air, and your face turning red with imagination. 

“If you don’t want it, we can just eat dinner and leave.” Wonwoo’s eyes have become impossibly  gentler but also darker, like he’s seconds away from losing his control. His sight betrays his words as he keeps looking at your lips. Thank god I applied the lip plumper tonight, you think. But then his eyes go to your breasts, like the pervert he is, and he smirks at the sight of the two nubs pressing hard against the soft silk. 

You shake your head.

“Say it.”

“I want it too.”

“Atta girl,” his smirk widens, before he leans in to capture your lips. It’s a rough kiss, nothing romantic like one would expect atop the Eiffel Tower, but it sets the right mood for the night. You realise that all servers have disappeared, and you’re perfectly alone, as his lips move down towards your neck, leaving beautiful hickeys along the way. “It was torture and heaven waiting for you. Knowing you’d come, but fearing you wouldn’t.” His hands take away your champagne glasses and place them on a table nearby, before bending you backwards on the railing, making your head zoom more with pleasure. What if I fall off? What if someone catches us like this? What if he takes a picture of me like this in front of the view, with my tits out and my lipstick ruined?

“No bra, huh? You’re so sexy in this dress, I want to fuck you in it. You mind that?” You’re panting as he keeps kissing you in between his words, tongue dominating yours right away. It’s like a switch flipped inside you. Just minutes ago, you were so against sharing the Eiffel Tower view with Wonwoo, and now you’re letting him fuck you here. It drives you crazy.

“Wonwoo just- I don’t care, I need you now.” He bites all over your shoulder, slipping down the straps to grope your breasts in the rough-handed manner you like, sure to leave bruises with the way he kneads them while leaving open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone.

“Just because we’re out in the open doesn’t mean you forget your bedroom manners.” He bites down on your nipple, surely missing his favourite clamps back home, and you squirm in his iron grip. 

“Sir please!” 

“That’s better, sweetheart. But what do you want?”

“C-Co-” he alternates his bites with little kitten licks, looking up at you. “Articulation, baby. Speak up.” “Want your cock, in my m- mouth, Sir!” He pulls away from you, leaving the cold air to tease your bruised nipples, and laughs. Fucking laughs, but it turns you on again. “If you insist.”

He takes off his belt and ties your hands behind your back, and then pushes your shoulder down and you fall to your knees, and he stands back, tall. “Oh, what a pretty sight,” he sighs, taking in the night sky view, and then looks down at you, but makes no move to open his pants. You assume you’ll have to take care of it yourself, so you attempt to open the zipper with your teeth. It’s not particularly difficult, but in the process you get some drool over Wonwoo’s cock over his pants. “Tch. Dirty girl, drooling everywhere,” he wipes away the drool from the edge of your lips, before you slot your mouth against his erection, now free from his underwear and pants which have slid down his legs. It’s not as hard as it gets during sex, but that’s what you’re here for. Nothing but a slut for him to use. Your ankles burn against your heels in this position, but it’s okay. You’re losing your mind as you swallow his sheath inch-by-inch, until you feel his skin against your nose, and you stay like that for a second, easing out your gag reflex. But before you can move, Wonwoo thrusts deep into your throat, eyes not leaving yours. It makes you roll your eyes, the pleasure of the surprise way more than the pain, and makes you crave for more. He slowly wraps his hands around your head, a strong broad support for you to rest in, and continues to ram his dick inside your mouth. Your body becomes limp as you slowly surrender to his actions, your mind blank, except a crazy wanton desire to please him and make him cum. You’re too sex-crazed right now to reason out why only Wonwoo elicits this reaction from you. 

But then his dick gets rock hard, and right when its weight becomes the best and warmest around your throat, wet with saliva and pre-cum, he pulls out. You can’t frame words instantly, but you whine. “Ah, Wo- I- pl- co- please…” He laughs cockily at your state, and you blush with shame at the way you’re acting. “Get up,” he walks away from you, leaving you to your own devices to stand up in those heels. 

It strikes you yet again, just how open this all is. Anyone can walk in. The security guard may be jerking off watching this on the security cameras, and you won’t lie, it’s hot as fuck. The thought of Wonwoo and your activities being porn for someone else- oh fuck. 

Wonwoo sits on a couch meant for visitors on the balcony. “Come baby,” he beckons, and you sit on his lap. His cock is still hard, leaking pre-cum, and you’re tempted to lick it off, but you won’t make a move until he tells you to. You can’t disobey him now- if he spanks you in punishment, you won’t be able to walk to the conference tomorrow.

“Spit on it.” And you do. Wonwoo likes your spit, for some reason, and you wordlessly obey. Then he pulls out something from his pocket, and you realise- “No Sir! Please, not the paddle today!” It’s a folded paddle, the pocket-friendly one you can buy at cheap sex stores. “I need to walk tomorrow, I can’t if you spank me-” “But you’ve been so naughty. Begging for my cock in a public place like the little slut you are. Not accepting my invitation to come up here and making me wait for so long. Turning my offer for dinner down at the conference this morning,” You try to protest, but he simply inserts his thumb into your mouth, and you instinctively start sucking on it. “Now be pretty, and let Sir show you your place.” While you’re still distractedly sucking the thumb, you don’t even realise when he’s lifted the back of your dress and the paddle hits the ass flesh exposed by your thong. “Count.” “One,” you whimper out, not wanting his thumb to slip out of your mouth. The spanks continue, alternating on ass. He can alternate between asses and keep the same pressure just by one hand, the other holding up your dress, his hands big enough to cover your entire ass cheek. The spanks burn more after the moment’s relief due to the cold air, and by the time you reach twenty, your knees have given up, and you’re drooling on Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

“Don’t make a mess. Sit up straight.” As you do so, he asks you, putting away the paddle and tucking your hair behind your ears. “Have you learnt how to behave? Or do you need another reminder?” You fervently shake your head, but he whispers in his insanely sexy tone, “Words.” It makes you shiver, and you respond, “Yes Sir. I’ll not misbehave, Sir.” He smirks, and leans back. “Now ride me like you mean your words, darling.” 

You don’t need another command. You sit down on his dick quickly, ready to take the burn without any prep, because you’re already leaking down your thighs. He grips your hips with one hand, steadying you, and cards his other hand through your hair. As you begin bouncing down on him, he shudders and releases low grunts, but nothing breaks his composure. He never once whispers Good Girl, as you cum once, but you still keep riding him to ensure he reaches his climax. Somewhere after your orgasm, he starts thrusting up from below to meet your efforts, and it brings him closer to his orgasm as he scrunches his nose and closes his eyes. When he does spurt inside you, he whispers softly enough that you almost miss it, “Fucking gorgeous.” 

That’s enough praise for the night, you think to yourself, as you fall limply against his chest, nearly passed out from the strain, his cock still spasming inside of you. He soothes your hair, and you fall asleep.

_

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Please wake up! We’re running late. Ma’am? Ms. Y/L/N?” You open your eyes blearily to see Jisung shaking you lightly. Slowly you come to your senses, and you can hear his voice louder, and see the desperation in his face clearly. 

Fuck. 

What have you done?

“How late am I?” 

“Not too bad, Ma’am,” Jisung scrunches his nose as he looks at the clock on your bedside table. “We have twenty minutes to go.” 

“Fuck!” You scramble out of bed, not even bothering to check if you’re clothed, and make your way to the washroom. There’s a pain growing in your head, and it’s only when you see yourself in the mirror that you realise that you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts. What even happened last night? The last thing you remember, as you try to recollect while quickly brushing your teeth, washing your hair and hopping into the shower all at the same time, is that you had passed out on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Then the world had gone blank. Fucked into oblivion, truly. He must have brought you into your room. Oh fucking hell, he owed you at least that much.

By the time you wrapped your bathing suit around you and walked back into your bedroom, Jisung was gone, but your outfit and shoes were laid out on the bed and there was a note, I’ll pack some breakfast for you, Ma’am. Please come down directly to the conference hall. Thank god for Jisung, that was one prayer you said everyday. He’d been partying too last night, hadn’t he? And yet, he had responsibly made it on time and woken you up as well. You were getting too irresponsible, too lax. Your discipline was gone and you mentally bashed yourself for it. All because of that stupid Wonwoo.

After that, it doesn’t take much time for you to get dressed. Jisung must’ve noticed the hickeys on your neck, and brought you a jacket with lapels and a collar high enough to hide most of the marks. You quickly tied a scarf around your neck, making it look fashionable by adding colour to the otherwise beige monotone outfit, and praised yourself mentally for looking this good even without makeup. Dabbing on some lip balm in the elevator, you quickly reached the conference hall, finding yourself a minute late. Again, thank god for Jisung, the boy had reserved your seat, made excuses on your behalf and kept a croissant and coffee ready at your seat, so that everyone greeted you with kind smiles. 

Except Wonwoo, who had that unreadable expression again. 

Must be pathetic, living like him. What worth was a face like that if it couldn’t express anything?

_

Four days later, you land in Incheon amidst the wildest of storms the country has faced in the year. You won’t admit it, but you’re glad you travelled in your private jet, where you can close all windows down and wrap yourself up in a blanket burrito to drown out all signs of the storm. You wish storms didn’t exist, and you wish no one would have to see you in this weak state. Not Wonwoo for sure. 

After that first day in Paris, the two of you had barely interacted. Primarily, you were too ashamed to speak to him. How could you smile and talk normally to someone after getting railed by them on the Eiffel Tower, especially when that same someone was annoying as fuck in reality? Sure, eye contact had been made several times, over dinners, over the conference tables, when you’d been on the stage presenting, and when running into each other in the corridor. But words? You possibly couldn’t. It’d be too much for the fragile self-respect you’d been holding on to. 

You really want to avoid him once you’re back in Seoul as well. The workload seems to have tripled in the few days you were away, with endless tiny emergencies and approvals pending to be resolved. You’re again thankful for Jisung, but there’s only so much the poor boy can do. You make it a point to send him home soon after his scheduled timing every day, but you can’t say the same for yourself. 

It’s the fifth night of you eating ramen from a cup noodles pack and sipping on apple juice from a 1 litre tetra pack, that you finally give up on the abstention. It’s a hard decision, but somehow, your overworked brain and sleep-deprived body leads you to one craving, and one craving only. 

Thirty minutes later, Jeon Wonwoo arrives at your office. He’s been to your office only rarely, as you both prefer to meet up outside professional areas, but in the darkness of the empty office, he can easily recognise your brightly-lit room. He’s dressed in formals too, as if he’s just got off work himself, and you think he may be in the same boat as you. But definitely not as much as you- you’re a perfectionist who looks over everything yourself, Wonwoo doesn’t even come close for sure. 

“It’s one of those nights, huh?”

He gently opens the door and walks in. Everything about him seems to be delicate today: perhaps it’s because his shirt is damp from the rain he’s surely walked in, his hair is wet and falling over his eyes, and his tie is gone. His jacket is soon gone too, dropped off on the couch, and he takes off his shoes. They’re leaving slightly muddy footprints, and you wonder if Wonwoo even drove and came or just ran like a peasant. 

“How’s work treating you?”

“Stop wolfing down that ramen, it’s not healthy. Not as bad as you, as I see. I finished up hours ago,” his eyes don’t meet yours, and you know it’s a lie. It’s one of the signs of lying, as you’ve picked up over the years. Wonwoo rarely breaks eye contact while speaking, always honest, and his lie is really odd to you right now. Why would he lie to you about this?

“I was wondering, if…” you stand up from your desk, taking in the figure of the man sitting on your couch now, manspreading and head leaning back. He’s tired, why did he lie about getting off early?

“Come here, princess.” 

That’s all it takes, and you sit on his lap and wait for his lips to meet yours. He indulges you in your wish, and immediately the tension in your body eases out. Along with the stress of work, you’d been even more worried that he’d bring up your last night together, and you’d get too ashamed to remain turned on. But he doesn’t, and you’re glad. You let your lips be bitten by him, but then he soothes over the burns with his tongue. He tastes like candy, and you tell him the same. 

“Hmm, low sugar.” 

Then he picks you up and gently walks over to your desk, holding you in the same bridal pose without even a muscle flinching. With one hand, he clears the laptop sitting atop your desk to the coffee table, and swipes the rest of the clutter on the floor. It would’ve made you angry otherwise, but you’re already entering subzone with the way he’s handling you. Lips still locked on yours, holding you in that pose with just one hand as you hold on to his shoulders for dear life, it’s a crazy show of strength and you’re getting incredibly turned on by it. You let yourself go, giving it up to this person, who seems to be so reliable, so strong, so manly. 

As he lays you down on the desk, he takes off your trousers and underwear in one go, and sits down on the chair you usually sit on. 

“You’re so wet, so dirty. Did you touch yourself after texting me to come over?” Your pussy is at his eye level, and you’re looking down at him, his eyes menacing and beautiful at the same time. His question makes you squirm, as you reply, “Of course not.” Then there’s a slap across your cunt, and you whine. “Manners?” “Of course not, Sir.” “Liar,” he smirks, and dives headfirst into your cunt. 

It’s a treat he rarely gives you. Only when he’s very happy with you- like after you’ve taken thirty spanks, or you’ve eaten dinner with him while having a vibrator stuffed up your cunt, or you’ve let him wash you in the shower (for some reason, Wonwoo likes that a lot. He ties you up to these poles he’s attached in his bathroom, and plays with your body by applying as much oil and soap he wants, making sure not to touch your pussy for hours, denying every release to you even as it builds up just from the oversensitivity of having your nipples and ass played with). 

You wonder why he’s so happy. 

But you can’t care enough, now that his tongue is working so hard against your clit. The sensation makes you lose all rational thought, as you lean back against the desk, mind empty, and just moaning his name. You remember the first few times he’d fucked you with your mouth gagged, but then he’d told you he likes your sounds way too much, so you’d stopped controlling them too. He gets what he wants. After all, only he can fuck you so well. 

“Wonwoo, please-” He moves his head up, licking his lips which are glistening with your slick. “How do you address me baby?” “S-sorry! Sir, please I-” “Hmm?” He leans back in, humming against your clit. His tongue now moves to your hole, nose brushing against your clit. “Can I come? Like this? May I? Please?” When he moves away again for breath, he removes his hands from your thighs, and you see the red marks he’s left there just by how tight he was gripping them. It’s a wild sight, and your climax hits you right then, coming before he could answer. “So impatient, coming all over my face even when I’ve told you not to come without my permission.” But even his scolding sounds gentle tonight, softly chiding rather than his usual harsh coldness. In your post-orgasm clarity, you wonder again what’s gotten into him. 

He licks away your cum, and it makes you burn with overstimulation. “Uhhhhh, please-please Sir!” “Stay still.” His hands are back at your thighs, spreading them apart, and he seems hellbent on getting another orgasm from you. Your screams are louder this time, and you’re growing even more desperate to get something bigger to fill you up. You wrap your hands in his hair, and tug unconsciously while he keeps licking at your pussy. His entire face is hazy with your slick, thank god he’d taken off his glasses earlier, but he doesn’t care. He keeps diving in. 

“Sir, please, I’m going- uhhhh,” he pulls away instantly and smacks your cunt hard. “No coming until I allow you to. Let Sir have his treat.” “Please Sir I’ll be so good, I promise, I- please let me, just this once.” Another smack, and you’re screaming. Thank heavens the office is empty. 

“Do you not understand my words? Should I retrain you?”

“No! I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise.” 

“Hmm, you better be,” and this time he doesn’t just lick your pussy, but also starts entering two fingers alongside his tongue, hitting your g-spot almost instantly. You’re whining yet again, losing your breath, but everytime you’re about to come, he pulls away. You can’t figure out how he realises, but soon two hours pass by, and you’re still being edged. Your legs are shaking, and you can’t think straight. You just want more of his fingers, you want his cock, inside your mouth, your cunt, hell, you just want to orgasm once. 

“Girl, stop moving. You’re so filthy, dripping like this. What would your boytoy think if he saw you like this? Should I call him to clean this mess on your desk?” He’s curling his finger inside you, and it’s really hard forming words when you’re seeing stars like this. 

“Sir, I-” “What’s his name? Jieun?” “Ji- Jisung. Aaah, please-” “Look at you begging. So pathetic. No wonder your secretary is so pathetic. He really likes you, you know?” Your eyes go wide, trying to register his words. “Why- why are you- how do you–” “Hush. I want to know, is he jerking off to you now? Thinking of how slutty you looked in those grey trousers, how perfect your ass looked? Bet you show off in front of him on purpose.” You’re squirming harder, not wanting to think about Jisung right now. “But- but daddy, I on- only want you!”

He laughs, then he leans in to whisper into your ear, “Daddy? That’s a first. Say it again.” 

“Daddy, please! I only want your cock.” 

“Really? So demanding, like a wife. But you’re just a slut. You’d do this to Jisung as well, won’t you?” “No! I swear- please. Daddy, just, it’s just you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I swear!” You nod feverishly, the sensation building up inside you again.

“Okay baby girl. Come for me. Come for daddy. Then I’ll take you home and fuck you good. This desk is too small.” You don’t need to be told twice. You gush all over his hands and some of your come ends up on your desk and his pants too, but he only chuckles. Licking off the come on his hands, he smiles. “You taste like sugar, sweetheart.”

_

The sheets you wake up in smell overwhelmingly like Wonwoo. The man is nowhere to be seen, but the blankets next to you are shuffled and the pillow has a dent, and you remember being caved by his warmth at night when the storm had hit Seoul again and you’d woken up for a second before falling asleep to the steady rise and fall of the chest wrapped around you. 

You wake up slowly, adjusting your eyes to the sunlight. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in Wonwoo’s bedroom, but this is the first time you’ve slept over. Usually you leave, no matter how late it is. But it feels good. It feels oddly intimate. 

Your legs burn when you walk, but you try to look for your clothes. 

Your shirt is ripped again. 

You strut out of the room after wearing your panties and bra, which is barely holding on to one hook remaining, and find the man standing in the open kitchen, wearing a tank top and sweatpants. He’s drinking coffee, and a book is in his hands. 

“Wonwoo, you’ve torn my clothes again. How am I supposed to go home like this?”

He turns to face you, smiling and fixing his glasses, and standing up. He looks so good in the warmth of the sunlight falling on his golden skin. “You’re up.”

“Do you think I can keep buying new clothes?”

“Yes. Now, calm down. Do you-”

“Wonwoo!” 

“For god’s sake, I can’t take your shit this early in the morning. You want to fight, please do. Not now. It’s too early. You just always find something up your ass and have to pick on me for nothing, huh?”

His smile has faded, and the warmth in your body seeps away. About time, though. You don’t want to start feeling safe in Wonwoo’s private space. It’s too intimate- waking up in his bed, seeing him walk around in sweatpants, drinking coffee he’s making for you. It’s too much.

“This has to stop, Wonwoo.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll not rip your shirts. Take my card and buy something-”

“This arrangement has to stop.”

He turns away from the coffee machine for a second, and stares at you. You walk towards him, and he looks even better up close. His tank top shows off his arms, and they look soft yet really firm. You want to touch-

“Why? Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not-”

“Do you want to date someone? You can, you know. I don’t care-”

“Wonwoo-”

“Did I hurt you? Was I too much last night?” he steps closer to you, furrowing his eyebrows in evident confusion, and you suddenly can’t breathe. His expression is very much readable and it only reads as one emotion- concern.

“Wonwoo, please.” You take a step back, hugging yourself with your arms. 

“Does it hurt? I am sorry if it does-” 

“It’s not your fault. It’s a me thing, I swear.”

His eyes become clouded by even more confusion, and you quietly walk away and sit down on the kitchen counter. 

“This is becoming too much for me. I- I got into this arrangement thinking that it would be a good way to vent stress. But it’s toxic now- I can’t think of any other way to deal with stress except this. Don’t you notice how our meetings have become more frequent now, especially initiated from my end? In the last three months, I’ve initiated sex fifteen times, and you’ve only six times. You see? This has become my only solution now.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t look at you, but he keeps wincing at your words as if he’s being hit physically. Then he responds, when you’re done, “That does sound like  a you problem, like why-” 

You slide off the counter with a huff, muttering Fucking jerk under your breath, but he catches your wrist before you can walk further away. 

“Don’t touch me if you’re going to react like that. I fucking knew it, why did I even talk to you? I can just walk away, I didn’t even need to expose my weaknesses to you.” 

He yanks you closer using your wrist. “This isn’t a war, Y/N. I don’t get off on knowing about your weaknesses, for fuck’s sake. Can you stop being paranoid?”

You sigh. You know you’re always paranoid around him- funny, because he’s seen you in more compromising positions than anyone else. If he wanted to blackmail you, or hurt you, by hitting your weaknesses, he would, you realise. Is that why you’ve learnt to feel so safe around him? 

“I’m sorry I reacted like that, Y/N. Talk to me, let’s work this out together. Let’s set up a system to slow our meetings down if you like?” 

You bite your lip, and look up at him. “How?” 

“Umm, how about you start to find other sources for it? Like hanging out with friends? Developing hobbies?” 

You huff again, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Wonwoo, if I had other sources, would I not use them?” 

“Darl-”

“Don’t call me that! We’re not having sex right now.”

“Y/N. Take your time to find other sources, then. If I’m your only means of relieving stress, it is extremely toxic. You’ll become dependent on me, and-” his pupils shake, looking away from you, “you’ll find it tough to date and all. Been there. Done that. That’s why I can tell you this.”

You’re about to reply something, when your phone rings out in a shrill tone. Surprisingly, Wonwoo’s phone rings out at the same time too. 

You jog into the bedroom to find your phone and pick it up. It’s your sister. 

“Y/N-ie! You’re not at home?”

“No. Why? Are you coming over?” 

“No, I just made Kyungmin drive us to your place to see your place is empty. Where are you?”

“Never mind where I am. Why did you come over?” 

“Mum and Dad want us to have lunch with the Jeons,” you can hear her giggle. But you’re stunned. “With the Jeons? Now? Today? For what joy? Are we buying their company?” She giggles again, leaving you more frustrated. “You’ll find out. I’ll send you an address then, come over directly!” And she promptly ends the call, leaving you blank and confused. Your phone pings- there’s the address of a restaurant, and a message asking you to be there within an hour. You realise only now how late you’ve woken up, and you’re glad it’s a Sunday.

“Why am I eating lunch with your parents?” Wonwoo walks into the bedroom, that confused look on his face again. “I could literally ask you the same damn thing. What’s going on?” “Does it look like I’ve got a single clue, babe?” He smirks at your cluelessness, and walks into his ensuite bathroom, leaving you speechless. Did he just call me babe? You wonder, but then your mind flits back to the issue at hand. 

“Wonwoo!” You scream at him from outside the bathroom. You’re sure he can hear you, so you don’t wait for a reply. “Yah! What am I supposed to wear? You’ve torn my clothes, you fucker!” Your stress levels are rising again. You’re going to have to go back home to wear something appropriate. You realise that you haven’t even brought your car. You’ll have to ask Wonwoo to drive you back. But fuck, what if your sister is still at your place?  Then she’ll see you both coming together, and undoubtedly she’ll prod and poke you. Then you won’t be able to have the upper hand at lunch when Wonwoo signs his company over to you. But there’s no other option as well. Well, there is- you can always stop at a boutique or a shop to buy something and wear it on the go. But that’d mean you’d have to go out in this hideously ripped blouse of yours. Oh!

“Wonwoo! You dumbass! I hate you! What have you done now? Why are we going for this lunch? For god’s sake.”

“Stop screaming, woman.” The door suddenly opens, and a half-naked Wonwoo steps out, engulfed in the steam from what was definitely a very hot shower. You have to stop yourself from moaning out at the sight. It reminds you of the three times you’ve showered together, and you can’t help but think back to the vivid memories of those sessions. 

“How can I stop screaming? I don’t even know what’s going on. You knew about this, didn’t you? Why are you so calm?” Wonwoo takes another step towards you, and he runs his hands along your arms. You shiver under his touch, realising you’re still wearing just your underwear. “Calm down. This isn’t a big deal, you’ve dealt with more serious issues. It’s just lunch.” “But it’s lunch with your family. I don’t even know why.” He presses a hand along your cheek, and you’re feeling even more conscious and nervous. Why? This is really unusual, because Wonwoo is right. You’ve been in worse emergencies. Why is this getting on your nerves? Probably because your periods are due this week. These are just your hormones. 

“Just enjoy the food. You’re anyway good at ignoring me in public places, and you can do the same to my family too.” 

You bite your lip, and shake your head. “I need fresh clothes.” 

“Yeah okay. Get into the shower and clean yourself up. I’ll ask my secretary to send something over.” “What? How-” “I think she’s the same dimensions as you.” “Oh.” You step away from him, swallowing whatever words you had to say. “I’ll go into the shower then.”

_

Thirty-five minutes and a very nice warm shower later, you’re standing in the bedroom and there’s a very pretty black dress on the bed. There’s also a new pair of lingerie next to it, complete with red roses sewn into black lace. Wow, that’s what Wonwoo asked his secretary to buy, huh. He definitely knows her dimensions very well. And the clothes fit, almost perfectly as if tailor-made. The dress is of unknown brand but the feel of the satin on your skin feels nice enough for you to forget about its origin. 

“Done?” Wonwoo steps into the room. “Jeez, can you knock? Scared me.” You’re applying Wonwoo’s sunscreen (frankly shocked to see him owning it, but then, his skin is pretty nice). You’ve also applied the same perfume as his, and combed your hair in a million different ways, to make up for the lack of make-up or your usual products. 

“Knock when I’ve seen you naked in this very room a hundred times? No thanks. Let’s go, we’re late.” 

“Hmm,” you slip your feet into your shoes and pick up your bag. “I’m ready.” So is Wonwoo, you notice, who’s dressed in a grey sweater and jeans. The softness of his clothes contrast the sharpness of his features, and it… looks nice. 

It takes you two twenty minutes to reach the restaurant, the ride passed in silence as you catch up on work mails from your phone. 

“I’ll go first, and you come ten minutes later, okay?” “Yeah. And Y/N, don’t tell them you were with me, okay?” “Of course not. I’m not a dumb nut like you.” And you shut the door of the car with unnecessary force as you walk out of the car. You swear you can hear Wonwoo curse behind you, but you give no fucks. 

“Oh! Y/N-ie! Welcome!” You walk straight into the arms of your mother, who’s dressed in a gaudy dress that does not suit her figure. “Eomma! How many times have I asked you not to wear these dresses?” “Oh shush! I bought this last weekend. Don’t tell me it looks bad, I’m in a good mood now.” You grimace and walk towards the table where your sister, her husband, and your father are waiting for you, smiling from ear to ear. Mr and Mrs Jeon, and Wonwoo’s younger brother are sitting on the other side of the table, also smiling from ear to ear. The excessive smiles are disturbing you, you’ve positively never seen Mrs. Jeon smile that wide.

“Oh, you look so good! Did you lose weight, Y/N-ie?” Mrs Jeon beckons you to sit next to her, and she takes your hand in hers. You force a smile on your face, still clueless about what’s going on. You can only hope they start talking about it when Wonwoo comes. 

Speaking of the devil, he does come way earlier than you asked him too. You’re suddenly nervous, as the families start smiling again. “Aigoo, our handsome boy is here. Sit here, sit here.” Your sister welcomes him and he sits wedged between her and his mother.

“Eomma, what’s going on?” he asks.

“Aah, straight to the point. Forget about that, tell us, did you both come together?” You spill out the drink from your mouth, almost choking. “Us? Together? Hahaha. No, of course not! Why would you think that Mrs Jeon? Hahaha.” “Hmm…” your sister exchanges looks with your mother and Mrs Jeon, before finally giving you that stupidly bright smile again. “Is there something you both want to tell us? We’ll give you a chance before-” Wonwoo interrupts, “Appa, what’s this nonsense? Just tell us without this suspense.”

Mr Jeon, who’d quietly been busy on his phone for so long, looks up and stares a little blankly. His wife nudges him, and then he seems to remember. “Oh, so, Wonwoo. You know you both can tell us what you want.” Your father pipes in, “Yes, same goes for you, Y/N.” Wonwoo and you exchange confused looks before you speak up, “Okay, but really. What’s this suspense for?”

“We know you’re dating.” Your sister blurts out, and there’s a sudden silence at the table. 

You think your eyes may burst out from the shock, and the way in which your palms instantly become sweaty is a dead giveaway of your nervousness. “What?! Unnie, are you out of your mind? What the fuck?” 

“Language, Y/n-ah.” Your mother says, “You think we don’t know what you both are doing, huh?” And then she giggles. The damn audacity.

“I think there’s some grave misunderstanding, Mrs Y/L/N. Y/N and I are… certainly, not dating.” Wonwoo’s mother grasps his hand across the table, and says, “Oh my son. My dutiful son. You don’t have to pretend about this. Just because Jeon Estates is rivals with Y/N’s company, doesn’t mean you both have to be secretive about dating!” There’s a little cough from both fathers, and Kyungmin and Wonbin, Wonwoo’s brother, burst out laughing. 

“Eomma, we’re not hiding anything. It’s a fact, we aren’t-”

“Explain these then. Booking out Eiffel Tower for a dinner date, huh?”

“Eomma, how do you know? Are you spying on me?”

“No! Of course not! We just looked at your credit card bill, accidentally. Then I spoke to Bora, your secretary, and she confirmed that you’d been spending a lot of time with Y/N. Not only that, there’s more-”

“Yes, indeed. Y/N-ie, why didn’t you ever tell us?”

You gasp, feeling lightheaded. “Did Jisung…? That trai-”

“Not Jisung. Jisung wouldn’t open his mouth. So I spoke to your chauffeur. He tells me he regularly picks you up from Wonwoo’s place?”

That’s it. This is it. It doesn’t get worse than this. This is your end. Oh, earth, swallow me up.

“Darling,” Mrs Jeon rubs your back, “Please don’t feel so shy. We know that our husbands haven’t left a great friendship for you two heirs. But you need not worry about all this rivalry.”

Your sister joins, “Yes. I’ve convinced Appa, and our lovely Aunt Jiwoo has convinced Mr Jeon too. Oh you both are so silly, hiding a precious thing like this from us.”

Wonwoo and you glare at each other. You realise there’s no point in explaining things to these people sitting in front of you. If they’ve reached the point where your sister is calling Wonwoo’s mother as aunt, then they must have discussed this extensively before calling you two to this lunch. An ambush, that’s what this is, you think in despair. 

“So what we’re saying is, instead of keeping it hidden like this, why don’t the two of you get married? Wonwoo-ah? You’re turning thirty next year, aren’t you? I want to see my grandchildren too,” Mrs Jeon says, and everything falls in place. This is blackmail. Your mother’s been asking you to get married ever since you took over the company, claiming that having a man at your side would help your life be perfect and free of any troubles, and even forcing you on some arranged dates. Wonwoo must be going through the same kind of thing, with him being three years older to you also. It fixes the nail in the coffin, and you stand up from your seat.

“That’s not happening. Mrs Jeon, Mr Jeon, Wonbin-ah, I’m sorry if this disappoints you, and the same goes for my family too. Wonwoo and I are grown adults. What we do is none of your business.”

“But if you are dating, what’s the issue with getting married? And from what I hear, it’s not even a recent fling. All this has been going on for a year now!” Your mother cries out loudly. Although you’re sitting in a secluded corner, the restaurant isn’t quite empty. 

“We’re not… dating. That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you all along.”

“Well, then are you guys enemies having movie sleepovers?” your sister adds, and it’s too annoying. “And why did you come over in Wonwoo’s car?” How the fuck? But then you realise, nothing is beyond these women. They may be keeping tabs on your and his car GPS for all you know. 

Wonwoo stands up, looming over your figure. “That’s quite enough. Like Y/N said, what we do is not your business. Thank you for your concern, and enjoy your meal. Eomma, since you’ve taken access to my credit card already, might as well use it to treat yourselves with this meal.” He steps out of the chair, and walks over to where you’re standing. He swiftly grabs your wrist, and pulls you away, “Let’s go. This is a waste of time.” And just like that, the two of you walk away.  

_

Six days later, a wedding invite stands ready in front of you, held out in Jisung’s pale hands. “Does it look good, Ma’am? I’ll send it for printing then.” 

You sigh, and nod your yes.

_

part 2 is now out!

[nothoughtsjustficrecs]

This was such a sweet and lovely story! I really do love a good ye olde/ royalty fic 😍

Thank you for writing this wonderful story and sharing it with us!

When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go because I knew I'd forget otherwise so below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such]

-

“ He was notably excited and couldn’t sit down ” aw bless him

“ He tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, practically bouncing in his place. ” okay how dare he be so cute and precious tho, this story isn’t about you chan, take a step back (im kidding you’re so cute pls never stop)

“ it was almost two hours ” just the thought of that makes me exhausted omg

“ against his lifelong accomplice, Jeonghan. ” I read “accomplice” as “companion” at first and was like damn, I didn’t know it was that kinda story 😂

“ the bread perfectly golden and risen in small domes ” mm delicious

“ You knew if that happened, neither you or Chan would be allowed to return to the castle. ” I think the punishment would be a bit more severe than that for risking choking the prince, yikes, imagine that shitshow

“ this rustic meal ” nah why does that feel like an insult tho

“ You lay on your back, atop the fountain’s wide stone ledge, listening to the gushing water and staring up at the crescent moon. ” this sounds pretty perfect ngl

“ And right when you felt his lips ghost yours, Seokmin took a step back and you heard a huge fit of laughter erupt from the thick brush in the background. ” what assholes!

“ “Perhaps that cook quite liked you.” ” 😏 perhaps indeed

I love the way you describe stuff btw, I can be real iffy about descriptions sometimes because some people go over the top with it and I get bored, but you manage to paint a picture so effectively that I genuinely feel kind of envious of this character and I want to be her to experience the scenery

“ The next time you saw the Prince, you weren’t going to let him off easy. ” BEAT HIS ASSSSS

“ “you do not deserve my manners,” ” you tell him!

“ “Have you ever been left to wait, darling?” ” SCREAMING

“ “Not immediately, angel.” ” STOP IT, I WILL COMBUST

“ Suddenly, he cupped the sides of your face in his tender hands, urging you forward again, his lips brushing yours in such a gentle manner that a shiver tingled down your spine. ” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH im fine (im not)

“ Everything felt like it was collapsing around you. ” looks like she’s not fine either, poor baby :((

“ “I refused the marriage to Lady Adelaide. She will return to Markarth before the sunset. I only told my mother and father this morning.” ” ahahhahahaha good

“ “I’m saying that I’m in love with you.” ” SCREECHING OVER HERE

“ “I-I thought I should gift it to you. And, whenever we must be apart, you can just think of this necklace, and the comfort that comes from a firefly’s glow.” ” nooo that’s so cute

⚬ pairing: prince!seokmin x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 12,690 ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, teasing, some slowburn romance, superfluff toward the end.

✧✎ synopsis: the time has come for prince seokmin to meet his arranged marriage, which forces you to confront a strange predicament: if you truly hate the prince, then why does the thought of him being with someone else hurt this badly?

✧✎ a/n: yeah… i’ve wanted to write some prince!lsm since his excalibur pictures. evidently, i am very late! i hope u enjoy nonetheless :-)

Hiking up the long, heavy layers of your dress, pale and coloured like lilacs, you retrieved a small carving knife that had been clandestinely strapped against your outer thigh. Buried a few feet away from you in the grass was a smooth, palm-sized piece of beech wood, which you quickly picked up before walking back to the bench. You sat down horizontally, stretching out your legs and taking up as much space as possible whilst you started carving down the edges of the beech wood, flicking away the occasional shavings.

Keep reading

[ts19009]

Seventeen Fic Rec's Part 5

(CONTAINS SMUT AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER)

(Bold title means favorite)

(UPDATED: June 2nd, 2025)

when their bb girl steals ur phone @mi9yuz

the small romantic gestures that seventeen would be @fairyhaos

Kim Mingyu

guilty as sin (the thought crosses your mind that this is something you definitely shouldn't be doing. that what you're just about to do will be a terribly wrong move for you and your freshly broken heart.) @toruro

clarity (bf's best friend mingyu, (awkward) acquaintances to lovers, the other side of the f2l trope, angst, smut, you could say there's a drizzle of fluff) @hannieoftheyear

pure coincidence (office worker!mingyu x officer worker!reader) @sluttyminghao

that’s so true ❤️‍🩹(exes!mingyu x reader.) @studioeisa

The Admirer Was Right in Front of You — Kim Mingyu (Non-idol au, college au, romance (?), comedy, modern au (no specific setting, but contemporary vibe), slice of life and light-hearted mystery ) @mylovesstuffs

STRAWBERRY SCENTED STRINGS (bassist! mingyu x cellist! f reader) @himewonu

SAVE THE DATE (5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.) @goldenhourology

Back To Me (Mingyu or Hansol? You finally decide who you want to be with.) @xomakara

still yours (exes to lovers, second chance romance, fluff, angst, smut MDNI!) @cherrynpink

Theories & Heartstrings (Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!.) @wongyuseokie

croissant cravings (A seating chart mix-up has you crossing paths with a very good-looking pastry chef. ) @facethesunflower

Let Me Hear You Say... (mut (minor dni), heavy angst, fluff, toxic, ranch au, brothers best friend au) @onlymingyus

KITTY'S GOT CLAWS (a svt spiderman x jujutsu kaisen au (what a mouthful >< ), spiderman!mingyu, blackcat!reader, lots of banter, mild fighting scenes = mentions of blood and injuries !!, fluff with angst if you squint) @yi2huo

might let you make me juno @straylightdream

good behavior (just smut tbh) @ddeonghwa-s

Jeon Wonwoo

My Ride or Die (Late one night, you're attacked outside the library—your bag stolen and safety shattered. But someone saw everything. A mysterious stranger steps in to recover what was lost. What begins as a random rescue soon hints at deeper intentions and unexpected connections.) @missgraylock

WHAT IF you were wonwoo’s gf and almost got caught during NANA TOUR surprises… @cherriicou

good sport | wicked games series (bartender wonwoo, bartender mingyu, messy love triangle, friends with benefits, right person wrong time) @hannieween

on call (you'd never sleep in an on-call room, but that doesn't mean you won't find other uses for it.) @kkaetnipjeon

first love/late spring (first love/s, feelings realization/denial, reincarnation.) @studioeisa

The Fine Print (Enemies to Lovers | Fake Dating | Revenge Pact | Forced Marriage Fallout) @kathaelipwse

Lip Tint Stains and Hair Ties (childhood friends to lovers, school, college, slow burn, fluff, one shot, peachesndreams) @shineesbackbitches

Yours to Keep (Before leaving for military service, Wonwoo hands you a disposable camera, saying, "Take a picture whenever you think of me." At first, you laugh it off, but as the days pass, you find yourself reaching for the camera more often than you expected) @nerdycheol

make 'em sweat (introducing you to his friends doesn't go quite the way wonwoo expected (title from water by seventeen ; technically a sequel to fuck the neighbors but can be read as a standalone) @sluttywonwoo

progress report: i am missing you to death - jww(Childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au) @imnotshua

CHEMTRAILS (Wonwoo is the last person you expect to find at a grief support group, but he may just be the peace that you need to weather all of your storms.) @vampsol

Warning Signal (In a treacherous turn of events, your most recent mission gets tangled with Wonwoo's, the last person you'd want to partner up with. As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.) @hannieoftheyear

A New Vendetta (Wonwoo x Mafia's daughter reader) @thedensworld

wish you were here (you don't do long-distance. you never have, and you never will. not unless it's jeon wonwoo - and those chances are slim, as it is.) @haologram

My Brother's Bestfriend (fluff, light angst, smut, established relationship, doting!boyfriend wonwoo, slightly possessive!wonwoo, light comedy, soft but intense makeout sessions, lap-sitting & straddling, emotional intimacy, domestic sweetness, wonwoo being obsessed with reader™, mild tension but nothing too serious, clingy!wonwoo (unintentionally), wonwoo official lipstick tester & lip plumper) @honeyhaeya

SLACKING OFF. ( being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.) @goldenhourology

Hong Jisoo

tough love? (boy dad!joshua, parents au, teeth rotting fluff, domestic asf) @mvnscloud

heaven knows (non-idol au, seminary student joshua, hurt/comfort (??), secret relationship, mentions of church, joshua is the pastor's son, mutual pining, physical touching (ex: hugging, holding hands), pet names (joshua calls reader baby), they are not slick your honor everyone knows they're in love) @seokminfilm

When Tangerines Give You Lemons (joshua fluff, joshua angst, joshua both, joshua breathing, joshua existing, non-idol!au, lawyer!au, hurt & comfort, angst first fluff later kinda; a warm rain after a heavy storm) @moonstarsunflower

Break (h.js) (Witch!Joshua x Cursed!Reader) @sailorsoons

dude, nice try! masterlist (strangers to lovers, revenge fic, humor, smau bits) @joshujin

starting again (you're wallowing in self-pity at your friends' wedding after being cheated on. you think you're unworthy of love until you meet someone who changes your mind.) @wonwootattoo

i can still see it all. (best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.) @woncheolisms

we both 🐚 (romance, friendship, light angst. 🐚 includes. mentions of food, death; cussing/swearing. alternate universe: non-idol; joshua is a marine biologist. bad-at-being-exes/exes to ???) @studioeisa

blurring the lines (you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.) @amourcheol

begging for the next (no one needs to know what you and joshua get up to except the two of you.) @100vern

Yoon Jeonghan

dropout | part one (okay, so you dropped out of law school. and you need a job. and the only job your wildly specific resume can get you is… lifeguard at the local 3.2-star water park, and the person assigned to supervise you at your new post is the mysterious and gorgeous yoon jeonghan. what could possibly go wrong? ) @kkaetnipjeon

always the lover, never the loved (lovers to ??? ; angst, mentions of suggestive themes) @haologram

Undue Influence (lawyer fem!reader x lawyer!jeonghan) @starlightxsvt

the final defense of the dying (hunger games mentor!jeonghan x tribute!reader.) @studioeisa (IM OBSESSED WITH THIS ONE)

Even Dumbasses Deserve Love (Yoon Jeonghan, your beautiful, wonderful, amazing, dumb-ass of a best friend who somehow doesn't see how hopelessly in love with him you are. ) @cheers-to-you-th

like starglight (howl’s moving castle-inspired au, fluff, humour, romance, magic!) @gallivantingheart

𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 (after an arranged marriage you come to realize that your new husband, the crown prince, and his kingdom are not like anything you expected) @yerimacoustic

Lee Seokmin

you deserve each other (co-workers seokmin x reader.) @studioeisa

Best Neighbor of All Time Award | Lee Seokmin (M) (Seokmin is the best neighbor you've ever had, making it impossible not to fall for his charms.) @drunk-on-dk

picture of a perfect rose (n total years of your whole life, you met Seokmin only twice. That will change drastically starting now. Because the young King is unfortunately a good person, loves his mother, and a true believer in good of people. No matter how hard it is to find and how cold he looks outside.) @youngwonhui

You Know What They Say About Men With Big Feet @hansols-yoda-boxers

Lee Chan

Cherry Sours (l.c) (Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Strangers to Lovers) @sailorsoons

CHWE HANSOL

Dark Gospel (c.hs) (After experiencing what you’re sure is a possession, you try to help Vernon get his old self back. Except - Vernon doesn’t want his old self back and you’re not sure you hate the new Vernon either. ) @sailorsoons

KISS 'ER UP (CHV) pt. 1 (baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader) @shuastar

Kwan Soonyoung

in the zone | ksy (strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst) @100vern

we can be all we need (best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a bit of miscommunication, angst for like one second, happy ending) @joshujin

the accidental kiss (fluff, comedy, strangers to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, profanity, alcohol consumption—please let me know if i’ve missed anything!) @fxstpace

busy woman @straylightdream

Echoes of Summer (Get ready for the most unforgettable summer yet at Camp Logan, where lifelong memories are made, friendships are strengthened, and old crushes make new appearances.) @mr-cha-n

red wine supernova (friends to lovers, childhood friend to lovers, romance, fluff, smut) @straylightdream

Xu Minghao

Rain Room (x.mh) (Waterpark Worker!Mingao x Waterpark Worker!Reader) @sailorsoons

the quiet world (minghao saves his words for you.) @studioeisa

[junrenjun]

but even after this, you're still everything to me

choi seungcheol x reader, formula 1 au

genre: heavy angst

wc: 5.5k

warnings: fem reader, enemies to lovers, misogyny, death threats

a/n: another request by @straykidsstanforeverandever. lot's of heavy f1 jargon and such in this. if you aren't super in tune with f1, there may some references you don't understand. read with caution. title is a lyric from the grudge by olivia rodrigo.

Imola has always been one of your least favorite tracks to drive. And after today, you never want to come near it again. Maybe you’ll fake an illness when the time comes around next season. It would be nice to let the development drivers get some real racing time and you wouldn’t have to drive this cursed track again. 

A voice in your ears distracts you from the little pity party you’ve started in your brain. “Are you okay y/n?” 

Your race engineer’s question reminds you that your radio is being publicized on live television right this moment. Sighing, you quickly respond, “yeah Will, I’m fine. Today’s just not my day.”

The answer is half-hearted, but the man knows better than to question you right now, when you’re being recorded. He settles with, “okay, red flags are out for you. You can hop out of the car when you’re ready.”

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready. But life is tough and Formula 1 is tougher, so you undo your belts and pull yourself out of the car. You take a minute to inspect your blown out tire, before taking your helmet off. Marshals surround you, asking if you are alright, but you brush them off. You just want to be back in your driver’s room already. 

The journey back to the paddock is a painful one, both mentally and physically. Your knee is throbbing from where it hit against the side of the car on impact. You pray the cameras don’t pick up your limp. It takes all of your energy not to cry when you see the pitying expressions of the rest of the McLaren crew. Another potential win out the window, just like that. 

The rest of the race passes by in a flash. Between going to medical as per your trainer’s request (the cameras did in fact pick up the limp) and changing out of your race suit, you only catch the last three laps. One of the Mercedes cars wins by practically a mile. And it’s fucking Choi Seungcheol of all people. 

You have half a thought to turn the TV in your driver’s room off the second he crosses the finish line, but you don’t. You’re itching to hear whatever dumb thing he says in his interview today. The man is a walking PR nightmare. 

Sure enough, the camera is chasing after him the second he steps out of the car. After a few second water break, he turns to the interviewer, who asks him, “Great win today Seungcheol. You worked your way up from 5th to 1st within a few laps today. How does that feel?”

“It feels great. I mean I couldn’t have done it without y/n’s tire of course…”

You turn the TV off, cutting him off the second he mentions your name. Slumping back even more on the couch, you throw an arm over your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. Whatever possessed you to choose a male dominated sport?

You’re thrown out of your thoughts once again by a voice from your doorway. “At least it was kind of a compliment, eh?”

When you peek out from under your arm, Oscar is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. You remove your arm from your face, scooting farther down the couch and patting the spot next to you. The Aussie moves to join you. 

After a few moments of silence you turn to face him. “You made it back to the paddock pretty fast.”

It’s his turn to groan this time. “I retired 7 laps from the end. Engine failure. I was in 3rd.”

You hum, wistfully. Then turn to look out the window. “Bad day to be Papaya, I guess. Think we can convince Jungwon and Pato to take our places at Imola next season? I think I have PTSD from this track now.”

Oscar simply snorts in response. For the small amount of time remaining before you have to face the nightmare that is media duty, you simply enjoy sulking together. 

A little less than a week later, you’re standing on one of your all-time favorite tracks: Monaco. Your mood now is starkly different than it was at Imola. You’re practically bouncing on your heels waiting for FP1 preparations. Jungwon is by your side, instructed by your team principal to “learn from the best,” since he’ll be driving here for F2. 

The kid is clearly a little nervous, but he’s endearing and a pretty decent driver, so you don’t mind. You’ve already gone over the track layout with him, giving him tips for certain corners and telling him where he can make up extra time. There’s not much feedback left to give until you see him drive in person, so you resort to small talk.

As you both walk up and down the pit lane, Seungcheol saunters up to you. You resist the urge to walk away, trying to keep a good display of sportsmanship in front of your junior driver. The Mercedes driver however, clearly does not care, because he says, “is this your replacement after the Imola incident y/n?”

Jungwon, bless his soul, looks mortified. It takes everything in you to not fire a sarcastic remark back. You’re both saved from the awkwardness by Oscar though, who steps in between you and Seungcheol. He clears his throat and tells you, “Andrea is looking for you. I’ll take Jungwon for now.”

You know Andrea is most likely not looking for you. You saw him ten minutes ago when you left the garage. Thank god for Oscar’s ability for thinking on the spot. Now you have some personal time to cool off before free practice.

Both Jungwon and Oscar watch as you jog back to the garage. The Aussie lets out a relieved sigh once you are back safely. He turns to make sure Seungcheol has walked away. Thankfully, he has. 

The younger driver looks at the other quizzically. “I didn’t really realize the rivalry was actually real. I thought it was an act for the cameras.”

Pushing around a stray rock with the toe of his shoe, Oscar sighs again. “Would you believe me if I said they were teammates once?”

Jungwon’s jaw practically unhinges from his face with how far it drops. The kid is probably too young to know them in any capacity other than their rivalry. “But they hate each other…” he muses aloud.

Oscar urges the kid to keep moving along the track with a hand on his back. “Yeah, well they used to not hate each other. They were F2 teammates. It’s none of my business to tell you everything that went down but something happened that year. By the end of the championship they wouldn’t even speak to each other.” 

Jungwon nods in response, but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear that Oscar won’t give up much information, so he drops the subject. But every once in a while, his mind turns back to it. What could’ve been so bad that you guys couldn’t even talk to each other as teammates? If it was some sort of on-track collision he’s sure it would’ve been talked about in the media constantly. Now he’s really going to have to find out. 

And there’s no one better to consult than his own teammate, Lee Chan, who happens to be in the Mercedes Junior Driver Programme.

“You want me to do what?” he asks incredulously. “He’s my mentor, I’m not going to bring that up. Are you dumb?”

“Dude, aren't you curious too?” Jungwon questions.

Chan rolls his eyes at his teammate. “Yeah I’m curious but not curious enough to risk my spot in this program just to ask Choi Seungcheol why he has rivalry with y/n.” 

“You don’t even have to ask him directly,” Jungwon tells him. “I asked Oscar about it, not y/n. Maybe you can ask George or Jeonghan about it.”

Chan throws his hands up in exasperation. “Oh even better, not only do I involve two of the biggest names in Formula 1, I involve one of their trainers and their teammates. What a genius idea!”

Jungwon covers Chan’s mouth as quickly as he can. They’re still in the paddock after all. “Dude keep it down.” 

The man just stares back at the McLaren junior driver, who sighs and says, “listen, I’ll try my best to get something out of y/n too. It’s not just you doing something.”

“Yeah that’s so motivating Jungwon,” Chan says sarcastically.

“Okay, okay,” he finally lets up. “I’ll pay for all of your afterparty drinks this weekend if you figure something out.”

This is motivating enough for Chan apparently, because he reaches his hand out for Jungwon to shake. They come to an agreement and part ways, heading back to their respective hospitalities.

Chan watches in the Mercedes garage as you set the fastest lap at the very end of Q3. He knows Seungcheol is going to be pissed when he gets back. Not only did you qualify P1, but he only qualified P6. His temper is much worse when he’s mad at both himself and someone else. 

Following Chan’s prediction to a tee, Seungcheol steps out the car practically fuming. He tosses his helmet at Jeonghan, who, as his trainer, is quite used to his behavior at this point and catches it. He marches right up to Toto, who is watching a replay of your final lap, and says, “she should’ve had a track limit violation at the chicane.”

Toto turns to him, surprisingly calm, and simply tells him, “She didn’t cut the corner enough to incur a limit violation.”

This is not the answer he wanted to hear, so he turns on his heel to stomp off to his driver’s room. Toto shouts at him from over his shoulder. “Take Chan with you. If you’re going to overanalyze every single mistake you made, at least someone should learn from it.”

Seungcheol whips his head back around to look at Chan, who nervously gulps. He wants to be mad at the kid, but he can’t find a reason to when he’s practically shaking like a leaf. Clearly he didn’t want to be thrown into this situation either. “C’mon,” he mutters and gestures at the junior driver to follow him. 

Back in his driver’s room, he unzips his suit, tying the arms around his waist before plopping down on the couch. When he looks up, the kid is still hovering by the door. Grabbing his iPad from the table, Seungcheol gestures for him to come sit down.

But Chan hesitates. “I can leave you alone, you know? I won’t tell Toto.” 

Seungcheol just rolls his eyes and gestures to the couch again. “C’mon kid. As much as I hate him right now, he’s right. You might as well learn from this and you’re already here.”

Chan makes his way to the couch rather cautiously and sits as far away as possible from the man, who is scrolling through the footage from qualifying. Without even looking over at him, Seungcheol says, “you can sit closer. I’m not going to bite.”

Not wanting to make him mad, Chan scoots a few inches closer. When he looks over at the iPad again, Seungcheol’s fingers are hovering over a video. He hasn’t clicked on it yet. He just sits there and stares at it. When Chan looks a little closer, he can make out your car in the thumbnail. 

Seungcheol clears his throat, looking away for a second. And then he turns back to Chan and says, “is it…uh okay if we watch y/n’s lap first?”

The question kind of stuns him. He was expecting Seungcheol to avoid any reminder of you at all costs. Scared that his voice will betray him, he just nods.

Seungcheol clicks on the video and they watch. The video is on mute and there’s no commentary from either of them. Just silence. As the lap ends, he pauses the video and whispers, “that was a good lap.”

Chan is even more surprised now. He was expecting a frustrated sigh or any sort of mean comment. But he doesn’t get any of that. Now, Chan’s scared that it’s a setup. That he’s trying to get him to agree just to berate him for it. He doesn’t know what to say.

Seungcheol senses that he’s not going to say anything and takes it upon himself to start the conversation. “She’s always been good at Monaco. Even since the first time she drove the track.”

This has really piqued Chan’s interest. Since her first time? Seungcheol was there the first time she drove Monaco? That had to be what? F2?

And then it dawns on him. Jungwon said something about them being teammates in F2. Hoping that the information is public knowledge (it should be, practically their whole racing lives are on Wikipedia) Chan decides to ask about it. “Was that when you were teammates?” He cringes the second the words come out of his mouth. Jungwon owes him big time.

While Chan was expecting him to look angry, Seungcheol just looks at the iPad dejectedly. “Yeah. At Prema. Do you…know about that whole thing?” he asks the boy.

Jackpot. Seungcheol willingly talking about it? He’d never thought this would happen. Then Chan remembers he actually has to respond to him. “Uhm, no I don’t think so. Jungwon said you guys were more…amicable back then.”

“Jungwon’s your teammate at MP?” he asks Chan, who nods in response. Then, Seunghcheol throws a curveball at him. “You’re not attracted to him right?”

Chan sputters at the question. “What? What does this have to do with anything?” When he looks Seungcheol in the eyes he’s dead serious. So he humors him. “No, I’m not attracted to Jungwon. I’m not even gay.”

Seungcheol just nods. “Okay, good. I mean good that you’re not attracted to him. There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

This is getting weirder by the second. Chan gives him a questioning look. Why the personal questions?

Exasperatedly, Seungcheol sighs and says, “I don’t want to tell you this if it’s too relatable. I don’t want to scare you and make you not pursue a relationship because of something that happened to me.”

Chan is finally starting to put the pieces together. Then the light bulb goes off and he shoots out of his seat. “You and y/n were together?” he practically shouts.

The older driver drags him back down to his seat and shoves a hand over his mouth. “Be quiet, would you?” Then he releases Chan and slumps back against the couch. “I wouldn’t call it together. We weren’t dating, we knew that F1 would ultimately cause heartbreak for the both of us. We were just messing around. But we were exclusive, I guess.”

Chan doesn’t say anything. He just nods and waits for him to continue. “It was stupid and we both knew it. Especially y/n. She knew that if we got caught, it would affect her career more than mine. Even if we both knew that she was a better driver than I was. This sport isn’t kind to women.”

Seungcheol looks like he might cry. It’s so different from the Seungcheol that Chan witnessed 15 minutes ago in the garage. He doesn’t know what to do. He frowns and lets the man finish his story. 

“Y/n was a part of the Red Bull Junior Team at the time. She had been promised an F1 seat within 3 years if she won the championship. I was in the Mercedes Academy at the time too. So we attended a lot of F1 events together. And I was stupid enough to drag her to makeout in a hidden corner of the paddock at one of them.”

He paused, like the next part of the story would pain him to say. “A member of the press caught us. We both knew we were so screwed. He could easily out us right that second or even use it to blackmail us. Luckily Angelo from Prema was there with us that weekend and helped us negotiate with the man. Turns out this press guy is a big fucking misogynist because the final deal was that he wouldn’t out us if he could tell Christian Horner about our relationship. Said he ‘didn’t want no bitches in Formula 1.’ Prick.”

“Christian kicked her out of the junior program when he found out. He’s also a misogynist. I’m glad she didn’t end up there. He told her that he prefers people who win championships through dedication, not those who sleep to the top. But instead of being mad at him or the press guy, she was mad at me. She told me that I ruined her career. That she would never get into Formula 1 because of me. So she never spoke to me again unless it was at work.”

Chan looks at him skeptically. “But her career turned out fine.”

Seungcheol just shrugs. “Exactly.”

Chan is even more confused now. Understandably, you were upset by this whole situation. But why is Seungcheol a dick to you now? “But the whole rivalry? You seem to have started the hostility in that. Not her.”

The man sighs. “Her career turned out fine, Chan. But she continued to be mad at me.”

It’s starting to click in his brain. “So you’re mad at her because she never forgave you?” Chan asks. 

All Seungcheol says is, “bingo.”

They’re interrupted by Jeonghan knocking on the door and letting the F1 driver know that he’s due in a few minutes for media duties. Seungcheol leaves Chan on his couch without another word. 

“You’re buying my drinks in Barcelona too,” Chan tells Jungwon the second he opens his hotel room door.

Jungwon gapes at him. “What? We only agreed to the afterparty,” he says as the boys walk further into the room, away from prying eyes and ears. 

“Yeah well that was if I got you any information. I got you the whole fucking story, dude.” Jungwon’s eyes are as wide as saucers and he immediately starts asking about it. Chan recounts Seungcheol’s monologue to the best of his abilities. 

“Holy shit, dude,” Jungwon says once he’s finished, flopping down on his bed. “It’s like the opposite of enemies to lovers.”

Chan rolls his eyes at his teammate. “It’s sad, Jungwon. Y/n lost her future job and Seungcheol at the same time. And now they can’t even be civil with each other because they’re holding grudges.”

Jungwon mulls over his words for a minute. “Maybe I’ll ask y/n about it when she’s drunk tomorrow.”

“How do you even know she’s going to be drunk tomorrow, Won?” Chan asks his teammate.

He turns to flash a cheshire grin at Chan before plainly stating, “she’s either going to podium and drink to celebrate, or she’s going to do bad and drink to mourn.”

Chan rolls his eyes once again. “Speaking of which, I’m going to bed. No matter how well I do tomorrow, you’re paying for my drinks.” He drags himself out of Jungwon’s room and down the hall to his own.

You and Oscar are sitting at a table in the far back of the club, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the afterparty. Mingyu from Ferrari, his trainer Jungkook, Mark from Red Bull, and Chenle from Aston Martin are also gathered around. You’re enjoying the light conversation, basking in the high of your win.

Mark catches your attention after a minute of you spacing out, pointing toward the closest bar. “Isn’t that your little shadow, y/n?” When you look over you see Jungwon conversing with a blonde kid around his age. 

“Yeah,” you muse. “Kind of recognize the kid he’s talking to too. Can’t put a finger on his name though.” 

“That’s his teammate from F2. Lee Chan I think,” Oscar pipes up from across the table. “The kid with the otter helmet.”

A collective “ohhh,” leaves everyone at the table. “I’m going to get another drink,” you tell them. “Might bring the kids back with me.”

Mingyu snickers at you as you leave. “You can’t adopt them all, y/n!” he shouts as you leave. You flip him off behind your back. 

Approaching the bar, you order another drink for yourself and saunter over to where Jungwon is standing. “Hi Wonie,” you say, catching him by surprise as you ruffle his hair a bit. You turn to acknowledge his teammate too. “Hi Chan.”

Chan points back at himself like he’s surprised you know his name. “Is your name not Chan? Oh fuck I’m too drunk for this.” you berate yourself out loud. 

“Uh no ma’am, my name is Chan. Just surprised you know me, that’s all.” he says. 

You giggle a little bit. “Don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old. You’re the kid with the otter helmet, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, before correcting himself. “No, I mean, yes. Yes, I’m the kid with the otter helmet.” You can hear Jungwon cackling at his friend behind you. 

You smile at him again before turning back to Jungwon. “Well I’m heading back to sit with those four dumbasses,” you say, pointing back to your table where Jungkook and Mingyu are arguing over something on Mark’s phone. “You two wanna keep me company so I don’t have to deal with them by myself the entire night?”

Jungwon lights up at the question. “Of course!” he practically shouts, and drags a begrudging Chan by the arm to follow you.

When you reach the table, you pat the empty seat next to you, gesturing for Jungwon to sit. Chan grabs the chair next to Mingyu, who messes with his hair and murmurs something about, “the otter kid.”

Jungwon seizes his opportunity ten minutes later, when Mingyu and Oscar are engrossed in a conversation with Chan, Jungkook has gone to the bathroom, and Mark and Chenle are on a video call with Mark’s boyfriend.

“I’m surprised you’re okay with Chan being here,” he says to you as quietly as possible, while still trying to be louder than the music. 

Your eyebrows scrunch at the comment, clearly confused. “Why?” you ask him.

You follow his eyes as they search around the crowd. They land on Seungcheol. Still facing your rival, he says, “Chan is a Merc Junior. Seungcheol is his mentor.”

Letting your eyes wander back to Jungwon, you steel your face into something more serious. “Jungwon, just because Chan is being mentored by a driver I hate doesn’t change my opinion of him.”

“You really hate him?” Jungwon asks. “I understand you guys don’t like each other for whatever reason, but hate is a strong word, right?”

You sigh at him. “Hate is in fact a strong word Jungwon,” is all you say and you leave it at that.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, he decides to push his luck again. “...Chan said you guys used to be really close. When you were in F2 like us.” 

“Yeah,” is all you say in response. The conversation is just barely hanging on by a thread.

“I don’t want me and Chan to end up like that.” It’s kind of a low blow, he thinks, especially when you’re a little drunk, but it works. You turn to him with sad eyes and reach out to rub his hand comfortingly. 

You whisper so lowly, Jungwon can barely hear it. “You won’t end up like us, Wonie. I promise.”

The near tears in your eyes have him getting emotional too. All signs are showing that Seungcheol’s story is likely true. One last test to find out. “Why not?” he asks.

The tears are getting closer to spilling over and you turn your head to blink them away. While you’re still facing away, you mumble, “your relationship isn’t like ours. At least I hope it’s not.”

Hook. Line. Sinker. Jungwon’s got it now. Seungcheol was definitely telling the truth. He feels a little guilty about prying it out of you like that, but you seem to have sobered up with the conversation. Oscar’s voice breaks both of you out of your little bubble. “Y/n, everyone is going to head back to the hotel soon. You ready?”

You nod vigorously at the man, probably to hide the fact that there are tears in your eyes. You hop off your chair, grabbing your bag and your phone. Then, you lean down to ruffle Jungwon’s hair a bit. “Goodnight Wonie. You and Chan be safe tonight please.”

After bidding everyone else goodbye in the lobby, you and Oscar take the elevator up to your floors. Oscar’s room is one floor beneath yours, so he says goodnight with a comforting hug and a congratulations on the win. As you ride the elevator up once more, you think back to your conversation with Jungwon. Next time you see Seungcheol, you need to tell him to keep his mouth shut.

The elevator doors open and you turn to head to your room. You see a familiar flash of blonde hair round the corner. What convenient timing. You pick up your pace and grab his sleeve, and he whips around with a deadly look in his eyes. It only slightly softens when he realizes it’s you. You shoot him an equally deadly look back. “You want to tell me why my mentee was asking me questions about our relationship?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is all he says. You roll your eyes.

“Don’t play stupid Cheol. You know Jungwon and Chan are teammates. What did you tell Chan?” As much as he wants to hate you right now, his heart can’t help but skip a beat when you call him Cheol. It’s been so long since you’ve called him that. 

“I didn’t tell Chan anything. Why would I tell him about anything other than racing?” he counters back.

It’s not believable enough for you, so you push. “Jungwon said something about Chan knowing we were close in F2.” 

Seungcheol, tired and wanting to just go to bed, tries to pull his sleeve out of your grip, but you relent. “You can look that up on the Internet y/n. Would you please let me go to bed?”

“No Seungcheol. This concerns both of us. He was asking all the right questions. If you told Chan about us, there’s no guarantee he keeps it to himself. He clearly already told Jungwon.”

He finally frees his sleeve from your grasp. “Can we at least take this somewhere private?” he whispers. You nod and he pulls you down the hall. He’s taking you to his room, you realize and the thought makes you sick.

Once safely inside of his room, he turns back to you with a fire in his eyes. “You wouldn’t have to worry about any of this if you forgave me.” It’s not the words you were expecting to hear, but they also don’t surprise you. 

You try your best to compose yourself. “You ruined my career Seungcheol. Of course I never forgave you.”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “I clearly did not ruin your career. Look at yourself right now. You’re getting paid more than me. You’re way ahead of me in the championship. Your career is perfectly fine.” This comment starts what is basically a slightly hushed screaming match. 

“I had to fight my way in and got lucky with McLaren. I had a guaranteed seat at RB and you know that.” 

“You know it’s for the best that you didn’t end up there.” 

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

“What was I supposed to do, y/n. I couldn’t have stopped that press guy, I couldn’t have stopped Christian from releasing you, I couldn’t have controlled any of this. But you were the one that stopped talking to me. Just because we cut things off doesn’t mean I had to deal with radio silence for the next year.”

You pause, thinking over what you’re about to tell him. “I had to.”

He crosses his arms and he straightens his posture. “Bullshit.”

“I had to because of the press guy,” you tell him, urgently. 

“We took care of him, y/n,” he deadpans at you. He’s getting uncomfortable with the conversation now. He can’t sit still. 

Tears well in your eyes at the thought of releasing your biggest secret to the man you once loved. “He’s your fucking superfan Seungcheol. He’s been following you since your karting days, like a creep. That’s why he found us in the paddock that day. He was following you. And when he saw us together he took it as an opportunity. He saw me as a threat to your career. He didn’t just get rid of my Red Bull seat. He threatened me for months after through phone calls and emails, saying that if he ever saw me talking to you, he would end my career for good this time.” 

The tears in your eyes have finally spilled. Seungcheol’s heart breaks, both at your words and at the sight of you crying. After a minute of gaping at the revelation, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you. He rests his chin on top of your head as he lets you sob into his chest. 

“He,” you stutter, “he told me that if I didn’t let you win the F2 championship, he would kill me. That’s why I crashed at Baku and didn’t podium the rest of the year.” You rest your head back against his chest and sob again, harder this time.

Seungcheol reaches up to slowly stroke the back of your head, trying to calm you down. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so, so sorry.”

He already knew everything was his fault, but this makes it so much worse. People were threatening to kill you because of him? Suddenly, it dawns on him. How much of an absolute dickhead he’s been. For years he’s been pretending to hate you, throwing mean comments at you, picking fights with you, all while you were trying to protect yourself. “Why did you play along?” he asks.

You don’t look up. Instead, you just let out a questioning hum into his chest.

“The rivalry,” he says. “Why did you play along with it if you didn’t really hate me?”

“It’s good for publicity” you joke. There’s the y/n he knows and loves. Loves. He hasn’t thought about you like that in a long time. Now that he knows the truth, he wants you back in his life so bad. But he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

“Is the guy still threatening you? Is that why you played along?”

You shake your head. “No. I was trying to negotiate for a bodyguard in my McLaren rookie contract and Andrea asked why. I didn’t want to tell him, but I had to. It would’ve gotten out eventually I think, had Andrea not had him arrested.”

“But why y/n? I’m still trying to understand why you didn’t tell me this. Why did you make it seem like you hated me too?”

You finally look up at him again, brave enough to make eye contact once more. “I thought it was too late to tell you. I had already lied to you, ignored you. That’s not the best way to come back into someone’s life.”

“It was for your own safety. I would’ve understood that,” he tells you softly. Your eyes are bloodshot and the area underneath them is puffy. His heart aches. This is all because of him. 

You shake your head again. “I didn’t think like that at the time. And you had already brought the rivalry into the media. Of course I would be mad at you when you were talking shit about me to the press.”

It’s not a guilt trip on purpose, but it still hits him where it hurts. “Ok, y/n. I get it. I’m a dick.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” you mumble, helplessly.

Silence overtakes you both. Despite the circumstances, it’s not an uncomfortable one. Just two people mulling over their thoughts. Eventually, he breaks it with a whisper of “I miss you.” 

You whisper back an “I miss you too.” It’s real and genuine. You don’t say it because you feel like you have to. You say it because you want to. You hope he can pick up on that. 

He does. His forehead comes to rest against yours as his hand strokes your cheek. His eyes flick to your lips and you hold your breath. As his lips find yours, you feel years of tension release. A stray tear runs down your face and he brushes it away with his thumb. He pulls away.

“Do you,” he breathes out, “do you want to try again?” All you can do is nod in response. 

[bratzkoo]

blueprint of us | minghao

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: rich af! minghao x architect! reader Genre: fluff Rating: PG-15 Word count: 14k~ Warnings/note: enemies to lovers minghao kinda that i've been thinking about for weeks! i need this.

summary: you really thought minghao is just your usual old money prioritizing getting richer over the environment, not with his background and whatever he does, well, until you didn’t.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): -​

requests are close, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

Y/N straightened her blazer, mentally rehearsing counter-arguments to every possible criticism as she strode into the Seoul Metropolitan Government conference room. At twenty-eight, she'd earned her reputation as one of the city's most uncompromising sustainable architects through sheer determination and technical brilliance. The Hangang Riverfront Revitalization Project was exactly the kind of high-profile commission her firm needed—and she wasn't about to let anyone derail her vision of creating the most environmentally innovative public space in Asia.

She scanned the room, noting the familiar faces of committee members and developers, before her gaze locked onto an unfamiliar figure. Xu Minghao of XM Development stood near the windows, examining the site maps with intense focus. She'd never met him personally, but his reputation preceded him—artistic, enigmatic, and ruthlessly effective at getting his designs approved. His buildings were architectural marvels that graced magazine covers and won international awards while consuming unconscionable amounts of energy with their glass facades and dramatic lighting.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Minghao looked up. Their eyes met across the room in a moment of instant recognition—not of each other personally, but of what each represented. A subtle tension charged the air between them.

Joshua Hong, the city's cultural development officer, approached with his characteristic diplomatic smile. "Y/N! I see you've noticed Minghao. Let me introduce you properly before presentations begin."

She followed Joshua, maintaining perfect professional composure as they approached Minghao, who straightened to his full height, his expression coolly appraising.

"Xu Minghao, this is Y/N, principal architect at Green Path Architecture. Y/N, Minghao is the creative director at XM Development."

"Your Dongdaemun Plaza extension was featured in Architectural Review last month," Y/N said, extending her hand. It wasn't a compliment—merely an acknowledgment of fact—but she could acknowledge quality work even from the opposition.

Minghao's handshake was firm, his gaze direct. "And your critique of it in Sustainable Design Quarterly was quite... thorough." There was a hint of something in his voice—not quite anger, more like curiosity.

Y/N didn't flinch. "I stand by every word."

"I would expect nothing less." A ghost of a smile touched his lips, surprising her. "It was one of the more intelligent critiques I've read. Most critics don't understand the structural constraints we were working with."

Before Y/N could respond to this unexpected comment, they were called to take their seats.

Throughout her presentation, Y/N was acutely aware of Minghao's attention. Unlike other developers who checked phones or whispered to colleagues during technical explanations, he observed with complete focus, occasionally making notes. His scrutiny was unnerving—she found herself emphasizing certain points more forcefully, as if in direct challenge to his design philosophy.

When Minghao presented his concept, Y/N reluctantly found herself impressed by his eloquence and vision. Where her presentation had been data-driven and practical, his was almost poetic—speaking of architecture as cultural storytelling, of spaces that evolved with seasonal light, of connections between traditional Korean design principles and contemporary human needs.

"A truly sustainable space," he concluded, his voice quiet but carrying through the silent room, "must sustain not just environmental metrics, but the human soul. It must create memories, inspire creativity, and connect people to something larger than themselves."

It was beautiful rhetoric that conveniently sidestepped concrete sustainability commitments, Y/N thought critically. Yet she couldn't deny the power of his vision or the masterful renderings that accompanied it.

When the committee's decision came, delivered by Joshua, it landed like a thunderbolt.

"Both proposals contain essential elements the committee feels are necessary for this project's success. Rather than choosing between them, we're asking Y/N and Minghao to collaborate on a unified design—combining Green Path's environmental innovation with XM's cultural and aesthetic vision."

Y/N's expression remained professionally neutral while her mind raced through implications. A collaboration? With him? Their approaches weren't just different—they were fundamentally opposed.

Across the room, she saw Minghao's composed mask slip momentarily, revealing a flash of the same dismay she felt. Their eyes met again, mutual wariness transformed into shared predicament.

After the meeting adjourned, Minghao approached her with measured steps. "It seems we have a situation," he said, his voice low.

"That's one way of putting it," Y/N replied evenly. "I have serious concerns about reconciling our approaches."

"As do I," he admitted, surprising her with his candor. "But the commission is significant. Perhaps we can establish ground rules to make this... functional."

They agreed to meet the following day at a neutral location to establish their working parameters, both clearly determined to protect their core principles while finding some way to fulfill the committee's requirements.

The café they chose was halfway between their respective offices—a small, quiet place with good lighting and minimal distractions. Y/N arrived ten minutes early, selecting a corner table and arranging her materials precisely. Minghao arrived exactly on time, dressed in simple black that somehow looked both casual and impeccable.

"I reviewed your full proposal last night," he said without preamble as he took the seat across from her. "Your technical solutions are innovative, but they fail to consider the aesthetic impact."

Y/N set down her coffee cup with deliberate care. "And I reviewed yours. Your spatial concepts are impressive but environmentally irresponsible. Your projected energy consumption is triple what it should be for a public project of this scale."

"Those calculations don't account for the passive cooling systems integrated into the design."

"Even with those systems, the glass expanses you've proposed create unnecessary thermal management challenges."

They continued this technical sparring for nearly an hour, each demonstrating a surprisingly thorough understanding of the other's specialty. Y/N had expected Minghao to dismiss environmental concerns entirely but found instead that he comprehended them well—he simply prioritized differently. Similarly, Minghao seemed taken aback by her knowledge of architectural theory and cultural references.

"You've studied Korean traditional architecture," he noted when she referenced historical precedents for natural ventilation.

"You sound surprised."

"Most sustainability specialists I've worked with focus exclusively on contemporary technology."

"That would be shortsighted," Y/N replied. "Traditional builders solved climate challenges without modern energy sources. There's much to learn from them."

A thoughtful expression crossed Minghao's face. "On that, at least, we agree."

This small point of alignment felt like a minor breakthrough. They tentatively established a working schedule and division of responsibilities, each carefully guarding their core elements while identifying areas where compromise might be possible.

As they gathered their materials to leave, Minghao hesitated. "I should clarify something. I'm not opposed to sustainability. I simply believe it must include cultural and aesthetic sustainability alongside environmental concerns."

Y/N studied him, trying to determine if this was merely diplomatic posturing. "And I'm not opposed to beauty. I just believe it shouldn't come at the expense of future generations."

Minghao nodded once, accepting this. "Then perhaps this collaboration isn't impossible after all."

"I didn't say that," Y/N countered with hint of a challenging smile. "I said it wasn't entirely impossible."

Something flickered in Minghao's eyes—surprise, followed by what might have been respect. "Until tomorrow, then."

Their working relationship developed into a pattern of intense intellectual debate punctuated by rare moments of unexpected alignment. They established a temporary studio in a small gallery space Joshua arranged for them—neutral territory that became the battleground for their competing visions.

Each morning began civilly enough, reviewing progress and outlining objectives. By afternoon, they were invariably locked in philosophical combat over fundamental aspects of the design. Y/N found these debates simultaneously frustrating and stimulating—Minghao challenged her assumptions with perspectives she'd never considered, forcing her to articulate her values with greater precision.

"You speak of environmental responsibility as if it exists in isolation from human experience," Minghao argued during a particularly heated discussion. "But people protect what they love. Create a space they don't connect with emotionally, and it will be neglected or demolished within a generation, regardless of its ecological merits."

"And you speak of human experience as if it can be separated from environmental context," Y/N fired back. "The most beautiful space becomes meaningless if the air is unbreathable or the temperature unbearable. Ask the residents of coastal cities losing ground to rising sea levels how much they're enjoying the 'human experience' of architectural masterpieces that contributed to climate change."

Mingyu, Minghao's assistant, had learned to make himself scarce during these exchanges, quietly leaving coffee and returning hours later when the conceptual storm had passed.

What surprised Y/N most was not Minghao's stubborn defense of his vision—she'd expected that—but his work ethic. He matched her legendary stamina hour for hour, sometimes staying past midnight to perfect details or research technical questions that arose during their debates. One evening, she returned from a quick dinner break to find him surrounded by books on wetland ecosystems, cross-referencing her water management proposals against ecological studies.

"I wanted to understand the biological implications better," he explained simply, not looking up.

Another night, Minghao found Y/N studying the historical design references in his original concept. When he raised an eyebrow in question, she merely said, "If I'm going to argue against aspects of your design, I should at least understand its cultural context properly."

These moments of mutual professional respect existed alongside their fundamental disagreements, creating a complex working relationship neither had anticipated.

Three weeks into their collaboration, they reached an impasse over the central plaza. Y/N's design prioritized permeable surfaces and rainwater capture, while Minghao's emphasized traditional patterns and ceremonial pathways. Neither would yield, their respective heels dug in after days of circular arguments.

"This isn't productive," Minghao finally said, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of frustration. "We're approaching this from incompatible premises."

"Then we need to change the premises," Y/N replied, surprising herself with the suggestion. "We're still thinking of our designs as separate entities being forced together, not as a new integrated concept."

Minghao looked at her thoughtfully. "What are you suggesting?"

"Let's visit the site. Together. Not to argue our positions, but to observe. Maybe there's something we're both missing."

The next morning dawned clear and cool as they met at the riverfront. By unspoken agreement, they walked in silence, observing how light played across the water, how people naturally gathered in certain spaces, how the existing landscape created patterns of movement.

An hour passed before either spoke. They had stopped at a particular bend in the river, watching an elderly man feeding birds while a group of students sketched nearby.

"There's a rhythm to how people use this space," Minghao said quietly. "Different but harmonious patterns overlapping."

Y/N nodded. "And natural cycles intersecting with human ones. The tide, the seasonal plants, the daily movement of sun and shadow."

They spent the entire day at the site, gradually beginning to exchange observations, then ideas, their usual combative dynamic softened by the physical reality of the place itself. As sunset painted the river gold, Y/N found herself sketching alongside Minghao on a park bench, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they worked.

"What if," Minghao said suddenly, looking up from his drawing, "the water management systems became visible features that change with the seasons? Not hidden infrastructure, but celebrated elements that tell an environmental story while creating evolving beauty."

Y/N stared at him, momentarily speechless at how perfectly this bridged their divided approaches. "That... could actually work." She quickly sketched an adaptation of her technical systems that incorporated his aesthetic principles. "The filtration gardens could become these sculptural elements that transform with rainfall patterns."

"Yes," Minghao leaned closer to see her drawing, his usual reserve giving way to genuine enthusiasm. "And these ceremonial pathways I proposed—they could be constructed with your permeable materials, creating traditional patterns that also serve ecological functions."

They worked with growing excitement, building on each other's ideas in a creative flow unlike anything their previous combative approach had produced. When darkness finally forced them to pack up their materials, both were reluctant to break the productive spell.

Walking back toward the subway station, Y/N glanced at Minghao's profile, softened in the evening light.

"I still think you're wrong about the glass pavilions," she said, but there was no edge to her voice now.

"And I still think your maintenance projections are unrealistic," he replied with the ghost of a smile.

"But today was... not entirely unproductive."

"A diplomatic assessment," Minghao agreed. After a pause, he added more seriously, "You're not what I expected, Y/N."

"Oh? And what did you expect?"

"Someone less willing to consider alternative perspectives. Less... formidable in defending her vision."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I could say the same about you. I expected a developer focused exclusively on aesthetics and profit, not someone who would spend hours researching ecosystem impacts."

They parted at the station with a new sense of possibility, though neither would admit how significantly their perception of the other had shifted. Y/N found herself thinking about Minghao's unexpected depth as she rode home—his quiet intensity, his surprising knowledge across disciplines, the rare moments when his composed exterior gave way to genuine passion for architecture.

It was professionally inconvenient, she decided, to discover that your philosophical opponent was actually worthy of respect. Even more inconvenient to realize you were beginning to look forward to the intellectual challenge he presented each day. Most inconvenient of all was catching herself wondering what else might lie beneath his carefully controlled surface—and why that possibility intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

-

The breakthrough at the riverfront changed something fundamental in Y/N and Minghao's working relationship. Though they still disagreed—often vehemently—about specific elements, a grudging respect had formed between them. Their temporary studio space gradually transformed, walls covered with evolving sketches that showed a slow but unmistakable merging of their distinct approaches.

Y/N arrived early one morning, a week after their site visit, to find Minghao already there. He sat with his back to the door, so absorbed in his work that he hadn't heard her enter. She paused, taking the rare opportunity to observe him unguarded. His movements were precise as he sketched, occasionally pausing to reference her technical specifications before continuing. The morning light caught the edges of his profile, and Y/N was struck by the intensity of his focus—the same quality she prided in herself.

"You've adapted the rainwater system," she said, finally announcing her presence.

Minghao turned, not startled but transitioning smoothly from solitary concentration to acknowledgment of her arrival. "I had some thoughts about integrating it more fully with the traditional elements."

Y/N set down her materials and moved closer to examine his work. The technical system she'd designed remained intact in its function but had been transformed visually into something that echoed historical Korean water features while remaining distinctly contemporary.

"This actually improves the water flow," she admitted, studying the modifications. "The aesthetic changes create a more efficient path for heavy rainfall."

"Form following function," Minghao said with the slight upturn of lips that passed for his smile. "Or perhaps function following form. Does it matter which comes first if the result serves both?"

Y/N gave him a measured look. "It matters in the process. But I'll concede the outcome is... promising."

They settled into work, the morning passing in focused collaboration punctuated by their usual debates—though the tone had shifted from combative to challenging, each pushing the other toward more refined solutions.

Around noon, the studio door opened to reveal Seungkwan from Y/N's firm, carrying several bags of takeout.

"Lunch delivery!" he announced with characteristic enthusiasm. "Y/N, the office is buzzing about your collaboration. Everyone's wondering if you've strangled the famous Xu Minghao yet or if he's converted you to the dark side of luxury development." He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize Minghao was present. "Oh! I mean—that is—good afternoon, Mr. Xu!"

Y/N suppressed a smile at Seungkwan's flustered backpedaling. "Minghao, this is Seungkwan from my PR department."

"We've met briefly," Minghao said with a gracious nod. "At the initial presentation."

"Right! Yes! I was very impressed with your cultural integration concepts," Seungkwan babbled, setting down the food and backing toward the door. "I'll just leave this here and let you both get back to your... creative tension. Or harmony! Whatever you're creating!"

After Seungkwan's hasty departure, Y/N shook her head. "Sorry about that. He's brilliant at public relations but subtle isn't in his vocabulary."

"He cares about you," Minghao observed, arranging the food containers. "Your firm seems more like a family than a corporation."

"We're small but dedicated. Everyone believes in what we're doing." Y/N accepted the container he handed her. "What about XM? From what I've read, it's quite hierarchical."

Something flickered across Minghao's face—so brief Y/N almost missed it. "Traditional corporate structure, yes. Efficiency has its advantages."

"But?"

Minghao looked up, surprised by her perception. "What makes you think there's a 'but'?"

"Your expression. Just for a second."

He considered her for a moment before responding. "The traditional structure has advantages for executing projects efficiently. It has... limitations for innovation. Particularly regarding sustainability initiatives."

This was the most personal insight he'd offered about his professional situation. Y/N sensed something significant beneath his measured words.

"You're advocating for change within XM?"

"Let's say I have a longer-term vision that doesn't always align with quarterly profit expectations." Minghao's tone made it clear he considered this topic closed.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before returning to safer territory—the technical challenges of their current design integration. But Y/N filed away this glimpse beneath Minghao's professional exterior, another piece in the increasingly complex puzzle he presented.

Later that week, Y/N sat in her apartment surrounded by crumpled sketches, trying desperately to focus on refining the public garden layout for their project. Instead, she found herself repeatedly drawing Minghao's profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the thoughtful tilt of his head when considering a design problem.

"This isn't happening," she muttered, furiously erasing the latest inadvertent portrait. "This is Stockholm syndrome. Professional delirium. Sleep deprivation psychosis."

She crumpled the paper and tossed it toward the trash can, missing by a good foot. The floor was already littered with similar failures—evidence of her complete inability to focus without her thoughts drifting to a certain frustratingly elegant architect with stupidly perfect cheekbones and infuriatingly thoughtful design insights.

When her phone rang, Y/N nearly leapt for it, grateful for any distraction. Seeing Seungkwan's name on the screen was an added relief—at least it wasn't Minghao calling about work, which would mean having to sound professional while in the midst of this embarrassing crisis.

"Please tell me you're free for dinner," Seungkwan said without preamble. "We're all at the usual place, and Woozi is three beers in, talking about writing a concept album about sustainable architecture. You need to witness this."

Y/N stared at her disaster of an apartment—takeout containers from three consecutive nights of working late with Minghao, sketches everywhere, and a half-empty bottle of wine that wasn't helping her current crisis at all.

"I'll be there in thirty," she replied, grateful for the escape.

The hole-in-the-wall restaurant was already lively when Y/N arrived, sliding into a booth next to Jeonghan and across from Seungkwan and Woozi.

"The workaholic emerges!" Seungkwan announced dramatically. "How's life with the enemy?"

"He's not the enemy," Y/N answered automatically, then froze at her own defensive tone.

Three pairs of eyes locked onto her with laser focus.

"Well, well, well," Jeonghan drawled, sliding the soju bottle towards her. "That's new."

"What?" Y/N poured herself a generous shot. "He's a collaborator now. Professionally. On the project. That's all."

"Right," Woozi nodded sagely. "Totally professional. Which is why you just drew hearts around his name on that napkin."

Y/N looked down in horror, only to find a blank napkin. When she looked up, Woozi was smirking.

"Your face right now is all the confirmation we needed," he said.

"I hate all of you," Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. "It's not—I don't—UGH."

"Oh my god, she actually likes him," Seungkwan stage-whispered, eyes wide with delight. "Our Y/N has fallen for Corporate Architecture Ken!"

"I have NOT fallen for him," Y/N hissed, looking around to make sure no one from the industry was nearby. "I just... don't completely despise working with him anymore. He has... occasional good ideas."

"Occasional good ideas," Jeonghan repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling it when you haven't stopped talking about 'Minghao's innovative approach to spatial harmony' for three weeks?"

"Or when you defended his honor to that sustainability consultant who called his previous projects 'ecological disasters'?" Woozi added.

"Or when you started wearing your nice blazers to the collaborative studio instead of your usual 'comfort over corporate' outfits?" Seungkwan chimed in.

Y/N looked between them, betrayal written across her face. "I just wanted to project professionalism!"

"Since when have you cared about looking professional?" Jeonghan laughed. "Your entire brand is 'too busy saving the planet to care about dress codes.'"

Y/N downed her soju in one shot, the harsh reality hitting harder than the alcohol. "This is a disaster. If—and I mean IF—I were developing... unprofessional feelings, which I'm NOT admitting to... it would be career suicide. Personal suicide. A complete betrayal of everything I stand for."

"Dramatic much?" Woozi raised an eyebrow.

"He works for XM Development!" Y/N whispered furiously. "They literally built that resort that destroyed an entire coral reef ecosystem! I protested outside their headquarters! I wrote a scathing industry article about their CEO!"

"Who happens to be his uncle," Seungkwan pointed out unhelpfully. "Awkward future family dinners."

Y/N dropped her head onto the table with a thunk. "This isn't happening. I refuse. I absolutely refuse to be attracted to Xu Minghao. He probably irons his socks. He definitely owns more black turtlenecks than Steve Jobs ever did. His idea of sustainable materials is 'slightly less endangered tropical hardwood.' This is a cosmic joke."

"But he's so pretty," Seungkwan sighed dreamily. "Those cheekbones could cut glass."

"And he did publicly challenge his board about sustainability initiatives," Jeonghan reminded her. "That article was everywhere in the industry. He put his reputation on the line."

"Not helping," Y/N mumbled into the table.

"Look," Woozi said, suddenly serious. "You've spent your entire career fighting against developers who don't care about environmental impact. Now you've found one who might actually be an ally—who gets your vision enough to fight for it within his own corporate structure. What's the real problem?"

Y/N lifted her head, expression pained. "The problem is I wanted to hate him. I was prepared to hate him. Hating him was simple and comfortable and fit my worldview perfectly. But now..." She gestured helplessly.

"Now you like him," Seungkwan finished for her. "Like, LIKE him like him."

"And I hate that I like him," Y/N groaned. "It's so inconvenient. So cliché. So... ugh."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," Jeonghan said with philosophical air.

"Well, my heart needs to shut up and get back to focusing on sustainable architecture instead of Minghao's stupid perfect hands and the way he tilts his head when he's really considering an idea and how he remembers exactly how I like my coffee and—" Y/N cut herself off, horrified.

The table erupted in delighted chaos.

"This is the greatest day of my life," Seungkwan declared, wiping away a fake tear. "Our ice queen has melted for the prince of luxury development."

"I'm leaving," Y/N announced, grabbing her bag. "I'm moving to a remote island where there are no architects, no colleagues, and definitely no irritatingly perceptive friends."

As she stood to leave, Woozi called after her: "Just remember to invite us to the wedding! I've already started composing your processional!"

The wadded-up napkin Y/N threw hit him squarely between the eyes.

Meanwhile, across the city, Minghao sat perfectly still in his apartment's minimalist living room, staring at the scale model he'd been working on for the past three hours. It was meant to be a section of their riverfront design. Somehow, he'd unconsciously incorporated elements that were distinctly Y/N's—the curved rainwater channels, the integrated vegetation patterns, the community-focused gathering spaces.

"This is unacceptable," he murmured to himself, setting down his tools with deliberate precision.

He'd spent years cultivating perfect control—over his designs, his career trajectory, his emotions. Three weeks working with Y/N had somehow dismantled that control with terrifying efficiency.

His phone rang. Jun.

"Please tell me you're not still working," his friend said when Minghao answered. "It's Friday night. We're at Mingyu's place. Even Wonwoo left the office."

"I'm not working," Minghao replied, staring at the evidence that he'd been thinking about Y/N rather than actual work. "Just... reviewing some concepts."

"All work and no play makes Minghao a dull boy," Jun sing-songed. "Come over. Mingyu made his famous hotpot, and Vernon brought that weird board game where you have to build fictional cities."

The prospect of architecture-themed entertainment was the last thing Minghao needed right now, but the alternative was sitting alone in his apartment, fighting the unprofessional urge to text Y/N about a design idea that had occurred to him in the shower.

"Fine," he conceded. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Mingyu's apartment was chaos compared to Minghao's serene space—warm, cluttered, and currently filled with his closest friends sprawled across various furniture. The delicious scent of hotpot filled the air, and someone had put on a jazz playlist that mingled with conversations and laughter.

"He emerges from his creative cave!" Jun announced as Minghao entered. "We were taking bets on whether you'd actually show up or send another 'something came up' text."

"I'm not that antisocial," Minghao protested mildly, accepting the drink Mingyu handed him.

"No, you're just that obsessed with perfection," Wonwoo corrected from his position on the couch, not looking up from his book. "How's the collaboration going with the eco-warrior princess?"

Minghao nearly choked on his drink. "Her name is Y/N, and the project is progressing adequately."

"Adequately?" Jun repeated with a grin. "That's not what Mingyu said after he dropped off those materials yesterday. What was it again, Mingyu? Something about 'intense creative energy' and 'finishing each other's sentences'?"

Mingyu had the decency to look apologetic as he stirred the hotpot. "I just mentioned that you two seemed to be working well together. Better than expected, considering how you used to talk about her environmental manifestos."

"We've found professional common ground," Minghao said carefully, taking a seat at the dining table. "Her technical knowledge is impressive, and she's more open to aesthetic considerations than I initially assumed."

"Wow, from Minghao, that's practically a declaration of love," Vernon commented, looking up from where he was setting up the board game.

"It's professional respect," Minghao clarified firmly.

"Is that why you've saved every industry article she's ever written?" Wonwoo asked, finally closing his book. "For professional respect?"

Minghao shot him a betrayed look. "Those are research materials. Know your opponent's perspective."

"And is that why you specially ordered her favorite tea for the studio? And stayed up all night researching wetland ecosystems to understand her water management system better? And hand-crafted that traditional pavilion model that took you three days?" Jun pressed, clearly enjoying himself.

"Those were... professional courtesies," Minghao insisted, feeling uncomfortably warm. "The project benefits from a harmonious working relationship."

"Harmonious," Mingyu repeated with a knowing smile. "Interesting word choice."

"You guys are reading too much into this," Minghao said, helping himself to food in an attempt to end the conversation. "We're collaborating on a project with strict deadlines. That's all."

The room fell silent for a moment before Jun spoke again, his tone gentler. "You know, it wouldn't be the end of the world if you did like her."

"She represents everything I'm supposed to be working against," Minghao said quietly. "She's idealistic to the point of impracticality, stubborn about her principles, and has publicly criticized XM's projects multiple times."

"And yet..." Vernon prompted.

"And yet," Minghao admitted reluctantly, "she's brilliant. Her technical innovations are genuinely revolutionary. She sees connections in systems that most designers miss. And she cares about the impact of her work in a way that's..." he searched for the right word, "...admirable."

"Just admirable?" Wonwoo asked, eyebrow raised.

Minghao set down his chopsticks, suddenly finding it difficult to maintain his usual composure. "Fine. You want the truth? I can't stop thinking about her. I find myself sketching elements I know she'll appreciate into designs she'll never even see. I've started questioning corporate policies I've accepted for years because her arguments make compelling sense. I wake up thinking about our debates and go to sleep solving design problems we discussed."

He ran a hand through his hair in a rare display of frustration. "It's completely inappropriate, utterly unprofessional, and would horrify my uncle and the entire board if they knew. She probably still thinks I'm a corporate sellout despite everything, and the project will end in three weeks, after which we'll go back to being professional adversaries. So yes, maybe I do find her more than just professionally admirable, but it doesn't matter because nothing could ever come of it."

The room was silent for a long moment.

"Wow," Mingyu finally said. "That's the most words I've heard you speak consecutively in... possibly ever."

"She must be really special," Vernon added thoughtfully.

"This is a disaster," Minghao sighed, his perfect posture finally slumping. "Of all the architects in Seoul, why did it have to be her? The one person guaranteed to find my family's business morally reprehensible? The one designer who would consider my aesthetic priorities superficial? The most stubborn, principled, frustratingly intelligent woman I've ever met?"

"The heart is mysterious," Jun said, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "And apparently has terrible timing."

"The heart has nothing to do with this," Minghao insisted. "This is temporary insanity brought on by extended proximity and creative intensity."

"Right," Wonwoo nodded sagely. "That explains why you've started dressing even more impeccably than usual for your studio sessions. And why you've been turning down family dinner invitations to work late with her. And why you risked your position at XM to champion sustainability initiatives that align with her values."

Minghao stared at him. "How do you know all that?"

"I pay attention," Wonwoo shrugged. "And Mingyu talks a lot."

"Traitor," Minghao muttered, glancing at Mingyu, who was suddenly very interested in the hotpot.

The following day, Y/N arrived at the studio determined to maintain strict professional boundaries. She'd spent half the night lecturing herself about the absolute insanity of developing feelings for Xu Minghao, of all people. She had a plan: minimal personal conversation, focused work discussion, and absolutely no noticing of his perfect cheekbones or elegant hands or the way his eyes lit up when discussing traditional Korean architecture.

Her resolve lasted approximately three minutes.

Minghao was already there, arranging a collection of material samples on their work table. He looked up when she entered, and something in his expression seemed different—a flicker of self-consciousness that mirrored her own.

"Good morning," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I brought coffee." He gestured to a cup on her side of the table. "Black with one sugar."

The fact that he remembered exactly how she took her coffee was not helping her resolution at all.

"Thank you," she managed, setting down her bag and picking up the cup to give her hands something to do. "I was thinking about the central plaza transition areas overnight. I have some ideas for improving the flow."

Minghao nodded, seemingly grateful for the immediate focus on work. "I was considering the same issue. The current design creates a bottleneck during peak usage times."

They fell into their usual pattern of collaborative problem-solving, but something had shifted in the atmosphere. Y/N found herself hyperaware of every accidental brush of hands when they reached for the same reference material, every moment their eyes met when making a point, every instance of inadvertent synchronization when they both had the same idea simultaneously.

Judging by Minghao's slightly stiffer-than-usual posture and occasional hesitations before physical proximity, he might be experiencing similar awareness. The thought was both terrifying and oddly exhilarating.

By afternoon, the awkwardness had somewhat dissipated as they became absorbed in a particularly challenging aspect of the water feature design. Their usual dynamic reasserted itself—Y/N focusing on technical efficiency, Minghao on experiential quality, both pushing the other toward a more integrated solution.

"If we adjust the flow pattern here," Y/N suggested, leaning over the model they'd constructed, "we can increase capture capacity while creating more interesting visual movement."

Minghao considered this, head tilted in the exact way that Y/N had embarrassingly confessed to finding attractive just the night before. She forced herself to focus on the model instead of his profile.

"That could work," he agreed, reaching for a pencil to sketch the modification. Their fingers brushed briefly, causing both to withdraw a fraction too quickly.

"Sorry," they said simultaneously, then looked at each other in surprise.

A moment of silence stretched between them, charged with something neither was prepared to acknowledge.

"We should take a break," Minghao finally said, straightening up. "We've been working for hours."

Y/N nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "Good idea. I need some air."

They stepped outside into the late afternoon sun, walking silently to a small park across from their studio building. Finding a bench, they sat with a careful distance between them, watching office workers hurry past on their way home.

"The project is progressing well," Minghao observed after a while. "Better than I expected when we were first assigned to collaborate."

"Agreed," Y/N said. "It's become something neither of us would have created independently."

"That's the value of diverse perspectives," Minghao replied. "When integrated thoughtfully rather than forced together superficially."

Something about his phrasing made Y/N wonder if he was talking about more than just their architectural collaboration. Before she could analyze this further, her phone chimed with a news alert.

"Oh," she said, reading the notification. "There's an article about you. About XM's sustainability initiative."

Minghao tensed visibly. "Already? The board meeting was just yesterday."

"You didn't know this was being published?" Y/N asked, scanning the article. "'XM Development Creative Director Challenges Board on Sustainability Direction.'"

"No," Minghao replied, his usual composure slipping. "Someone leaked it. This complicates things."

"In what way?"

He hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "My uncle—the chairman—is deeply traditional in his business approach. He believes our brand is built on luxury and exclusivity, not environmental considerations. I've been trying to shift the corporate direction gradually, presenting sustainability as market advantage rather than moral imperative. A public leak makes it appear I'm forcing his hand through media pressure."

"Are you?" Y/N asked directly.

"No," Minghao said, meeting her eyes. "I would prefer to change the company from within, through demonstrating that sustainable design can be both beautiful and profitable. Our project is meant to be evidence of that possibility."

Y/N studied him, seeing the complexity of his position more clearly than before. "You're navigating a difficult path between family expectations and your own values."

"As we all must in different ways," he replied quietly. After a pause, he added, "Working with you has... clarified certain priorities for me."

The admission hung in the air between them, neither quite ready to explore its full implications. Instead, they watched the sun begin its descent, casting long shadows across the park.

"We should get back to work," Y/N finally said, standing. "The committee presentation is in two weeks."

Minghao nodded, following her lead. As they walked back toward the studio, he asked unexpectedly, "Would you join me for dinner tomorrow evening? There's a restaurant I think you might appreciate—they source all ingredients locally and power their kitchen entirely with renewable energy."

Y/N nearly stumbled in surprise. "That sounds suspiciously like something I would approve of," she said, attempting to keep her tone light despite her suddenly racing pulse.

"I do occasionally pay attention to your preferences," Minghao replied, a rare hint of humor in his voice.

"Then yes," Y/N agreed, telling herself this was still professional courtesy, nothing more. "I'd like that."

As they returned to work, Y/N tried not to think about Seungkwan's inevitable reaction when he heard she was having dinner with Minghao, or how much time she would likely spend tonight overthinking what to wear, or how the prospect of spending an evening with Minghao outside their work environment filled her with both anticipation and alarm.

This was fine. Perfectly normal. Just two collaborating professionals having a business dinner. The fact that her heart raced slightly at the thought was irrelevant and absolutely not worth examining.

Across the table, Minghao appeared to have regained his usual composed focus, though Y/N thought she detected a new tension in his movements, a heightened awareness that mirrored her own. If he was experiencing even a fraction of the confusing emotions currently churning through her, he was hiding it far better than she was.

Y/N forced her attention back to their design, trying to ignore how thoroughly Xu Minghao had disrupted her carefully ordered world—personally and professionally. The most infuriating part wasn't that she was attracted to him despite their differences.

It was that she was attracted to him because of them.

-

Y/N stood in front of her closet, surrounded by discarded outfits, feeling ridiculous. It was just dinner. A professional dinner with a colleague. The fact that she'd tried on seven different combinations was completely unrelated to the fact that said colleague was Xu Minghao.

"This is pathetic," she told her reflection as she adjusted a simple black dress. "Too formal." She changed into jeans and a nice blouse. "Too casual." A tailored pantsuit followed. "Too business meeting."

After thirty more minutes of wardrobe crisis, she settled on a dress that balanced professional and elegant—something she might wear to an industry event rather than a date. Because this was definitely not a date. Minghao had simply suggested they discuss their project in a different setting. The fact that he'd chosen a sustainability-focused restaurant was merely... thoughtful professional courtesy.

Her phone buzzed with a text from

Seungkwan: "WHAT ARE YOU WEARING??? Send pics!!! I need to approve!!!"

Y/N groaned. She'd made the tactical error of mentioning her dinner with Minghao during a work call, and Seungkwan had practically hyperventilated with excitement. She ignored the text, knowing any response would only encourage him.

Seconds later, her phone rang.

"You can't ignore me on this historic occasion," Seungkwan declared when she answered. "Our Y/N, sustainability warrior princess, dining with the prince of luxury development! The office has a betting pool on whether you'll come back engaged or covered in wine after throwing it in his face."

"It's a professional dinner," Y/N insisted, checking her watch. "And I'm going to be late if I don't leave now."

"Just tell me one thing," Seungkwan said, his tone suddenly serious. "Are you going to give this a chance? Whatever 'this' is between you two?"

The unexpected question caught Y/N off guard. "I... don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do," Seungkwan replied gently. "I've known you for years, Y/N. I've seen you passionate about projects, about environmental causes, about fighting corporate developers. I've never seen you like this about a person."

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, suddenly unable to maintain her denial. "It's complicated, Seungkwan. Even if there were... feelings... which I'm not saying there are... there are so many reasons it couldn't work."

"Name one that doesn't involve your stubborn pride or preconceived notions."

She opened her mouth to list the many practical obstacles, then closed it again, realizing how many of her objections had gradually eroded over the weeks of working with Minghao.

"Just be open to possibility," Seungkwan suggested. "That's all I'm saying. And text me immediately if anything romantic happens!"

"Goodbye, Seungkwan," Y/N said firmly, ending the call. But his words lingered as she gathered her things and headed out.

The restaurant was intimate but not overtly romantic—a renovated traditional building with contemporary sustainable elements seamlessly integrated throughout. When Y/N arrived, Minghao was already there, dressed in his usual impeccable style but with subtle differences that suggested he'd put thought into his appearance beyond his normal care.

"This place is beautiful," Y/N said as they were seated at a corner table with a view of a small courtyard garden. "I haven't been here before."

"It opened recently," Minghao replied. "The owner is an old friend who shares your commitment to sustainability. The building itself is carbon-neutral, and all ingredients are sourced within fifty kilometers."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You really did your research."

A flicker of something crossed Minghao's face—was that actually nervousness? "I wanted to choose somewhere you'd appreciate."

The thoughtfulness of this gesture was not helping Y/N maintain her professional distance at all.

After ordering, an awkward silence fell between them—so different from their usual passionate debates or focused work discussions. It was as if removing the shield of their project had left them both uncomfortably exposed.

"So," Y/N finally said, "how did your uncle react to the article about your sustainability initiative?"

Minghao's expression tightened slightly. "About as well as expected. There was a... heated discussion about company direction and my role within it. He believes I'm being influenced by outside perspectives."

"Am I the outside influence he's concerned about?" Y/N asked directly.

"Among others," Minghao admitted. "But my interest in sustainable design predates our collaboration, though working with you has... intensified certain convictions."

"Is your position at risk?" The thought bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

Minghao considered this question carefully. "Not immediately. Family dynamics complicate professional relationships. My uncle values loyalty and tradition, but he also recognizes that markets evolve. The question is whether sustainability represents a fundamental shift in our company identity or merely a strategic adaptation."

"And what do you believe?"

"I believe it's necessary," he said simply. "Both ethically and practically. The future of development must incorporate environmental responsibility—not as marketing strategy but as core principle."

Y/N studied him, struck by how similar his words were to arguments she'd made in industry publications. "That sounds suspiciously like something I would say."

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Perhaps you've been a bad influence."

"Or a good one, depending on perspective," Y/N countered, returning his smile.

The arrival of their first course provided a welcome shift in conversation to lighter topics. Y/N was surprised by how easily they moved from professional discussions to personal interests—Minghao's background in traditional art, Y/N's early environmental activism, shared admiration for certain architects and mutual disdain for pretentious industry trends.

"I can't believe you also hated the Hansen Tower," Y/N said, laughing at Minghao's devastatingly accurate critique of a recently celebrated building. "Everyone acts like it's revolutionary, but it's just inefficient design hiding behind flashy facades."

"Form without function," Minghao agreed. "Beautiful from a distance but completely impractical to actually occupy. Architecture should serve people, not merely impress them."

"Another suspiciously Y/N-like statement," she observed, enjoying the unexpected alignment of their views.

"I've always held this perspective," Minghao clarified. "But working with you has helped me articulate certain principles more clearly."

As their meal continued, Y/N found herself increasingly aware of how much she was enjoying Minghao's company. His quiet intensity, thoughtful observations, and unexpected flashes of dry humor were dangerously appealing. The careful distance she'd maintained began to feel increasingly arbitrary.

When dessert arrived—a beautifully presented seasonal fruit creation—Minghao hesitated before speaking. "I've been considering a possibility that I wanted to discuss with you."

Something in his tone made Y/N's pulse quicken. "What kind of possibility?"

"A professional one," he clarified, seeming to sense her sudden tension. "I've been contemplating establishing an independent design studio focused on integrating sustainable innovation with cultural and aesthetic excellence. The kind of work we've been doing together, but as a dedicated practice rather than a one-time collaboration."

"You're leaving XM?" Y/N couldn't hide her surprise.

"It's one option I'm considering," Minghao said carefully. "Family expectations are powerful, but at some point, personal convictions must take precedence." After a pause, he added, "I would value your perspective on whether such a venture could succeed."

"I think it could," Y/N said slowly, processing the implications. "But it would be a significant risk compared to your position at XM."

"Some risks are necessary for meaningful change." His gaze met hers with unexpected directness. "Both professionally and personally."

The weight of his words hung between them, carrying implications beyond career choices. Y/N found herself at a crossroads—continue maintaining careful professional boundaries or acknowledge the growing connection between them.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed with an urgent message. Y/N glanced at it and frowned.

"Everything alright?" Minghao asked.

"It's from Seungkwan. Apparently there's been a leak about our project—some industry blog has published speculation about conflicts between our design approaches, claiming the collaboration is failing."

Minghao's expression darkened. "That could undermine the committee's confidence before our presentation."

"We should address this," Y/N said, professional concerns immediately overriding the personal moment. "Perhaps with a joint statement or preliminary images that demonstrate our progress."

"Agreed." Minghao signaled for the check. "We should return to the studio and review what might have been leaked and prepare a response."

The intimate atmosphere dissolved as they shifted back into work mode, both perhaps secretly relieved to postpone the more complicated conversation that had been developing.

The next morning, Y/N arrived at the studio early, determined to focus on damage control rather than dwelling on the unresolved tension from dinner. To her surprise, she found Mingyu pacing outside the door.

"Y/N!" he exclaimed when he saw her. "Thank goodness. Minghao sent me to wait for you. There's an emergency meeting at XM headquarters. The chairman is demanding to review the project immediately instead of waiting for the committee presentation."

"What? Why?" Y/N asked, alarmed by the sudden interference.

"The leaked information created concern about the project's direction," Mingyu explained as they hurried toward a waiting car. "Minghao's uncle is worried about the company's reputation if the collaboration is perceived as compromising XM's luxury brand identity."

During the drive to XM's imposing glass headquarters, Y/N felt mounting dread. This was exactly the corporate interference she'd initially feared when forced to collaborate with a luxury developer.

The building itself embodied everything Y/N had spent her career criticizing—excessive glass that created massive heating and cooling demands, dramatic but energy-intensive lighting, and materials selected for prestige rather than sustainability. As they rode the elevator to the executive floor, Y/N steeled herself for confrontation.

Mingyu led her to a conference room where Minghao was already engaged in tense conversation with an older man whose commanding presence and family resemblance identified him as the chairman. Several board members and executives observed from around a massive table covered with printouts of their design.

Minghao looked up when Y/N entered, his expression carefully controlled but his eyes communicating a silent apology.

"Ah, the environmental architect," the chairman said, turning to assess Y/N with calculating eyes. "I've heard much about you. Please, join us. We were just discussing certain... concerns about the direction of this project."

Y/N approached with professional composure, noting the specific design elements that had been highlighted for criticism—precisely the innovative integrations she and Minghao had been most proud of developing together.

"Chairman Xu," she acknowledged with a respectful nod. "I understand you have questions about our collaborative approach."

"Indeed," he replied coolly. "XM Development has built its reputation on distinctive luxury experiences. These elements," he gestured to their sustainable water management systems and community-focused spaces, "dilute our brand identity with features that could appear in any public park. Our clients expect exclusivity."

Y/N felt a familiar surge of frustration but maintained her professional demeanor. "With respect, Chairman, this project is specifically designed as a public space that balances environmental responsibility with exceptional design quality. The integration creates something unique rather than diluted."

The chairman's expression remained skeptical. "A noble sentiment, but our investors have specific expectations about XM projects. Minghao knows this," he added with a pointed look at his nephew.

"Uncle," Minghao said, his voice quiet but firm, "the committee specifically requested a collaboration that incorporates both companies' strengths. The design we've developed fulfills that brief while expanding XM's capabilities in an emerging market sector."

"A sector you seem increasingly preoccupied with," the chairman observed. "First your sustainability initiative presentation, now this project. One might wonder where your priorities lie."

The undercurrent of personal disappointment in his tone made the professional criticism more cutting. Y/N saw Minghao's carefully maintained composure falter slightly, revealing how deeply his uncle's approval mattered despite their differing visions.

"My priority is the future success of XM," Minghao replied. "Which requires evolution rather than rigid adherence to past formulas."

The chairman waved this away impatiently. "We need concrete adjustments to realign this project with our brand standards. I suggest removing these community elements, upgrading the materials to our usual specifications, and redesigning the central pavilion to feature our signature aesthetic."

Y/N bit her tongue, recognizing that these changes would effectively erase every sustainable innovation they'd integrated, returning the design to exactly the kind of environmentally irresponsible luxury project she'd fought against throughout her career.

She glanced at Minghao, expecting him to begin negotiating a compromise. To her surprise, he straightened his shoulders and spoke with quiet determination.

"No."

The single word fell into stunned silence. Even Y/N hadn't expected such direct refusal.

"What did you say?" the chairman asked, his tone dangerous.

"I said no," Minghao repeated calmly. "The design represents a balanced integration developed through genuine collaboration. Removing those elements would compromise both its integrity and its purpose."

The chairman's expression hardened. "Perhaps you've forgotten whose name is on this building, Minghao. Your experimental design theories are interesting, but ultimately, XM projects reflect the company vision—my vision."

"I haven't forgotten," Minghao replied. "But I also remember the principles my father valued before you took control—innovation, integrity, and creating spaces that elevated people rather than excluding them."

The personal nature of this statement clearly crossed a line. The chairman's expression turned glacial. "We'll continue this discussion privately. Everyone else, please leave us."

The executives quickly filed out, eager to escape the family tension. Y/N hesitated, looking at Minghao with concern.

"It's alright," he told her quietly. "I'll meet you downstairs after we've finished."

Y/N reluctantly left the room, acutely aware that Minghao had just risked his position—and family relationship—defending their shared vision. The implications of this were too significant to ignore.

An hour passed before Minghao appeared in the lobby, his expression composed but with a new resolution in his eyes.

"Walk with me," he said simply, leading her out of the building and across the street to a small park—one of the few green spaces in the corporate district.

They sat on a bench beneath flowering cherry trees, a moment of natural beauty incongruously peaceful after the tension of the meeting.

"I've been relieved of my position as creative director," Minghao said finally, his voice calm despite the bombshell.

Y/N stared at him in shock. "They fired you? Over our project?"

"The project was simply the catalyst. My uncle and I have been moving in different directions for some time. Today merely forced the issue into the open."

"Minghao, I'm so sorry," Y/N said, genuine distress overriding any professional considerations. "You shouldn't have sacrificed your position. We could have modified some elements, found a compromise—"

"No," he interrupted gently. "The compromise would have destroyed what makes the design valuable. And this isn't just about one project. It's about the future I want to create versus the past my uncle wants to preserve."

"Still, your career—"

"Is not defined by XM," Minghao finished. "Perhaps this was inevitable. I've been considering independent paths for some time, as I mentioned last night."

Y/N studied him, searching for signs of regret or uncertainty. Instead, she found surprising calm—as if a burden had been lifted rather than imposed.

"You seem... okay with this," she observed.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "There's freedom in clarity. For years I've tried to balance family expectations with personal convictions. Now the choice has been made for me."

"What will you do now?"

"Exactly what I suggested yesterday—establish an independent practice based on the principles we've explored together." After a pause, he added more softly, "Though I had hoped to discuss that possibility with you under different circumstances."

Y/N felt a flutter of something that definitely wasn't just professional concern. "With me? In what capacity?"

Minghao turned to face her directly, his usual reserve giving way to unexpected openness. "In whatever capacity you might consider. As a consultant, a collaborator, or..." he hesitated, then continued with quiet determination, "...something more. If that's something you might want."

The directness of this semi-confession left Y/N momentarily speechless. Part of her wanted to retreat behind professional boundaries, to remind both of them of all the reasons personal involvement would be complicated. But after watching Minghao sacrifice his position defending principles they both valued, such caution suddenly seemed cowardly.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted honestly. "Three months ago, I would have said collaborating with an XM developer was my worst nightmare. Now I'm sitting here disturbed by the fact that you're no longer with XM, which makes absolutely no sense considering I've spent years criticizing everything they represent."

"Life rarely follows our expectations," Minghao observed, a hint of humor warming his voice.

"Tell me about it," Y/N sighed. "My entire worldview had such clear lines before meeting you. Sustainable architects: good. Luxury developers: bad. Now everything's complicated."

"Complexity can be valuable," Minghao suggested. "In design and in relationships."

Y/N looked at him—really looked at the person rather than the professional role he'd occupied. The man who had challenged her assumptions while respecting her principles. Who had matched her passion for architecture with his own, differently expressed but equally genuine. Whose carefully maintained reserve concealed depths she'd only begun to discover.

"I think," she said carefully, "that I would like to explore what 'something more' might mean. But slowly. This is all very... new territory."

The smile that transformed Minghao's usually composed features was worth every moment of confusion that had preceded it.

"New territory is where innovation happens," he said softly.

Their conversation was interrupted by Y/N's phone ringing insistently. She glanced at it and groaned.

"It's Seungkwan. Again. He's probably heard about the XM meeting already—news travels unnervingly fast in this industry."

"You should answer," Minghao suggested. "He'll just keep calling otherwise."

Y/N reluctantly accepted the call, holding the phone slightly away from her ear in anticipation of Seungkwan's volume.

"Y/N! IS IT TRUE?" Seungkwan practically shouted. "DID MINGHAO JUST QUIT XM DEVELOPMENT TO BE WITH YOU? THE ENTIRE OFFICE IS LOSING THEIR MINDS! WOOZI JUST SPAT COFFEE ALL OVER HIS KEYBOARD!"

"That's not exactly—" Y/N began, feeling her face heat up as Minghao raised an amused eyebrow, clearly able to hear Seungkwan's voice.

"IT'S THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER HEARD!" Seungkwan continued, undeterred. "GIVING UP A FAMILY EMPIRE FOR LOVE! IT'S LIKE A DRAMA BUT WITH SUSTAINABLE ARCHITECTURE!"

"Seungkwan, please," Y/N attempted, mortified. "It's much more complicated than that. He had professional disagreements with the company direction—"

"BECAUSE OF YOU!" Seungkwan crowed triumphantly. "BECAUSE YOU SHOWED HIM THE LIGHT OF ECO-CONSCIOUS DESIGN WITH YOUR PASSION AND PRINCIPLES! I'M WRITING THE WEDDING SPEECH RIGHT NOW!"

"There is no wedding!" Y/N hissed, avoiding Minghao's gaze. "We haven't even—that is—we're just—"

"Just what?" Seungkwan pressed, finally lowering his volume to merely enthusiastic rather than deafening.

Y/N glanced at Minghao, who was watching her with undisguised amusement and something warmer that made her pulse quicken.

"We're figuring it out," she said finally.

"HA! I KNEW IT!" Seungkwan's volume instantly returned to maximum. "JEONGHAN OWES ME DINNER! I SAID YOU'D ADMIT FEELINGS BEFORE THE PROJECT ENDED!"

"I'm hanging up now," Y/N informed him, doing exactly that despite his protests.

She turned to Minghao with embarrassment. "Sorry about that. Seungkwan has no concept of indoor voice or professional boundaries."

"He cares about you," Minghao observed, echoing his comment from weeks earlier. "Though his enthusiasm is... considerable."

"Wait until you meet the rest of them properly," Y/N said, then paused as she realized the implication of future social integration. "I mean, if that's something that might happen. Eventually."

"I'd like that," Minghao said simply.

They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for a moment, the cherry blossoms occasionally drifting down around them in the spring breeze.

"So what happens now?" Y/N finally asked. "With the project, with the committee presentation, with... everything?"

"The project continues," Minghao said decisively. "My departure from XM doesn't change my commitment to our design. As for the rest..." he looked at her with quiet intensity, "that depends on what we both want to build."

The architectural metaphor wasn't lost on Y/N. "I've never been good at personal blueprints," she admitted. "Professional plans, environmental strategies, technical specifications—those I can draft perfectly. But this..."

"Perhaps we approach it like our design process," Minghao suggested. "Start with core principles, develop the framework gradually, adjust as we learn, and trust that something valuable will emerge from the collaboration."

Y/N couldn't help smiling at his architect's approach to relationship development. "That's the most Minghao way possible of asking someone to date you."

"Is it working?" he asked, a rare vulnerability visible beneath his composed exterior.

Instead of answering immediately, Y/N reached for his hand—a simple gesture that somehow felt more significant than their entire professional collaboration.

"I think," she said carefully, "that I'd like to see what we might design together. Beyond riverfront projects and sustainable pavilions."

Minghao's fingers interlaced with hers, his touch as precise and intentional as everything else about him. "I've found our collaborative process surprisingly rewarding so far."

"Despite the arguments?"

"Because of them, in part," he amended. "Few people challenge me the way you do. It's... invigorating."

Y/N laughed. "Only you would find someone questioning your every design decision 'invigorating.'"

"Only when the questions are intelligent ones," he clarified, his thumb tracing a small pattern against her palm. "And when they come from someone whose perspective I've grown to value."

The simple honesty of this statement affected Y/N more than any grand declaration could have. She looked at their joined hands—her practical manicure next to his artist's fingers—and thought about how unexpected and yet somehow right this felt.

"So we continue with the committee presentation," she said, bringing the conversation back to safer territory while she processed her emotions. "And afterward..."

"Afterward, we explore possibilities," Minghao finished. "Professional and personal."

"Seungkwan is going to be insufferable about this," Y/N groaned, but couldn't suppress her smile.

"As will Jun," Minghao admitted. "He's been making increasingly unsubtle comments about our 'creative chemistry' for weeks."

The thought of their respective friends' reactions to this development was both mortifying and amusing. Y/N could already imagine the dramatic speeches, the knowing looks, the inevitable "I told you so" declarations.

"We should get back to the studio," she said reluctantly. "We have a presentation to finalize, and now we need to address your change in professional status as well."

Minghao nodded, but neither moved immediately to leave the peaceful moment they'd created together.

"Just to be clear," Y/N said, feeling uncharacteristically uncertain, "you're really okay with what happened at XM? You didn't throw away your career because of our project?"

"I didn't throw away anything," Minghao replied with quiet certainty. "I chose authenticity over compromise. The project was simply the catalyst for a decision that's been forming for longer than you might realize." After a pause, he added, "Though I will admit that knowing you has clarified certain priorities."

Y/N felt a rush of warmth at his words. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, and it wasn't even really a compliment."

"It was absolutely a compliment," Minghao corrected her. "Just expressed with appropriate restraint."

Y/N laughed, struck by how much she enjoyed his particular brand of reserved intensity. "You know, for two people who started out thinking we represented everything wrong with each other's approach to architecture, we've come to a surprisingly compatible place."

"Perhaps we weren't as opposed as we believed," Minghao suggested. "Just viewing the same principles from different angles."

As they finally rose to leave, still holding hands as they walked back toward their studio, Y/N reflected on the unexpected journey that had brought them to this point. From professional adversaries to reluctant collaborators to... whatever they were becoming now. It wasn't a path she could have designed or anticipated.

But sometimes, she was beginning to realize, the most interesting spaces emerged from unexpected intersections—in architecture and in life.

-

The committee presentation room buzzed with anticipation. Two weeks had passed since Minghao's departure from XM Development—two weeks of intense preparation, industry speculation, and carefully navigated new personal territory between him and Y/N.

"Are you ready for this?" Y/N asked, adjusting the display boards one final time. She wore her most professional outfit, a structured suit in deep green that somehow managed to be both authoritative and a personal statement.

"Absolutely," Minghao replied, his calm demeanor betraying none of the professional upheaval he'd experienced. If anything, he seemed more centered than before, as if shedding his corporate constraints had allowed a more authentic self to emerge.

Word of their situation had spread throughout the industry—the XM creative director who'd left his family's company over creative differences, continuing to collaborate with the sustainable architect who'd presumably influenced his professional rebellion. The resulting publicity had transformed their presentation from a standard committee review into a highly anticipated industry event.

Joshua Hong approached them with an encouraging smile. "Quite the turnout today," he observed, nodding toward the unusually full room. "Your project has generated significant interest."

"Apparently professional drama is good for publicity," Y/N said dryly.

"Quality work is good for publicity," Joshua corrected. "The circumstances simply brought additional attention to what was already an innovative collaboration."

As committee members and industry observers took their seats, Y/N felt a flutter of nerves—not about the design itself, which she knew was exceptional, but about the public perception of her relationship with Minghao. They'd agreed to maintain strictly professional behavior during the presentation, focusing attention on their work rather than the personal connection that had developed alongside it.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Seungkwan: "We're all here! Third row, looking FABULOUS and ready to cheer inappropriately loud!!!"

Y/N glanced over to see Seungkwan, Jeonghan, and Woozi seated together, all giving her enthusiastic thumbs up. Behind them sat Jun, Mingyu, and Wonwoo—Minghao's support team. The sight of their merged friend groups was both heartwarming and mildly terrifying.

"Your colleagues are here," she murmured to Minghao. "And mine. Together. This could be interesting."

"Should we be concerned?" Minghao asked, following her gaze to where Seungkwan was now showing something on his phone to Jun, both of them grinning conspiratorially.

"Definitely," Y/N confirmed.

Before she could elaborate, Joshua called the presentation to order. Y/N took a deep breath, centering herself in the familiar territory of professional expertise as she stepped forward to begin.

"The Hangang Riverfront Revitalization Project presented unique challenges and opportunities," she began, her voice clear and confident. "Our goal was to create a space that serves environmental needs, community functions, and cultural expression in equal measure."

As she outlined the technical aspects of their design, Y/N found herself naturally transitioning to Minghao's contributions without the planned handoff cues they'd rehearsed. Their presentation flowed organically between her explanations of sustainability innovations and his descriptions of spatial experience and cultural references.

The committee watched with undisguised interest as these former adversaries demonstrated a seamless collaborative vision. When they revealed the final design models and renderings, a murmur of appreciation spread through the room.

Their central concept—visible environmental systems integrated with traditional Korean design elements to create both functional efficiency and cultural resonance—was beautifully realized in the detailed models. Water features that processed rainwater while referencing historical irrigation patterns. Community gardens arranged to create contemplative spaces reminiscent of traditional courtyards. Solar elements that cast evolving shadow patterns inspired by traditional architecture.

During the question period, a committee member asked directly about the impact of Minghao's separation from XM Development on the project's viability.

"My professional transition doesn't affect my commitment to this design," Minghao answered with perfect composure. "The concept we've developed represents principles I intend to pursue in my independent practice."

"And how do you respond to industry speculation that personal factors influenced these professional decisions?" the committee member pressed, glancing between Minghao and Y/N with poorly disguised curiosity.

Y/N tensed, but Minghao responded with characteristic grace.

"Professional respect can develop into broader appreciation," he said carefully. "Y/N's environmental expertise and design integrity challenged me to reconsider certain assumptions. That kind of intellectual growth naturally influences career decisions."

It was the perfect answer—acknowledging their connection without feeding gossip or distracting from the work itself. Y/N shot him a grateful look as the questions returned to technical aspects of the design.

When the presentation concluded, the committee announced they would deliberate and provide their decision within the week. As the crowd dispersed, Y/N and Minghao found themselves surrounded by their enthusiastic friends.

"That was AMAZING!" Seungkwan declared, hugging Y/N before she could evade him. "You two have, like, actual presentation chemistry! It was like watching an architectural tango!"

"Please never say 'architectural tango' again," Y/N begged, though she couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm.

"Your integration of the water systems was particularly elegant," Wonwoo told her, adjusting his glasses. "I appreciated the technical rigor behind the aesthetic elements."

"And your cultural references were so thoughtfully applied," Jeonghan said to Minghao. "Not superficial at all."

As their friends chatted excitedly about various aspects of the presentation, Y/N noticed the easy way their previously separate groups had merged—Mingyu and Seungkwan comparing notes on their respective roles, Jun and Jeonghan clearly bonding over some shared mischievous energy, Wonwoo and Woozi engaged in what appeared to be a deeply technical conversation about acoustic design elements.

"They get along well," Minghao observed quietly, coming to stand beside her.

"Surprisingly well," Y/N agreed. "Though I'm not sure the world is ready for Seungkwan and Jun joining forces."

"Too late," Minghao noted, nodding toward where the two were clearly plotting something, occasional glances in their direction confirming that Y/N and Minghao were the subject of whatever scheme they were developing.

"We should probably be concerned about that," Y/N said.

"Definitely," Minghao agreed, echoing her earlier assessment.

Before they could investigate further, Joshua approached with news.

"The committee was impressed," he told them. "Very impressed. They've asked me to inform you that deliberations may be abbreviated—they're leaning strongly toward full approval with minimal revisions."

"That's wonderful news," Y/N said, relief and pride washing through her. After everything they'd been through, the validation of their shared vision meant more than she'd expected.

"There's something else," Joshua continued. "The city planning department was so taken with your integrated approach that they're considering a larger initiative—a series of sustainable urban interventions throughout Seoul, using your river project as a prototype. They'd be interested in discussing this with both of you, regardless of which firm ultimately leads the river project construction."

Y/N exchanged a look with Minghao, both processing the implications of this unexpected opportunity.

"We'd be very interested in those discussions," Minghao replied, his calm words belying the significance of Joshua's news.

After Joshua departed, Seungkwan appeared with an announcement of his own. "Attention, architectural power couple and assorted friends! We've arranged a celebration at The Garden Terrace. No excuses, attendance mandatory, first round on Jeonghan because he lost the betting pool about when you two would finally get together!"

"We haven't officially—" Y/N began, but Seungkwan waved away her objection.

"Semantics! You're holding hands right now!"

Y/N looked down in surprise to find that, indeed, her hand had somehow found Minghao's during their conversation with Joshua. She hadn't even noticed.

"The evidence is undeniable," Jun declared solemnly. "Subconscious hand-holding indicates advanced relationship development."

"That's not a real thing," Minghao told his friend with fond exasperation.

"And yet," Jun gestured meaningfully at their joined hands, "empirical evidence suggests otherwise."

Rather than pulling away in embarrassment as she might have weeks earlier, Y/N simply adjusted her grip on Minghao's hand more comfortably. "Fine. We'll come to your celebration. But no embarrassing toasts or relationship interrogations."

"We make no such promises," Seungkwan replied cheerfully. "See you all there in thirty minutes!"

The Garden Terrace was exactly the kind of place Y/N and Minghao might have designed together—a rooftop restaurant with traditional elements reimagined through contemporary sustainable design. Living walls provided natural cooling, solar canopies created dappled light patterns across wooden floors, and the careful arrangement of spaces allowed both community interaction and private conversation.

Their friends had reserved a corner section with spectacular views of the city at sunset. Y/N and Minghao found themselves at the center of a boisterous celebration, their successful presentation and potential new opportunities providing the official reason for festivities, though everyone present knew the unofficial cause for celebration was more personal.

"A toast!" Seungkwan announced, raising his glass. "To the most unlikely architectural partnership in Seoul—proof that opposites not only attract but create award-winning public spaces in the process!"

"And to new beginnings," Jeonghan added, with a meaningful look at Minghao. "Professional and otherwise."

Everyone raised their glasses, the genuine warmth of the moment overriding Y/N's usual aversion to being the center of attention. Under the table, Minghao's hand found hers again, a quiet connection amid the lively celebration.

As the evening progressed, Y/N found herself in conversation with Jun while Minghao was engaged in discussion with Woozi across the table.

"He's different with you," Jun observed, nodding toward Minghao. "More himself, somehow."

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, curious about this perspective from someone who'd known Minghao far longer than she had.

"Minghao has always contained himself," Jun explained. "Precise control in everything—his art, his work, his emotions. Necessary for navigating family expectations and corporate politics, but it became second nature. With you, he's still Minghao—still thoughtful and measured—but there's a freedom to it now. Less constraint, more authentic expression."

Y/N considered this, watching Minghao as he listened intently to Woozi's apparently passionate discourse on acoustic design. There was a subtle openness to his posture and expressions that did seem different from when they'd first met.

"I'm glad," she said simply. "He deserves that freedom."

"And what about you?" Jun asked. "Your friends tell me you've changed too."

"Do they now?" Y/N replied dryly, making a mental note to have words with Seungkwan about discussing her personal development with Minghao's friends.

"Apparently you smile more," Jun said with a grin. "And have developed a surprising tolerance for aesthetic considerations in your designs."

"Function still comes first," Y/N insisted, though she couldn't deny how her perspective had evolved. "But I've come to appreciate that beauty can be functional in its own way—creating spaces people connect with emotionally means they value and protect those spaces."

"Exactly what Minghao has always believed," Jun noted. "See? Perfect harmony."

"Hardly perfect," Y/N laughed. "We still argue constantly."

"Creative tension," Jun corrected. "Essential for innovation."

Across the table, Minghao caught her eye and smiled—that rare, genuine smile that still made her heart do ridiculous things in her chest. He excused himself from his conversation and made his way to her side.

"Stealing my architect, Jun?" he asked, his tone light.

"Just confirming you're worthy of her," Jun replied with theatrical seriousness. "The jury remains deliberating."

"A reasonable concern," Minghao acknowledged, surprising Y/N with his playfulness. "I have similar questions myself."

"On that note, I'll leave you two to your existential relationship doubts," Jun said, standing. "Seungkwan is demonstrating what he calls 'the dance of sustainable architecture' to Mingyu, and I can't miss that."

As Jun departed, Minghao took his place beside Y/N. "Having second thoughts yet?" he asked quietly.

"About?"

"This." He gestured between them. "Us. The complicated personal and professional entanglement we've somehow created."

Y/N considered the question seriously. "Second thoughts? No. Occasional moments of disbelief that I'm actually involved with someone who once represented everything I professionally opposed? Absolutely."

"The feeling is mutual," Minghao assured her, his eyes warm with amusement. "My uncle still can't comprehend it. He called yesterday to ask if this was an elaborate professional strategy to absorb your environmental expertise into a new luxury brand."

"Is it?" Y/N teased.

"If so, it's a strategy that's backfired spectacularly," Minghao replied. "I find myself increasingly aligned with your environmental priorities rather than his profit margins."

"Terrible business sense," Y/N agreed solemnly. "But excellent ethical development."

Their conversation was interrupted by Seungkwan's return, slightly flushed from whatever architectural dance he'd been performing.

"Stop being antisocial in your little couple bubble," he admonished. "We're planning the housewarming party for your new joint studio."

"Our what?" Y/N asked, bewildered.

"Your new studio," Seungkwan repeated as if it were obvious. "For the independent practice you're obviously going to establish together. We've already started a Pinterest board for the design. Very minimal but with plants everywhere. Mingyu suggested a coffee station that would make most cafes jealous."

"We haven't discussed—" Minghao began.

"Details," Seungkwan dismissed with a wave. "The concept is solid. 'XYN Design' or something similarly clever that combines your names. Sustainable luxury for the conscious elite. We're trademarking taglines as we speak."

Y/N looked at Minghao, expecting shared exasperation at their friends' presumption. Instead, she found him looking thoughtful.

"It's not an unreasonable concept," he said carefully. "Combining our complementary expertise in a dedicated practice."

"You're actually considering this?" Y/N asked, surprised by his openness to Seungkwan's meddling.

"I'm considering many possibilities," Minghao clarified. "Including professional collaboration that extends beyond our current project." After a pause, he added more quietly, "If that's something you might be interested in exploring."

Before Y/N could respond, Seungkwan clapped his hands delightedly. "See? It's practically decided! Jun, they're discussing the studio concept! Operation Architecture Romance is advancing to phase three!"

"We have phases?" Y/N asked, alarmed.

"So many phases," Seungkwan confirmed cheerfully before hurrying off to update Jun on this development.

Left momentarily alone despite the bustling celebration around them, Y/N turned to Minghao. "Are we really discussing a joint studio?"

"We're discussing possibilities," Minghao clarified. "No commitment, just... consideration of potential futures."

The careful way he framed it—open but not pressuring—was so characteristic of his approach to everything. Y/N found herself appreciating this thoughtfulness even as part of her marveled at how quickly her life had transformed.

"Three months ago, I would have laughed at the mere suggestion of working with you long-term," she admitted. "Now it seems like the most natural evolution imaginable."

"Evolution rather than revolution," Minghao observed. "Gradual integration of complementary elements."

"You make it sound so architectural," Y/N smiled.

"It's how I understand the world," he acknowledged. "Through spatial relationships and balanced tensions."

"And how do you understand us?" she asked, surprising herself with the directness of the question.

Minghao considered this with characteristic thoughtfulness. "As a harmonious counterpoint," he said finally. "Different melodies that create something more complex and beautiful together than either could alone."

The poetry of his answer caught Y/N off guard. For someone so reserved, Minghao occasionally revealed unexpected depth of feeling through carefully chosen words.

"That's beautiful," she said softly.

"It's accurate," he replied simply. "At least from my perspective."

Around them, their friends continued celebrating, occasional glances and smiles in their direction suggesting that their quiet conversation was not going unnoticed. Y/N found she didn't mind the attention as much as she might have expected. There was something affirming about having their connection witnessed and supported by people who mattered to them both.

"Whatever we decide professionally," Y/N said, returning to the question of their potential collaboration, "I know I want to continue what we've started personally. Despite how unexpected and occasionally inconvenient it might be."

"Inconvenient?" Minghao raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yes," Y/N laughed. "Do you know how often I have to hear Seungkwan say 'I told you so'? At least three times daily. And my entire professional identity was partly built on criticizing exactly the kind of development your family company represents. Plus, you're annoyingly particular about material selections and have opinions about literally every design element down to the smallest detail."

"All valid points," Minghao acknowledged, the hint of a smile playing around his lips. "Though I could note similar inconveniences—Jun's unbearable smugness, my uncle's disappointment, your stubborn insistence on prioritizing function even when aesthetic adjustments would create negligible efficiency impacts..."

"See? Completely impractical connection," Y/N concluded, her smile belying her words.

"And yet," Minghao said softly, taking her hand, "here we are."

"Here we are," Y/N agreed, feeling a sense of rightness that defied all her previous notions of compatibility. "Designing something neither of us planned but both of us need."

Six Months Later

Y/N adjusted the placement of the architectural model on the display table, stepping back to assess its impact in the gallery lighting. Around her, staff made final preparations for the evening's exhibition opening—"Sustainable Harmony: New Directions in Urban Design."

The gallery space—a renovated industrial building with exposed brick walls and carefully preserved structural elements—provided the perfect backdrop for their first major presentation as partners in XYN Studio, the name they'd ultimately embraced despite Y/N's initial eye-rolling at Seungkwan's suggestion.

The past six months had been a whirlwind of change. The Hangang Riverfront project had received unanimous committee approval and was now under construction, with Y/N and Minghao serving as design consultants. Their joint studio had formed organically from their continued collaboration, gathering surprising momentum as clients sought their unique integration of sustainability and aesthetics.

And personally... Y/N smiled to herself, remembering the incredulous looks on her friends' faces when she'd casually mentioned moving in with Minghao just three months into their relationship. For someone who had always prided herself on careful planning and methodical decision-making, the speed of these developments should have been alarming. Instead, each step had felt like a natural progression, as if they were simply acknowledging what had already formed between them.

"Perfect," Minghao's voice came from behind her as he surveyed the model placement. "The lighting highlights the water elements exactly as we intended."

Y/N turned to find him carrying two cups of tea—oolong for himself, black with one sugar for her. The simple gesture of remembering her preference, as he had from their earliest collaboration, still touched her in unexpected ways.

"Nervous?" she asked, accepting the cup.

"Appropriately alert to the professional significance of the evening," he corrected, making her smile. Minghao rarely admitted to anything as unrefined as nervousness, though she'd learned to recognize the subtle signs—the slightly more precise adjustment of his cuffs, the extra moment spent considering his words.

"It's a beautiful exhibition," Y/N assured him, looking around at the carefully curated display of their work. "The perfect introduction of XYN Studio to the wider design community."

Their exhibition showcased a series of urban interventions—some completed, others conceptual—that demonstrated their shared vision. Each project balanced environmental innovation with cultural and aesthetic excellence, creating spaces that served both planet and people with equal consideration.

"Your parents are coming tonight?" Minghao asked, a hint of that not-nervousness in his voice.

"Yes," Y/N confirmed. "They're excited to finally meet you properly. My father has read every article about your departure from XM at least twice. He's fascinated by your professional evolution."

"And your criticism of my family's company?" Minghao asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Also fascinated by that," Y/N admitted with a laugh. "He finds our entire relationship 'conceptually intriguing,' which is high praise from an environmental engineering professor."

"And your uncle?" she asked in return. "Any change in his position?"

Minghao's expression grew more thoughtful. "Some. The success of the river project has made him reconsider certain assumptions. He's even incorporated some sustainability elements into recent XM developments—though more as marketing strategy than core principle."

"Progress nonetheless," Y/N observed.

"Incremental change," Minghao agreed. "Sometimes that's how transformation happens—not through dramatic rejection but gradual integration of new ideas."

The philosophy could have applied equally to their personal journey—from professional adversaries to reluctant collaborators to partners in every sense. Not a sudden conversion but a gradual recognition of complementary values beneath seemingly opposed approaches.

Their moment of reflection was interrupted by the arrival of familiar voices—their friends coming early to preview the exhibition before the official opening.

"It's MAGNIFICENT!" Seungkwan declared before he'd even fully entered the gallery, Jeonghan and Woozi following with more moderate but equally supportive expressions.

"Professional bias noted but appreciated," Y/N replied dryly as Seungkwan embraced her enthusiastically.

"No bias, only objective recognition of excellence," Seungkwan insisted. "Though I do take partial credit for facilitating the partnership that made this possible."

"How exactly did you facilitate it?" Woozi asked skeptically.

"Through strategic encouragement and creating opportunities for romance to blossom," Seungkwan explained grandly. "Also, I totally called it from day one."

"We all called it," Jeonghan corrected. "Some of us were just more vocal about it."

As they bantered, Jun, Mingyu, and Wonwoo arrived, completing what had become their merged circle of friends. The easy integration of their once-separate groups mirrored Y/N and Minghao's own blending of lives and practices—unexpected but surprisingly natural.

"The central concept is exceptionally well-articulated," Wonwoo observed as he studied one of the display boards. "The balance between innovation and accessibility is precisely calibrated."

"High praise from architecture's most discerning analyst," Jun translated for Y/N. "He stayed up all night reading your design manifesto and called it 'refreshingly substantive.'"

As their friends explored the exhibition, offering commentary and support in their various styles, Y/N found herself standing slightly apart with Minghao, observing the scene with shared appreciation.

"Did you ever imagine this?" she asked quietly. "When we were first forced to collaborate on the river project? That we'd end up here?"

"Never," Minghao admitted, his honesty one of the many things she'd come to value deeply. "I expected a difficult professional exercise that would ultimately remain a compromise between opposed visions. I never anticipated discovering such fundamental alignment beneath our surface differences."

"Nor did I," Y/N agreed. "I was so certain I understood exactly who you were and what you represented. Being wrong has never been so satisfying."

Minghao's expression softened into the smile that was still rare in professional settings but increasingly common in their private moments. "Perhaps that's the most valuable outcome of our collaboration—the recognition that initial judgments rarely capture the complexity of another person's perspective."

"That, and the truly exceptional architecture we create together," Y/N added with a grin.

"That too," Minghao acknowledged. "Though I maintain the personal discovery has been the more revolutionary development."

Before Y/N could respond, Seungkwan's voice rose above the general conversation. "Everyone! Attention please! Jun and I have an announcement!"

Y/N and Minghao exchanged wary glances, all too familiar with the creative chaos that tended to result from Seungkwan and Jun's collaborative ideas.

"As the self-appointed chroniclers of the greatest architectural love story of our generation," Seungkwan began dramatically, "Jun and I have created something special to commemorate this exhibition opening."

"We call it 'From Rivalry to Romance: The Architectural Journey of Y/N and Minghao,'" Jun continued, producing a tablet with a flourish. "A digital scrapbook documenting your transformation from enemies to partners."

"You did not," Y/N said, horrified fascination in her voice.

"We absolutely did," Seungkwan confirmed. "Complete with candid photos, overheard quotes, and a timeline of significant moments—including Y/N's legendary takedown of Minghao's Dongdaemun Plaza extension in Sustainable Design Quarterly, which we now recognize as sublimated attraction expressed through professional criticism."

"That was genuine criticism," Y/N protested, though she couldn't help laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

"The glass curtain wall was legitimately problematic from an energy management perspective," Minghao agreed, surprising everyone by joining her defense.

"See? Still perfectly aligned in their architectural principles," Jun declared triumphantly. "True love."

As their friends gathered to view what promised to be an equally embarrassing and endearing documentation of their relationship, Y/N turned to Minghao. "Should we be concerned about this becoming public?"

"Definitely," Minghao replied, echoing their now-familiar exchange. But his expression remained calm, even quietly amused. "Though I find I'm less concerned about public perception than I once would have been."

It was true, Y/N realized. Both of them had grown more comfortable with the unconventional nature of their connection—professional rivals turned partners, environmental advocate and luxury developer finding common ground, opposites creating harmony rather than discord.

As the gallery began filling with exhibition guests—fellow architects, clients, critics, and friends—Y/N felt a moment of perspective on the journey that had brought them here. Not just the architectural achievements displayed around them, but the personal evolution that had made those achievements possible.

Later that evening, after successful introductions between families, enthusiastic reception of their work, and countless congratulations from colleagues, Y/N and Minghao finally found a quiet moment alone in the corner of the gallery.

"A successful launch," Minghao observed, his composed exterior barely hinting at the satisfaction she knew he felt.

"For the studio and the exhibition," Y/N agreed. "Though I could have done without Seungkwan and Jun's multimedia presentation of our 'architectural romance.'"

"It was surprisingly well-produced," Minghao noted with that hint of humor she'd come to treasure. "The timeline of our evolving design approach alongside our personal development showed genuine analytical thinking."

"Of course you would appreciate the organizational structure," Y/N laughed. "Even in embarrassing friend interventions, you find design elements to admire."

"Pattern recognition is fundamental to architectural thinking," Minghao replied solemnly, though his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Y/N studied him in the gallery lighting—the elegant lines of his profile, the careful precision of his movements, the subtle warmth in his expression that most people missed but she had learned to read fluently. All the elements that had once seemed to represent values opposed to her own now recognized as simply different expressions of shared principles.

"I love you," she said simply—a statement they'd exchanged privately before but never in a professional context. "Not despite our differences but because of how they've helped us both grow."

Minghao's expression softened in the way reserved only for her. "I love you too," he replied, his quiet voice carrying the depth of feeling he expressed more through actions than words. "You've changed how I see everything—architecture, sustainability, purpose, balance. It's been the most valuable revelation of my career."

"Just your career?" Y/N teased gently.

"Of my life," Minghao amended, taking her hand with characteristic intentionality. "The most unexpected and essential discovery I never knew I needed to make."

Around them, their exhibition—the physical manifestation of their shared vision—drew appreciation from the design community that had once seen them as representatives of opposed approaches. Their friends and families mingled in unlikely but harmonious combination. And between them, something had formed that neither could have designed alone—a connection that balanced strength with vulnerability, principle with flexibility, certainty with growth.

Not a compromise between conflicting visions, but a new creation altogether—unexpected, challenging, and ultimately more beautiful than either could have imagined when they first faced each other across that conference room, certain they understood exactly who the other was and what they represented.

The most exquisite designs, they had both discovered, emerge not from perfect agreement but from productive tension—opposing forces finding balance to create something neither could achieve alone.

In architecture, and in love.

[coupsctrl]

Hate Me, Hold Me

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PAIRING(S):

Enemy!Seungcheol x Afab!Reader,

GENRE:

angst, fluff, enemies to lovers

WARNING(S): swearing, small mention of alcohol & cigarettes, small amount of fighting

TAGS:

@alien0n3arth

You and Seungcheol have been enemies ever since you were kids. He always bullies you, enjoying the bickering and teasing. But little did you know, he secretly was in love with you.

Right now you're at a party, against your will. Your bestfriend, Karina, forced you to come along. She's the popular type, and you're always confused on why the two of you are friends, since you're the polar opposite. Since she's popular & good friends with everyone, you would think she's stuck up and rude. But she's quite the opposite. You two have been friends since 3rd grade, when she asked if she could use your crayons. She's your favourite person in the world, and you two share one thing in common....hating Choi Seungcheol.

The house the party is held at is huge. Huge is actually an understatement, with it being 4 stories long. It has a very modern style to it, and you almost feel guilty even touching anything in it, scared it'll break.

You're currently standing near the large pool, pop music played by the DJ, as everyone socializes around you. As you look around, you notice three girls standing near you, clearly gossiping. It's Yuna, Sana and Giselle. They have been your bullies ever since you stepped foot into school, you would think they would've given up after the first year..nope. Just as you're accidentally staring at the three girls, Yuna notices you. I guess you would name her the "leader" of the three, the other two always trailing behind. Kinda like a Regina George situation. She smirks, making her way up to you as the others follow behind. Yuna crosses her arms, standing tall infront of you.

"Y/N....nice to see you here." she says, eyeing me up and down.

You're feeling more & more uncomfortable by the minute, wanting to just run away, but you feel their eyes on you as they wait for your response.

"Hi.." is all you manage to get out. Your short, scared response makes the three girls laugh.

"Hm....too scared to talk to us now, huh?" Yuna continues, smirking.

You sigh, this is not how you wanted the night to go. You look around, noticing some people have stopped talking and are now paying attention to the scene going on. You just think to yourself, "Why does this always happen to me...?".

"I'm not." you manage to get out, shivering a bit as the wind gusts through.

Yuna looks behind her, smirking at Giselle & Sana before looking back at you. Her face even more mischievous than before. "The water looks warm right? We were gonna get in, but we just wanna know for sure."

You tilt your head, your brows furrowing slightly as you're confused by her question. "Uh...kinda..?"

Yuna smiles, moving closer. "Why don't you find out for us?"

"Wha-" is all you can get out before her strong hands push you backwards, into the cold pool water. You can hear slight gasps from underwater, as well as laughs from what sounds like the three bullies.

Suddenly your vision goes black, you cant hear anything anymore, the chaotic environment that just occurred seconds ago is faded.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Open your eyes, Y/N." Seungcheol says, cradling your body with a hint of desperation in his voice. "Come on, open your eyes."

His voice turned a bit panicky as he tries to wake you, he gently pats your cheeks trying to get you to open your eyes. He places a finger under your nose to see if you were still breathing. Thank god you were. He swiftly picks you up, walking over to the lounge chairs near the large pool and placing you down on one.

He wasn't giving up, clearly. By the look in his eyes, it looks like he would do anything to get you up again. After a few minutes, you finally get up, coughing water. Seungcheol's eyes widened, immediately trying to soothe you. "Woah, woah. Easy, breathe."

You're heavy breathing, trying to figure out where you are. Once your vision isn't blurry anymore, you can get a clear glimpse of Seungcheol's face. Surprise takes you over, why is he here? Why is he holding you in his arms? Why is he also wet & drenched in water? All of these thoughts run through your head as the moonlight hits your face just right. The only word you can get out is, "S-Seungcheol?"

You can see him smile a bit, being entranced by your beauty under the stars. "You're awake."

"W-what are you-" you start but he interrupts.

"Don't talk yet. Focus on taking slow & deep breaths." He says, his voice stern and steady. He grabs a towel from one of the nearby chairs and starts to gently dry your hair, his usual cold demeanor softening as he tries to comfort you.

"Can you sit up?" He asks softly, handing you the towel to hold.

You nod, still confused by the events but sit up slowly. He speaks up. "Are you feeling okay? You scared the hell out of me."

You nod, swallowing as you finally seem to have caught your breath. "I'm fine. What happened?"

Seungcheol's expression softened a bit once he saw how disoriented you were. He grabs the towel from your hands and wrapped it over your shoulders before sitting on the edge of the chair. "You were pushed into the pool. I had to pull you out of the water."

You nod, trying to remember the events of the night. "Who pushed me?" you ask.

Cheol's jaw clenched in anger as he spoke. "The same bitches who always bully you. They thought it'd be funny to push you, I swear to god they're gonna pay for this."

You sit there, confused. "But, you also bully me.."

His expression softened a bit, instinctively clenching his fist. He released a small huff. "I tease you. But I wouldn't take it to that extent. They could've fucking killed you for god's sake."

You sigh. Feeling an odd sense of contentment as he speaks, but you drop your gaze to the water in front of you. Seungcheol seems to notice how upset you seemed, letting out a sigh himself. "Hey," he started, his voice softer than usual. "look at me for a second."

You look up at him as your eyes lock with each other. His expression filled with concern and...something else? He placed his hand on your shoulder, softly speaking. "I know i'm always picking on you, but...I never wanted this." He paused for a moment, looking down shyly. "I never wanna see you get hurt like that, you understand?"

You can't bring any words to speak, still in shock of how your enemy since you were born is saying this to you. A surprised expression is on your face, but it's clear you're too tired to react more. He notices your expression, letting out a huff as he slips his hand off of your shoulder. Cheol stands up, looking down at you with a stern voice. "I should bring you home, you look exhausted."

He looks down at you, waiting for a response. When you don't say anything, he grabs the towel around your shoulders and wraps it around your body. "Can you stand on your own or do you need me to carry you?" he asks.

You look up at him, still struck by shock to speak and he chuckles deeply. He raises his eyebrow, watching your expression. "I'm going to take that as a 'carry me'." He then leans down and gently picks you up in his arms like you weigh nothing.

As he's walking, Cheol's eyes are focused ahead of him, but you're just staring at him. Discretely trying to get a better look at him, because you've never seen him this close up before. You notice how his eyebrows are slightly furrowed together, like he's thinking about something. His hair is wet and slightly tousled, his clothing sticking to his skin. As he's carrying you easily, he glances down at you before quickly averting his gaze.

"What are you staring at?" he asks, his voice gruff.

"You." you quietly say, your hands on his shoulders.

Seungcheol feels his cheeks heat up at your bluntness, but he tries to dismiss it with a chuckle. He suddenly feels like he can't speak, so he just stays silent, focused on getting you home and safe.

Once he arrives at his car, he helps you into the passenger seat before walking to the drivers side. The ride to your house was silent, Cheol's hands gripping the wheel tightly. His mind was somewhere else. Finally after what felt like forever, he pulled up to your house and parked in the driveway. He turns to look at you, clearing his throat. "We're here."

You nod, feeling a hint of embarrassment as you look out the window. Seungcheol glances at your house and back to you, noticing your appearance. The towel is still tightly wrapped around your body, your hair is still slightly wet & he can see a glimpse of pink on your cheeks. "Can you walk in on your own?" he asks softly, not taking his eyes off of you.

"Yea, I'm fine. Thank you Seungcheol." you quietly say, looking at him.

His eyes scan your face for a moment before he nods. "Alright. But make sure to change out of your clothes & into something more dry. You don't want to catch a cold."

You nod, looking at his features for one last time, mumbling one last "Thanks" before opening his car door and exiting. As you're walking to your front door, you feel a sudden urge to turn back. But you don't. You feel too embarrassed too. But you're full of questions. Why did he save you? Why was he so nice? And why did you...not hate it?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's been a few weeks since the party, and you've been trying to ignore Seungcheol ever since it. You don't know why, but it feels like you need to. You think that he just "saved" you out of pity, and that he didn't actually care. And that hurts.

"Please tell me you're coming." Karina says as she sits at her vanity, applying a peach coloured blush on her cheeks.

You're sitting on her bed, her home being like a second home to you. "I can't go to another party Rina, look what happened at the last one." you say, petting her small cat, Leo.

She sighs, turning her chair to face you. "I know. But Y/N, It was one time. And if the girls go up to you again I swear I'll be by your side tonight. Promise."

"It's not that easy." You say.

"Why? What's stopping you?" She asks with a concerned expression.

You sigh, knowing its no use to keep hiding this from her, your best friend. "Its.....Seungcheol."

She tilts her head, confused. "Seungcheol? What'd he do? I swear to god did he say someth-"

"No," you cut her off "he...he actually saved me."

"What? What do you mean "saved you"?" Karina asks, looking puzzled.

You sigh. "That night, at the party. When the whole thing happened, he saved me. He got me out of the pool and helped me. Then he drove me back home and...he was being nice to me, Rina."

Karina's jaw drops as she stands up, sitting beside you on her bed. "You're saying....Choi Seungcheol, your enemy for years, saved you from practically drowning....and you DIDN'T TELL ME?!"

You have to bite back a laugh, looking at her. "I know. And i've been kinda...avoiding him ever since."

Karina smiles as you speak. You thought she would question you, like "Why have you been avoiding him?!" & "What is wrong with you?!?". But all she does is smile, and you furrow your brows.

"What?" You ask.

"Oh you're so going to this party." She says with the brightest smile you've ever seen, making you even more confused.

"Karina wha-"

"No objections." She cuts you off "This is the perfect moment Y/N! Enemies to lovers, have you heard of it? He saved you because he likes you! And he's going to the party tonight, so you know what that means."

"You're out of your mind." You scoff, shaking your head.

"Nope. I'm just smart. Now sit down, I'm getting you ready."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That's where you started. And here you are now, sitting in the passenger seat with Karina in the drivers seat outside of the party. "I don't want to do this Rina.." you whine, looking at her with pleading eyes.

She shakes her head, smiling as if this is the most amusing thing she's ever witnessed. "Cmon Y/N, you'll regret it if you don't go. At least see what will happen, you never know."

You groan, which makes her laugh. "Fine."

"Yes!!! Let's go!" Karina squeals, opening her car door.

As you two make your way out of the car and into the party, you feel a sense of worry overfill you. What if Karina was right and Seungcheol was actually here tonight? What would you do? All of these thoughts run through your mind as you feel Karina's hand drag you into the party. This is gonna be a long night.

The second you both step foot into the party, you're overwhelmed by the amount of noise filling the room & your ears. The smell of alcohol, high schoolers odor and cigarette smoke fills your nose immediately. Music is playing in the background, making you feel like you cant even hear yourself think. Karina drags you to the living room, where all of her other friends are sitting on the couch. She introduces you to them, but you are only barely paying attention. You're solely focused that Seungcheol is somewhere in this party, and are terrified to see him.

As if the gods above knew you were thinking about Seungcheol, he appears. And lord help you, because he looks good. He just walked in with some of his friends, but you're only focused on him. He's wearing a basic grey top, tucked into his jeans, that fit a little too well. And his hair falls perfectly, some pieces in front of his ears. He's engrossed in a conversation with a friend, but god, you never noticed how handsome he was. How hot he was.

As you're staring, Karina pulls you out of your daze and pulls your wrist again. This time to the kitchen. As you both make your way in it, she opens the fridge, grabbing a pop for herself.

"Want one?" she asks, turning her head to you.

You shake your head "No thanks."

She smirks, shutting the fridge and walking to lean on the counter. "What's wrong? You've been silent ever since we came here."

You sigh, glancing around to make sure no ones in ear shot before talking. "I saw Seungcheol."

She smiles. "Okay, how did he look?"

Its almost like she knows your answer, like she knows how struck you still are by looking at him and is teasing you. But you settle for a short response. "Good."

Karina laughs, taking a sip of her pop. "Just good Y/N? Not like, hot or sexy?"

You immediately feel embarrassed, shaking your head. "Ew Rina! He's my enemy, obviously I don't think of him like that!"

She just keeps smiling, amused by your flustered state. "Oh cmon, it's obvious. Just admit he's hot."

"Karina I will no-"

Just as you're about to finish, Seungcheol walks into the kitchen, alone. He seems to notice the two of you, smiling a bit towards you before walking to the fridge. You glance over at Karina, silently giving her a look that's saying "If you say anything I'll kill you." and all she does is nod & smile. As Seungcheol is about to walk out, he pauses his steps and turns to face you. "Hey Y/N?"

You almost jump by his soft voice, looking at him. "Yeah?"

He takes a step closer, holding two soda's, one presumably for his friend. "You doing okay? After the other night?"

You feel a lump in your throat, nodding almost immediately as you manage to get out, "Yeah, thanks."

He just does a quick nod, before walking out of the room completely. Karina immediately squeals, grabbing your arm. "Y/N! I'm telling you right now he's in love with you."

You almost choke.....on air as she says that. Choi Seungcheol, in love, with YOU? It's actually impossible. You just shake your head. "Karina. Are we forgetting he teased me everyday since 4th grade? He is not in love with me"

She just shakes her head. "Yeah, teases. He teases you because he likes you! Cmon Y/N, I know I don't like him, but it's kinda sweet. Enemies to lovers, I already told you about this!"

You scoff. "You're crazy, Rina. I'll prove you wrong."

As you two finish bickering, the party continues. Everyone is spread into their own stations and friend groups, as you and Karina make your way into the main part of the house again. As you walk, you notice Yuna, Giselle & Sana talking to each other. You immediately stop walking, sighing and staring at them. Karina notices and looks where you're looking, immediately stiffening aswell. You hear her mutter a "Jesus.." before grabbing your arm and walking away.

But before you can get far, you hear a voice, a very annoying one. "Y/N!"

The two of you turn, Karina rolling her eyes as you both see the three girls walk closer. A smirk drawn on all of their faces as they stop in front of you two. "Nice seeing you here." Yuna says, crossing her arms as her eyes are focused on you.

Karina sighs, trying to stand in front of me. "What are you guys doing here?" she asks in a stern voice.

The three girls laugh, Yuna speaking up again. "I wasn't talking to you."

Karina seems like she wont back down, moving a bit more in front of you. "Well she doesn't want to talk to you, so leave."

Giselle steps up, looking annoyed. "Who are you to tell us to leave? Move out of the way."

You decide to speak up to Karina, your voice a bit quieter. "Karina, it's fine."

She turns to face you, her expression concerned as she tilts her head. You don't give her a chance to respond, moving so you're not behind her anymore. "Why do you guys keep talking to me?"

Sana speaks up. "Quit being such a baby Y/N, we're just catching up."

"I didn't know this was a costume party." Yuna added, her eyes raking over you. "Or is that how you always dress?"

Your jaw clenches, but you decide to stay silent to not escalate the situation further.

"Aren't you tired of embarrassing yourself?" Giselle chimed in, tilting her head in mock pity. You open your mouth to finally say something, but a familiar voice cuts through the noise behind you.

"That's enough."

All 5 of you turned your heads, the 3 bullies confidence faltering for a moment as they watch Seungcheol step forward. His gaze was hard and intense, locked onto Yuna as if she was something he needed to get rid of.

"Didn't realize this party came with entertainment." Yuna adds, trying to laugh it off.

Seungcheol doesn't even blink. "Funny, I was thinking the same. Except I don't remember asking for a circus act tonight."

The silence that followed was heavy, Yuna shifting uncomfortably, as the other two girls suddenly find their drinks very interesting. Seungcheol looks at you, his presence immediately shifting from harsh to comforting.

"You good?" he asked, his voice soft.

You just barely nod, in a loss for words.

"Then let's go." He says as he took your hand, guiding you away like you're the only thing that mattered in the room. He leads you into a secluded guest room, shutting the door as the music & noise fades into the background. It's now just the two of you in the room, and you suddenly feeling even more embarrassed than before.

Seungcheol crossed the room slowly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. "They always do that to you?"

You nod. "It's whatever, I'm used to it."

His jaw tightens as he frowns. "You shouldn't have to be."

A beat of silence passed between the two of you. The room felt smaller now. Warmer.

You swallowed hard. "Why did you step in? You hate me."

"I don't hate you." he said, a bit too quickly. His eyes met yours. "I've never hated you."

You let out a small, humorless laugh. "Could've fooled me. You've spent years acting like I don't exist. Or like I'm just someone to compete with."

He stepped closer. "That's because I didn't know how else to act around you." His voice was quieter now, softer.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He looked at you for a long moment, then sighed. "It means I've liked you. For a long time. And I didn't know how to handle it. So I messed it up. Over and over."

Your breath caught into your throat. Suddenly speechless. You stared at him, the weight of his words crashing over you like a wave. "You...like me?"

He stepped even closer, looking down at you. "I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you."

Your heart stuttered, locking eyes with him. You didn't answer right away. You couldn't. Because the way he was looking at you, like you're something so fragile and precious, like he would break if you turned away, made it hard to breathe.

Seungcheol took a step back, noticing your silence. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have-"

"Seungcheol." you cut him off.

He froze. You took that as an opportunity to reach out, grabbing his hand before he could retreat further.

And then, you kissed him.

The kiss was soft. His hands finding your waist, pulling you closer like he'd been waiting for his whole life to do it. He kissed you back like he meant it. And maybe deep down, you both were waiting for this moment to prove you weren't really enemies after all.

When you both finally pulled apart, you were both breathless. He rested his forehead against yours. "About time." he whispered, with the biggest smile on his face.

You smiled back, your heart still racing. "So...still think we're enemies?"

[marysdonuts]

Tom and Jerry

school clown!Hoshi x top student!reader

Synopsis: After transferring schools the attention seeker Soonyoung keeps getting on your nerves. Fortunately it is way too easy to make fun of his somewhat lacking intellect. One day you take your snarky comments too far and Hoshi is all fun and games, until he wasn't

Warnings: smut, enemies to lovers, high IQ (f.) x low IQ (m.), slight angst, school setting, classmates, public sex, revenge sex, dirty talk, crack, spanking, fingering, penetration, inferiority complex, questionable fashion choices

WC: 1.4K

Status: part 1 (ongoing), part 2

a/n: join my taglist to get notified about new chapters

Changing schools was easier than you thought it would be. You were halfway through your senior year of high school at the crisp age of 17. The family had to move to different city for work. Making new friends was effortless - you were intelligent, good looking and fun to be around. Of course, big part of your popularity was thanks to the charm of the next new thing which always attracted many admirers. You were getting straight A's, enjoyed busy social life, everything seemed perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

If it wasn't for Hoshi Kwon. The school's appointed clown, now pushing 19 years old, he failed his senior year twice. Pathetic, how could somebody be so stupid? You hated him the moment he showed up on the first day of school - in purple suit, tiger print on the collar with matching hat. Cane in hand. Kicking the door open while singing Sherlock from Shinee he danced can-can. His legs flying up to the rhythm of - I'm so curious yeah! Everybody loved the performance. Everybody except you. The fuck? Where did he even get that ugly ass outfit and apparently his real name was not Hoshi but Soonyoung. Who the hell calls themselves Hoshi? Does he think he is a celebrity? Stupid ass name.

After the teacher assigned him as your desk-mate he made it his mission to annoy you. Teacher's reasoning being - he might calm down sitting next to the top student. Such a nonsense. Isn't it their job to know how to control the kids? You weren't getting paid enough for this. In fact, weren't getting paid at all!!

//

On Friday he arrived to class more excited than usual.

"Look at my fit!" kicking his foot proudly on the wooden desk in front of you. Before you had time to push him off he continued

"Do you like my new shoes?" expecting compliments

"I haven't seen uglier shoes in my entire life." you responded with no emotions what so ever

"What do you mean ugly" his already small eyes squinting into straight lines, eyebrows frowning comically

You couldn't help but laugh. He looked like cartoon character

"Now you laughing at me too?!" Stomping the foot that was still resting on your desk " They are Balenciaga!" still stomping

"They look like boats," lazily resting your chin on the top of you hand "if refugees used these," pointing at the monstrosity "instead of those tiny motor boats, their survival rate would be 100%"

You could hear an audible *gasp* leaving his mouth and muffled laughs from the classmates sitting behind you.

"You are the worst!" he cried out "Do you even know how expensive they were.." tear forming at the corner of his cartoony eyes

"Probably as expensive as the donations your parents must be sending to the school each year to keep you studying here" your voice full of disdain

"wow a kick under the belt now, huh?" you could see the wheels in his little hamster brain spinning at full speed

"You will regret this" was all he could come up with in the moment

"I don't think so" smirk on your face beamed with satisfaction but the sudden dark shadow crossing Soonyoung's usually friendly face put a knot in your stomach

//

Much later that day, after your extra-curricular classes finished, you are standing in the dimly lit locker room reorganising the mess compiled after busy week. School was already empty and you loved the silence. The long halls full of lockers did look a bit spooky now but it wasn't your first time being there alone.

Squeeky steps approaching from behind you. Sounded like one of those Crocs.

"Anybody there?" you were sure it was just your imagination, simply asking the ghosts a rhetorical question

"What if there is.." vibrations of low growl echoed thru your ear sending shivers down the spine

"The hell..?" catching a glimpse of Hoshi in your peripheral vision. Why is he here this late? You knew damn well he ain't taking any extra classes.

"I was waiting for you..." his voice even closer now, hot breath touching the exposed skin of your neck. He was so close to you. You could hear his heart beating. Du dum. Du dum. Du dum. Stable. Confident. In control. Yours on the other hand reaching high frequency of dudududududum.

"What do you think you are doing, Kwon?" forced annoyance in your tone trying to mask something that was hiding a bit deeper. Panic perhaps?

"You tell me," he laughed but it sounded more like a threat "aren't you the one who knows it all?" Pressing the weight of his athletic body on yours, something hard forcing itself against your bottom made you gasp

"h-hey what's your problem.." you tried to sound intimidating, voice betraying you suddenly, only producing shattered whine

"You" not waisting one more second Soonyoung licked the curve of your neck completely sandwiching you between his throbbing heat and your cold locker. Kissing your sensitive skin as if he was waiting for it for so long. Wet kisses quickly becoming possessive bites leaving marks as his signature.

"oh fu-" was all that managed to escape your quivering lips as his hand spanked your ass with such force, it took your breathe away. You didn't want to admit it, but this situation? It was making you so incredibly wet.

Yes, you did hate him. Yes, he was annoying and loud. Always wanting to be the centre of attention. Apart from that you couldn't deny how good looking he actually was. Only person in school who could pull off blond hair and those horrendous outfits.Oh and how the lean muscles played on his body during P.E. class..? Except for his personality, he was 10/10

"You don't have any smart comeback now, do you?" Slapping you once more. Making you loose your breath - again.

"You look much nicer like this" the hand on your bottom started to move lower. Pushing your legs apart with his knee, making a way for his long fingers. Lightly tracing the center of your soaked panties

"stupid uniform-" you cursed. Why the hell did boys wear trousers but they made girls wear skirts? The last line of defence has been crossed.

"Oh?" rubbing the wet fabric "you are dripping all over your pretty panties" the strokes becoming spirals, combining your folds and the textile into unified mess

"I-I'm not..!" knees weakening into his skilful movements

"Mmm, I thought top students are not allowed to lie" forcing two fingers inside of you without warning. Deliciously thrusting into your pool of need.

"shut up-" already moaning. What the fuck am I doing? Now pushing your ass to meet his motion.

"If you are going to fuck me, at least do it right" another push against him "or are you too stupid even for that?" you mocked him, taking at least a bit of your power back

All you could hear was Hoshi's sinful laugh and clinking of metal as his jeans came undone collapsing on the tiled floor. His throbbing member now on your clit soaking in the wetness you produced. Gliding teasingly over it

"What if I don't want to?" rubbing in painfully slow rhythm, making you see stars

Hoshi was very much enjoying this moment. Moment of having upper hand on somebody he couldn't challenge intellectually, on somebody who always knew what to say, somebody who was making him feel and look small. Crushing his ego on everyday basis. Fortunately you were just his type.

"P-please..?" heard yourself saying. Almost as surprised as he was. But fuck it, his dick felt so good on you pussy and it was long time since you had any intimacy. It made you uncharacteristically needy. What's wrong with little steamy sex in the locker room? Nothing. Yeah.

"Please Soonyoung, I want to feel you inside of me. I can't take it anymore. You win."

Grin from ear to ear Hoshi finally entered you with such an enthusiasm like a kid getting the toy he really wanted.

Holding you by the wrists you were hanging off in empty air. Slapping the balls against your needy pussy he was pounding you mercilessly. Waves of pleasure running thru every inch of your body. You didn't notice it before but now you could feel it clearly. His dick had a curve to it and it felt fucking good. On every thrust the tip hitting you exactly where you wanted. You were full of him.

Why is it always these good for nothing guys who fuck the best? Or maybe you were just too harsh on him? You pondered as the following thrust almost took you over the edge, making your head fall forward.

And down there between your trembling legs pair of hideous Balenciaga sneakers

[jvnluaa]

You See This Girl?

You hated Kwon Soonyoung.

With his annoying jokes, his smug little smirk, and that stupid, stupid habit of getting under your skin like he lived there rent-free. Ever since you met through mutual friends, it was war. Not the friendly kind—no, this was the “snipe each other across the room and roll your eyes whenever he breathed” kind of war.

And for some godforsaken reason, he loved it.

Every time he saw you, he had to say something. Flirt? Insult? Tease? You never knew what was coming, only that it’d leave your blood boiling and your pulse stupidly quick.

“Enemies,” you told his friends. “We are literal enemies.”

So when Seungkwan sent you a video out of nowhere at 2 AM, you almost didn’t watch it.

Almost.

─────────────────────────

In the grainy, dim footage, Hoshi was drunk—very drunk. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of a karaoke room, cheeks pink, hair messy, and a mic in one hand like it was a lifeline.

“Okay, okay, listen—listen to me right now,” he slurred, jabbing a finger at the camera.

“Bro, I’m listening,” Seungkwan said behind the lens.

“I love her.”

“You love who?”

Hoshi’s head thunked back dramatically against the wall. “The girl who hates me.”

Your stomach dropped.

Seungkwan zoomed in like an absolute menace. “Who? Say it.”

“Y/N.” Hoshi whispered your name like it hurt. “She’s so mean to me. But she’s so—fuck, she’s perfect. Do you see her? Have you seen her eyes? Her voice? The way she insults me like she wants to choke me and kiss me at the same time???”

“…bro.”

“I’m serious!” he wailed. “She haaaaates me. I flirt and she calls me fungus. I buy her coffee and she throws it away! But it’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s cool.”

“You’re not okay.”

“No, but like—” he suddenly grabbed his phone, opened it to a photo (of you, mid-laugh, clearly stolen from someone else’s Insta story), and shoved it at a random old man nearby. “Sir. Sir. You see this girl?”

The poor man blinked. “Uh… yes?”

“She hates me. But I love her.”

Seungkwan absolutely lost it in the background.

You?

You stared at your screen, stunned and oddly breathless.

Then your phone blew up.

[10 Messages from Seungkwan 🐥]

Babe come pick him up

I’m not even joking he’s outside showing your pic to security guards

He tried to bribe a bartender with a candy to find your number

Y/N.

He won’t shut up abt how u smelled today LIKE?!

He said he’d marry your shadow

He’s gonna cry I swear to god

Just come get your man fr

I’m begging

PLEASEEEE

You stared.

Then sighed. Loudly.

And grabbed your coat.

─────────────────────────

You found him outside a convenience store, sitting on the curb, head in his hands. His friends scattered like roaches when they saw you coming, shouting “GOOD LUCK!” and diving into the nearest cab.

You walked over, arms crossed.

He looked up—and froze.

“…Y/N?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You see this girl?”

His jaw dropped.

“Yeah,” you said, tossing his words back with a smirk. “She saw the video.”

He groaned, flopping backward like you physically struck him. “I’m gonna die. Just bury me right here. Cremate me with my hoodie.”

“Stop being dramatic.”

“Why are you here?” he asked, still covering his face.

“…Because your idiot friend spammed me. And because—” you sighed, “you’re annoying, but I don’t actually want you crying in front of strangers.”

He peeked at you. “So you don’t hate me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

His smile curled. “You’re blushing.”

“Shut up.”

─────────────────────────

You took him home.

He stumbled into your apartment, threw himself dramatically onto your couch, and groaned again like a dying animal. “I’m never drinking again.”

You handed him water and sat across from him. “You were very honest tonight.”

He cracked one eye open. “You gonna pretend I didn’t mean it?”

You hesitated. Then shook your head. “No. I believe you.”

He blinked.

“…Wait. You do?”

You looked away. “It’s not like you’ve been subtle, Soonyoung.”

He sat up, suddenly serious. “And what if I meant all of it? Even the weird parts. Even the parts where I said I wanted to kiss you until you forget every guy who isn’t me?”

Your breath caught.

“Even the part where I said I’d fight God if it meant getting to hold your hand?”

“Jesus—”

“I’m just saying!” he said, voice low now, crawling closer. “I’ve been obsessed with you for months, Y/N. I act stupid around you because I can’t not. And if you’d just… let me show you, I swear I’d ruin you in the best way.”

Your throat went dry. “You’re still drunk.”

“Drunk in love. With you.”

You opened your mouth to insult him—deflect, something—but he was suddenly inches away, hand cupping your jaw, eyes burning into yours.

“I’d kiss you right now if you didn’t look like you’d slap me.”

Your voice was shaky. “And what if I didn’t?”

He hesitated. Just long enough for the moment to hum.

And then he kissed you.

─────────────────────────

You lost track of time after that.

Clothes vanished. Self-control dissolved. His mouth was everywhere—hot and urgent, trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, lower. Hands gripping, exploring, worshipping like he meant every wild, stupid thing he ever said.

“You still hate me?” he murmured against your skin, voice hoarse.

“Shut up and keep going.”

“Yes ma’am.”

─────────────────────────

Morning after?

He made you breakfast. In nothing but your hoodie.

“Wanna go show the neighbors your picture?” he teased.

You threw a pillow at him.

And then kissed him again.

[tinykittendelusion]

Okay but Chan best friends to enemies to lovers just feels soo right! The fire, the heat🤩🤩🤩 this has just been upgraded from a want to a need🤯

a/n: ikr the thoughts have been thought. I got too excited and just literally ranted about everything I was thinking so i apologise if my thoughts are all over the place. I'm glad anon adored the idea as much as I did 🥺

tw: kissing, mentions of violence (a punch)

he would be an adorable bestie especially when you guys were younger he'd play with you in the park. You'll sit on the swing set and talk for hours. He'd hold pinkies and walk with you. He'd show you all the dance moves he learned from his dad and that's how you learnt to dance.

bestie chan excited that you want to participate with him in a dance competition helping you practice and perfect the routine

bestfriend chan waiting for you backstage of the competition and being so confused when he sees you with your crush instead.

bestfriend chan who runs out of the venue when you tell him you are performing with your crush because he's your boyfriend. He goes to the park you guys used to go when you were younger and cries.

bestfriend chan who refuses to meet you for days angry and hurt by your behaviour.bestfriend chan finally becomes your enemy when he causes a fight between your crush and him leading to a break up.

Enemy chan who would glare at you whenever you'd cross paths.Enemy chan who scoffed every time you'd dance.You feel somewhat empty when he joins pledis. as if his move cemented the fact you'd lost your childhood bestfriend forever.

Enemy!chan shocked to see you waiting in their practice room with the rest of your crew. Even the boys were shocked at how cold and angry he was.

Him being even more angry when he found out you'd be one of the background dancers for the performance units songs. So angry with all this he skips practice for 3 whole days until jeonghan talks to him.After that you always saw him at practices but he pretended you never existed like he saw through you.

On one of the stops on the tour you and the rest of the crew went to a popular club with all the members. Some random guy started making you uncomfortable when suddenly dino punched him.Both of you were slightly drunk and before you could register what was happening he kissed you.

The next day both of you started wondering about the kiss and what was behind it.

Him confessing all this jeonghan who urged him to talk to you.

He finally talks to you and you realise how much you hurt him you also talk about how you were hurt when he stopped being your friend but now you understand.

You guys decide to take another shot at being friends but suddenly things were awkward between you both it was as if you were seeing him as a guy and not as a friend.

The tension was so thick between you both that one day during practice you just leaned over and pecked him. cue chan.exe stopped working.

He suddenly leans and smashes his lips against yours

And lo behold you are dating him!

a/n: i hope you liked it :)

[excalibur-gone-missing]

[TEASER]

Paring: seungcheol x you

Requested: no

Release date: 24-04-24

Genre: mafia au, reverse of getting kidnaped by the mafia boss, fluff, e2l, crack, assistant au

Warning(s): mention of abduction, guns?

summary: It was not supposed to be like this, it was a meticulous plan perfectly curated by you, Jun and Seokmin. You were supposed to go get the man who was the future heir of the Kim Corps named Mingyu, you ever had a pic of his. Most importantly it was definitely not supposed to be the man who now sits in your basement claiming that he is the leader of the mafia organisation you three work for.

words: 342

Other works

disclaimer: this is not the exact representation of the subjects in real life. I just use them for my inspiration.

a/n: taglist is open, comment if you want to be tagged.

[permanent taglist][for those who want to join the permanent taglist]

“So, you are telling me these three, these newbies who literally didn’t have any good job for them to gain experience drugged your ass and took you to god knows where, and you couldn’t even put up a good fight?!”

Jeonghan exclaims looking at the seated, nervous and scared faces of the three of you from Seungcheol’s office’s glass.

“Apparently not”, the older man sighs.

“My friend are you sure you are a real mafia? Because in the light of the current happenings I am starting to question your integrity a lot.”

Jeonghan says as he barks out a laugh, taking pleasure at his friends’ humiliation.

The bitch continues to make fun of the older man.

“Or maybe you were too immersed in staring at the pretty lady to notice that you were getting kidnapped”.

“I just thought I was getting mugged, so I didn’t fight hard enough, who knew I would be kidnapped instead.”

Seungcheol grumbles pouting a bit.

“Which is even worse, because you are telling me you would have let people just mug you for no reason when you are one of the most influential people underground!” now Jeonghan did look pretty concerned about the statement his superior just spewed and he does indeed have a hard time accepting it.

“Ahh! Just get over with it and let me go and make sure the three of them face the appropriate consequences for not only abducting me, but also trying to abduct my friend”, Seungcheol barks out while walking out, thoroughly humiliated and annoyed that his junior was having fun at his expense.

So Jeonghan does what he is good at. Right after his superior leaves, he strides towards the group and says, “so because the boss has instructed me to do something with you three which will stop you guys from going off the hook, I’m going to assign you some jobs in the organisation because I can.”

Now, anyone even vaguely familiar with Jeonghan would recognize the expression he wore just before chaos ensued, but contrary to popular belief, Jeonghan is actually quite amiable—at least, that's what he believes, and that's what matters, right?

He continued, “Junhui, you’ll be overseeing the artillery division our deputy head Chan will ensure you are well informed about your job. You’ll meet him tomorrow. As for Seokmin,” he paused, a sly smile crossing his face, which made Seokmin visibly nervous, “you, my friend, will be our esteemed boss's driver. Lastly, y/n, you'll be his assistant. You'll meet Chan tomorrow too; he'll explain the workings of your new role.”

Normally, in any ordinary conversation, you wouldn't dare ask inappropriate questions, but the circumstances were far from normal, so you proceeded with the most audacious question you could muster: “Why did Chan leave his previous post?”

Jeonghan politely responded, “He left because the job didn’t suit him, so we shifted him to the artillery department as a deputy head.”

Unspoken was the fact that Chan had been worn down by the boss's relentless bullying, quietly requesting a transfer for at least three years before Jeonghan finally relented. Since then, the turnover of assistants had been alarmingly high. Jeonghan desperately hoped you would stick around. Moreover, if either you or Seungcheol objected to this arrangement, he had enough leverage to ensure you both compile.

Enough dirt to keep both of you in line.

[staygoldjk]

The fridge door swings open, and you're immediately met with a wave of cool air. You reach for a bottle of water, your mind still racing.

Then—warm hands settle on your shoulders, and your breath catches in your throat.

You freeze.

Hoshi.

Of all people. Why him?

You try to pull away, but his hands gently hold you in place, his fingers pressing slightly into your skin. The sensation shoots a jolt through you, one you can't explain.

You don't want him this close. You don't like him—but somehow, at this exact moment, you can't stop noticing how close he is. How... warm he is. How good he smells.

Before you can even process what's happening, he pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to you. "Here. Put it on—you're cold."

Your eyes flicker to his chest. His toned muscles. The way the dim light from the fridge casts shadows over his abs, making them look even more defined than before. It's like he's intentionally making this harder for you. Why now? Why him?

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to focus on the fabric he's handing you instead of the way his chest seems to glisten in the low light. You tell yourself this is ridiculous—you're supposed to hate this guy.

But then, he leans in slightly. You can feel his breath on your face. His body is so close to yours. Too close.

You can't help but tense, your heart thumping harder in your chest. You know what's coming. He's going to kiss you. He's going to kiss you. You can feel it in the air between you, thick and charged.

So you do the only thing you can think of. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for it. For the kiss you've been waiting for... no, dreading... but still, a part of you wants it.

[simpxxstan]

Nobody Else (final: part 2)

pairing: chaebol!wonwoo x chaebol!fem.reader

genre: enemies with benefits to lovers, smut (minors do not interact please), arranged marriage, a lot of angst, and some fluff.

summary: the girl who was proud about making her own destiny, the boy she swore to never interact with. sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone, even yourself. because who would've seen any of this coming?

chapter word count: 22.8k

warnings: angst warnings: overthinking, anxiety, a lot of it. spiralling, constant worries, mention of insomnia. mention of illnesses and a lung tumour, hospitals, medical treatments, relapse. discussions about death. please do not read if you find these triggering! a lot of arguing and usage of profanities. mention of smoking, drinking, food.

smut warnings: oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving), usage of sex toys, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dom-sub dynamics, breast play, spanking, use of spit during sex, usage of petnames (darling, babe, sweetheart, princess, baby for female), degradation, usage of sir (for male), sir kink, marriage kink, breeding kink, office sex, elevator sex, sex in a public place.

a/n: OH MY GOD. so many people were waiting for this, i can't even imagine. i've had some really tough months when i could not find time to write at all, so i am very sorry for the delay. well, here you go! i hope it meets your satisfactions! putting the taglist in a reblog because the fanfic itself is massive. please let me know your thoughts!! reblogs, comments and asks are so appreciated <3 thank you for reading!

part 1

You bite your nails nervously. You do this often, it’s a habit you mask well through regular manicures at your home. No one knows about it. No one needs to know. 

You’ve tried it all in these last two days, you swear. You’ve tried every trick on the web- listing the pros and cons of your thoughts on a sheet of paper (on your phone’s notes app), venting to someone (yourself in the mirror), meditation, drinking wine and unwinding in a bathtub, listening to white noise to help you sleep. 

It doesn’t help. Nothing does. Nothing helps to erase the thoughts from your mind, nothing helps to stop the cogs and wheels of the gears turning in your head, nothing helps to drown out the noise of your overthinking. You’ve worried yourself to a fever, and it’s on the fourth day that Jisung caves in and asks you, “Ma’am, are you doing okay?”

You can trust him, you know that. He had, after all, not outed your antics to your mother in spite of her attempts at bribing him with a higher salary. He had remained loyal to you, as he had himself confirmed when you’d brought up the issue with him the day after the fateful lunch invitation. 

But he feels too close, too personal, and yet too distant. He would understand, and yet nothing at all. It feels like a gamble.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” You smile, while popping another paracetamol. At least the fever and its meds help you sleep. 

“You don’t look like yourself. I don’t know if I am in a position to say this, but… is this about the thing your mother discussed with you Ma’am?”

“Are you reading my mind, Jisung-ah? Is that your secret to being the best secretary in the world?” You chuckle drily, staring outside the glass window that makes up a wall in your office. It’s a rainy day, not the stormy kind, but the pestering kind. Where it drizzles light enough that people don’t want to carry umbrellas, but the rain is so insistent, it drenches you right through anyway. 

“I don’t know how appropriate it is for me to ask anything regarding this Ma’am. But I genuinely am curious about how Mr Y/L/N and Mr Jeon agreed to it in the first place.”

On the day you’d spoken to him about the entire affair, you’d told him the truth about your relationship with Wonwoo. His loyalty had earned him at least this much truth, and you were glad to have a confidant. You tried to play it off as coolly as you could, but as soon as you’d spilled the truth, you’d realise what a big weight had been relieved off your chest. It felt like being a teenager again. You had explained to Jisung that it was not romantic in the least, and in fact, you wanted to draw an end to it. You didn’t care to tell him that it was because you were addicted like a drug. 

That was the problem. These last three days wouldn’t have become such a burden for you had you simply called Wonwoo and sought his help. Like a magician, he’d silence the thoughts in your mind and leave you with more clarity than ever, almost like a fresh slate beginning anew. You knew he was the perfect solution, but you had decided to cut it off. There was no point in persisting in this kind of a relationship where you weren’t even friends, not even on talking terms, and yet you needed him to stabilise you. All while he didn’t need you at all. For him, you were just another of his regulars. He’s probably already replaced you by now. 

“My mother can be… very capable when she wants. She has her ways.”

“I’m sure she does. It must not have been an easy feat to swallow pride to agree to the idea of the wedding and take the Jeons out for lunch.”

Words get stuck in your throat. Pride. You’ve never let go of it. Life has been humbling, but you’ve never stopped being proud of who you are and what you’ve been able to achieve. All the dreams you’ve fulfilled. It forms an integral part of who you’ve become, your identity, and the way you perceive yourself. You’ve tried to not let it become arrogance nor vanity, although you have had sufficient reasons. That discipline is also something you pride yourself on. 

“But I guess it’s not a big price for happiness,” Jisung completes his little philosophical speech and busies himself with arranging out letters on your desk that need to be signed, arranged in order of urgency. “I’ll be at my desk Ma’am, should you need any help.” He bows and leaves the room, and you’re still staring out of the window. 

Happiness. 

What an odd word.  What an odd sensation for the billions of people across the world to be chasing all their lives. You had always considered yourself to be above that rat race for gratification and validation. Your successes spoke for itself, and you had no reason to consider yourself unhappy when you were living the dream you’d envisioned since you were a child. 

But are you happy?

_

It’s just for an enjoyable late night drive, you reason with yourself when you find yourself driving on the road that takes you from your office to Wonwoo’s office building. It’s just to see if their coffee has improved, you think, when you step into the building and walk inside. It’s just to see if their employees are forced to work overtime, you figure, when you’re granted a visitor pass by the reception desk even though they’re shocked to see you here. 

“What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo stares at you from the end of the corridor. It’s not lit very brightly and totally empty. 

“Are you busy?”

Wonwoo’s tongue goes into his left cheek, you see it through his skin. He’s wearing a suit in baby blue. You knew he’d look good in blue. 

“Yes. I’m working late as you can see. I don’t enjoy it particularly, so I don’t do it unless I’m really behind on work.”

And why’s that so? Trying to catch up with our closing figures for the financial year? A snarky comment is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to say it. The jibe feels tasteless, even for you. 

No, tonight you’re here in desperation, you finally admit to yourself. You’re here because like any other addict, it’s hard to let go once you get used to the high of happiness you ride when the dopamine kicks in.

“Sorry. I’ll leave.” His rejection is clear. He knows what you’re here for, that’s for sure. You’d never go out of your way to come to his office if it had been for anything else. It’s a good reminder call of reality. 

This is the boy your parents want you to marry. This is the boy you rejected from marrying and from sleeping with. He has every right to turn you down now.

Wonwoo takes a step forward, you take a step backward. It’s a dance. You pause, you don’t even know when you were on the verge of tears. You bite your lips and turn away your face. You walk away quickly, as silently as you arrived. Your thoughts are loud enough to mask the sound of Wonwoo jogging after you, and you only realise when he grabs your arm as soon as you enter the elevator. He enters too, naturally, face a bit flushed from the chase, but before you can ask him what’s up, he pushes you against the mirror on the back of the elevator and kisses you hard. 

It knocks your breath away. In the best way possible. 

You kiss him back. Wildly, passionately. Like lovers, you would think in retrospection, not like rivals who fuck. As if you’d missed each other. Another second of overthinking and you’d delude yourself into believing that he needs you as much as you do. But thankfully, he kisses well enough to wash your thoughts away. 

“Don’t run away from me like that, girl.” He snarls near your ear, his breath making you ticklish, and you whimper when he begins to kiss your neck. He’s going to leave marks again, and frankly, you can’t find it in yourself to reprimand him. Not when your brain is finally drifting away from the anxiety. 

The elevator dings just as he puts his lips back on yours, tongue forcing itself in. You break apart, gasping for air. You haven’t even noticed what a mess you’ve made of his hair. “Wonwoo I… I can leave, really. If you’re busy.” “No, stay.” He doesn’t step away from you even when the elevator door opens, holding you down with his hands, keeping you close to him. The elevator door closes again, and he frantically presses the floor number of his office. “Come with me while I pack up,” he says as an explanation, and you understand. Then he unbuttons your shirt and begins to suck bruises all over the exposed flesh over your collarbones and chest, hands fondling with your breasts. Even over the bra, he instantly finds your nipples and rubs them to perfect hardness, making them so sensitive, that when he lifts you up into his arms and wraps your legs around his waist, your nipples brush against his face and he can feel the nubs poking out. 

“You get turned on like you’re a touch-starved bitch,” he says roughly, making you thrash your arms against his back for the rudeness, before chuckling and thrusting his mouth onto the clothed nipples to suck them while he walks out of the elevator, holding you in his arms still, and seemingly facing no difficulty in walking at all. You become silent again, as you ponder on how strong he really must be, and his bites at your nipples do nothing to prevent the manhandling kink from showing itself. 

“Take me on your desk, Wonwoo.” You beg as he enters his office, but he laughs and puts you down on his chair. Thankfully the entire floor is empty. He begins to arrange papers and turn off his desktop, while you sit silently at his desk. The high slowly wears out as his clearing up takes longer and longer, until you’re no longer turned on anymore and reality strikes. 

He looks at you once all the work is done, staring deep at your soul, making you feel naked. Consciously, you start to button up your shirt and fix your collar.

“I thought we were done with this, Y/N.”

He says it like you’d dumped him while dating, and it’s funny. But you can’t laugh. You did cut him off and now you’re begging him to take you back. It’s a little absurd- inconsistency has never been one of your weaknesses. You’re tempted to dissect it in your brain and understand why it’s happening, but you fall into a spiral of overthinking again.

It’s getting tough to breathe.

You stand up and walk around the room. It’s spacious, with a simple layout, nothing modern like your own office space. You can’t blame it, it definitely screams Wonwoo to you. Instead of huge windows on the walls, he has mahogany shelves stacked with books. Instead of a statement chandelier, he has minimalist lights in focal points of the room. Instead of a charcoal grey settee with everything in cool shades of steel, his office is done in off-white, decorated with rich tones of wood. The room tells you so much about Wonwoo, although you probably know it all already- legacy, tradition and diligence. This is what he’s made of, old money that takes no risks and succeeds without gambles. 

“You know why I had to come back.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He walks up to you, standing in front of you, as you gaze at the books on his shelves. “Y/N, look at me.” And you do. He looks like Adonis and you want to kiss him. “You said it was getting toxic for you.” He snaps you back to attention, and you sigh. “I can’t… Wonwoo, I tried. But I…” you walk away, unable to continue. Continuing would mean telling him what’s driving you to the brink of anxiety every moment of the day.

“We can talk. If this is about that day, we’re in this together. We may not be friends, but we can be allies in this.” 

The simple way in which he says these words, you don’t think he realises how much more vulnerable he makes you feel. How much more tempted to spill it all to him and be relieved of the burden of this worry. 

“I don’t want to talk to you, Wonwoo. I didn’t come here for talking.” You walk back towards him. “Fuck me and make my brain stop thinking, please.” He closes his eyes for a second. The tension is palpable, it’s making your palms sweat. You tilt your head and gently lean in to kiss the edge of his jaw. His stubble grazes against your softer lips and it’s a nice feeling. 

“I can’t say no when you ask like this.”

_

You wake up in the middle of the night, clammy with sweat and naked under the sheets, alone in Wonwoo’s king-sized bed. Your wrists hurt from being tied with his tie for too long, and you’re definitely too sore to move, but the pleasant buzz all over your body is too good a sensation to forgo. But now that you’ve woken up, you feel thirsty and hot all over, so you get out of bed. You notice your underwear neatly kept on the couch, Wonwoo had taken care to not rip them. You quickly wear them before looking for any waterbottle in the room. Seeing none, and not seeing Wonwoo either, you open the bedroom door and slowly tiptoe your way outside. Once past the small corridor, you notice there’s a dim light in the kitchen, and you can see Wonwoo’s shadow from far away. As you step closer, you notice he’s wearing formals, complete with a glazing white shirt and a grey tie, and his hair is brushed back neatly, although his pants are still pyjamas. He’s doing something on his laptop. You wait in the shadows for a few minutes, trying to understand if he’s in a video meeting or something, but you only hear frantic typing noises from the kitchen. After a whole five minutes pass, you step into the kitchen, and Wonwoo looks up at the same time. 

“Oh! You scared me.”

“Are you in a meeting?”

“No, it got over a while back. Why are you up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“The meeting was with a firm in Canada. They couldn’t adjust timings.”

“And you couldn’t get someone else to do it for you?” You huff, annoyed at how unbothered he is about waking up this ungodly hour and sitting for meetings. You once again thank Jisung for scheduling foreign meetings at suitable timings.

“Do you get someone else to attend your important meetings for you?” 

You both stay in silence for a minute, Wonwoo sitting on his kitchen stool, and you standing awkwardly near the door, staring at each other. It’s only when you start shivering in the cold that you realise what you actually came here for.

“You’re working hard. Too hard. Don’t try to compete with me, Jeon.” You lean down on the island next to him, close enough to hear his breathing but not touching him at all. 

“Go to bed, Y/N.”

“I was thirsty. Where do you keep water in your house?” 

He gets up from his stool and brings a bottle. “Drink, and go to sleep. Or go home.”

You silently sip the cool water, without replying. You can see the dawn slowly coming up from the window in the kitchen, lighting the room up. The circles under Wonwoo’s eyes become prominent to you, and for no reason at all, your heart aches. This is what it’s going to be like, marrying you, Jeon Wonwoo, you think, as you look at him with a careful glance. He’s focusing on his laptop again, typing at light speed, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose. You’re sipping water from his bottle, in his kitchen, wearing nothing but your underwear, and watching the sunrise. Is this what those nights filled with deadlines and insomnia are going to look like if you get married? Is this what staying up together will look like? Is this what watching the dawn together will be like? The sensation tingles your nerves and makes you anxious again. 

“Y/N, if you want to say something, just say it. Or go to sleep, trust me. You’ll need to wake up fresh tomorrow morning.”

The kitchen is warm, cosy, and filled with the familiar scent of Wonwoo’s body. You want to stay wrapped in it, and not say a word. You don’t want to break this moment, although you have no idea why sharing this simple moment is making you so emotional. Perhaps because you’ve never done it before and never imagined you would do it?

“My father is dying, Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo stops typing and looks up.

“He has a tumour in his lungs.”

“Since when?”

“A few months now. He hadn’t told me. He didn’t want to bother me, my mom said.”

There’s a beat of silence. Again the warmth of the kitchen wraps you up and you both stare out at the slowly brightening sky outside. As a girl, you’d hate watching the sunrise. It would remind you of the nights you’d been unable to sleep and had been forced to stay up all night. But now, you can appreciate its beauty. Its consistency, its reliability. It happens every day. One of the precious few things that happen regularly, you’ve come to realise. 

Wonwoo breaks the silence. “So why now?”

“Huh?”

“Why tell you now, of all times?”

“He wants to see me married before he dies.”

Wonwoo shuts down the lid of his laptop with a smash, knowing fully what’s coming next.

“Y/N. What do you want?” He stands up and comes to stand next to you, leaning against the counter and looking down at you.

There are many things you want to say. I don’t want to throw away my freedom. I don’t want to marry a stranger. I don’t want to dance to my Appa’s whims. I don’t want to lose focus on my career. I don’t want to marry you. “I don’t want to disappoint him, Wonwoo.” It’s the ultimate truth. It’s what has fueled you for years- the desire to become that child for your parents who would take care of them when they need you, to love silently and support unconditionally, to give back everything they’d given to you. 

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“Is this what you were so worried about?” You look up at him, and he tilts your face upwards with his hand on your chin. You want to lean into the warmth of his palm. “Yes. I don’t… I … I don’t know what to do. I feel so helpless.”

“What about treatment?”

“Stage 4, practically impossible, that’s what the reports say. My mom showed them to me. She cried so much, and I… I couldn’t do anything. I can’t do anything.” You move away from him, turning your body to the other side. He lets you move away.

“Treatment abroad? In the US?”

“Yes, that’s… that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I’ve spoken to a few people, but Appa is adamant. He refuses to talk to me about this every time I’ve raised it, these last few days.”

He sighs. Your heart aches again. You don’t even notice when tears begin rolling down your cheeks. You’ve never felt more alone than this, more helpless, more pitiful. What worth were your dreams and successes if life successfully left you unshielded in one stroke?

“Let’s get married. You’ll have more bargaining power to talk to him then.”

He makes it sound so simple. You’ve thought of this a hundred times before, and you still can’t register that he just said that. You turn around slowly, looking up at him through your wet eyelashes. “Don’t joke with me.”

“I’m not.”

“But I don’t want to marry you.”

“Even if it gets your Appa into a good treatment abroad?”

You stomp your foot, and hurt your bare toes on the cold tile. “Why is my Appa so stubborn?”

“Just like you, isn’t he?”

You glare at Wonwoo, but he’s deadly serious. There’s not a hint of a joke on his face, and he genuinely seems to be invested in this idea. “You’re serious.” “I am. I wouldn’t offer marriage to you casually.” You bite your lip, your heart rate begins to slow down. Wave after wave of calm washes over you, suddenly you can breathe well again. “You’re serious,” you say again, not believing it still. “I am. Do you want me to go down on my knees?” “Wonwoo, you’re not thinking about this. Don’t turn your back on me when you regret it later. This isn’t a light thing, it’s a marriage, for fuck’s sake!” “Is your Appa’s life more precious than your ego?” “If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have come begging to you, would I?” “Then you know why I’m agreeing to this.” “Wonwoo, don’t take this on your conscience. I’ll forgive you if you step back right now.” “I won’t forgive myself.” He bends down to your eye level, and takes your chin in his hand again. “It isn’t going to be that bad, is it?”

You let out such a big sigh of relief that you’re sure the air tickles Wonwoo’s palm holding on to your chin. 

_

You don’t fall asleep that night, or rather morning. Wonwoo makes tea, and you sit on the living room couch, an arm’s distance away from each other, chalking out a plan to convince your Appa to go abroad for treatment.

“When did your mother come and tell you all this?”

“The day after the lunch. She called me over.”

You’re our breadwinner now, Y/N. Your father didn’t want to tell you because he doesn’t want to bother you anymore. Your mother’s words echo in your mind. Is this what you’d come down to? Were you that male who couldn’t be bothered with any problems of the household just because you earned an income? Had you become those slimy men you’d hated all your life? Just because you had taken over the company didn’t mean you had stopped being their daughter, for god’s sake. 

“He wants to die in Korea, he says.”

“That doesn’t mean we let him die without treatment.”

We. Wonwoo has started using it so freely, as if he’s truly considering you an ally like he had said before. 

“What are you going to get out of this?” You perch yourself on the kitchen counter, your bare legs dangling next to where Wonwoo sits on his stool. You’re chewing on the granola bar you found in the fridge because you’re suddenly hungry.

Wonwoo looks at you for a second, pensive and thoughtful in the pause before replying. “We don’t have to do forever and always. We can divorce after the treatment is done.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I have my reasons.”

The sunrise is beautiful, another day has begun. Although one tornado in your heart has calmed down, it doesn’t mean you’re completely at peace though. You’re still burning with worry, there are a thousand questions floating in your head. You don’t know the answers to most of them, and you’re scared just like you had been when you had stepped into the adult world on your own footing, for the first time. But unconsciously, you’ve come to realise that you’re not alone this time.

You have Jeon Wonwoo with you.

_

You drive directly to your sister’s house to tell her about your decision. You realise that she has no idea that your mother has spilled the news about your father’s health to you, when you tell her that you’re only agreeing to this marriage on one condition. She tries to deny it at first, but then she realises it’s a useless task against your obstinacy. 

“If you could admit now that you were dating Wonwoo, why didn’t you admit it that day?” she says finally, resignedly. 

“So that you could hide Appa’s illness from me forever?

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Firstly, tell me why you’d been stalking me for so long.”

“Not for so long. Ever since Appa found out, he became obsessed with settling you down. It’s become his last wish, you know, that kind of thing. His last project. His last duty. His last task to complete before he… you know. It was just a happy coincidence that as soon as we prodded your chauffeur he spilled that you and Wonwoo had been spending an awful lot of time together.”

You scoff. 

“Yeah, well, Wonwoo and I needed to talk over things. Commitment and stuff. Anyway, now we’ll give Appa what he wants. Promise me you won’t object to anything I say. Promise me you and Mom will back me up when I take him to the US for treatment.”

Her eyes soften down, tears brimming on the edge.

“He always loved you more, you know? Probably because you’re exactly like him.” “Unnie…” “No! I’m not jealous or anything. It’s natural to have a favourite child. He’s only human, after all. He found his ideal child in you- responsible and independent. He really sees himself in you, that’s why.” 

You hug your sister from the side, as you sit down on the couch. Her belly is quite bulging now, stretched against the fabric of the loose lycra dress.

“If anyone can convince him, it’s you, Y/N-ah. Our maknae. The apple of his eye.” She smiles. There’s something so broken in her eyes, and you hate it. Your Unnie, who you’ve never seen sad. You wonder how much she’s had to hide from you to keep this news a secret. You wonder how long they’d planned to keep it a secret, anyway. 

“Do you trust me, Unnie?”

She kisses your forehead, and smiles again, “Yes of course. Where’s this coming from?”

“It’s just… nothing. I just want to know I’m not alone.”

“You never were, sweetheart.”

_

After that, everything becomes a whirlwind. You barely have time to process things, how fast they happen. Wonwoo informs his parents, there’s another meal shared by the two families. You both still don’t tell anyone the truth about your relationship, and frankly, there’s no need to explain, when both families are so happy with the wedding. Especially your father. His eyes shine, and you stick by his side all evening. 

“My little girl’s all grown up now.” He says to you later. You almost cry at the fondness of his words, affection he rarely shows. There’s no more words spoken. There’s no need for words. You tuck him into bed, and pat him to sleep. You don’t want to leave his side at all.

_

You don’t cross paths with Wonwoo for the week running up to the wedding. There’s a clear division of work- he’s handling the internal logistics, and you’re running the external front. This is nothing but a business project for the two of you. You’ve pushed the worries about the marriage to the back burner, your priority being your father right now. You’ve already booked a treatment plan for him in the US, booked his flight tickets, and sorted everything out. Of course, you haven’t approached the topic with him yet, but you drop hints every day. 

You’ve decided to live with your parents until the wedding. You find it harder to stay away from them these days. Somehow, everything reminds you of them, and you’re brought to tears in the middle of a work meeting one day, when you remember how your father had brought you to the first stakeholder meeting when you were 16 years old, to introduce you to the world of business. You don’t want to leave life upto fate anymore. At least not the bits you can help. 

Part of managing the external front is speaking to the media. There’s countless questions at your latest press conference. Although the conference is to launch a new product, the journalists seem to be more interested in hearing the truth about the rumours currently floating around. You’d expected this, that’s why you’d timed the release of the rumours and the launch of the product at the same time. The public opinion needs to be in favour of your marriage, otherwise the alliance would hurt you both. 

“Y/L/N Y/N-ssi, is it true that you’re soon getting married to Jeon Wonwoo-ssi of Jeon Estates?” 

You blush, again a carefully practised move. You’ve spent many a minute in front of a youtube screen last night, trying to perfect the fake blush.

“Are we really going to discuss personal matters at an official conference like this?” Another measured smile, followed by a general laugh rippling across the audience for the sake of being polite. “But yes, it’s true. I won’t try to hide it anymore.”

At that very moment, a thousand questions pop up from all corners. “Anymore? Y/L/N Y/N-ssi, does that mean that you’ve been together for a long time now?” “Can we expect a merger of Jeon Estates with your company, then?” “Is the marriage a business decision or an affair of love?”

You’re another fake smile away from throwing up right now. Their curiosity gets on your nerves, you know that no matter what you say, they’re going to interpret what they really want to. Thankfully Jisung, who is moderating, carefully steps in and stops the journalists from asking any more questions. “We’ll not be taking any more personal questions. With that we come to the end of the conference. If you have any more questions, please write to us and we shall answer them over mail. Thank you for attending today.”

You exit the conference hall quickly, eyes hurting from the flashlights. It’s going to only get worse, you think. Time to brace for impact.

_

It’s only the night before the wedding that you get the jitters. You’re sitting on the floor of the balcony, looking at the roads of the Seoul night view, stress-eating cotton candy. You can’t believe that this is happening. Would you ever be able to have guessed this is how you’d be getting married? Not that you had ever harboured any ambitions about love or marriage. You’d been happy to see your parents share a loving marriage, and your sister as well. But since a young age, you’d decided that marriage was not for you. Sex? That was necessary. Dating? Perhaps, but casual. Love? Your first relationship in college had convinced you it was not your forte- you’d fallen out of feelings after a few months, and you had never tried to fall in love again. Marriage? Not even on the cards right now. Kids? Probably never. You didn’t think you’d live that long. 

And yet, your wedding invite was sitting idle on your lap. Printed on beautiful handmade paper, intrinsically engraved with orchid petals, and the fonts printed out in a loopy serif font, it was really pretty. Posh and classy, like everybody expected. It had been sent out to a few people only, Wonwoo had asked for a small wedding, and you had happily agreed. Having to deceive your parents and sister was bad enough. Lesser the better. 

The doorbell rings. You’re taken by surprise, not expecting anyone at this hour. Probably Jisung, perhaps he’s come to drop something off. That boy’s working too hard as well, you need to give him a raise after this entire affair is finished. 

But it’s Wonwoo. 

“Are you busy?” He asks before even entering. 

“No?”

“Can I come in?”

He looks over your figure, the long t-shirt you’re wearing with the shorts that are hidden under the t-shirt. You’re getting more confused by the moment. You open the door wider, and he steps in. 

“What’s going on?”

“There are details we need to talk about.”

You take a deep breath, leaning against the wall. Since that conversation at dawn with Wonwoo, you had started guarding yourself against him. Something had changed in your mind- you’d feel more vulnerable next to him, more bared, more naked. Even if he didn’t look at you, you’d feel like you could read your mind all the time. 

“Like what?”

“I made a contract. It’s a… guidebook of sorts.” He sits at the sofa, taking out his phone and placing it on your coffee table. He’s wearing his work clothes, so you’re guessing he’s come directly from work. “What’s it about?” You sit next to him, and he pushes your phone towards you. “Do you have a printer? We could print it out. Or you can-” “I’ll get a print. Do you want something?” He leans back on the sofa, but his posture is still stiff. You’ve not seen him like this. It’s almost like he’s nervous. “No. I need to leave quickly, so it’s best if you can go through this quickly. I don’t have time to waste.” You roll your eyes and stand up, keeping your knee perched on the sofa, terribly close to where his hand is. “What’s this attitude? We’re getting married tomorrow, and this is how you’re going to be?” “Well, what did you expect? Just because I agreed to marry and help you out, doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly be in love with you.” “Help me out? I didn’t fucking need your help, Wonwoo!” “Really? Your desperation told me something else that night.” He’s standing up now too, and it feels like he’s towering over you on purpose to make you feel small. You take a step back, he doesn’t move forward. It’s not push and pull, it’s gravity unwinding. 

“Listen, we can still call this off. I don’t want to be an object of your pity.”

“Pity? I wanted to help you, Y/N. There’s a difference, or is your brain too ego-clouded to understand?”

“Wonwoo, I could marry anyone-”

“And yet, it was me you came to!”

“It was convenient! I couldn’t really marry … say, Jisung, when my parents had proof that we’d been sleeping together!”

“Oh, so it’s Jisung now-”

“It was a damn example!” You’re shouting now, but his voice is still low and hoarse. It creates goosebumps on your skin. 

“If that’s who you want to marry, you can go ahead. You better know that I have no desire to be wedded to you tomorrow!” He takes a step forward, and you step back. “What do you think I am, huh? Your toy? Today you want to fuck, tomorrow you want to end things, the next day you come begging at my door to blow your mind with my dick, and the day after that you want to get fucking married? You don’t think keeping up with your plot twists are stressful for me? Do you think I’m getting off on your mood swings? I am helping you, because you’re in a dire situation. Don’t you dare spin this narrative to anything else, because it is not charity or love for you that’s motivating me to step into this hell of a marriage that I can see coming.” 

With every word he utters, he steps closer and closer, and you keep walking back until your back hits the wall. And then he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that you can see the exact dilation of his pupils even beyond his glasses. “I don’t need your help, Wonwoo. I’m not a damsel in distress.” He closes his eyes for a second, breathing in. When his eyes do open again, they’re different- darker, yet with more clarity, less angry and yet more dangerous. He leans down, and for a second, for a delusional mindless moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You part your lips, waiting for impact, as he tilts his head ever so slightly, all while staring into your soul.

“I don’t give a fuck about you, Y/N. I don’t care. I’m just repaying an old debt.”

Then he steps back and picks up his phone from the coffee table. “I’ll mail it to you. Don’t be a brat and make sure to read it.”

You’re still stuck against the wall like an insect, too stunned to move. Before he walks out of the door, he says without looking at you, “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” 

_

The wedding dress is simple, nothing in frills. You see it for the first time when you wear it on the morning of your wedding. As you sit in your dressing room, revising your vows, your sister enters. She’s all but jumping in excitement. “Darling, why so serious?” She grabs your hands and smiles widely at you. “Today’s your big day! Don’t think about Appa’s sickness today, or work stuff, or anything at all. Your wedding day isn’t going to come back, so you make sure to make the most of it!” You wish you could laugh at her face, her words seeming ridiculous to you. You wish she wasn’t so excited, it would only save her the disappointment she’d have to face later. 

So you force a smile. “Is it time? I’m just nervous. What if I forget my vows?” “Then you forget them. You love Wonwoo, Y/N-ie. You can just declare your love freely. You don’t need to stick to a script. Go ahead and curse him if you like!” You do laugh at this, and she joins you too. “There! That’s my girl. Honestly, discovering that you and Wonwoo… together… it was a shock for us. Like, we’d never thought of you both ever liking each other. But then, it made sense. Especially what he had said that night, I remember. That’s the moment I knew, something was definitely up” You gawk, “What night?” She giggles, “That night at the party. You know? Don’t act dumb, cutie.” She wriggles her eyebrows and it dawns on you what exactly she was referring to. Fuck. Of course she had heard, fuck Wonwoo for being so damn loud. 

You got out of your head, when someone called you to the hall, telling you that it’s time. You slowly make your way out of your dressing room, making sure your dress doesn’t get spoiled. Your father waits outside the room, dressed elegantly. 

“Are you ready?”

There’s an odd peace in his eyes, as he smiles at you with pride. 

Fuck it. Thank god you’re getting married early. Otherwise who’d walk you down the aisle… if you got too late?

“Yes, Appa.” You smile back, and loop your arm through his outstretched arm. 

_

The gates of the hall open up, revealing a beautifully decorated banquet, with an announcer standing in the centre, to conduct the ceremony. All the guests turn to look at you, dressed to their nines. But you’ve got eyes on only one person in the room. 

For the first time in your life, you think Wonwoo looks beautiful. Attraction based on looks was barely something you experienced with him, but today you realise why people fell for him like dominos. He looks absolutely regal in his tuxedo- simple, yet that’s what suits him perfectly. You think, you’ve never seen Wonwoo wear anything excessive, always minimalistic, and really he looks best like that. Because he doesn’t need any accessories, his face does enough. 

“Go, sweetheart,” your father leaves you midway the walkway, and you realise you have to walk the rest of the way on your own. You bow a little to Appa, and then look up front again. Your eyes meet Wonwoo’s and your heart races. He looks too pretty to be real, and yet you find yourself walking towards him. The entire audience erupts into applause when Wonwoo takes a few steps forward and extends his hand. You take it, and he accompanies you to your place, dropping your hand only after a slight peck pressed on the back of your hand. The crowd erupts in cheers again, and for the first time in your life, you blush genuinely. 

You stand facing the announcer, not daring to look at the man next to you. You have enough time to look at him anyway. 

_

The rest of the wedding ceremony went off peacefully. After reciting your vows perfectly, hand in Wonwoo’s hand, avoiding his eye contact desperately, and exchanging the rings, the announcer asked you to kiss. Well, that was easy. He didn’t use tongue, thankfully, otherwise you would’ve moaned in public. Even the drinks and dinner arrangement afterwards was easy. Smiling and small talk came like free flow to you after so many years. 

The hard part comes later, when you both sit in your designated limousine, exhausted after the long ceremonies of the day. Your feet hurt in the heels, and using the washroom had been a pain in the dress, so you’d desperately held on to your bladder. You’re counting down the minutes to going home, and all you want is peace.

But Wonwoo, like so many other things, is not on the same page as you. 

“Where are we going?” You ask, noticing that the car’s heading in the opposite direction as your house.

“To my house.”

“Wait, what?”

He looks up from his phone. “Didn’t you read the guide?” 

“Wonwoo, I’m not jobless, you know.”

“I fucking knew it. Right, you’re too busy being a brat.” He mutters under his breath, before opening a can of a fizzy drink from the mini cooler inside the car, and looking outside the window. 

“I haven’t even packed my stuff, Wonwoo. I can shift in once I’ve got my stuff ready.”

“You don’t know how many eyes are following us? What will the media think if we get off at different apartments tonight? It was hard enough stopping my parents from booking us a honeymoon suite.” 

You sigh. He’s right. But he doesn’t stop talking.

“You’ve got time now, read the guidebook.”

“Just tell me what’s in it, Wonwoo. Stop making such a fuss about it. Also what the fuck is a guidebook without my suggestions.”

“If you’d read it, you would have made suggestions, darling. I wasted my time going to your place last night. Anyway, if you need anything urgently from your apartment, I’ll send my secretary to fetch it for you.”

“No thanks. I don’t need anything.”

Thank god you’re familiar with Wonwoo’s apartment, because you immediately lock yourself in the bedroom and take off your dress. Once it’s off, you unlock the room, and find an exasperated Wonwoo standing outside. “Woman, why are you monopolising territory already?”

“Just go change in the guest room, Wonwoo.” You push past him, dressed in underwear, carrying your heavy dress and laying it across the living room sofa to avoid creases from forming. Then you head straight into the bathroom to clean your makeup and take a shower. 30 minutes later you emerge, and Wonwoo’s nowhere to be seen. 

After a few minutes you find him on the small personal rooftop that extends from his apartment through a small flight of stairs. You’d never gone to the roof, but now you see it has a nice bench on it, and is surrounded by lights. 

Wonwoo’s smoking. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I didn’t know you were going to hoard my space as soon as you entered my house.”

He doesn’t look at you, still gazing out at the Seoul skyline. 

“You could’ve used the other one.”

“You could’ve used the other one.”

You breathe in once, and then speak again. 

“I’m going to bed. I’m really tired.”

“Wait.” He finally turns around, and you can see his hair is completely messed up and his eyebags are visible under his glasses again. 

“Did you take my clothes?”

“Just a pajama shirt.”

He nods, seeing what you’re wearing. The cool breeze makes your skin tingle, almost making you regret taking off your bra and wearing only panties under the shirt. 

“Goodnight.”

“You’re not coming along?”

He turns away again. Well, fuck it. It’s not like you’re going to butter him up for a response. And yet when you go downstairs again, you make sure to sleep on the left side of the bed, like you’d always done whenever you’d slept together before. You don’t know why you do it, but you go to sleep assuming he’ll eventually come to bed.

_

He doesn’t. The next morning, you wake up to see the other side of the bed absolutely empty and untouched. He’s even taken away his pillow and blanket and you suddenly find yourself shivering. When you’re awake enough, you squint at the clock on the wall and figure out that it’s almost eleven in the morning. Quite late for someone like you. But then, it has been an exhausting day. 

Did Wonwoo not sleep at all?

You put these thoughts away when you stumble into the washroom, nearly slipping because your step is unbalanced. But that minor shock completely jerks you awake at least. 

Once you’ve brushed your teeth (without even realising how your toothbrush had magically appeared in Wonwoo’s bathroom even though you hadn’t packed and brought a thing), you walk out of the room. Again, there’s no sign of Wonwoo. The house is humid, from no windows being open, so you gently open up a few sources of ventilation. As the noise from the outside world begins to float into the house, the silence gets broken and you feel less claustrophobic. Sunshine falls on the simple upholstery and decorations of the house, and it makes everything shine. It’s a hot day, but at least it’s a sunny day. You hate gloomy days. 

You quickly search for Wonwoo in every room. And you eventually notice that the bed in the guest room seems to have been slept in last night. Was that where Wonwoo had slept last night? 

It didn’t make sense. It’s not like you two had not shared a bed earlier. Sure, Wonwoo had never stayed in the same bed with you for longer than an hour after the sex, unless it was a marathon until the morning, and you rarely ever woke up next to his warm body, but it seemed absurd that he’s treating you like a complete stranger. It’s not like the movies, for fucks’ sake. You’re familiar with each other, even if you’re not in love. And sharing a bed isn’t a big deal. 

Exactly Y/N. So why are you making it such a big deal?

There’s a printout of something on the coffee table. You head over and see that it is the ‘guidebook’ he’s kept blabbering about. Why is he insisting that you read it? You have an impulse to go and dump it in the dustbin and push his limits a little further, but then you have pity on him. But it’s not like you wanted to stay with him either. He’s the one who made you come and live with him. So technically, you shouldn’t feel any remorse or pity. So you do dump the prints in the dustbin without a second look at it. 

That’s when you hear your phone ring. “Hello, I’m speaking from ABC Packages. We’re here to shift your packages from your old house to your new residence. We’re waiting outside the door, are you at home?” Huh? “I’m sorry, who asked you to do this? Do you have a name?” “Yes Ms. Y/L/N. The order came from a Jeon Wonwoo-ssi.” No wonder. “Aaah. Okay, just wanted to confirm,” you quickly say to avoid any suspicion. “Yes I’m home. I’ll open the door.” 

And so the next hour is spent in a flurry of bringing in boxes, and when the delivery persons leave, you open them all. There seems to be enough space in Wonwoo’s walk-in closet for your stuff, which isn’t much at all. So you hang up all your formals, which form the majority of your clothing, and stash the rest of it in the shelves. Your shoes are also lesser than Wonwoo’s and you barely have any accessories and makeup apart from essentials. The problem arises with your underwear and … other personal belongings. You’re not sure if Wonwoo would appreciate opening his underwear drawer to find your box of dildos stashed there. But there’s no other space, so he’ll just have to deal with it. 

Thank God you’d taken the day off. Jisung had offered that staying away from work would make the impression of the honeymoon more imminent, and you’d agreed. Although it does seem like Wonwoo had gone to work all the same. And so, you’re left all alone in the house, and while it’s a little odd, you sit at almost every surface of the apartment to get used to it. Sure, you’ve been sat at all of these before, in various positions, as Wonwoo had fucked you, but it feels different now under the sunlight. You’re not surprised to find Wonwoo’s fridge stocked almost completely with ample groceries, so making lunch isn’t a hassle (apart from the fact that you barely know how to cook anything). But all-in-all, it’s not a tedious day, and you’re settling in nicely. 

Until Wonwoo comes home, blazer on his arm and his hair messy. He lets himself in, but you’re sitting on the kitchen counter, checking out what’s kept where. “Oh, you’re here.” You turn around and see him flunking down on the sofa, legs sprawled out. “Are you that tired?” He doesn’t answer at first, just stares at you for a second too long. “I am. It’s been a long day.” “I’m making coffee, do y-” “No. I’m going to the gym now.”

Gym takes longer than you imagine. It’s well past 10 pm when Wonwoo makes his way back, and you’ve already finished your dinner of cup ramen and ice cream. He doesn’t bother to look at you and wordlessly enters the guest bathroom. You consider entering the guest room and waiting for him, and then talking to him about why he slept separately, but then you drop it. You know he won’t answer you properly, and it’ll be a waste of effort. You sigh and make your way to the bedroom, leaving the door unlocked and slightly ajar so that he knows he’s still invited inside.

_

Wonwoo and you arrive last at the little gathering your family has set up to celebrate the one month anniversary of your marriage. Wonwoo’s family is here too, along with Kyungmin Oppa and your sister, and it’s a big group even for the large sprawling, and largely empty house, where you parents reside. You’d think it’s easy to get lost in the crowd, but not when you’re the newly wed couple who’s the focus of the party. 

“I’m so disappointed y’all aren’t going on a honeymoon,” your sister endlessly complains, and she’s completely backed by the two mothers. “Yes!” Your mother joins in. Just like the rest of the family members, she seems to have bought your wedding as 100% real as well, although she should’ve been the first to connect the dots that you’re only doing this sham wedding for the sake of your father’s wishes. “I have itineraries planned for Bali, for Scandinavia, for the Maldives, or even for Japan, if you don’t want to go too far!” She giggles, and the other ladies do too. You don’t understand what’s so funny. Especially when you know how little conversation you’ve shared with your husband over the last month, in spite of not being strangers. 

In fact that makes it worse, you think. Wonwoo’s wearing a dark blue blazer over a white shirt which puts his pecs right in your face. You know what it’d be like to touch them, and bite all over them. The way he has his left hand pressed against the small of your back means he knows what it’d be like to just drop his hand an inch lower and feel your ass against his palm. Andit is worse because even though you know each other intimately, there’s so little emotional connection you feel with him now. Whatever vulnerability had developed around him when he’d first agreed to the wedding had become hardened again under his cold attitude, and you’re back to just who you were when you’d grinded up against him at your sister’s engagement party. You curse yourself for thinking that you could ever feel a nice way about Jeon Wonwoo, because honestly, look at the man. He’s probably never regretted any decision taken after midnight as much as he’s regretted the decision to marry you. 

When you sit down at the dinner table, you notice him not eating any of the seafood. You wonder if he’s just not hungry or rudely ignoring the special grilled fish that is your Appa’s speciality. It’s probably the latter- some testosterone shit. And yet, he’s speaking charmingly smoothly with your Appa, even though Wonwoo’s not much of a talker and you know that. 

When he sits in the corner of the room, smiling and talking to your mother, you wonder what lies he’s spewing. You’ve noticed how easily lies come to him at the wedding itself, when he’d spinned tale upon tale about your ‘love story’. I fell for her, honestly, for the first time, when she’d walked into my class in ninth grade. You had scoffed, remembering the disgusted expression he had worn in reality, when he’d seen you being introduced into the class. Of course, we’ve known each other for a long time now. Naturally, there have been ups and downs. Gosh, this reminds me of the time we’d gone on that date to the amusement park after our last day at school, huh? We’d fought so bitterly after that, you’d think we were enemies. Haha. You’d nearly laughed at that- your school had taken you all out to the amusement park on the last day of classes, and somehow Wonwoo and you’d been seated together on all the damn rides. Fuck him for laughing at you for becoming scared on the roller coaster rides and then pretending to take care of you when you had passed out in his arms at the very peak of the ride. You bet the teachers had cooed at him for being so chivalrous, when in reality it was a smack to your face. 

When he leaves early, and leans in to press a kiss to your lips, you almost cringe away. It feels like you’re kissing a stranger even though his lips and the stubble on his jaw feel so familiar. This is the first time he’s shown you affection in front of others. It’s all a show, you know. You gotta do what’s needed to keep the show running.  “I’ll see you at home, sweetheart,” he says before pulling away and tucking your hair behind your ears. You search in his eyes for honesty, and all you find is a dark abyss. 

_

But it seems like your family buys the facade again. Banking on the fact that they seem pleased with your husband, and on your good choice of marriage, you finally broach the real issue with your father. You’re both sitting at the patio, sipping whisky after everyone’s left and the two of you have some peace after a long day of chattering and feasting.

“Appa, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes, Y/N-ah?”

You pause before answering. Finally, you decide to take the blunt route, knowing that there’s no easy way about this. 

“Come with me to the US for your treatment.”

He sighs. It’s a sigh that sounds almost like a cough, and it makes you wonder how much phlegm is stored in his damaged lungs now. You wonder how you didn’t notice it before.

“Who told you?”

“Eomma.”

“Of course she did.” He sighs again, and looks at you. “Are you asking me or commanding me?” 

“Appa, I’m not your boss. I can’t command you.”

“But you’re my daughter. I know how children feel when they think their parents aren’t listening to them.”

You smile. “I’ve always been stubborn, you know. I’ve got it in my genes.”

“Genes I’m proud of. How much has your mother told you? Did she mention I’m in stage 4 and it’s practically incurable?”

“Yes, and no. There are still chances to cure it, Appa, if only you’ll listen to me.”

“Sweetie-”

“Why aren’t you giving this another chance? I didn’t know you to be a person who easily gives up!” You can feel yourself getting angry, tears pooling in your eyes. It’s stupid how he’s arguing against it, illogical, meaningless. Your heart breaks every time you look at his eyes- they’re old, wrinkled, and yet the fire hasn’t gone out. Does he really want to end it all this fast?

“You know, I get where you’re coming from. But… I don't want to prolong suffering, Y/N-ah. It’s time, I can feel it. There’s no point being a vegetable pushed about in a wheelchair and drinking soup for the rest of my life. There’s no point living if I have to just gobble medicines all day and not drink any more port wine. There’s no point living a life which isn’t even a life, it’s just a laboratory experiment.”

You do burst out crying at this. You want to throttle his neck, and shake him, and ask how could he say such things. 

“Aaah, Y/N-ah! Don’t cry-”

“You’re making me cry, Appa! You didn’t even tell me! Were you just planning to sit on it till it’s too late?”

“It is never too late, Y/N-ah. Appa is always here with you, even if I can’t be here physically.”

The tears don’t stop, he pulls you closer, until you’re wailing on his shoulder, and he hugs you with one arm. 

“It’s not fair,” you mumble in between tears, hiccups interspersed in your words. Then he only rubs your back and you gently quieten down. “I don’t care, Appa. Come to the US with me. I’ve spoken to doctors, they’ve said there are chances to improve.” He smiles wistfully, looking at your face, which is childishly covered in snot and wet tears.

“Appa, you have to promise me you’ll try. For me, please. I’m not ready for this.”

“It will be a waste of time and effort. I would rather you pay attention to your career. And also your marriage.” “There’s not much to pay attention to. Wonwoo and I are busy almost all the time,” you try to dismiss him. “But you are young, and in love. I should believe there’s nothing other than your love life you should pay more attention to.” You sigh. It’s sad, just how well you and Wonwoo have deceived them all, even your most observant father. You wonder how it is possible, given how distant the two of you are- emotionally, always, and physically, recently. “There is something called urgency, Appa. There’s an order to how things need to be done.” 

There’s a few long minutes of silence. Your father finishes the drink in his glass and looks at the stars in the sky. You, for one moment, are sure he’ll put up another fight. “You’ve never asked me anything with so much insistence, Y/N-ah.” “You’ve not hidden anything from me before, either.” There’s another pause. The waiting is tiring, and you’re going to cry again. 

“Alright. I’ll do it, Y/N. But on one condition.” You hang on to his words, waiting for him to continue. “One chance. I’m not going back again if there is a relapse. I will not push my fate to a sour ending. You go back to your life, where I want to see you happy. And I will let nature take its due course.” You dare to smile, too afraid he’s going to take back his words. But then he smiles back, and beckons you to lie down on his lap, as he begins talking about something new he;s recently read, and you’re grateful for the distraction. 

That night when you go home, you find Wonwoo playing in his gaming room. It’s a small room, probably meant to be a spare bedroom, or a kid’s bedroom, but he has an elaborate gaming setup there, and he locks himself up in it every weekend. Sometimes you wonder if he’s dead, but then you hear his cocky, hushed whispers of victory when you lean on the door. He’s always been good at games. 

Today the door is slightly open, and you think for a deluded moment, that he perhaps left it open so that he could hear you enter the house. So you lightly knock and he turns around in his gaming chair. You realise he’s wearing a tank top, his hair hidden under a hideous beanie, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the brooding adult you’re married to. 

“I spoke to Appa tonight.”

He looks up at you and takes off his headphones. He nods once, understanding immediately.

“I’m leaving for New York tomorrow, and I don’t want to delay the appointment.” 

He stares at you for a second, then replies, “When is your flight?” 

“Afternoon.”

“And how long are you going to be away?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps a month, perhaps longer. I don’t want to leave until it’s all done. I want to see it to the end.”

He nods again, standing up from his chair. The screen flashes something about the game being paused, and his character awkwardly bounces about in the game field. The character has black hair and wears glasses like Wonwoo. 

“Pack enough, then. I’ll be here when you come back.”

You nod, and he smiles. This is why you got married in the first place, afterall. You bet he’s glad to get the wheels moving as quickly as possible so that this farce can come down before he’s so tired of it that your mere sight repels you.

_

The next three months pass by like a whirlwind, a miracle from heaven. Because not only are the doctors extremely positive about your father’s condition, but also hopeful for complete treatment. A part of you is too wary of everything going too great, too good to be true, and you’re crying every night when you lie sleepless in your hotel bed. There’s not a single second you’re free from anxiety, and there’s literally nothing else in your mind except praying that every minute of the treatment goes well. You’ve never been so nervous, except when you’d been in college and getting your papers approved by your professors and they’d laughed straight up in your face at your ambitiousness. You get periodic calls from your colleagues, the managers and Jisung, most often. But if there’s a perk of being a CEO, it’s that your employees know when to respect your personal space, unless there’s an absolute emergency. Relatives call you, your sister calls you ever so often. You hope she doesn’t go into labour with your father still stuck on the hospital bed, but it’s only a small part of her worries, you’re sure. So you assure her about everything being alright and encourage to focus on her pregnancy being perfectly smooth, although Kyungmin Oppa tells you that her mood swings are more distinct now with more things to worry about. The baby kicks for the first time, and you wish you could be there. You don’t want to miss a lot of firsts, but it’s a small tradeoff you don’t mind making. 

There’s only one person who doesn’t call you, Wonwoo. He probably knows that you don’t want to be disturbed, but sometimes you have thoughts. Thoughts about how different your life was just a few months ago. Thoughts about how your marriage is due to be annulled as soon as this business ends. Thoughts about whether you should have let Wonwoo ever into your life. Thoughts about how he feels about this entire thing. You know how he’d said he had just wanted to help you, but was it a moment of pity or a calculated decision? Was he actually humane enough to want to do this? You’re unsure, just like you’re unsure about how much you even know him. Sure, you’ve known him for your entire damn life, but not really. 

Firstly, there’s the matter of the wedding. The fact that Wonwoo didn’t actually need to be roped in to convince your dad is a surprising issue. You hadn’t expected Appa to be so pliant to your words and your tears, when he had supposedly protested so much in front of Unnie and Eomma. Well, there perhaps was something called a favourite child. Secondly, there’s the concern of what happens now. It’s already been four months since your wedding, and it’s almost mid-December now. You’re 100% sure that Wonwoo will not be interested to drag on this farce for longer than necessary, so you mentally take notes to draft up divorce letters and take them to him as soon as you return to Seoul. Your PR team’s done a fairly good job in hiding the fact that you and Wonwoo have barely spent any time together since the wedding. So it’s not going to take much to silence the media if they raise eyebrows at such a quick divorce. Family will be easy to convince, as well. We just don’t have enough time for a full-on relationship now. We’re focused on our careers, that’s where our priorities lie. Honestly, this was why we were so hesitant about marriage in the first place. See, we told you, we weren't made for this relationship business. If only you hadn’t practically stalked us into it, we wouldn’t have to disappoint you all like this. 

And what happens after that? 

Do you remain exes who smile at each other at social gatherings? Do you remain fuckbuddies, forgetting about your trash past altogether? Do you become strangers who don’t even bother to remember birthdays? 

You’re feeling dizzy, so you pass out on the couch in your hotel room. 

_

It’s New Years’ Eve when you return to Seoul, and nobody can stop the smile on your face from breaking out every three seconds. Your father’s body may still be weak from chemotherapy, and he may have to visit the hospital every other week to get follow-ups on his treatment, but he’s alive and the spark in his eyes haven’t been snuffed out. There’s hope, infinite hope, and you feel whole again. There’s incredible joy blooming in your heart, even if all the trees are barren and all the world is grey. The doctors say that it is a godsent gift, and there can be a relapse, but the chances are low enough to be confident that there’s going to be at least five more years of happy life for your father. For someone who was praying for five more minutes, it’s a harvest too bountiful, and you feel like a person born again. 

The happiness lasts the entire journey back home, back into the wide waiting arms of your mother who had never gone to the US because she was too scared of being there. You can see how the stress has taken a toll on her, as her figure seems frailer than before, and there’s no longer than glow radiating off her face. And yet, this gift is more than she, or you could ever have asked for, so you take what you can get. Your father’s organs haven’t failed yet, and he can eat better things than soup, so your mother’s cooked specially for him, although she hasn’t entered the kitchen in years. It’s softly cooked galbi and prawn pajeon, and he devours the meal after months of hospital food. You stay the night at your parent’s home, as your sister comes over along with her husband. It’s a great family reunion, and you feel like you could die in this happiness.

Except reality strikes when you wake up the next morning and realise that you should go to your actual home now. You wonder if he’s going to be at home or not, given that it’s the New Year and he may have plans with others. 

But there he is, as you let yourself in through the main door, and he locks eyes with you sitting on the couch, wearing shorts and no shirt, his hair quite wet. Apart from the fact that this is the first time you’ve seen him wear shorts, nothing’s changed. He’s still exactly the same. It’s cold outside, and the journey here has frozen your limbs, but the house is warm as fuck, just how Wonwoo’s always liked it. 

You can’t stop yourself. You don’t stop yourself when you run halfway across the living room and hug him without waiting for him to say anything. 

To his credit, he doesn’t say anything. He simply hugs you back. His body is so warm in spite of being shirtless, and you can smell the fresh soap clinging to his body. He rubs one hand on your spine and for a second you feel tears threatening to flow down your face. Did you miss him?

“How’s your father?” 

“Much better. There is hope.”

You can feel his hands moving more insistently on your back, stretching through all your muscles. It feels comforting in a way you’ve never received from Wonwoo. He doesn’t ask anything else, and you don’t mind. 

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

_

You’re bent over on the floor, unpacking your suitcase in your own room when he casually saunters into his walk-in and you don’t pay heed. It’s only when he walks out wearing a black leather jacket, a turtleneck, a light gold chain dangling on his neck, and fancy sunglasses perched on his nose that you turn around to look at him. You’re shocked at seeing him like this- you realise you haven’t seen him in casuals in so long. You haven’t seen him in so long. 

“You’re going out?”

“Yeah, it is the New Year. I have a party with my friends.”

You’re too busy ogling him, so he asks, “Don’t you have plans?” 

“Yeah, I’m going to unpack my stuff.”

“You could do that tomorrow. Going out with friends on New Years’ will not happen tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. You assume I have friends. It shouldn’t be news to him, you’ve told him this before. And yet, you feel embarrassed again. You didn’t know Wonwoo had friends, but it’s wrong of you to think every workaholic has no life like you. 

“No. It’s been a tiring few months… I’d rather just sleep in.”

Wonwoo, surprisingly, sits down on your bed, facing you, and removes his sunglasses. You can see his pretty eyes from up close, and you realise that he’s never really sat on this bed since you’ve come to his house. “Do you want to come with me? They’ve been asking about you for quite some time now.” You look at him silently, “Nah, I don’t… don’t want to barge in.” “You won’t be.” “You’ll get late if you wait for me now.” “It’s not a big deal, most of them will be late anyway.” “Are you going to a nightclub?” “No, we’re going to a barbecue party.” 

Small, private, cosy. You’ll definitely be barging in.

“No Wonwoo, I don’t want to go somewhere where I’m not welcome. And anyway, I’m cool with whatever you’ve told your friends about us.” “I haven’t said anything in particular.” “Well, then you’re good at avoiding things.” “I am. You must’ve been away too long if you’ve forgotten about this.” 

You want to run away. He’s surely talking about avoiding being your husband- and he’s proud about it as well. 

“Then you might avoid it further. There’s no need for me to make a public appearance.”

Wonwoo stares at you for a second too long. His jaw hardens, and you can see his tongue in his cheek. Then he gently pulls your hand into his own, and carefully touches your fingers, purposely avoiding the bit around your wedding ring. The way your fingers seem much smaller compared to his makes you feel a certain way. You pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let go. He ends up pulling you up to stand, so that he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed and you’re standing right in front of him. His fingers are still laced around your own, and you feel sparks at the touch after months. 

“I’m going to show my wife off to my friends. And your excuses are pathetic, darling. You know you want me to show you off as well.” His fingers tighten their grip against your wrist, and you feel the vein in your wrist throbbing around his touch. “So get dressed nicely. I know you clean up well.”

It takes you a solid ten minutes to find something good to wear. Sure, you’re not big on fashion, but you like to look fit for the occasion. Especially if Wonwoo’s dressed up all fancily like that. But when you finally step out of the closet, you’re wearing a beige corset top with a black skirt, and a long black coat with tiny gold details. You find Wonwoo still sitting on your bed, scrolling through his phone. “How do I look?” you ask at the same time as he raises his head to look at you. After checking you out twice from top to toe, he nods slowly, but before you can exhale in relief, he says, “Will you feel cold in that skirt?” “No. And before you ask, I’m not wearing stockings. The coat will be enough.” “Don’t complain if you get cold later. Come down in five.” 

_

When you’re finally in the car, you ask him if you should buy something for the host, since it is New Years’ afterall. “If we bought something for him, the others will be mad at us for not buying something for them too.” You laugh it off, wondering how that could be possible, and proceed to stop at a nearby store to buy one of the trendy perfumes that’s popular amongst men these days. 

You find, not even half an hour later, that it is possible. 

“Wonwoongi! You only brought presents for Mingoo? None for hyung? How will hyung survive without your generosity?” A lanky, beautiful man immediately latches himself onto Wonwoo’s arm as soon as you both enter Mingyu’s house. It’s a pretty bungalow situated a little far from the city, and decorated extravagantly with lights. It’s only after Wonwoo makes it through the first few people crowding near the entryway that everybody notices you. 

There’s a collective gasp going around when everyone turns around and looks at you, smiles galore. And then they all start speaking together, and you get overwhelmed. Wonwoo shushes them all in an uncharacteristically loud voice, and announces, “Since y’all wanted to meet her, this is Y/L/N Y/N, my wife,” and you bow deeply to everyone as everyone greets you back. When you stand upright again, you stumble a bit, not having noticed the thick carpet, and Wonwoo’s quick to grab your hand. He casually interlocks his fingers with yours, and you both make your way into the apartment. 

The first man you meet is Mingyu, the host. You’re shocked to see him, not expecting to see him as the host. So he’s the host. He’s become taller than Wonwoo now, his face still identical to what you remember from high school. It sparks an annoyance in you, as scenes from each sports day of your high school years flashes by. There wasn’t a single time when you hadn’t defeated Mingyu in tennis, badminton and squash. You really loved playing racket sports, and it seemed that so did Mingyu. But not just that- Mingyu’s arrogance was even more childish than that of Wonwoo because he was insanely arrogant about his looks and the number of girls (and boys) thirsting over him every day. Although you hardly met him outside school because he didn’t belong to a chaebol family, you’d actively glare at each other every time you met in school. You wonder what version of these same memories flashed in his mind as you stand in front of him now. 

“It’s been a long time, Y/N-ah. Didn’t imagine that you and Wonwoo would end up married.” It’s a genuine smile, and for a moment, you wonder if you’d had the wrong impression about him all along. “We didn’t imagine it either, trust me.” Wonwoo smiles, and it breaks you out of your reverie. You hand Mingyu the gift, and say, “Thank you for extending your invitation to me.” “There’s no need to be so formal, Y/N-ah. But what’s the need for the gift?” “Since I’m visiting you for the first time… as Mrs. Jeon, I felt I shouldn’t come empty-handed.” Mingyu giggles and nudges Wonwoo’s arm, “Mrs Jeon, hmm? Feels like a Hollywood movie. Thanks Y/N, I’ll use it well!”

Then Wonwoo introduces you to the rest of his friend group one by one. You meet Seungcheol, who you remember all too well. “How the tables have turned, huh?” He chuckles, before handing you a glass of wine. There’s a familiarity in his mysterious smile, that twinkling look in his eyes, that elite tilt of his chin, as if he owned the world, which used to annoy the hell out of you, because to you, he seemed to be the stereotype of the worthless chaebol heirs who’d do nothing in their lives except eat out of their parents’ money. And yet, he’s made it big on his own, if news reports are correct, and perhaps you can find some respect for him now. “I hope we get along better this time, Seungcheol Oppa.” He’s the only man from Wonwoo’s high school group who you would call Oppa, and that was only to tease him because he’d been voted as the Sexiest Oppa of the Year at the end of the high school year. Seungcheol seems to remember that too, because he laughs, and you realise it’s a fond memory, no matter how much annoyance it had sparked in you back then. 

Then there’s Jeonghan, who’d been that beautiful man who’d spoken to Wonwoo earlier with that aegyo nickname of Wonwoongie. who disarms you instantly with his jokes. Joshua, who’s introduced as the gentleman, but you can see the mischief in his doe-like eyes, much too good-looking for his own good. There’s Soonyoung and Seokmin, who are already playing beer pong, laughing and spilling a lot of the beer on the table (and the carpet, but they implore you to not tell Mingyu that). Seungkwan referees them, while he’s wrapped around his boyfriend, who’s extremely charming and interesting. Vernon and you speak for a good two minutes before Seungkwan interrupts you both and takes you to meet Jun. Jun is sitting on the other side of the room, with his girlfriend, Lihua. She’s also Chinese but speaks fluent Korean, as she’s a teacher in Seoul, as she explains.You find out that Jun is an actor in both Korean and Chinese tv shows, and his visuals explain a lot of it, for sure. Then there’s Minghao, who’s busy discussing Met Gala looks over the years with two women, Soyeon (Jihoon’s fiance) and Aeri (Chan’s girlfriend). Chan and Jihoon themselves are missing, but soon you find them in the kitchen, helping Mingyu and his fiance, Hayi, to make cocktails. 

And when the introductions finally end, Wonwoo and you flop down on a couch in one corner, both tired from all that smiling and small talk. 

“Are you sighing so loudly because they’re not nice?” He teases you, as he place an arm around the head of the sofa, successfully cradling you without even touching your body. “Wonwoo. I didn’t know you were still close to Seungcheol and Mingyu.” “Hmm… should I have warned you before bringing you here?” You turn your face away from him, “A warning would have been nice. I wasn’t really ready to see Mingyu’s annoying smile again after all those years of his delinquency.” Wonwoo laughs, and you continue, “But I’m curious. What did you tell them about me that they’re welcoming me with open arms? Did you tell them that I’ve completely changed or something?” “No. They had their reservations too, but it’s not like they could do anything. I told them only a day before we got married.” You open your mouth to refute, but quickly become silent. Not for the first time, you wonder, how had Wonwoo adapted into the marriage so quickly in spite of having nothing to gain and everything to lose. It reminds you of the divorce papers you had asked Jisung to prepare, so you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan comes and sits on your other side too. “Oh, we have another person joining our lazy line, I see.” He giggles as you look confused. “Wonwoo, Hao and I are the lazy line. We run out of battery first. We can’t keep up with the other over-energetic boy.” “But the absolute first is Wonwoo, of course. There’s no end to group photos where he’s yawning in all the shots.” Minghao strolls in, grabs Wonwoo by the arm, calling him to the other room where they’re all playing billiards, and then it’s just you and Jeonghan on the sofa. 

“So, Y/N, I hear that you and Wonwoo have been friends since school?” You laugh, because he can’t have heard that. You know Jeonghan knows you both have never really been friends. He laughs too, and you realise how easily he’s prodded right into the truth. “It’s complicated,” you say safely, as you get a feeling you can’t hide from this man. “And yet I think you’re perfectly fit to be Mrs Jeon, from what I hear.” You laugh again, because genuinely it is a funny statement. You think he’s making a joke- probably about how you both hated each other’s guts in school, or had an equal temper. But no, he’s all serious and he repeats his statement with more sincerity. You twist your lips in confusion, and ask him, “How can you say that?” “Because I know Wonwoo very well. That’s it.” He then laughs a bit and continues, “They call me the Eomma of the group for a reason, you know. They’re all my kids. Even Cheol and Shua.”

And then Wonwoo calls you both to the barbecue which had begun on the outdoor patio. 

_

The party may have begun awkwardly for you but it soon becomes quite exciting. The temperature continues to fall as it becomes darker in the night sky, but everyone’s gathered around the barbecue grill outside so you don’t want to move. The girls are mostly sitting together, sitting cocktails that Mingyu prepares for you, winking every way until he reaches his fiance who exaggeratedly winks back. You sit sandwiched between Aeri and Wonwoo, and while Wonwoo is busy discussing games with Seungcheol, Aeri doesn’t let you feel isolated. You’re included into the group surprisingly quickly, and soon you’re playing drinking games with them. Games you’ve never played before, so you’re obviously totally incapable at defeating them. They seem to play these every other weekend, while you’ve never even heard of these game rules. The reality sends pangs to your heart because it hits harder than ever that you’ve never had a friend group with who you could drink with. Not even a casual drink. Not even a girls’ night out. Not even a pole dance at a strip club. 

“Okay! Let’s play the hongsam game,” Seungkwan shouts out and immediately everyone cheers in agreement. You must be looking confused as hell, because Jihoon quietly leans in to explain the rules simply. Seungkwan and Jihoon show you a small demo, and you nod. You may not have understood fully but you don’t want to hold up others in the game. And so the game goes on for nineteen rounds, and you lose ten of them. You somehow miss the timing every time, or maybe you just don’t know their names well enough. Even Joshua, who messed up the first three times, seems to have caught on, but you’re just stuck. Although they make you feel better about it, laughing with you instead of at you, and reassuring you that it’s okay to make mistakes, you feel embarrassed. It’s not a tough game, just requires hand-eye-brain coordination that you’re sure you’re not lacking in, but perhaps some part of you wants to do better because it’s Wonwoo’s friends you’re playing with, and performing poorly here would mean… well, you don’t know what it would mean, but it doesn’t sit right with you. So you try to be more competitive, and although you keep losing, as the shots go in, it feels less stressful and more fun. You become more familiar with the games, and the S.coups game you’re actually good at, although you have no idea why it’s called the S.coups game and Seungcheol personally makes it a point to threaten anyone who’s about to tell you why it’s called the S.coups game. 

And so, as the night goes by, you become more comfortable. Even if it is still a little awkward, it’s not altogether bad. Mingyu and Seungcheol are being nice to you, although a bit wary. The others have positively welcomed you with open arms. And Wonwoo, well, he’s being a little odd. He’s having a hell lot of fun, being much louder than you’ve ever seen him. He seems more reserved than his friends, but then, his friends are too hyper. And while he doesn’t make direct efforts to talk to you, he’s becoming more touchy by the minute. The first few shots in, he was just putting an arm around your shoulders. Next few shots in, his hands are properly rubbing all over your bare arms as he makes you open the coat when you say your body’s getting warm with all the soju. When you feel the buzz of alcohol getting more serious by the second, his right hand, the same one which had held your hand earlier that day, places itself on your thigh and refuses to move. It’s splayed all over your thigh, nearly covering from end to end, and there’s not much skin showing anyway, but with his hand, it feels like you should’ve worn a shorter skirt. 

Wonwoo’s favourite game is the mafia one. The game app somehow generates him to be mafia three out of four times, and he has way too much fun killing the innocent citizens who seem to be completely deceived by him. Wonwoo’s too good at lying, you realise, when you’re taken aback each time on finding out he’s the mafia although you’re sitting right next to him. The fifth round, you both are mafias, and after the penultimate round of guessing, when you two are the only mafias left alive and you lock eyes to decide who to kill, you giggle at the way he’s staring you down. 

“I say, Soyeon. She’s the closest to guessing me out.” You say seriously, but his eyes aren’t even on your eyes. They’re fixed lower, at your lips, but you panic and shift away from him. Now his eyes look up at yours, confused, but you’re guessing he’s just drunk. He would never behave like this if he were sober. 

“I say let’s get out of here. While their eyes are still closed.” He smirks, whispering hotly in front of your face, and you feel red all over. 

“Wonwoo! They’re your friends.” “So what? They love you already. They wouldn’t be mad at you for leaving, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re having so much fun, why would you want to leave?” “Because I know I could have more fun with you with my face under that skirt of yours.” You’re blushing again. “You don’t want to know the number of times I’ve left fun gatherings like this to fuck you in my car, sweetheart. This time, at least, they’ll understand better.” You blush even harder, with the way he’s speaking. It’s making your heart beat too loudly. You know it’s because you both are drunk, but you’ve never been able to resist it when he talks dirty to you. And now his hand starts squeezing your thigh, so you’re left wondering what it would feel like if his face was under your sk-

“Oh for fucks sake! I know it’s Wonwoo and Y/N with all this whispering, I’m sitting next to y’all, guys!” Aeri whines from next to you, and the moment is broken. Everyone opens their eyes and Wonwoo’s hand stop squeezing, although it’s still on your thigh. “If you’re going to undress each other, just go home!” Chan says, and you laugh. “I’m not leaving the party even if Wonwoo does, just so you know. I’m having way too much fun.” Aeri and Hayi hug you from one end, pulling you away from Wonwoo. “Yes,” says Hayi, “we’re not letting you go either. Boring mafia men can leave if they like.” So they pull you away from Wonwoo and you end up sitting somewhere far away from him, between Joshua and Minghao, and it’s nice to be around people who aren’t game aces either and you can have a lot more fun because they’re not as serious as Wonwoo.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzes in your pocket, so you take it out. There’s a text from Wonwoo. 

I wasn’t kidding, Y/N. I really want to get out of here with you.

_

Twenty minutes later, you’ve bid the last round of goodbyes, hugging Jeonghan and exchanging numbers with most of them, while they whine about why Wonwoo gatekept you for so long. Even Seungcheol and Mingyu joke around you, showing that they’ve become more comfortable around you. Perhaps growing up has taken away some of their jerk attitude from them. 

Wonwoo’s already leaning against his car when you walk out of the house. You know he’s drunk with the way his eyes check you out without any filter, and you’re also drunk and out of your inhibitions. You try not to get into your head as he opens the door for you, and you get inside the warm car. Wonwoo joins you in the backseat, and the chauffeur drives you out slowly. 

But somehow, being in the car now, away from the dopamine of the party, and the general excitement from having a surprisingly fun evening with strangers, the overthinking does kick in. Wonwoo doesn’t say a word, but his hand has returned on your thigh, and you let it be there. But you can’t help but think, is he finding you attractive only because he’s under the influence? 

So you ask him that, when you both get out of the car and he opens the door to the apartment. Drunk, dishevelled Wonwoo looks glorious in the night light, his dark hair falling over his eyes, which are hooded in desire as plain as day. “Are you fucking serious, woman?” That’s all he says, before he pushes you against the back of the same entry door, and puts his hand under your skirt. He finds you panties as an obstruction so he pushes them aside before kissing you and entering one finger inside your cunt simultaneously. You immediately melt under his touch, not just because it’s been months since Wonwoo’s touched you, but also because you’re feeling so relieved he’s still attracted to you. At least the farce hasn’t repelled him away this far. 

So you don’t speak any words. You both stay silent except the sounds he forces out of you. You come embarrassingly fast with just two fingers up your vagina, and his mouth creating hickeys all over your neck. “Fuck, Wonwoo, I-” “Shit you’re still coming- your whore pussy’s thanking Sir for taking care of her after so long?” You moan his name harder, your entire body writhing under his touch as he drags out your climax under his touch. “Yes, Sir.” “And what to good girls say in gratitude?” You can barely form the words but you say it, “Thank- thank you, Sir!”

“Where do you wanna take it, hmm? To my bedroom which you’ve taken over? Or my bedroom where you’ve exiled me to?” He picks you up and shrugs off your coat, and you wrap your legs around him, stretching the skirt. “It doesn’t matter.”

So he takes you to the bedroom where he’s sleeping these days. He flunks you on the bed, and you tumble to fall on your face. The sheets smell like him, and you breathe in his scent. You don’t want to sleep anywhere else after this- only next to him, if this is what his bed smells like. 

He leans in from behind you, and unhooks your top and skirt, leaving you in your underwear. Your panties are ruined, so he makes quick work of removing them. But he keeps the bra on, and gently slides in under you until your pussy is on his face as he prepares to eat you out from behind. His hands are splayed over your ass, and as soon as his tongue makes contact with your already abused vagina, you scream out his name. But he doesn’t stop- he continues, his tongue harshly fucking your cunt. When he’s done making you orgasm again like that, and you’re done screaming his name into his pillow, he finally moves away from you. You fall limp on the bed, as you hear him take off his clothes. Eventually he cages you from behind, and slowly fills you up from behind, one hand on your neck and the other rubbing your nipple over your bra. 

So he fucks you like that, his cold chain makes sparks every time it brushes against your spine. “Sir, please! Faster, please-” Wonwoo doesn’t reply to any of your begging, but he responds physically to everything you say, by doing the exact opposite and dragging out your misery. His hands don’t leave your nipples as he leisurely fucks you. “Fuck, Y/N, not even four months, and you’re tight like a virgin again.” Your hands slip and weakly try to clutch at the bedsheets, but you feel useless, like a toy, and he feels every inch of skin which he’s missed out on all this time. You don’t know what he’s looking like now, but his hand presses your head down on the pillow softly, and his grunts and moans are soft enough to be enveloped by your own louder moans and pants.

“Please, I’m begging you, please- pl- faster- Sir!” And the second he lifts his body away from yours, thrusting into you faster, you spasm and orgasm right there, and it triggers his orgasm too. The warmth of his cum flowing inside you stays there as he gently falls down on your body, panting. When he begins to pull out, you whine, unable to say anything but he gets the message. He lies down next to you softly, without pulling out for a few minutes. When your body finally comes down from the high, you go limp around his body, and Wonwoo gently pulls out. 

“I’ll clean you up.” “I’m sleepy…” “Yeah, then sleep.” And then you pass out.

_

When you wake up the next morning, Wonwoo is, unsurprisingly, not next to you, although his side of the bed is not cold. It feels like an upgrade, and you take what you can get. For the first time since you’ve gotten married, you’ve slept together and the thought of it makes you pleased for some reason. 

“Morning,” he walks in, before you can properly wake up. He’s wearing a peach-coloured hoodie with sweatpants, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Is that for me?” “No, I didn’t know if you were up.” “Okay, I’ll go and get my own.”

So you do. You brush your teeth and make your coffee and return to the bedroom, and Wonwoo’s still sitting there, his back leaning against the headboard. For a second, you feel like you’re stepping into someone else’s married life, but then you realise it’s yours. It makes you giddy. You don’t understand why- it’s not like you’ve ever craved for Wonwoo, or anyone, in this way. But somehow, you’ve warmed up well to the idea of having him as your … partner. There’s nobody who could be an equal match to you, to be honest. Either they’d be seriously less intelligent and you would be able to hold no conversation with them, or they’d be arrogant as fuck if they were smarter than you, and they’d make it a point to make you feel lesser, always. So Wonwoo is the perfect match for you. 

Although, Wonwoo could surely find someone better. Jeonghan’s words float in your brain once again, and you fight the urge to contradict him. Mrs Jeon could definitely be someone else- someone who’s less distant from Wonwoo, someone he could love truly deeper than just skin-level attraction, someone who would want to be with him for real feelings and not just a facade.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about, Wonwoo.” 

“Yeah, me too.” You both sit against the headboard, bodies far apart, as if repelled again by magnetic force, no matter how close you were last night. 

“Okay, you go first then.”

So he says, “Last night was… a mistake. I know it sounds cliche, but it’s true. I don’t… want to do this with you.”

Oh fuck. You did not see that coming. Sure, the relationship could have been a mistake. Getting married without him getting anything out of it could have been a mistake. Continuing this marriage after your dad’s treatment was successful could have been a mistake. But last night? Last night had felt so right to you. There was no one who knew your body like Wonwoo did, and you knew it went the other way round too. Then how could he say that?

He continues, “I don’t want to be fuckbuddies with you like this, Y/N. We got married for a goal, and now that goal’s been fulfilled and…”

“And you want a divorce. I get it.” 

He looks at you with confusion, his eyes wide and his eyebrows furrowed. “No, that’s not what I said.” 

“That’s what you meant. I’m an adult, Wonwoo, don’t teach me nuances.” You get off the bed and walk away. 

“Y/N, you’ve got to hear me out when I’m saying something.”

“Wonwoo, I already know what you’re trying to say.” 

“Fuck you, Y/N. This is why it’s not possible to have a proper conversation with you.”

“You’ll get what you want, Wonwoo. Don’t worry. Thanks for telling me, I needed to know.”

_

It feels good to get back to work after so long. The familiar sound of people typing away on their laptops and the busy movement of people everywhere, it brings peace to your heart. There are people hovering around you, hoping to speak to you, but Jisung somehow brings you to your office without you having to say anything more than good morning and happy new year to anyone. 

It’s only when you enter the office and you see the pending paperwork that you realise just how much you’ve missed. There’s a deal with Lee Corp. that’s sitting on your desk, and Jisung presents it to you with a proud smile. “We got it done, Ma’am. Every detail you wanted, to the t.” You don’t know how to respond, because it’s unbelievable. “But how?” This is your dream- signing a contract with Lee Corp., the leading organisation for facilitating stools for robotic surgery in Korea. Although your technology has always been more modern, they’ve retained their large market share because of simply how long they’ve sustained in the business- after all, when it comes to health, trust comes before modernity for customers. 

“Jeon Wonwoo-ssi set up the deal for us. The Deputy CEO and myself attended the meeting, I can share the minutes with-”

“Wait, stop. Wonwoo, you said?” 

“Yes Ma’am, I… did he not tell you? He told me he’d tell you.” Jisung looks genuinely confused, so you know it’s futile to investigate him further. 

“Well, as you can see, it’s news to me.”

“There is a meeting today, at noon, Ma’am, I need to brief you about the details before you-” 

“I’ll get the details directly from Wonwoo, thanks Jisung. Ask my chauffeur to get my car ready please. I’ll be back before the meeting.”

_

Wonwoo’s office building is bustling with the same energy as your own, and you face no trouble finding his office. So you walk right in. 

“What’s this I’m hearing?” He’s standing next to a shorter man showing him something on a tablet, but he immediately leaves when he sees you, bowing quickly. “I was busy, Y/N, you can’t just walk in like that as if you own the place.” He walks up to you, and gently closes the door, before leaning against it and asking you, in that fucking relaxed expression he always has, “What’s the matter?” 

“You fixed a deal with Lee Corp. for my company?” 

“What about it?” 

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“I thought it was best not to disturb you when you were busy with your father.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Wonwoo, this is literally the most important event that can turn my career around forever, and you choose not to tell me-”

“So you’d rather I invade your privacy for this? I’d arranged it so that it would be closed only after your return anyway, so it’s not like-”

“It’s exactly like you were making deals behind my back! God knows what subscript you’ve mentioned in the clauses with the Lees- yeah, step one: get into a trusting contract with Y/N, step two: slowly overtake all her market power, step three: make the company so weak that Jeon Estates can easily take over.” 

You’ve taken a step closer with every word, and now you’re standing at a hair’s distance from Wonwoo, who’s just staring at you. “For god’s sake, Jeon Wonwoo, say something!” 

And then, he fucking laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, one with no mirth, and it makes goosebumps rise on your flesh. 

“You’re mad, Y/N. You’re paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch, and I can’t even be mad at you because I knew this is how you’ve been all along and yet, I can’t fucking stop myself from falling in love with you every damn day!” 

It’s your turn to go speechless. The documents in your hands fall limply to the floor, as your jaw opens and you stay rooted in one spot, stunned beyond belief. “You… what?”

“You were so fucking right every time you called me a dumbass, Y/N. Because I am one.” He laughs again, taking off his glasses with one hand, and rubbing his eyes with another. Then he stops laughing and when he wears his glasses again, his face looks twenty years older. 

“Wonwoo… I’m not understanding.”

“You will never understand. Because you don’t have a fucking heart. One would think I have a masochism kink- the way you kick me out every day and I come back to you like a dog. Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to take over your company? I’ve told you before- I have enough ways and means to bring you down already had I really wanted to. For fucks’ sake, it’d take a minute for me to destroy your reputation by spreading a rumour about how you wanted to bang me just because you thought it was a great way to get your dad to get into treatment.”

“You still could-”

“I’ve never taken advantage of you- never. I’ve respected you, with as much as I could. When you’ve been petty, when you’ve been oversmart, when you’ve been angry. And you think I’m really interested in destroying you? No, Y/N, if there’s anything I feel towards you and your professional career, it’s admiration. And respect.”

“Don’t lie to my face, Jeon.”

He laughs again, and kneels down so that he’s looking away from you, down at the floor, his body no longer held up in his usual manly stature. 

“I’m so tired of running around and playing these games with you, Y/N. I’ve admired you since you’d been promoted two classes at once in ninth grade.”

“That is a lie. You’d gone right after that class to bitch about me, very loudly, to your friends, about how I’d been promoted only because my dad’s business was flourishing.” 

“It was a front, because all of my friends, and mind you, I don’t mean Mingyu and Seungcheol, had become pissed at you for it. I had to… I don’t know… be popular? I couldn’t be any more of a loser than I already was. I’d lost a year as it is for breaking my leg and not being able to attend classes, and then… owning up that your intelligence and intellect amazed me and got me on my fucking knees would mean I’d no longer be the cool boy in class who everybody wanted to be with.” 

You kneel down next to him, imploring him to look into your eyes. But he steadfastly avoids eye contact- and you feel the floor slip away from your feet. Things you’d believed for years… hearing them become untrue… hearing them being simple misunderstandings… it was too frightening and too overwhelming to be believable. 

“But there’s not been a moment these last dozen years when I’ve not had my heart beat fast whenever I think about you… see you. I’d accepted your harsh words and your cold attitude as the norm because… I knew it was because I’d not behaved very nicely with you either, and I was to be blamed for it after all. But I took what I could get. A beggar cannot be a chooser, you know?” 

And he finally looks at you. 

And finally you can read Jeon Wonwoo. Every expression is as clear as day on his face. His eyes clouded with betrayal and pain, his lips twitching, seconds away from breaking down, his hands pale and trembling. You want to walk away, be a coward again, run away and escape to your bubble of yourself and only yourself. But you also want to take his hand, and feel the truth he’s speaking coursing through his veins buzz out into your own skin.

So you do that. 

For once in twenty six years, you do the brave thing. 

You sit down completely on the floor, and you lean forward to face him, and touch the tips of his fingers. You’re surrounded by the flurry of papers you’d brought to him, but in this moment, when the current of his touch matches the voltage running in your mind, you forget what they were. He looks away, and says, “Everything about you was so electrifying. You were the first woman who had never pedestalized me for my money and my position in society. The first woman who’d made me feel like just another human being. The first woman who I’d been unable to seduce with just a casual look. The first woman who threw a challenge at me with not just her attitude but also her smartness. And boy, you know how competitive I can be.”

“I was okay with being fuckbuddies too, you know. This way, I didn’t have to pine over you from a corner of the room at social gatherings and wonder how you smelt. I didn’t have to look at you from the other side of the cafeteria at school and imagine how it would feel to kiss the cream off the corner of your lips. And I fucking loved it. I loved being able to hold you close, make you mine. I- well… the first night you’d hooked up with me? If you’d not come back to me yourself, I would have begged you and confessed that very night. I would have cried at your feet to let me be your lover.”

There’s a single tear falling off his cheek and onto the point where your fingers touch. He doesn’t look at you. The sky outside darkens with the impending rain, making the room infinitely darker than it was earlier. 

“And then… when you’d asked me to stop… the world had broken down on me. I’d given up on making you want to like me- but,” and he laughs again, that broken, mirthless laugh, “a man can dream, can he not?”

“Wonwoo, I’m sorry.” you whisper. You know it’s pointless, but you still want to say it.

“For what Y/N? You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve just shown me my place.”

“For hurting you. I didn’t know…”

“No you… you didn’t even know you were hurting me. You were just being you.”

“And it’s sick that I hurt you so much when I was just being myself.” 

There’s a long minute of silence, as he looks up at you. Lightning cracks on the horizon outside, your body shivering with the sudden sound of thunder, and his hands withdraw from your own.

“Y/N, I don’t want to interfere in your life any longer. I’ve lived happily this last year, being so close to you, even when I knew it wasn’t in the way I wanted. But last night…”

“Wonwoo. I-”

“It was a mistake because I can’t do this so casually anymore, Y/N. I don’t want to wake up next to you just like that, Y/N. I don’t want to be married to you on paper, Y/N. I don’t want to pretend in front of my friends and not make you mine in public. Seungcheol and Mingyu accepted you fully… because they knew just how smitten I’ve been with you forever.” The edge of his lips tilt upward in a lopsided, winsome smile, as he continues, “That day in the amusement park? You’d been so mad at me for no fault of mine at all, but you’d been so cute when you’d lolled all over my shoulder and clutched onto my clothes for your dear life. That time you’d made your first speech as your father’s heir to the company, I swear I could’ve run to you and kissed you right there, you’d been so hot up on stage, in the spotlight, right where you belong.”

He starts standing up, looking away from you. He begins picking up the first paper next to him. 

“Oh, you bought the divorce papers.” 

You spring up to attention at once, and snatch it away from him. “Wonwoo, I-”

“No, thanks for bringing them. Thank you for putting me out of my misery of this awful mirage called hope.”

“No, please, I-”

“I see you’ve already signed-” 

“Wonwoo! Just please listen to me?”

He finally pauses in his tracks and looks at you. “You’ve said enough, Y/N-ah. You’ll get the divorce you so want. And if you like, I’ll ask Jihoon to put in a word to take away the deal as well. If you feel so threatened-”

“Wonwoo, hold up. Jihoon?”

“Yeah? You didn’t know? His cousin is the CEO of Lee Corp. currently.”

He picks up a pen to sign, and you literally lunge yourself on his body. It’s cinematic, a little unreal, but you do it out of desperation. It results in you being draped all over his body, as he falls back on his desk. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut up. Let me talk,” and you clamp a hand on his mouth before he can say another word. You take a deep breath, as his eyes widen for a second, but then he stabilises himself on his desk and waits for you to continue. 

“I’ll admit it, I’ve been an awful person. I’ve been mean, selfish, and paranoid- and yes, while I may have been justified to some extent, I … should’ve trusted you. It’s absurd though- had I not trusted you at all, how could I ever submit to you even in sex? How could I trust you with my body at my weakest, most out-of-control moments? Perhaps, deep down, I knew that, no matter how much we sparred with our words and our eyes, we… you would never harm me. And I think you know I wouldn’t have harmed you either, really. Because you’ve been nothing if not my twin spirit. You’ve been the only person competitive enough to challenge me. You’ve been the only man who hasn’t given me up even when I threw tantrums. And I want to stop talking in the past tense. Even in the future, I see… I see you as the only man who’d ever really understand me. If I tell you I need a week to just cut off from the world and focus on my work, you’d understand me. If I tell you, Wonwoo, I… well fuck it, I didn’t even need to tell you that I don’t like being lonely every New Years’ Eve, did I? You agreed to be my ally when our families turned against us. You agreed to be my husband when I hadn’t even asked you about it. You’ve… you’ve shown me that a world beyond me exists, you’ve shown me that I’m not the only person in this world I can care about, and you’ve shown me that you don’t need to be loud and obvious when you want to do things for others. And I haven’t even shown gratitude for it. So you’re right when you call me a paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch.” He shakes his head, but you only laugh a little. “No you’re right. You are. Wonwoo, I… these last few weeks. When I was away, with my dad? I didn’t think it was love but… I did think it was longing. I didn’t even know when I’d gotten used to not living alone at home. I didn’t even know when I’d developed the habit of waiting till 10 pm to see you enter the house after working out, sweaty and your muscles bulging. I’d told you I had become dependent on you as a way to relieve my stress? Well, turns out now I’ve become dependent on you for attention, for affection, for a way to cure my loneliness. I am a paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch because I’ve been so lonely for years. Apart from my parents and my sister, I… I’ve never had anyone else. And I thought it was  a strength of mine … until I grew up and realised just how lonely I had become. And then… I found you, I guess? Even when we just had sex, it was better than spending all those nights alone, drinking on my own. Even when you’d tie me up to your bedpost for hours on that stupid yellow vibrator of yours, it was more intimate than anything else, and simply because… you even read my face and understood when I was reaching my boundaries. And I’m having all these epiphanies right now, and I feel like a fool for priding myself on my smartness, because truly, what have I gained if I’ve lost you?”

And then, he wrings his hands free and leans over you, and kisses you. Kisses you with his mouth open, his eyes on yours as he gauges your expressions turn from surprise, to wonder, to thrill. When he’s finally kissed you out of breath, you pull away from him to breathe in and feel alive again, only to find that the roles have switched and he’s got you pinned against his desk now. 

“Baby, if only… if only I’d known, that your pretty mind was having so many epiphanies, I’d have not left you on the bed alone in the morning. Tell me you don’t really want the divorce, tell me what you said right now was not a joke?”

“It’s not… I don’t want a divorce, please Wonwoo. I had only got them prepared because I thought you’d want them- but…” 

“Well, I deserve to be treated like a shithead for not making you feel just how badly I want to hold on to this marriage. Because even if it is fake…”

“Wonwoo, shh… it’s not fake if I love you, right?” You say, experimentally, hoping you’re doing the right thing now by being brave, and when he doesn’t reply for a second, your brain goes on a spiral again, but then he must know it because he kisses you again. “Say that again, princess.” So you do. He asks you three more times, and each time, he punctuates his sentences with kisses on your face, and you blush harder each time you admit that yes, you have fallen in love with Jeon Wonwoo. The last person you’d expect to fall for… but it’s true, and it’s real, and it’s warm and novel with how it’s coursing through your veins. 

“I love you too, Y/N, if you’ll really have me.” So you kiss him back, your tongues lazily sliding against each other, the sensation making you numb. It feels good to kiss Wonwoo, but it feels even better to kiss your lover Wonwoo, you realise, and you go back for a million more kisses, before the grandfather’s clock in his room rings out and reminds you that it is noon. 

“Wonwoo… Fuck! I’d forgotten,” you whisper as he kisses you down your neck, lavishing every inch of your skin. “The meeting with the Lees!” “Oh.” He looks up at you. “I’ll call Jihoon and ask him to reschedule. Can’t let work get in the way of pleasure, right now, Mrs. Jeon. Not when I can finally make love to you like you’re mine.” You giggle at his words, unimaginably corny. But you can’t deny how good it makes you feel. “Wait, who said I’m yours?” “Fuck, don’t mess with me, woman. You- you just said!” “I am, relax! It’s a joke, Mr. Jeon. I see your cheesiness has changed now… but your sense of humour is just as poor as before.” He snarls against your lips, although it’s sexy in a way. “I’ll not let you go for comments like that, you know?”

_

So he doesn’t. He calls Jihoon and reschedules the meeting, and then he drives you home, in his car. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, his hand wrapped in yours, as he pauses at every red light to kiss you. “I still can't believe it.” “You’ve got me here, Jeon. I’m not going away.” You can see the way his hands tremble, but you hold on tight. You’re telling him as much as you’re telling yourself, you’re never going away. 

It’s still raining outside, but he covers your head with his blazer as he picks you up and carries you all the way upstairs to his apartment, doesn’t even lower you in the elevator. Thankfully there’s only an ahjumma inside the elevator, who doesn’t seem to mind, only giggles when you apologise. “It’s okay. I know how lovesick men can be,” she says, before she gets down at her designated floor. 

And then he doesn’t stop kissing you. He doesn’t leave your mouth even when the elevator door opens and you both walk out into your apartment. He doesn’t leave your mouth when you shrug off your heels and he takes off his own shoes. He doesn’t leave your mouth when he directly takes you all the way to the master bedroom, and just plops you down on the bed, you nearly springing up with the impact. 

“Wonwoo?” You ask when he turns away and walks into the closet, only to return with a box that’s too familiar to you. It has all your toys in it. “Do you know, Mrs. Jeon, just how cruel you’ve been by forcing me to see these every time I open the drawer to take out my underwear? He opens it slowly, showing you the three dildos inside, and the bullet vibrator Wonwoo himself had bought for you. “Every time I see them, it feels like you’re cheating on me, because fuck, how can anything give you pleasure when I literally exist?” His words are cheesy again, but in that dirty way which is so on brand for him. You’re leaking under the suit pants already, you know that. 

“Wonwoo… I… you know I don’t use them when you’re around.”

“And you shouldn’t have to use them ever. Not when I’m here to fuck you good like you deserve, like the cumslut you are, hmm?” He presses a finger under your chin, taking in a good look at you from above, before he orders, “Strip.”

So you do. He takes his sweet time watching you strip, while taking out one dildo from your box and his favourite ties. When you’re down to your underwear, he pauses you and extends a hand waiting for something. You know what’s coming, so you just extend your hands to him and let him tie you up. He smirks at your gesture, so he ties you up the poles of the bed. He also uses another tie to wrap around your eyes, and then he gently peels off your panties. “God, fuck. You smell heavenly.” Did he just sniff your underwear? “Wonwoo! Don’t!” There’s a sharp spank on your pussy, exposed to him in its wet glory, and you crumble instantly. “Little baby girls don’t tell Sir what to do and what not to do, hmm? They just take it as they’re given.” So he spanks you again, and it sends shivers through your body. Just the thought of fucking in the broad daylight seems like a sin, but then… isn’t this what married couples do?

You realise that Wonwoo’s seated himself next to you, and he’s gently taken your head into his lap. His hand is already playing with your clit, and you feel something cold and liquidy being rubbed over your pussy flesh. Lube? He’s still fully dressed, and you can feel the cold metal of his watch graze against your sensitive thigh, making you hiss in pleasure. 

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been taught a lesson, darling. Seems like getting married has made you feel like you’re beyond Sir’s control. But that’s not how it goes, is it?” You whisper out, “No… No Sir.” “Good girl. If you want to be treated like you’re married, then you’ve gotta earn it, yes? Now. Can you take one finger?” He inserts his finger gently, which is coated in the cold substance you’re assuming is lube. It isn’t really necessary, given how wet you are already, but it feels hotter when the lube is so cold inside you. 

You nod. “Words.” “Yes, I can.” So he slowly pumps it in, before saying, “Can you take two fingers?” You whimper as he stretches you by putting in two fingers. “Yes Sir.” “That’s a good girl.” The praise is making your head spin.

“And can you take-” he puts in another damn finger, “three fingers?” Now it’s a real burn. It’s in till his knuckles all too quickly but you can’t say no because you want to please. “Quick, princess. Don’t keep me waiting. Yes or n-” “Yes! I can. I will. I’m a good girl, Sir?” He pumps all three fingers deep until it hits your spot, and you scream out his name. “Such a good girl. Now fuck yourself on those fingers thinking that’s Sir’s cock.” 

You push up your hips, and he thrusts in, meeting your halfway. And then he sets the pace, as he fucks into you relentlessly, his other hand gently wrapping around your jaw and you take out your tongue, almost drooling, until he puts a finger inside your mouth too. You just know he’s smirking right now, with you being desperate for something in your mouth too, but you can’t care less. 

Your orgasm hits you as soon as he orders gently, “Cum for me, pretty baby.” But when you come down from your high, he doesn’t take his fingers out. He gently pumps in your cum into your system again, and you writhe with sensitivity. But he uses his other hand to stop you, as he takes it out of your mouth. “Now, can you take a dildo along with these fingers?” You gasp, because it’s not imaginable. “No, I… it’s too much, Sir.” “Is it? I don’t think it’s bigger than your husband’s dick, is it?” And fuck, you can’t stop yourself from clenching at that. It’s crazy how hot he makes it sound, but it feels amazing when he calls himself your husband. And he must feel your cunt clenching around his fingers as well, because he whispers near your ear, “Oh Mrs Jeon likes that, huh? Too bad she can’t take her husband’s cock then, because it’s too much-” “No I can take it! I can- I can fit in my husband’s cock.” You can hear the way Wonwoo grunts, as he plunges his fingers deeper into your cunt. “But first, I’ve got to train you, yes? You’ve become too unruly. You want to be the perfect wife, don’t you?” “Fuck!” you can’t form words as you clench around his fingers hopelessly, overstimulation forgotten, and buck up your hips to help him reach your spot. He just laughs and begins fucking you again, all three of his thick fingers snugly fit inside you till the knuckles. 

“Can you feel my wedding ring inside, baby?” He whispers again, and you cry out his name continuously as he drives you to a new high, so familiar, and yet so new. He’s your husband now, fuck. It’s a revelation that hits harder in the middle of sex, and you come instantly, coating his fingers with your essence. 

“Oh, my cockslut’s eager to please her husband, is she? So eager to be the perfect wife, is she?” 

“Yes, yes! Please- pl- I just want-”

“Want?”

“Please fuck me Wonwoo!”

He immediately removes his fingers from your pussy and you scream out as you feel empty. “Aaah! Please!” 

“I’m not making any girl who’s forgotten rules in the bedroom, feel good.” He takes off the tie that was wrapped around your eyes, and you notice that he’s not leaning down at you, his glasses still on, but his eyes dark with hunger. God, he’s hot.

“I’m sorry Sir.”

There’s a sharp spank to your clit, and you jump. It’s too much, but in the best way possible. 

“I’ll ask you again. Can you take three fingers and one of those dildos you love so much that you torture your husband with its sight every day?” He doesn’t break eye contact, and you whimper in front of him, pathetic and desperate. 

“Yes, Sir. I can.”

“Open your mouth.” 

Wordlessly, you do, and he spits into your mouth. Then he puts in the dildo. As you see the purple dildo, which is considerably slimmer than Wonwoo’s dick, but about the same length, enter your pussy, you notice how much Wonwoo’s gaze has hardened. Is he really jealous of that damn toy? It’s funny, so you buck your hips up to meet the way he’s slowly fucking you with the plastic dildo, and his eyes become more dangerous. 

“Are you that desperate for it, darling?”

“I want to feel full, Sir.” 

And then something in Wonwoo snaps. He wraps three fingers around the head of the dildo and along with the fingers, he plunges the dildo into you, stretching you out much more than before. The burn eases out after a second, but he fucks you at an incredibly slow pace, which only makes you eager for more. “Faster, please!” “You want me to fuck you with this plastic toy how I fuck you with my cock?” “Yes! I d- I do! I just want to feel full!” Then his other hand finds its way to your tits and twists a nipple hard enough to make it painful. “You’re such a whore, Y/N. Just a pretty whore. You’d take any cock just to keep your holes filled?” “No! I … I only like it when Sir does it for me.” “Liar. Just now you’re so happy to take this dildo, huh?” You can’t even think straight with the pace he’s torturing you at, but you do reply, “That’s- aah! Only- only because Sir’s fucking me with it. Because I can feel your wedding ring inside me, Sir!” 

“Fuck!” There’s another sharp pinch at your nipple before Wonwoo begins fucking you faster, and it only takes you a minute before he’s bringing you to yet another high which leaves you dizzy. 

“God, you’re left speechless. Does Mr Jeon fuck you that good?” He leans it to kiss you, his wet fingers now wrapped around your breasts. You can feel the way your cum still sticks on his fingers, but it feels too good to be gross. You kiss him back, arching your back off the bed, until he pulls away. 

He stands up from the bed, and languidly takes off his clothes. “So pretty like this, princess. Legs all spread out for who?”

“You, Wonwoo. My husband.” 

He stops his movements and stares at you for a second. It seems like calling him husband has the same effect on him as the effect on you when he calls you wife. “Yes, you’re right. Your husband.” He sits next to you to kiss you again and this time, you try to sit upright, in spite of your hands still being tied. When he breaks off, he says, “So let me train you to be my wife, hmm? I want to fuck you so good that your pussy shapes itself around me. That you won’t even need prep when I want to fuck you because it’ll be so used to me.” Oh, no wonder for that size training. “Why? Does your cock get bigger now that you’re my husband?” He smirks, eyes cruel because you’re talking back to him. “No, because I need to fit in perfectly to ensure none of my seed leaves you when I’m breeding you.” And then he attacks your neck, and you’re moaning even before his lips hit skin because his words flip some switches in you that you’ve never even known. Sure, Wonwoo’s always fucked you raw because you’ve been on pills for years, but the idea of him breeding a child into you? Fuck. You’d never even thought about having a child, but this idea turns you on remarkably insanely. 

Soon his shirt is off and he unties your hands. “Take off my pants for me, baby.” And you do. You tease him a bit, but that’s only fair with how hard he’s sucking your breasts, as if he’s born to do this. Before taking off his boxers, you notice the precum that’s leaking out so much that it’s made the fabric quite wet. So you lick his dick clean while it’s still inside his boxers, and you’ve got him hissing and grunting like never before. “Fuck, Y/N, don’t,” he pulls your head away. “Why?” He must notice the way his precum is still sticking on your lips, because he groans again. “I want to cum inside you. Breed you full, baby.” That puts a shy smile on your face as he takes off his underwear, and you finally see his cock upright, leaking and bright red. And perhaps you’re delusional after all those orgasms, but it does seem bigger than before. 

“Please, Mr Jeon, take me.” And he responds to your begging. He kisses you softly, as he lines himself up with you, his left hand still pulling your hands up above your head, and your right hand clutching your hips in an iron grip that will leave marks. And then he just enters, without warning, till the hilt, and you both moan out at the sensation. You don’t know why it feels different, but with how he’s kissing you, almost softly and gently, like he’s a gentleman, while fucking you ruthlessly like he’s in rut, you’re in heaven for sure. 

It’s also the first time Wonwoo is so audible during sex. He’s panting and moaning, although much softer than you, but his sounds spur you on even harder. He can’t stop whispering your name and other pet names in your ears, while you keep moaning his name loud even to burst his eardrums. He doesn’t care. He responds to every word you utter, every little request you beg, and he fucks you fast and hard, until he can’t hold on any further and his entire body is trembling with the incoming orgasm. “Mrs Jeon, can you cum with me?” “Yes, please, Sir.” And so you do, releasing into each other while still making out with each other. It feels like you’ve entered a different dimension of pleasure, and Wonwoo is here with you. It’s a safe feeling beyond description, and you pass out right there.

_

When you do wake up, you find Wonwoo sitting next to you with a cloth in his hands, wiping gently at your legs. 

“How long have I been out?” 

“About ten minutes?”

He doesn’t answer smoothly. You can see the way his hands move softly, almost worshipping. 

“I love you, Wonwoo.”

Then he looks up at you, and you see the way his eyes are quivering. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “No, tell me.” “Nothing just-” You sit up, and take his hands in your own. Then you nod at him, gently urging him on. 

“Was it too much?”

“Huh?”

“Did I push you too much?”

“No. I would’ve used my safeword if you did.”

“But what if you forgot the safeword in the middle of it all- what if you got too pushed by me-”

“I wasn’t, and that’s what matters. I remember it all the time, Wonwoo, you… the traffic lights aren’t really easy to forget. I would tap out somehow if I felt like too much. But it wasn’t, so where’s this coming from?”

“Nothing… I… I hope you’re not just taking it from me because I’m your husband now.”

And at that, you laugh. “Hell, nah, Wonwoo. You know I wouldn’t take it from you even if you were god. You’ve really got me all wrong, then.”

He smiles weakly, and you know it’s still on his mind. So you move over to sit gently on his lap. “Wonwoo, when I said earlier that you know my limits. I wasn’t lying, you know. You do. You don’t push me too much.”

“But if I ever do-”

“If you ever do, you should know that I’ll tap out at once and never forgive you. You always make me feel safe, Wonwoo.” And you hug him, and the fact that you’re both naked makes your hug even warmer and softer as you feel Wonwoo’s hands wrap around your back as well. 

“I love you too, Y/N. I promise I’ll always keep you safe.” And then he kisses your forehead, and you snuggle your face right into the crook of his neck. He smells… like Wonwoo, and it feels like home. 

“Now, how about some lunch, baby?”

“You’re hungry when I had to do all the work?” You gasp while still tucked into his neck, and he giggles with the way your breath tickles his neck. 

“So what does my pretty wife want?”

“She just wants to cuddle you and sleep.” 

“And my wife’s wishes are my commands.”

So he lays down, with you still on top of him like a koala, and pulls the blankets over you both, wrapping you into one tiny ball. You look at him with a fond smile, and you see your expression mirrored in his. “I love you so much, Y/N-ah.”

“And I love you, Wonwoo. I could love nobody else apart from you.”

[addicsvt]

Things that I love hate about you.

pairing - enemies to lovers seungkwan x reader genre - fluff word count - 1393 warnings - some insults, cursing, mentions of bullying synopsis - boo seungkwan hates you, and you hate him too, simple enough right? a/n - thank you to the anon who waited so patiently for this 😭😭I rewrote this prompt like 8 different times and eventually chose this one!! (im not that confident about it TT) but happy valentines and carat day <3

It was snowing heavily, and you were walking in the snow unbelievably cold. You were rubbing your palms together, trying to come up with some sort of heat but it was a useless attempt. What were you even doing outside, you may ask. Well, you were supposed to hang out with your friends but everyone canceled because of how cold it was outside. And they all sent the message as soon as you reached the meeting place. So you were currently walking back home hands in your pocket shivering, when you felt someone behind you tap your back.

“Geez, you’re gonna freeze to death.” You heard someone huff with annoyance as you turned around only to be met with the gaze of your enemy, Boo Seungkwan walking beside you.

“I’m pretty sure you’d enjoy that.” You said crossing your arms across your chest, your cheeks flushed because of how cold it was.

“I actually would love seeing that.” He smirked and you only rolled your eyes when he suddenly took off his jacket. You were about to walk away from him when you felt a jacket being thrown at you. Seungkwan’s one?

“What the hell.” You said, and now it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Your gonna freeze to fucking death. And once you do I’m gonna have no one to bully. So take it, but if you don’t want to, throw it away and forget this ever happened.” He grumbled. You didn’t say anything after that though as you put on his surprisingly warm jacket. And maybe if you were hallucinating you saw him blush or maybe it was due to the cold.

“Thanks.” You said, biting your bottom lip.

“Don’t even think of this as anything. I still hate you. A lot.” He muttered loud enough for you to hear. In his heart, he was obviously lying, he didn't hate you at all, he always thought you were cute, especially with his jacket on. But in the so called "sensible part" of his brain, he was supposed to hate you. Cute? No way. That word should’ve stayed far far away from you. 

“Hey, idiot. I got you chocolate cookies, the flavor you hate the most right?” Seungkwan smirked, you loved chocolate cookies but you’ve always faked a hatred for them just so he could keep buying them for you. Seungkwan was usually someone who was good at reading emotions and the fact that he never caught onto your lie was surprising.

“I hate you.” You lied feigning annoyance trying your best to hide your smile that was threatening to slip.

“Don’t hate me, hate the cookie.” He let out a laugh. He’s lying too, he knows you love chocolate cookies and if you haven’t made that obvious enough, chocolate cookies might as well be your whole personality. The only reason why he keeps buying them for you is because he thinks you look stupid (cute) trying to lie to him.

You not-so-secretly munch on the cookies after school on the bleachers thinking no one’s watching when Seungkwan’s on the side looking at you and maybe if he was insane he would think that it was cute. Your adorable cheeks puffed because you were trying to stuff 3 cookies in your mouth at once.

You were in class, 5 minutes before the bell was about to ring your teacher kept dragging it. You were counting the last seconds in your mind till freedom. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!  The bell rang out loud as everyone made their way out of the class. Standing outside your classroom waiting for you was Boo Seungkwan with a smirk. You always assumed he did it to annoy you.

“Again?” You questioned, looking at him as he only smiled back.

“The more time I get to bully you the merrier!” He chirped which you only sighed to.

“When will you ever be late, I swear. When the bell rings you suddenly teleport here.” You grumble, you secretly enjoyed his presence though. You loved how he always stood there, ready to annoy and talk your ear off. You loved listening to him talk.

“Like I said, the more I bully you the more I feel happier.” He explained. The only reason why he came just on time was to see you run out of the class. Your bright eyes staring at the clock, counting down the last seconds because it was funny (adorable) to him. He never bullied you, always buying you lunch instead and making up different excuses. “Oh, I just wanted to spend money.” 

“You remind me of a calculator.” Seungkwan randomly brought up once and you only stared at him taken aback. 

“Huh, what do you mean?” You asked him, obviously confused.

“Well, it’s because you’re a nerd. And you give answers to your friends like a calculator does.” He commented, when you suddenly remembered that one time you whispered an answer to your friend during an exam.

“Hey! How do you know about that.” You blurted out, feeling strangely guilty and exposed.

“We were in the same exam hall and it’s pretty obvious. Your lucky teacher didn’t catch you.” Seungkwan joked, observing your reaction.

“Well, she was my best friend and you know I had to help her. She was gonna fail!” You protested while pouting. Seungkwan swore he felt his heart explode when you did that. No, no, no. He was not falling for you. No way. (He was already whipped)

“Hmm, yeah okay sure, I believe you,” Seungkwan said sarcastically trying to cover up the fact he almost blushed in front of you.

“You’re so annoying.” Seungkwan sassed at you randomly. He couldn’t even pay attention in class now because of you (it’s not like he ever did). You were plaguing his thoughts and he hated it (loved it). Why was he falling for you, was it your adorable pout? Was it your bubbly personality? Was it your sweet smile? He couldn’t figure it out, but if someone asked him to name 100 good things about you he could do it easily, in record time. Well, it was your fault for being so perfect and amazing and loveable. A part of him slapped himself mentally, There was no absolute way he liked you, he didn’t like you and that was final. Was that really what his heart wanted though?

“Eh? What did I do this time?” You asked, looking a bit offended. You were sitting on the grass next to him because he wanted to talk to you there or something.

“You’re so perfect it’s annoying.” He complained. Your mouth widened, trying to see if you heard it correctly.

“What?” You said in disbelief, needing to hear it again. Because no way did he just say that, it could just be the lack of sleep talking.

“I said, you’re so perfect it’s annoying.” He repeated watching your shocked face. You didn’t know how to react. It’s not like you loathed Seungkwan, the chocolate cookies did make you like a certain part of him. You thought you were crazy but you crushed on Seungkwan sometimes too. You swore you felt butterflies when he lent you that jacket on the snowy evening. When he always waited outside your classroom every day on time. When he saw an object and thought about you. No matter how much you tried to deny it, you liked him.

“And, you’re annoyingly pretty too. Your pout is annoyingly cute, your personality is annoyingly bubbly. I love you so much, it’s annoying.” Seungkwan confessed, witnessing as your cheeks reddened in color.

“Boo Seungkwan, I love you so much too, it’s annoying.” You said back, blushing at how sudden this all was. Seungkwan only nodded before he started blushing too.

“You're so annoying that I want you to be my valentine.” Seungkwan admitted watching as your blush got even darker. 

“You’re so annoying that you make me want to say yes.” You laughed before he pressed his lips onto yours, noses bumping, you swore your heart skipped a beat. The kiss was soft but affectionate at the same time. He slowly pulled away as his taste still lingered on your lips.

“Was that good?” Seungkwan asked, cheeks flushed as a strand of hair fell on his face.

“More than good.” You assured him, moving the strand off his face and tucking it behind his ear. 

@ADDICSVT 2024

[marysdonuts]

S stands for scam

nepo baby!Seungcheol x scammer!reader

Synopsis: You are cold hearted scammer who loves to break men and use them for money. Seungcheol the rich nepo baby is your next target. Will the sadness in his eyes melt your icy heart? Or will you empty his bank account?

Warnings: smut, scam, dom!reader, sub!seungcheol (first time), slightly sad!seungcheol, oral (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, light butt stuff (m.receiving), crack

WC: 1.7K

Status: part 1. - ongoing, part 2.

a/n: join my taglist to get notified about new chapters - here

You always liked cocky guys. You know, those who reek of confidence. Who boast their good looks for everybody to see. That smirk on their face.. Like they know they are the shit. Bossing people around. Extremely competitive. Eyes that don't take No for an answer. And let's be honest... Rich. Money makes you move.

You also liked, no, loved to take these type of men and wipe that annoying grin off their handsome faces. Make them beg or even better - cry. After being done with them, take all the cash and dip. Especially if they looked tough. Sweet little challenge for your ego.

That's why you picked Choi Seungcheol as your next target. It was not unusual to see him frequent the same upscale hotel bar as you. Upscale and luxury were two things you like more than putting men in their place. Unfortunately, for Him, he was both.

//

Sitting at the bar, each time in new tailored suit, definitely italian, changing limited edition watched like socks. Always came alone and acted like he owned the place. Manspreading on the chair, taking up space for three. So annoying.

However, men like that are such an easy prey.

"Your drink looks delicious, what is it called?" question rolled off your tongue with childlike curiosity, doe eyed, like you never had a sip of alcohol before. You always looked innocent. They never seen what was coming.

"Whiskey Sour" he slowly turned his head in your direction with raised eyebrow. He looked angry. Well, for a second. Looking you up and down, anger turned into pleasant surprise.

"Bartender, mix one for the lady" He didn't ask questions, only commands.

"I didn't say I want one" You smirked, knowing he bit the bait

"Join me" patting the chair next to him. Decreasing his manspreading to two people space. Damn, why are his thighs so huge? Sitting down, quite close to each other, whiff of his perfume entered your aura. Wood and Musk? Not sure, but he smelled good.

"Not bad. I mean your perfume" Compliments get the leo heart and you did your research.

"What about me?" he closed the distance between you, self assured look on his face

"You? Decent"

"Only decent?"

"I've met many people like you,"

"Oh? Is that right?" he paused, competitive side bubbling to the surface "Darling, you never met anybody like me" he purred

Just where you wanted him

"Spoiled, rich, pretty boy, spending his daddy's money" You continued

"So, you think I am pretty" He laughed, boost of confidence you could almost physically see. Like a skill level up in online game. Shoulders growing wider.

Confidence +1!

You sipped on your drink instead of answering. Letting him have this one. Glass hanging from your fingertips.

"Shall we get going?" he asked, suggestively brushing over your hand, taking the drink from it. You have to give it to him. He does not waste time. What Cheol wants Cheol gets. The way he was moving made it obvious nobody ever had the guts to question his autority. Sweet smile on your lips, dark shadow passing over your eyes.

"Lead the way"

Oh how you were looking forward to teaching this one a lesson.

//

Gently pressing your back to the door the moment they closed, his hands hugging the curve of your face, he swallowed your lips desperately. But in such a loving manner? What's going on in here? Is he not the type of person you thought he was?

"It's not often, people have the courage to say what they really think about me. To my face." Resting his forehead on your shoulder. Soft hair tickling your neck.

Why did that sound so sad? Almighty guy, now somehow looked like a lost puppy. You could tell he was tired of always being the responsible one. Searching for a caring soul that would take care of him. For once.

"There is more where that came from" you smirked. Pity? You did this many times before. Use a guy. Get the money. Why should it be any different today? You won't let any pity distract you from your goal.

Now pinning Him to the door. Forcing your knee between his thick thick thighs. He could probably crush you with those if he wanted. Ha. Take that.

"Such a big boy yet so weak" you mocked him

Eyes widening in shock, Cheol didn't resist. It was his first time being talked to like that. He didn't know what to make of it, but the growing heat of the moment your knee almost touched his Cheol Jr., showed him the way.

//

Next thing he knew, his knees were painfully pressed on to the wooden floor, gasping for air, as you completely drenched, slid painfully slow stroke over his face. Gliding your needy clit down the length of his nose, circling it like you had all the time in the world. You found your way to his, already open and waiting - mouth. Bulging in his pants became more and more evident, wet spot made its appearance quite quickly. Expensive fabric hardly keeping any secrets.

"Not the best day to wear gray suit, huh?" You smirked, running hand thru his full wavy hair, ending the gentle pet by pulling him closer.

"mmhm! " Seungcheol could barely breathe not to mention speak, the only thing that came out was muffled whine. No space was left between the two of you. He felt so weak. Just as you said. There was no strenght to fight back and step by step he realised that he didn't want to.

"You okay down there, pretty boy?" you couldn't help but laugh at the teary look in his eyes, mouth completely filled with your heat.

"I will need you to hold still now" not waiting for him to answer

You started rubbing on his face with gusto. Step by step increasing the vigour of your strokes. Caged moans, whimpers and what was that? Little cries? Kept escaping one by one from this tough built man, imprisoned between your thighs. You could tell he completely gave himself to the sensation.

"Look at you, moaning all over the place. Does it feel that good being used like a toy?" pushing him on his back, your legs now framing each side of his handsome, messed up face. You could see your dripping excitement spread all over his face, glistering under the warm lights. If he was wearing mascara it would be ruined by now.

"i-it does.." cheeks flushed with rosy colour, his confidence left the room long time ago

Confidence -10!

"Such a good boy. Do you know what happens to good boys, Cheollie?" At the sound of his name being spoken so sweetly, throb in his trousers almost made them explode. Nobody called him like that.

" What - " didn't finish, just looking at you with those sparkly brown eyes completely at your mercy

" You get a reward! " you exclaimed almost as if you were Oprah throwing gifts at her guests.

Straddling him backwards.

"Keep licking" you command as your warm lips reach the throbbing bulge in his pants. Soft kisses falling all over his pride. As they became increasingly wet the force he was eating you out with, surged.

"Shall I take it ou-" suddenly moaning as his tongue hit the correct spot.

"mmh p...l..se" struggling to get his answer out

"I will take that as a yes" slowly lowering his bottoms. All of him springing up like mushrooms after rain, slapping your cheek, leaving his precum all over it.

"Already this wet, huh?"

Pulling your lips closer to the tip, starting with playful licks circling the perimeter. Your kisses becoming sloppy, hands joining into the motion, cheeks hollowing. Up and down, up and down and in spiral. Producing moans from under you.

Cheol didn't know if it was the lack of air, the pulsing of your pussy tightly pressed on him or your pretty mouth, so so wet covering every single spot of his sensitive area... But he had a feeling he might finish uncharacteristically quickly. This was entirely new experience for him.

"fuck.. it feels so good, " Finally, a coherent sound escaping out for a second "not sure how long I will last if you keep sucking me like that"

"Then I better get to the highlight of tonight" chuckling devilishly as you quickly jumped off of his face.

"Put those muscles to use and take me to the bed" you ordered the poor man with his pants still stuck at the knees.

He wobbled but obeyed. After completely taking off his trousers, once carefully pressed fabric was a mess on the floor. Covered in your saliva and his own juices.

The image of finally embracing you, feeling your tightness powered his moves as he carried you in his arms, bridal style. Carefully laying you down on the sheets. You enjoyed that more than you'd ever admit.

"Such a strong big boy" you whispered as your lips brushed his cheek. Kiss as reward. Sending electric shocks down his spine.

"I will need you to kneel for me, okay?"

His head moved in agreement but the hands shamefully covering how hard he was.

"It's too late to cover up. I already saw everything," you laughed, positioning yourself behind him

"well... almost everything." suddenly forcing his head to the pillows, leaving his bottom raised up and totally exposed. He gasped as you started spreading his thick thighs apart. Nestling your face between the cherry cheeks, hot breath reaching the sensitive pink flesh. Freeing your tongue from behind your teeth. Pressing your mouth against his pulsing rectum all at once.

"Ohhh" he moaned in pleasure. Well, for a moment. Before realising what was happening

"Wait! Where do you think you are going??" He almost cried out

//

Cheol was an adventurous guy, but not THAT adventurous. However, the moment he felt your hot slippery tongue in his prohibited zone picking up speed running in circles, and heard your moans becoming louder and louder.. He started loosing any inhibitions present until this moment. His legs slowly opening even more on their own accord, hips pushing up and meeting your mouth halfway. All of this a reflex. He didn't know he had it in him, but the body was reacting and he could not control any of it.

Dignity -20!

to be continued