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separatist-apologist · 15 hours

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Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

major thanks to @velidewrites for both the moodboard and the fic title. I owe you my life, my sword, my fealty.

Elain Archeron was six years old when she learned the news.

“...and Elain shall wed Lucien Vanserra,” her mother said to a friend, face beaming. Oh, how it had all been worked out. Three matches to three men, all before her eldest turned ten. With secured futures, her mama could relax. Elain couldn’t, though.

She learned to hate the young Lucien Vanserra. He was four years older than her, with a shock of red hair and brown eyes that skewed to gold in the right light. Every time he saw her, he’d bow with perfunctory politeness, his face a mask of placid emotion.

“Lady,” he’d say, eyes looking anywhere but at her face.

“Lord,” she’d reply, hoping he could feel her radiating contempt.

To try and get out of the marriage was unheard of. Ruinous, even, for not just herself but her sisters and their own matches. And so, Elain hoped Lucien ruined his own reputation and she could somehow escape with her own poor reputation intact. His own father had a reputation as a philanderer, and Elain heard rumors that some people didn’t believe Lucien to even be a true Vanserra.

Bastard, she’d heard one of her father’s friends murmur before the study door closed in her face. The word was followed by laughter and then someone shushing them all. Elain didn’t know if that was true, or not. Lucien’s skin was a far darker shade of brown than his pale father, but his hair was just as red as his brothers, his eyes a near match for Beron’s.

The only saving grace, as far as Elain was concerned, was the distance between them. Lucien was a son of Autumn, Elain a lady of Spring. Their courts bordered each other, but permission to visit was limited and met with resistance. She saw Lucien twice a year, less if she was lucky.

His presence loomed, though. As she grew into adulthood, Elain couldn’t get Lucien Vanserra from her mind.

Even when whispers of his reputation made its way to Spring. They said he tried to abscond with another female—a lesser fae female, no less. And rumors swirled that his father had the female executed for disrespect. No one could prove it, of course—Elain had seen Lucien not long after she’d heard the giggled whispers from her own friends at court.

Maybe you’ll be free of the Autumn sons, they’d giggled behind their hands.

When he arrived three weeks later, he’d seemed perfectly fine. He’d bowed, refused to look at her, and called her lady all over again before vanishing with Tamlin to talk. Surely that wasn’t the face of a male who’d watched the female he loved die. Was he cold? Did he not care?

The questions swirled around Elain’s mind as her wedding loomed closer. She was going first—Tamlin, who was betrothed to Nesta, had put it off for another year, citing problems on the border that would take him away from a new wife.

In truth, everyone knew Tamlin was fascinated with Feyre and Elain, who had watched the way he talked with her sister, knew he was angling for a way to change his fortune without ruining Nesta.

And Feyre, who was betrothed to a young nobleman in Summer, could simply not just swap places with Nesta. It was expected Nesta would make the most advantageous match with very few High Lords interested in the nobility from Spring. There was Helion, of course, who was deemed too old for Nesta, and the High Lord of Night that no one ever saw…and Tamlin, who had been promised to Nesta when his father was still alive. Elain wanted to stick around and see how it all played out. There was little love lost between Nesta and Tamlin, who interacted well enough but were content to avoid the other, too.

Elain knew Tamlin was hoping for a mating bond with Feyre. That was the only way out for any of them…and she was certain she simply did not have one.

And Lucien…

“They say she was his mate,” her friend had whispered to her the same night she’d learned the female was dead. The pain was said to be immense. Miserable. Intolerable. The most horrific thing a person could experience.

And he’d bowed with that easy expression. Was he a cold, unfeeling monster? Or were the rumors merely that?

With her wedding weeks away, Elain set out to uncover the truth for herself. If her soon-to-be husband had attempted to marry another woman, she deserved to know. Selfishly, she believed she could petition her parents to free her of her duty under the guise of embarrassment. He’d already broken their arrangement, hadn’t he?

Maybe he’d thank her.

Maybe not.

Tamlin knew him best and Elain decided to try her luck with the notoriously tightlipped High Lord. He often walked around his garden at noon, clearly deep in thought. No one ever bothered him, but perhaps he’d make an exception for her. Elain didn’t try and sneak up on him, catching his mossy green gaze as she cut a path through the azaleas. There was a look of resignation in his face—as if he’d been waiting for her.

“Lady Elain,” he said pleasantly, if not a little gruffly. “If you’ve come to beg for my assistance, I cannot give it to you.”

Elain was taken aback. “I—no, I wasn’t, I…”

Tamlin didn’t look as if he believed her. “What can I do for you?”

“You know Lucien Vanserra. Tell me about him.”

Tamlin considered her words for a moment. “He’ll make a good husband.”

That…wasn’t what she’d been asking, but Elain didn’t know how else to ask Tamlin without just asking. He was giving her nothing to work with.

“What makes you say so?” she pressed, trying anyway.

Tamlin sighed again. “We’ve been friends our whole lives. I’ve seen the way he treats people. He’ll treat you well.”

“Does he not…is there no one he would prefer?” she tried. One last bid before she gave up on Tamlin entirely.

Tamlin set his jaw. “No, Lady Elain, I do not believe there is.”

She knew better than to press any further. Tamlin would not be of any assistance—he was forbidden from interfering unless Elain had a legitimate complaint. As far as anyone was concerned, she was practically Lucien’s property.

It had occurred to her that she ought to deny him the pleasure of being the only male she’d ever touched. What would Tamlin do if Lucien complained? Some males did, some didn’t—the rules were never uniformly applied. Some males cared so much they’d start whole duels over it and other males encouraged it and hoped for a wife who had some semblance of experience.

Which did Lucien prefer, so she could do the opposite?

Elain found her mother in the parlor, paler than she usually was and yet still beautiful. She held court on the piano seat, her friends around her talking animatedly with bright, shiny eyes. When their eyes met, her mother beamed.

“There you are, pretty thing,” she began, talking as though Elain were still a little girl toddling about in shoes laced with ribbon. “Where have you been all afternoon?”

“Talking with Tamlin about Lucien,” she said without thinking, wishing for a moment she had the sort of mother that would assuage her fears.

The room erupted into giggles, forcing Elain back to reality.

“Excited?” her mother asked, clapping her hands together in front of her too thin throat. Her mother had once been so beautiful—the kind of female even the High Lord had courted before he met his mate. Now she was skin stretched over bone, still beautiful but with an exhausted quality Elain didn’t quite understand.

They never spoke about it. Feyre had tried, in her clumsy, tactless way and everyone had hastened to shush her as their mother turned her face, cheeks red with either anger or humiliation. Their father was unchanged, was just as handsome and healthy as he’d ever been. Elain assumed he must know.

He loved her mother. They weren’t mates, but they might as well have been. Their marriage had been arranged and they’d fallen in love before they ever walked down the aisle. Elain had once hoped for the same.

Lucien Vanserra had made that all but impossible. Sure, Elain had been difficult but wasn’t it a man's job to court a female? He’d never bothered.

Elain offered up her best smile. Good daughters did as they were told and aided in their family’s reputation. It could be worse, she told herself even as she struggled to imagine how. She’d be isolated from her family, alone in the most ruthless court short of the Night Court, with a male who didn’t care about her one way or the other.

“I am,” Elain lied, remembering she’d been asked a question.

“He is quite handsome,” one of the other ladies quipped as another quickly interjected.

“It was a shame to see the eldest end up with that cast off from Day. He nearly had one of the Night Court princesses.”

“They’re mates, are they not?” a third lady giggled from behind a pink and cream fan.

“That doesn’t make it less of a tragedy.”

Elain excused herself before, disappointed to leave the gossiping females for silence. Elain adored gossip so long as it didn’t involve her. How long before she was the thing they all felt was a shame? Did that Day Court female even have a say? Or had her bond snapped and she’d been shipped off to live with a male she didn’t know simply because fate was cruel and capricious?

Elain sighed.

She doubted she’d weather the Vanserra storm any better and yet she still hoped.

LUCIEN:

Pacing the floors of his bedroom, Lucien considered leaving once again. And once again it was Eris, leaned against the door that adjoined his room to the sitting chamber, arms crossed over his chest while his wife sat cross-legged on Lucien’s bed.

“I’m going to do it,” Lucien threatened, looking at Arina.

“Do it,” Eris replied, clearly bored. “Jump to your death, spare me the melodrama.”

“It’s not–”

“She’s alive, Lucien,” Arina murmured for the hundredth time. “She’s safe.”

And she was gone. Arina had smuggled Jesminda somewhere safe and far from Beron Vanserra’s reaches while Eris had paid off her family to swear Jes had killed herself rather than face the humiliation of disappointing her High Lord. Beron got to torture Lucien a little—a week being tortured in the dungeon was worth everything if Jes was alive and well.

But she was gone and Lucien was going half wild missing her.

“I need to see her,” Lucien protested, needing to hear his brother remind him of all the reasons why it was a bad idea.

Eris had simply had enough. “Why? You’re disappointed you didn’t get to watch her die the first time?”

“We’re mates—”

“You’re not—” Eris snarled, silenced by a cutting look from Arina.

“Lucien…if there was a bond, you would have felt it by now. It’s been years.”

“It can take time—”

“Not like that,” Eris interrupted again, running a hand through his immaculate hair. “But it wouldn’t matter even if she was. Father will see you married to the Archeron girl, and if you’re smart and you love Jesminda, you’ll do it.”

Lucien couldn’t help the small growl that rumbled in his chest. It was a betrayal to the love he felt to marry another female, and a double betrayal for that wife to be Elain. Bland, but pretty, Elain Archeron was something from his nightmares. Everything Lucien had ever seen of her told him she was more interested in ribbons and gossip than anything else.

She’d fit right into the Autumn Court, but not with him. He’d tried, over the years, to imagine what it would be like to be with her. To lay her out in his bed, to subject her to all the things he’d found so much pleasure doing with other females. And every time, Lucien’s mind reminded him that Elain was likely the type to silently lay there crying, unmoving and uninterested. Did she read? Have opinions? He doubted it.

But she was pretty.

Beautiful, even—the most beautiful female he’d ever seen, though it pained him to admit it. What good was all that beauty if she couldn’t hold a conversation. Tamlin had once described her as unspeakably dull, which was all Lucien needed to know.

In a month, she’d be his wife.

Lucien turned back toward the balcony that dropped to the leaf strewn ground, wondering how badly he’d hurt himself. He wouldn’t die…but he might rupture his knee, and that would take far too long to heal.

“She's safe?”

“I swear,” Arina said, biting her lower lip. “Don’t ask me where, Lucien. I made her swear never to contact you.”

“If you try, I’ll have someone take her memories,” Eris added, obnoxious until the very last. “Don’t think I won’t, either.” It was the kind of thing Eris would love doing. Lucien, cursed to remember everything while Jesminda never knew he existed. Maybe that was kinder—maybe he could have his memories stolen, too.

Guessing the slant of his thoughts, Arina rose and put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know you’ll be miserable in your marriage.”

Lucien looked at her, frustrated. Arina should have been miserable, too. She had been when she first arrived, hands clenched to fists, eyes glassy with unshed tears. No one expected her to be happy here, Lucien included. He’d been quick to make her his friend, if only to keep her close at hand without leaving her to the vipers nest that comprised the ladies of court.

Lucien had never asked what magic Eris worked to win her over. He didn’t want to hear about it, didn’t want to be subjected to the inevitability that he, too, might love his wife. Arina was Eris’s mate. It made sense he’d been obsessed with her, that they’d found a way to make it work.

Elain was nothing but a female his father had arranged for him before he’d had hair on his chest.

“Thanks,” he said, trying to muster up a smile that would send Arina away. She must have guessed, because she returned to his bed and plopped down against the rumpled gold sheets, hands behind her thick, blonde hair.

Eris groaned when he saw. “Not another night with Lucien. Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Not by far,” she replied, flashing him a pretty smile. “You could stay—”

“You two have fun,” he called over his shoulder as he turned to leave, waving them off.

“I don’t need to be watched.”

“Yes you do,” Arina disagreed, patting the space beside her. “You forget, but I haven’t—I was you, this time last year.”

“I heard you made it all the way to the border of Night,” Lucien said, giving voice to the rumors that had swirled through court.

She smiled. “Their bastard High Lord has the borders warded. How was I supposed to know if you walked through uninvited, you’d forget your very purpose in life.”

Lucien couldn’t help his laugh. “Where did they find you?”

“Wandering by a river bank,” she said ruefully. “Afterward, I was locked up in one of the spires until Eris came to collect me. He was furious.”

Lucien remembered that. Eris had raged in private, though there were no secrets even in the Forest House. Had it been his brothers idea—or more likely, his demand—that Arina be locked away?

“I can’t think of one way out of this marriage,” Lucien said, joining Arina on the bed. He hadn’t conceded—not yet. But his prospects were growing dimmer by the minute.

“There isn’t one, Lucien. Not unless you want to condemn yourself and this poor female who also didn’t ask to be married to you. Everything I’ve heard about Elain Archeron suggests she’s nice.”

“And boring,” she grumbled.

“Boring and nice are better than cruel and unkind,” Arina reminded him gently. “Maybe she lacks Jesminda’s fire and ambition. You can’t hold that against her.”

“Of course I can. What am I supposed to do with a wife who doesn’t have any interest in living life?”

“Maybe she’ll find joy in marital life. Maybe she’ll be an excellent mother—”

“Do not,” he warned.

Arina smothered a smile “I’m just saying, your assumptions might not even be true.”

“Please spare me the lecture about what a good male Eris is.”

“I would ever call Eris a good male,” she reminded him, elbowing Lucien in the ribs. “Not out loud, anyway, where someone might hear.”

“It’s different,” Lucien said with a sigh. “You never knew the kind of love before—”

“You don’t know that.”

“Did you?”

Arina averted her eyes. “No. But you’re judging her too harshly for things you don’t even know will be true. Maybe she’s scared of you, Lucien. Your family does not have the kindest reputation.”

“Her older sister is a viper, her younger a wildling. She’s simply dull,” he said with a sigh. “Trust me. In a month you’ll be right back here helping me escape.”

“Cowardice is ugly on you, Lucien,” Arina chided.

Was it cowardice or simply self-preservation? What was the logic of bringing any female into court? Arina held her own against Beron simply by playing the sweet, demure wife while Eris dressed her up like his plaything. At least Elain wouldn’t cause problems like the female Cadmus had nearly married. Of course, she’d also been married, though none of them knew it at the time. If he’d cared to ask, he might have learned how Cadmus moved on when she was removed from court.

But he didn’t.

Lucien barely slept for the next week, his thoughts drifting back to Jes. He’d forgotten the wedding entirely until his mother came to him with the traditional garb of Autumn and a crown fitted specifically for his head.

“Will you cut your hair?” she asked, fingering a long lock.

“No,” Lucien replied dully, certain Elain Archeron would hate it. He bet she’d grown up wishing for a male like Tamlin. She’d get him instead.

His mother sighed, setting the folded clothes on the end of his bed. There were a thousand unspoken words in that sigh, trailing behind her as she left him to his brooding. His mother wasn’t Arina, wasn’t about to try and sell him on the joys of an arranged marriage. She’d made hers work all these long centuries but no one believed she was genuinely happy. Lucien might have returned to his plan to jump from his bedroom window if she had.

Elain Archeron was supposed to be remanded into his custody two weeks before the wedding to help her acclimate, though in Lucien’s mind, it sounded more like a hostage situation. The closer they got to the actual date, the more precarious everything became. If she lived in Autumn, she’d become his mothers ward until he tied a ribbon around her wrist, binding her to him. Lucien didn’t want her here beforehand, didn’t want to feel responsible for her safety or have to care about her at all.

He certainly didn’t like when his bedchambers was moved, pulling him further into the interior of the palace where more people could watch. He’d need the space with a wife they said, always with a wink that betrayed their expectations.

Lucien wasn’t putting a child in Elain before Eris put one in Arina. He could waste a whole decade doing nothing at all if he was careful and she didn’t go crying to her father about it. It seemed humiliating to imagine and who knew—maybe she’d want out just as badly as he did.

In his daydreams, she came to him with stories of a lover she missed desperately. She asked him for his help to escape and Lucien provided it, along with his blessing. She vanished and he was blameless, left wifeless and perhaps a little humiliated but without the responsibility of her.

Reality was something different.

Reality was waking up knowing Elain Archeron was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Thirty years of trying to avoid her, of hoping she’d do something so offensive he’d be freed of her, all came crashing down. All the love Lucien had known, the life he’d dreamt of—all of it was done.

Left, instead, for the female standing between her mother and father, fingers nervously fingering the pale lilac of her gown. Lucien hated her beautiful face, made to look even more beautiful with cosmetics. He hated her thick, dark hair that tumbled down her shoulders, twisted carefully from her temples so nothing could hide her appealing face. She’d been packaged up, pretty as a picture, to be delivered straight to him.

And Lucien hated her for that most of all.

ELAIN:

There was no use begging or pleading, so Elain didn’t. She let the maids dress her beneath her mothers watchful gaze, tuning out the chatter about marital bliss.

Especially when the topic shifted. “Do you understand how children are made?”

Yes, Elain thought bitterly. She wasn’t stupid—she’d seen horses go at it as a girl, and servants tumbling about the stables. Had she not seen it, Elain had certainly spent enough time around lewd males and their crude gestures and their suggestive comments. Not to mention that book of Nesta’s she’d once read once…okay twice.

Three times.

Elain dreaded having to submit to Lucien Vanserra. The expectation that she was going to let him do anything to her naked body made Elain want to scream with rage. What about what she wanted? Did it matter at all? Would anyone care if she said no?

Elain suspected not, which made the whole ordeal easier. She could simply stop trying at all and move entirely in her head where she’d remain safe. No one noticed—not when her hair was pinned or her body made more shapely with stays and not when she was winnowed off, courtesy of the High Lord, straight to Autumn’s doorstep.

It was exactly as she imagined. Cool and blustery, the ground soggy with jewel-bright leaves and a rolling fog that threatened to swallow her up. This was to be her home? Elain wanted to cry. At least Spring was bright and lovely in between the violent storms. Did the sun ever shine?

The weather felt like an omen, made worse when Elain was led into the Forest House, guarded by sentries holding bows strung tight.

Inside, beneath a hanging chandelier, Elain was greeted by the High Lord and his family. All five of his sons, his wife, and his eldest’s stolen wife all looked at her as Elain made her way toward them. Vipers, she thought, wondering what Nesta would make of the entire thing. Nesta was gone, accompanying Feyre in Summer which felt strategic. By the time they returned, Elain would be making a death march through a temple, bound and perhaps even gagged by her new husband.

She hated how handsome he looked in his navy jacket and tight, cream pants. His hair was long like all his brothers save for Eris, and tied back with a leather strap. Lucien looked at her with hidden contempt even as he stood forward to offer her a broad hand.

I hate you too, she tried to say silently, even as she forced herself to smile.

Lucien bowed, taking her hand in his to almost kiss her skin. His lips never made contact, though it must have looked as if they did. This was pure theater and he was an actor on stage. “Lady Elain,” he said, just as he always did.

“Husband,” she replied, because she knew her mother wanted to hear her say it. Wanted to know that when she left, Elain would be content.

The blonde rolled bright, green eyes as an amused smile spread over her pretty face. So much for making friends, she supposed.

Lucien dropped her hand as if she’d burned him. He’d have to do better than that if he was trying to sell this. Maybe he simply didn’t care. His father stepped forward, unconcerned with his son, to speak with Elain’s father.

“Please,” he said, gesturing behind him, “allow me the pleasure of showing you to my home.”

Another eye roll, this time from both the blonde and her mate. It was good to know they were all phonies, she supposed.

“Lucien,” the Lady of Autumn began, eyes sparkling with delight. “Why don’t you show Elain to her room?”

“Our room, you mean?” he said, voice syrupy sweet. His mother’s eyes flashed a warning, silencing her adult son without so much as a word uttered. “Yes, mother.”

Elain started to turn to her mother, to plead silently not to be left alone in Lucien’s company, but her mother looped her arm with the Lady of Autumn, a female that also seemed far too thin and somehow looked healthy and vibrant compared to Elain’s mother. Both Elain and Lucien stood there watching them retreat and Elain wondered if Lucien ever felt compelled to count the notches in his own mothers spine the way she did.

“Come,” Lucien said, his voice neither soft nor gentle. He didn’t wait to see if she followed and some part of her wanted to spite him and remain where she was, to force him to drag her down wide halls made entirely of wood and open, glass windows. Brass sconces held lit candles that illuminated through the gloom while overhead chandeliers of faelights did the rest.

Elain tried to memorize the path he took her on, counting in her head until she was dizzy and confused. Had it been left, or right last? Did it matter?

Lucien pulled open a rounded door with heavy, gold knobs and Elain nearly sobbed. Reaching for the molding to steady her shaking knees, Elain looked at the room that would belong not to her, but them.

Lucien glanced over his shoulder, eyes rolling just a little. “Are you afraid of sitting furniture, lady?”

She hated him. Forcing herself inside where the scent of him was so overwhelming it was all she could smell, Elain sood right in the middle of that large, cream colored rug. “I don’t want you in here.”

Lucien flashed her a smile. “Then we agree. I have no intention of spending a minute more in this room before I have to, wife, so you can stop your trembling.”

“Is this amusing to you?” she demanded, wanting to launch herself at him and pummel him with her fists like Feyre had used to do to Nesta when they were children. Lucien was taller than her by a good head and shoulders and beneath his fine clothes, she bet he was packed with muscle. There was no way she could take him in a fight—she likely couldn’t knock him down, either.

Still, it might make her feel better to try.

He looked as if he’d guessed the slant of her thoughts.

“No, lady, I don't find any of this amusing.”

“And yet you mock me.”

Lucien, unable or unwilling to deny her claims, merely sank into a deep bow. “Did you expect sonnets?”

“I expected manners.”

“Well, I suppose you know better now, don’t you?”

Artfully dodging her, Lucien made his way out of the room without another word. She supposed getting the last one was enough for him. Once he was gone, Elain exhaled some of her panic. This was happening.

There was no escaping any of it, no backing out now. She tried to find some positives in the situation. Her husband was handsome, she supposed. That was nice. And the room was big, with space to entertain potential friends if she wanted. As Elain moved through the room, she found a bedroom twice as large as the sitting room, with an attached bathing chamber she could have put her bed back home in.

It felt cozy. Warm hues of orange and brown and green decorated the room, trimmed in gold and dark herringbone wood floors. The ornately carved headboard looked a bit like a carriage she’d seen in pictures from Winter, though Elain had never been. A mountain of pillows invited her to lay down, though it was the glass double doors hidden behind sheer curtains that drew her attention.

Elain opened them to find a balcony overlooking an expansive forest. It was a sea of color, dimmed in the moody fog hanging between the colorful treetops and swaying trunks. In the distance, Elain thought she saw the edges of mountains, though maybe that was her mind filling in the gaps of what should be there.

Something pressed against the corner of her mind—a vision that wanted recognition. Elain was curious, though now wasn’t the time to fall into a trance. She pushed it back, promising she’d return to it once night fell and the doors were all locked. Seers were rare—the last thing she needed was her rude husband to learn he had something valuable on his hands.

Was this her home now? Elain ran her fingers over the damp, wood railing as she tried to find something nice to say about it. It was a place, certainly…she wouldn’t have chosen this place willingly, but that was beside the point.

Elain tried to make herself believe this would be a good thing. That some good would come from it, or that she could find happiness but Elain felt heavy. Stones filled her stomach, weighing her down until she retreated back into the warmth of the room and cheerful, crackling fire keeping her company.

She thought she was alone. Shuffling her feet toward the sitting room, Elain found the blonde sitting in a chair, fingers drumming on the white fabric.

“Done brooding?” she asked, flashing Elain a pretty smile.

“I’m not–”

“Oh, no need to lie,” she said, waving a hand. The red ruby and gold band that encircled her ring finger caught in the faelight, making it seem like a true firestone. Maybe it was. “I tried to scale my own balcony the first day I arrived.”

Elain paused. “Why?”

She smiled wider, the only bright thing in the gloomy room. This was the Day Court female—if her warm, brown skin and golden hair hadn’t given her away, the faint glow that seemed to shimmer off her certainly did. And yet, somehow, she looked Autumn to Elain, though Elain couldn’t quite articulate how.

“I suspect it's a right of passage for all females betrothed to a Vanserra. I would warn you not to try, but Eris told me not to interfere.”

That irritated Elain. “And you do everything he tells you to?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Had she come to try and sell Elain on marital bliss? On the joys of being a good, meek, submissive wife?

The female laughed. “In his fantasies, perhaps. But in real life? No. If I were warning you, I’d tell you that Eris has twelve hunting dogs faster than horses and with more stamina than a hundred soldiers. I might also tell you that they’ll drag you back with their teeth and no one would bat an eye because you’ll heal up nice enough. But I’m not warning you, because maybe you’ll get lucky and get through a hundred miles of unbroken forest, the sentries guarding every major road in and out of Autumn, and your parents won’t mind when they learn you’ve vanished.”

“I never said I was trying to escape,” Elain said through gritted teeth. “I was just standing on the balcony.”

The blonde stood. “Of course,” she agreed, hands smoothing out the crushed red velvet of her dress. “Would you like to see the orchard?”

“I—” Elain paused, the words she’d been about to speak far too rude to be uttered aloud. “Of course.”

“Arina,” the blonde told her, offering a warm hand. Elain took it like a lifeline, thinking of the eye roll from earlier. Maybe it hadn’t been at her expense…but Luciens. Elain wanted to ask this female every question she could think of, none of which would engender warm feelings. And Elain, alone in this new place, wanted a friend more than she wanted anything else. Or, if not a friend, at least an ally—someone she could trust.

“Elain.”

Arina’s smile was pretty. Elain supposed it made sense that Eris Vanserra would want her. What didn’t make sense was Arina’s apparent serene happiness. The unspoken words between them seemed to suggest Elain, too, would find what Arina had. Would be glad for how things worked out, even if they were difficult in the beginning.

Maybe it had worked out for Arina. Elain knew the best she could hope for was perhaps, understanding. Her and Lucien could live parallel lives if he was willing. She’d look the other way if he wanted to carry on in exchange for…for what, exactly? Did she want children? Someday, she thought, but not soon. Elain wanted to travel. Would he let her?

Vowing she’d feel him out before asking, just to spare herself the humiliation and betray her own feelings, Elain trailed behind Arina.

Arina offered Elain to ask her anything she liked. And Elain wanted to—oh, how she had so many questions. But in the end, Elain said little at all.

Better to be safe than reveal to much of her hand, after all.

LUCIEN:

Somewhere in Lucien’s home, his soon-to-be wife slept soundly. Not him, though. Lucien had begun drinking just after dinner, grateful his parents carried the conversation with Elain’s parents so he didn’t have to speak to her at all. Sitting beside her, Lucien felt frustrated and uncomfortable. Her scent had lodged itself in his nose and try as he might, he couldn’t get it out. The scent of jasmine and honey trailed after him all day, driving Lucien to drink. It was like her mere presence in the palace had infected every private space he’d once cherished, reminding him that he could not escape her no matter how he tried.

Arina floated into the study, eyeing the decanter of whiskey sitting on the side table. Lucien held a glass in hand, the ice long since melted.

Dressed in casual, white linen pants and a black top without sleeves, Arina was clearly getting ready for bed before she thought better of it. “Shouldn’t you be getting to know your new wife?”

“Remind me, how well did that go for Eris?” Lucien grumbled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Arina flopped to the couch beside him. “I held a knife to his balls,” she said with a laugh. Lucien snorted—he didn’t think he’d heard that version of events.

“And they say romance is dead,” he muttered, trying not to think too much about whether his brother would enjoy that or not. There were some things he didn’t need or want to know about, and what Eris did with Arina was one of them. Arina was his friend—his sister, truly. And the thought of his brother touching him was simply too disturbing for Lucien.

“I took her to the orchard today. She’s…” Arina bit her bottom lip.

“Boring?”

“Nervous,” Arina supplied, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Did you see her mother?”

Lucien’s stomach flipped. Yeah, he had seen the matriarch of the Archeron family and it made him wonder what Elain’s father was like. She made his own mother look healthy and vibrant.

“I don’t need to see her before the wedding.”

“Ah, yes, the classic make-her-fall-in-love-with-me-by-ignoring her tactic. Works every time.”

“I don’t want her to fall in love with me,” Lucien said with too much conviction. Arina arched a brow before rolling her eyes.

“You’re going to spend your immortal existence in a miserable marriage?”

“Not immortal—father will die, her parents will too and I’ll—”

“Ruin her?” Arina interrupted, arms crossed over her chest. “Kick her out of your home, keep your shared children—”

“There will be no children,” Lucien half growled, frustrated by the way his whole body seemed to ignite at the thought. How long had it been since he’d last touched a female? Not since Jesminda had been exiled, he realized. Months, then. No wonder his body was interested in the female currently occupying a bed meant for him.

Arina sighed. “I expect this kind of obstinance from Eris. He always has to be right. But not from you.”

“If you’d known true love before Eris, would you…?” Gods, he couldn’t even get the words out. None of them understood. They thought Jesminda had merely been a rebellion, a passing fancy that was easily forgotten without understanding that Lucien had been willing to trade his whole life for her. His money, his crown, his title—all of it for a simple life with Jesminda.

And now she was gone, hidden away where he’d never find her. Was she as miserable as he was? Desperate to get back to him? Or had she made peace with her circumstances? Jesminda had a practical streak to her and when she made up her mind, there was no changing it. If Eris had managed to get her out of Autumn, and Arina had warned her of what would happen to her should she return, and Jesminda hadn’t written him, gotten word, or otherwise come looking for him, then she was unlikely to do so in the future.

The realization made Lucien want to die.

“Even if Elain wasn’t here, your father was never going to let you leave with Jes,” Arina said, reaching for Lucien’s hand. “He was going to kill her.”

Lucien had heard. Eris had gotten word and raced home, sending a letter to Arina to get Jesminda out before Beron’s sentries dragged her to the Forest House. They’d been lucky, if one could call being tortured for weeks lucky. Beron wouldn’t kill one of his sons, though, and certainly not all of them. None of them had claimed responsibility, which, in Beron’s mind, made them all responsible. Lucien had bore the brunt of his fury, but he’d seen Eris limp up the stairs of the dungeon, face paler than usual, eyes hollow and bruised.

“I know,” Lucien said, though it did little to soothe the ache in his heart or fill the hole in his stomach. “Is she safe? Happy?”

“Yes,” Arina said with conviction. “And you know she’d want the same for you. I made her swear to let you go, Lucien. She knows…she knows who you are, your position…the expectations placed on you. It was a good dream. In a better world, you could have…but you can’t. And the longer you hold on, the worse you’ll feel.”

“That doesn’t mean I want Elain Archeron.”

“You don’t even know her,” Arina protested, but on this, Lucien was unwilling to budge. Would Beron have cared as much if Lucien hadn’t already been promised to another female? Beron had never been interested in Lucien. By the time he’d come around, Beron already had four other sons. Lucien wasn’t even a spare, he was simply unneeded. His whole life, he’d been left to his own devices save for his fathers political machinations. Marrying Elain tied him to one of the most powerful families in Spring. Lucien knew Tamlin was engaged to Elain’s eldest sister. Beron would have sway if he needed Spring for anything.

It wasn’t Elain’s fault and yet there was simply no one else to blame. She was the face of his misery.

“Go to bed, Lucien.”

Lucien rose, suddenly annoyed with Arina. He’d supported her back when she’d been desperately trying to find a way out of her own marriage and yet here she was, urging him to just give up and give in. Lucien might be stuck with Elain, but he’d be damned if he was going to try and enjoy himself.

Maybe he was a little drunk. And maybe it was the alcohol bolstering him, that drove him to the bedchamber that would soon belong to them. Lucien intended to tell Elain not to ask him for anything, and in return he would leave her alone. She could carry on some clandestine affair like so many other females at court did. Their husbands pretended not to notice so long as it was not obvious and all their children could be reasonably accounted for.

Lucien pushed through the sitting room to the bedroom where Elain was. She was perched on the edge of the bed, hairbrush in hand. The smell of salt hung heavy in the air and when she turned her big, brown eyes to him, he could see she’d been crying. Lucien paused, some of his anger fizzling to shame.

“Ah…lady. Did something happen?” he asked awkwardly.

Elain cleared her throat and pasted a smile on her face he’d seen a thousand times before on his own mother. “Of course not. It’s simply the pollen in the air.”

Pollen? She was from Spring. Did she think he was stupid? Lucien opened his mouth to argue with her before remembering that she was likely crying because of him. Some of his courtly manners flooded into his awareness.

“Should I shut the window?”

“No,” she breathed, lunging forward as if to physically stop him. The thought was oddly charming. Could she? What did they teach females in Spring, anyway? Arina had come with a dagger hidden in her skirts, apparently, and with enough knowledge to threaten his brother. Should he worry Elain, too, had intentions to castrate him should he offend her?

“Do…can I get you something?”

Elain eyed him suspiciously. “No?”

“Is that a question?” he asked, trying to figure her out.

“I’m fine, lord,” she murmured, dropping her eyes back to the bed. Go away now, seemed her unspoken request. Lucien knew when he wasn’t wanted and in some ways, it was a relief to be dismissed by her. He didn’t have to try so hard.

Try at all, truly. She didn’t have any interest in his company.

Well, fine.

Lucien offered her a bow, well aware he was still mocking her. Elain’s eyes were narrowed to slit when he straightened his spine again, cheeks red not from tears, but anger. Yell at me, he urged silently. Maybe he’d like her better if she showed a little spirit.

Elain took a breath and offered another fake smile. “Sleep well.”

Lucien grumbled something back, turning and closing the door behind him. He was tempted to go back to his own bedroom and enjoy what little freedom he had left to him, but the sound of her soft sobs floated beneath the crack and Lucien was frozen in place. Of course he’d known she was crying and yet to hear it…Lucien swallowed.

He didn’t want to be his father.

Hesitating, he knew there was no point in going back into the bedroom other than to make her feel bad for being miserable. But maybe he didn’t need to leave her wholly alone, either. That was a decent compromise, he thought to himself. Lucien padded out, down the hall to his own room for a pillow, a few blankets, and the things he needed to sleep. He doubted Elain would appreciate learning that he preferred to sleep in the nude and truthfully, he didn’t want her to see him undressed, either.

Not yet. Not until they had to. He figured he might be able to put it off for a while, but eventually he was going to have to lay with his wife, if only to keep her from running off to her father and making any number of claims about him.

The thought of being labeled impitent offended his masculine pride.

Lucien skipped a shirt after tossing and turning on the small couch, annoyed by the fabric hugging his skin and the lumpiness of the cushions beneath him. As he pulled it off over his head, Lucien heard Elain swear softly from behind her bedroom door.

Walking to the window and pushing the curtains gently aside, he saw her swing a leg over the ledge. Her nightdress rode up her slim thigh and once again his body reacted with fascination.

Not the time, he reminded himself with mounting frustrations. With a loud sigh he was certain she hadn’t heard, Lucien merely closed his eyes and winnowed onto the balcony. A light mist fell against his overheated skin, soothing him a little.

“You’ll kill yourself trying that,” he warned.

Elain shrieked, pitching forward to what would have been a very painful fall had he not caught her by the waist and dragged her back. The smell of her hair was too much, intoxicating and sweet and her skin softer than he’d expected.

Lucien released her instantly, stepping far enough away to clear his head. Would she be angry if he took his frustration out on a lady at court? Just to clear his head? What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her…right?

“Don’t touch me,” she warned, holding out a finger like a weapon. Lucien’s hands moved upward defensively, palms out in surrender.

“You won’t last a night in those woods,” he warned her.

“Because of the dogs?” she demanded.

Arina.

Lucien was going to murder her in the morning.

“No, not just the dogs. The dogs will merely bring us to your shredded body,” Lucien retorted hotly, frustrated with the situation and himself. “There are far worse things in the forest than Eris’s animals and though I’m not thrilled about this marriage either, I would rather not be a widow before the ink has dried on our certificate.”

“I would have thought—”

“Then think less,” he snapped angrily. “But do not convince yourself I am hoping you will die.”

Elain’s cheeks reddened. “If you’d let me finish, lord, you would have heard me say that I would have thought you’d be delighted to see me leave.”

Lucien would be delighted, though he had no intention of giving her the satisfaction of being right. “If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else.”

“Maybe someone you’ll like.”

“Or someone my father likes,” he replied a little too honestly. “If you want to scream and rage in private, be my guest. I welcome it. But do not embarrass me or yourself by trying to escape.”

Lucien didn’t bother mentioning that if Beron believed he couldn’t control his wife, he would do it for the pair of them. Lucien could not imagine Elain withstanding Beron’s machinations, which meant he’d have to step in for her.

Better to simply get her under control now, if only to protect his back from the lash.

Elain turned, shoulders slumped. “I don’t know where I thought I’d go. Perhaps a cabin up in the mountains?”

“Eris has one,” Lucien told her as he trailed behind, not bothering to mention that cabin was a loose term for what Eris had built up there. “You could probably use it, if you like.”

She only shrugged, eyes glassy again. Lucien didn’t know what he’d do if she began crying, so he stood awkwardly in the door frame between the balcony and bedroom, too aware he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Elain wouldn’t meet his gaze which only made things worse.

Or, so Lucien thought.

His brain hadn’t quite caught up with his mouth. He heard himself blurt out, “Does my form offend you?”

“All of you offends me,” she retorted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If I promise not to leave this room, will you close the door behind you?”

Lucien scowled, running a hand down his naked torso. He’d never met a female that thought he was offensive and nearly told her so. Was he not more handsome than the males in Spring? Handsome enough to be a husband?

Why do you care?

“Fine,” he grumbled, stalking through the room for the locked door. “But the next time you try that, I’ll tie you to the bed.”

“I’ll scream,” she threatened him.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he bit back before slamming the door behind him.

At least he got the last word.

#elucien #see i can still write elucien so long as im just rewriting the same story over and over and over and over and ov

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nonclassyparty · 3 months

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tins without labels - chapter 1 (j.wy)

summary: Jung Wooyoung's life was always somehow intertwined with your own. from living in the same neighbourhood as kids to attending the same college; fights, bickering, bruises, teasing comments and tears. Wooyoung and you were never complete strangers but never friends either. Always somewhere in between, growing up with each other but never actually knowing one another. The relationship takes a confusing turn in your third year of college after an injury that places your football career on hold. Lonely, lost and confused, you find yourself at your first college party in the presence of none other than Jung Wooyoung asking him to show you what exactly have you been missing out on. playlist // my main masterlist // moodboard (tba)//click to donate to Palestine

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader warnings: drinking, little bit of kissing, descriptions of erm...male genitalia? cursing, cringe fest you've been warned. !word count: 9.3k taglist: @maru-matt @yawnzshit @mcsalterego @ddaeing @downbadreading @btshook (sorry if i forgot anyone but pls reply if u want to be added!)

previous chapter

(chapter 1; when we feel each other up)

Got different people inside my head, I wonder which one that they like best, I'm done with tryna have it all, and ending up with not much at all

present time (21 and 23 years old);

There was a really ugly drawing framed and hanging on the wall at the doctor's office.

It was a house tilting to one side with three stick figurines whose shoes were far too big next to it with strokes of green thrown everywhere which you presume is supposed to be grass. It was drawn by crayons.

You presume it's an art piece made by the doctor's kid but you hope she realizes early on that her daughter or son doesn't really have a proclivity for the arts.

But then again, maybe they will later on. Maybe they'll stand out amongst their peers and be further encouraged by their parents. Maybe they'll even take private lessons to get better. Maybe they'll get into art school and have the professor praise them up on how their talent is extremely rare. Maybe they'll even win some awards.

And then, maybe someone will break their hand so badly that they never get to hold a brush again.

Alright, now you were just projecting.

But what else is there to do as you sit in the almost sterile office with your dad by your side as the doctor keeps going on and on with a somber expression on her face. You're sure Doctor Son is a nice lady, if you were paying attention you'd maybe notice that she tries to break the news extra gently but you're barely listening.

There's been a lot of "it was more serious than we first thought", "rehabilitation will be a long and steady process", "a new excellent physical therapist works at the sports center on campus so she'll be able to visit him a couple times a week, we've already made sure that he gives all of his attention to her" and the most gruesome one, "another even minor injury and there's a risk of her not being able to walk again."

You don't really have to be paying too much attention to know what the underlined thought is.

No more football.

The persistent ache in your left knee serves a constant reminder of what happened almost four months ago, it was the last game of the season. Little did you know it might be the last game of your measly career.

You refuse to look at your dad, feeling the sadness radiate off of him like it does every time he speaks to any of the doctors you've visited in the past four months.

And it's been a lot of doctors.

The fact that you spent the whole summer at home for the first time since you finished high school didn't help. All he did was coddle you and stare in pity and disappointment. Or try to be overly positive and enthusiastic about your recovery.

You didn't know which was worse.

After the final doctor's appointment before the start of the new semester which you leave with barely saying a word during the almost half an hour you're there, you and your dad get lunch at a dinner just off campus.

The thick holder containing scans, blood tests, surgery papers and whatnot, lies on the table between the two of you and you feel like nothing could cut through the thick silence.

Your dad, of course, tries.

"You can still have an amazing career in education, you know? Your mother was a teacher and she loved her job."

It's just sometimes, your father really doesn't know how to beat around the bush and in this moment, you wish he did.

"Right." Is all you say.

Neither one of you comments on what you both know. Which is that you didn't give a fuck about your major in education. Sure, you had passing grades but that is because you needed to study something to stay on the team and not because you were actually interested.

Football was always the bigger picture, the real goal.

"You can always switch majors?" He offers and you nod again, thanking the waiter when he brings two bowls of noodles to your table.

You don't want to say that switching majors in your third year of college seems like a complete waste, of both money and time.

He sighs and you know he's frustrated with you, you understand it as well but you can't control it. Talking about your career, now that your dream career is over and done with, is an extremely sore subject.

"You know what, you've been working so hard since before you even started college, you deserve to rest."

"I've been resting since May." You respond and he winces at the mention of May. When it all fell apart.

"That wasn't rest. It was recovery." You give him a bland look and he sighs again, "I'm just saying! Maybe you'll discover something else you like to do this semester."

"Doubtful." You murmur, the reality finally sinking in at least a little.

"It's not doubtful at all." Your dad scoffs, taking a slurp of his noodles. "You're twenty-one, your life just begun, I'm sure there are other things to do and new people to meet. You wouldn't know if you never even tried."

"Dad-"

"Get yourself a boyfriend. Go to parties. Find yourself some friends who aren't talking behind your back in the locker room-"

"They weren't my friends-"

"Live your life. Is my point. Don't be cooped up in your bedroom, refusing to see anyone like you were doing the whole summer. Just...try, at least." He is silently begging now and now, it's your time to sigh.

"Fine."

"Who knows...you might discover that football isn't all there is to life."

You go silent at that, embarrassed of your own thoughts on the matter so you just keep them to yourself.

You flip through the pages of the magazine that you've read front to back at least four times by now before throwing it on your bed.

Your dad left earlier this afternoon after you've settled into your dorm and since then you've just been lounging on your bed, trying to busy yourself with knick-knacks that you have lying around so the time could pass faster.

You adjust the ice pack on your knee a bit better and with a soft sigh, your eyes fall on your roommate.

Yunjin was sitting behind her desk that was pushed up right next to your identical one and was busy doing her makeup. Carefully applying a pretty shade to her eyelids as she moves her desk mirror to her liking.

She was getting ready to go to a party no doubt. It was the last Friday before the new semester after all and Yunjin was a frequent party goer from what you could tell in these years living together.

Yunjin and you have been roommates since freshman year and yet, you've barely spoken to each other. Always sticking to your sides of the generously sized dorm room, you guess it's because you don't have much in common with each other that you never tried to be friends.

You didn't know much about her if you were honest, just that she majored in political science, often dyed her hair and had a lot of friends. You were sort of the complete opposites from what you could tell.

But since she kept renewing her contract for the room with you every year, you think it's safe to assume that she at least doesn't mind you all too much.

Just...try, at least.

You clear your throat. Here you go...

"You, uh, you do your makeup really prettily." It's out of your mouth before you know it, you already feel awkward as it is but when your red haired roommate turns to you in surprise that maybe you even spoke in the first place - the awkwardness triples.

"Oh." Yunjin utters with raised brows before a tiny, careful smile settles on her face. "Thank you."

So...now what?

You both stare at each other for a long hard second and you hesitate, thinking it's best to leave it at that. Keeping up a conversation was never your strongest suit either. Now that you think of it, apart from football, you don't have any strong suits at all.

"I, uh, I had a lot of practice." She offers awkwardly, motioning to her face with the eyeshadow brush wedged gently between her fingers.

"Right, yeah, I can totally see that." You nod, surprised that she responded back with something that almost sounds like she wants the conversation to keep going. You clear your throat, "The eyeliner and stuff, seems tricky."

It seems like that was all it took for the ice to disapparate for Yunjin because next thing you know, she's rambling without a plan to stop;

"Oh, that's just at the beginning, the first couple of tries I mean and that goes for everything makeup related or, hm, maybe everything life related as well, wow." Yunjin shakes her head as if life philosophies were certainly not more important than a perfect winged eyeliner, "But anyways, I was looking like a panda for the majority of my junior year in high school." She chuckles at that, not looking embarrassed at all, "Had those thick eyebrows as well, it was a complete disaster. But the longer I wore makeup, the better I got at it and the more I learned what suited my face."

You clutch the pillow in your lap as you diligently listen to her, feeling like a younger sibling watching her older sister get ready for a party.

"People say eyeliner isn't in fashion anymore, like it's an old makeup trend or whatever," Yunjin rolls her eyes at you and you chuckle lightly, shyly because you had no idea what was in trend, "Such bullshit, I'll never stop wearing it. It looks so good on me."

She observes the perfect thin wings decorating her eyelids and almost sighs a little in admiration.

You nod in agreement, not being able to stop yourself, "You have big eyes so the eyeliner frames them perfectly. It suits you."

Yunjin smiles happily, "Right? I totally look like Jihyo from TWICE, right?"

You hesitate, having no idea what Jihyo from TWICE looked like but you don't have the heart to sway her happiness so you just give her a small nod.

You continue to chat, mostly Yunjin talks, and by the amount she seems to have to say to you, you start to think that maybe all this time it wasn't that Yunjin avoided getting to know you because she wasn't interested in knowing her roommate. It seems like she had the idea that you had no interest into getting to know her, so she never bothered.

Once she's done with her makeup and she looks over herself in her precious small round mirror standing on her desk in satisfaction, she turns to you with a glare.

It's not a glare as if you've wronged her somehow but a glare of curiosity and seemingly not taking 'no' for an answer. You raise your brows.

Her glare deepens, one inquisitive but perfectly plucked eyebrow raised, "Do you want me to do your makeup?"

"Oh," You huff out, for some reason embarrassed that she's aware you're a complete klutz in that department, "I don't know."

"Hm, why not? You might like it. Makeup is fun!"

"No, I know I'll like it." Your cheeks flush, embarrassment growing at the thought of her thinking that you're one of those girls who thinks she's better for not being interested in makeup. It wouldn't be the first time it happened. "I just...won't I look stupid?"

"Stupid?" Yunjin frowns as if the idea is ridiculous and maybe it was a little. "Why would you look stupid? I'm basically a pro at this, I wouldn't let you look stupid."

"Oh, I didn't mean anything about your...y'know, skills." You grimace when she continues to stare at you, not really in the mood to disclose that ever since a stupid teenage boy named Son Eunwoo laughed at you at prom for trying to look pretty that you've given up on it as it obviously didn't suit you all that much. "Just, y'know, people will think I look silly if I wear it. It's not my thing...y'know?"

There's a faint moment of silence and you cast your eyes somewhere else as you feel awkward all over again for ruining the relaxed mood. Finally, Yunjin speaks,

"Y/N," She calls quietly, face set in a serious expression when you bring your eyes up to her again, "Do you want me to do your makeup?"

You blink at her a couple of times, mouth parted as she sits in her chair, perfectly curled hair and perfectly applied makeup, and waits for your response.

"I'll go wash my face."

"Yes, you go do that and don't forget to moisturize."

It doesn't take more than twenty minutes for Yunjin to do your makeup. Before she starts, you carefully tell her you don't want too much and she says she'll ask before everything she applies if you want it or not.

And she really does.

She places a little bit of foundation just to cover the natural redness of your cheeks and the couple of small pimples that appeared on your chin. She foregoes contouring because you tell her you don't want that, not sure what's the purpose of it.

She goes a little bit crazy with the eyeshadows though, maybe she notices that you have the most interest in them. Glitter especially. It makes your eyes look glossy, almost wet but you're sure you're not describing that properly.

She even does some thin eyeliner on you, some mascara, brushes out your eyebrows but doesn't fill them out because you tell her you don't like them looking sharp. Some blush, a pretty light orange color that decorates your cheeks in a way that it surprises you by how good it looks on your face. And at the end, some lip gloss to finish everything off.

All through out, you two talk. About school, about your hometowns, about your parents.

It's bonding, you realize.

You never bonded with anyone through makeup before, it was usually over football with Ryujin or gossiping over the people you knew from school because that's what you had in common with her. But football is gone now, so is high school and for years now, so was Ryujin.

It was hard to keep up with a friendship that was out of necessity in the first place, even harder when there's an entire ocean separating you now.

But with Yunjin, although you seemingly have nothing much in common, the conversation just flows with each soft stroke of a brush or pat on the cheek.

"See!" She hands you her round mirror to look at yourself, "You look so good!"

"Oh," You muse out, staring at the reflection, admiring the glitter and shimmer and all the colors you're not used to having on your face, "I like it."

"Now, don't get me wrong!" She warns quickly with her hands up, painted nails glistening under the shitty dorm lights, "You look good without makeup too. Well," She rolls her eyes at herself, "You obviously know that since you don't wear it at all as it is but like, if you sometimes want to wear it, you'll know now that it won't look stupid on you."

You chuckle shyly at her short rant, placing the mirror back on her desk.

You wished Yunjin's words of affirmation would be enough to rid you of all your insecurities regarding makeup or...anything 'girly', they don't but you don't have the heart to tell her that. "Thanks."

She nods in response before checking her phone for the time apparently. She throws it on her bed before clapping her hands, "Well, since you already have your makeup done, you might as well go to this party with me."

That leaves you stumped. You turn to look at her from the chair in front of her desk. Party? "Wait, what?"

Yunjin doesn't even grace you with a look, standing in front of her closet which was flung open as she sorts through different materials and patterned clothes.

"Come on L/N, brush your hair out and get into a pair of jeans that make your ass look great." Her head peaks out from behind the door of her closet, she winks at you, "I'll worry about your top."

You really don't know how this happened. You don't know how you ended up here, in the jeans that hugged your hips and thighs the tightest and in the most preposterously skimpy top you have ever worn with your brushed out long hair falling over your back and your lips tinted a deep glossy red. You were a willing participant in it but you really have no idea how this happened.

"I don't think this is an appropriate outfit." You tell Yunjin as you look over yourself in the tall mirror which you both share. "I don't think this shirt is supposed to be worn like this."

"Actually," Yunjin said as she fixed her skirt in the mirror behind you and paid no mind to your ongoing breakdown, "For the last three months I thought I got scammed by the online shop I ordered that top from because it looked nothing like the photos on me but now looking at you, I'm starting to realize that the online shop is legit and that I simply didn't have the tits to fill it out."

You spluttered about at her commentary as you stared at the outfit, wondering if it would be rude to chicken out on her now.

Your light blue denim flare jeans and white sneakers looked totally acceptable. They were yours after all.

The shirt, the offending bright red sleeveless low cut crop top that almost had your boobs out completely for the whole entire world to see, on the other hand, was certainly not.

You don't think you've ever worn something so short, so tight, so...revealing. In your life.

It's not even that you felt uncomfortable in it, really, you thought you looked hot but it just....wasn't You.

And at that point, you had to remind your self very strongly that you had no idea what You actually was. Football was no more (at least for the near future but you have an inkling it's for forever) and maybe the you that was tied to it and that the rest of your small world knew should rest for a little bit while you explore what other you's are there.

Beats moping around and feeling sorry for yourself, at least.

Yes. You will try your hardest not to care what anyone else might think tonight. You looked good. Sexy as fuck, as Yunjin said.

It wasn't all she said. Yunjin, as you begin to find out in the last hour you've actually spoken to her, is the best when it comes to making a girl feel good about herself.

"God, Y/N, your body is crazy." You hear her say as she pulls your hand away from your stomach that was bare since the skimpy shirt or jeans didn't cover it. She stares at your abs. "Do you still workout?"

Still. Meaning she also knows you're a retired athlete at only twenty-one years of age. Once again, you have to try your best to not let that reminder dampen your mood.

"Thanks." You respond clearing your throat, giving her a weak smile. "Yeah, I workout five times a week."

You don't mention the physical therapy you're about to start next week or the fact that all your workouts are under strict supervision ever since the injury happened. That, starting from next week, two other people will be responsible of you staying in shape.

It's so pitiful, you're so used to doing everything on your own.

"Five?!" Yunjin's jaw drops before she scoffs, looking at her body in the mirror with overly critical eyes.

Yunjin seemed to be naturally on the skinnier side, she didn't have any muscle built up. Not like you, years of doing football made your physique change, your body looked amazing - you were aware of that. Personal trainers, coaches both male and female told you so at least....'Defined thighs, defined stomach, toned arms...'. You heard enough about your body to know that it looked good.

It took years of sweat and regular gym hours to make it that way though and you feel bad that Yunjin seems to be comparing it to her own.

"When I was in my best shape, I had a whole team of people working with me from diet to workouts, that includes my coach as well." You chuckle lightly, as she turns her eyes from her stomach to you, "Everyone was expecting me to go pro so...The university invested a lot in me."

You force out another laugh, not trying to turn an attempt to stop the comparisons into a pity party. "Even now when I won't be playing, I'll have two people working with me."

When all you get in return is a dumbfounded stare, you groan feeling like you read the situation incorrectly. Your social cues still need some catching up to do.

So, there's nothing left to do when you feel so uncomfortable but ramble and it's what you do best, you will be quick to learn.

"This is stupid, I don't know if that's what you were doing and I'll feel like shit if I say it but ended up assuming it wrong but I'll say it anyway just in case; if you were comparing yourself to me, don't, I had professionals working with me for the past three years. Professionals that are extremely expensive and finished schools and shit to learn how to make people look hot and fit, so...." You trail off, avoiding her eyes at all cost and scratching behind your neck awkwardly.

The silence is so long that it almost wills you to run out of the room and maybe ask for a permanent roommate change, just to beat Yunjin to the punch. Instead, you hear a stifled giggle.

You glance at her just to see your roommate bite back a grin.

You huff, cheeks turning red from the embarrassment because you barely speak but when you do, it's really almost always complete and utter shit, as you try to hide your own smile.

"You're a nice girl, Y/N."

"Yeah, yeah." You huff, always terrible at taking compliments, "So are you, I guess."

She snorts at your awkwardness but doesn't further comment on it as she rummages through her jewelry box and pokes big hoop earrings on.

"And you can keep that shirt if you want...God, I hate you big boobed bitches." You let out a surprised laugh at that as she rummages some more through her jewelry box. "Do you have any earrings for yourself? I'd offer you a necklace but I think it's hotter if your neck is bare honestly."

"Um," You approach your desk and pull out your mom's jewelry box with a humble amount of items in it. You show her your tiny golden hoops, "What about these?"

"Yeah, those are great. Put those on and let's get ready to go, Chaewon might be dancing on tables by now."

As you lock the door to your dorm and turn to leave, Yunjin intertwines your arms as you both walk down the hall crowded by college students either going in or going out.

New girl friend, not so bad, you think to yourself.

Chaewon is not dancing on tables when you get there. You don't exactly know who Chaewon is but there's nobody dancing on tables in the crowded frat house you've walked into. You don't know anyone there, you thought you might see some girls from your team at least despite not getting along with them the best but you don't.

Yunjin, on the other hand, seems to know everyone.

She greets every living soul in the dusty, stuffy living room and every living soul greets her back. You guess it's safe to say that your roommate slash new girl friend is very popular with the party crowd at your campus.

As it's your first ever college party, you just follow her around like a lost puppy but she never makes you feel like a lost puppy, instead, she introduces you to every person that comes to chat with her even though you can hardly remember their names. You appreciate that more than you'd like to admit.

You end up in the kitchen which is less crowded but still has a handful of people in it where Yunjin shoves the classic red party cup in your hand and clinks it with her matching one, telling you to drink up.

At least you're not a complete virgin in this area. You drank before, you weren't an expert or anything because alcohol is limited for athletes but still, it's one of the first 'not first's of the night.

You meet Chaewon who is bubbly and cute with her bob and sparkly eyes. She's not nearly as drunk as Yunjin led you to believe she would be. When you comment on it, Chaewon smacks Yunjin's arm jokingly.

"You've made the girl think I'm an alcoholic or something." She scolds your roommate with a smirk before turning to you, smile back to complete innocence, "I don't even drink that much, Y/N. Honest."

Yunjin comes closer to mutter in your ear, "She's a liar, it's just that she's trying to be sober to see if the guy she's into comes alone tonight."

"Oh!" You nod and give Chaewon a reassuring smile as she goes beet red in the face and glares at Yunjin who continues to tease her.

You were about to tell Yunjin that you much prefer the crowd in the kitchen than the living room area and that you'd hope to stay here a bit more but you don't get a chance to.

Loud hoots echo through the kitchen and you turn your head to see what the ruckus is all about only to see the bane of your very existence walk in with a wide smile along with a group of other guys, greeting everyone like he's the king of the world and with the way everyone in the room treats him - he might as well be.

Of course. Of fucking course, Jung Wooyoung would be considered the life of the party.

He can be! You don't give a fuck! But why did it have to be the first party that you are attending.

You try to hide your scowl by taking another sip of your drink, trying your hardest not to let your eyes trace his movements from the other side of the kitchen island but one second your eyes are coasting over his ridiculous outfit (which he looks damn near scrumptious in but that's besides the point and something you will never admit that you ever thought about for even a second) and the next thing you know - his eyes are meeting yours.

You quickly whip your head to stare into the living room, feeling the edge of the counter dig into your back.

Yunjin and Chaewon are talking about something, laughing loudly through the noisy room and you're trying to hard to keep up with their conversation but that turns out to be impossible now that you're aware of a certain menace lurking about.

And lo and behold, quickly enough he skulks away from his group of friends and sneaks up to your side in three long strides.

"Well, well, well, do my eyes deceive me or is this Y/N Y/L/N at a frat house party?"

You stand rigid as his clothed elbow brushes your bare one but otherwise don't give him any further acknowledgement. Yunjin, from your freshly learned discovery is ever the social butterfly, grins with an eyeroll.

"Don't be a dick, Wooyoung."

Oh. Oh.

Yunjin knows Wooyoung. Well, that makes just about everything a thousand times worse.

"What? I didn't say anything." Jung Wooyoung defends with a smug smile from next to you before giving Chaewon a charming (or at least what might be charming by some people's standards, definitely not yours or anything) smile. "Chaewon, hello."

She stifles a laugh, "Hi, Wooyoung."

You're irritated to the highest degree for some reason.

Why were you never on the receiving end of his charming smiles? Again, charming by some people's standards. Let it be known, it's not by yours. Not that you want to be on the receiving end of any kind of Jung Wooyoung smile but just...why aren't you ever?

"Can't believe you two managed to get babyface over here out of her room for once." He comments and for a second you have no idea who he's referring to. Until Chaewon laughs lightly again before motioning towards Yunjin.

"That's all Yunjin. I just met Y/N, actually."

"Lucky you." Wooyoung adds and only after his second mischievous glance do you realize they're talking about you.

"Babyface?" You turn to him, growing outraged as his lips stretch into a wide grin. What is it with him and these weird nicknames which all contain the word 'baby' in them. What happened to calling you a troll like he did in middle school and moving about his night?

He shrugs, "I reckon it's better than crybaby."

"You reckon?" You scoff, not being able to stop yourself. Not even a full minute with him and you're already showcasing the gnarly childish side of yourself to girls you were hoping would become your friends. "Wow, how many years of college and you're finally using big words, Jung."

Wooyoung, for reasons you could never wrap your head around, looks positively delighted at your quip. "If you think 'reckon' is a big word then I have no further comments, Y/L/N."

You flush a deep red at that as a glare fully sets down on your face, aimed entirely towards him now. He bites his lip to stop himself from laughing which only makes you grow redder.

"So, you two know each other?" You forgot for a split second that the two of you were in the presence of your new friends. Yunjin stares at you with brows raised.

With a solemn sigh, you respond, "We were neighbours."

"We still are." Wooyoung adds, cozying up to you further. You watch in contempt the way his shoulder brushes yours and his arm lays on the kitchen island behind you, one wrong move and his arm would be around your waist. Seriously, why is he so damn close?

To your own embarrassment, you find yourself not moving away, liking his warmth and whatnot. Maybe, he smells nice as well. Just a little bit. Something citrusy and delicious. Whatever.

"Oh?" Yunjin asks, looking awfully too interested in your relationship with Wooyoung. Not that there is a relationship. Your brows furrow as you observe the way she silently communicates with Chaewon.

"What?" You ask, lost entirely.

Chaewon gives you the same, overly enthusiastic smile, "Oh, nothing."

Wooyoung's chest shakes against you from silent laughter about something you must've missed and you turn to glare at him. He didn't do anything, you just felt like it.

A couple of minutes of conversation pass and you find yourself even enjoying it, despite the little nuisance stuck to your side. It's been awhile since you hung out with anybody, you never thought you even needed it but you think you understand now the hype around these college weekend hangouts.

Until it somehow dips to Yunjin and Chaewon ditching you.

"Y/N, remember that guy Yunjin was talking to you about? The one I have a crush on?" You nod as Chaewon talks against your ear, "Well, he just got here and Yunjin and I will go say hi to him."

"Oh, I'll come with!" You say pathetically before Yunjin loudly exclaims "NO!"

"No, Y/N, you stay right here with Wooyoung, okay?" She motions to the guy next to you, "You two seem to have so much in common!"

She's giving you a weird smile, overly wide, overly excited and you have trouble reading what she's trying to tell you, not knowing her nearly enough to be able to read girl code already.

You can barely get a word in and they're already gone, whisked by the living room crowd and you're stuck with Jung Wooyoung of all people by your side, feeling completely and utterly stupid.

They...ditched you? Did Yunjin regret inviting you? Did she find you embarrassing? Maybe you should just go home.

A deep sigh is heard by your side and you're once again reminded with who they left you with.

"Y/L/N, they didn't ditch you. They don't hate you or whatever it is that you scrambled up in that big head of yours, they're trying to set you up with me." Wooyoung lazily explains from your right and you turn to look at him like he's crazy. What surprises you more than his statement is the fact that he's actually sticking by your side.

"What? Set you up with me?" You scoff, crossing your bare arms over your chest, "Don't be ridiculous."

He snorts, "You'd rather think they ditched you than trying to get you laid?"

You go silent at that. Laid. How preposterous. How insane and how ridiculous.

It's another thing that you're a complete virgin to. Literally and figuratively. You've never went with a boy past a clumsy make out session. Get laid, you scoff inwardly, how silly.

Suddenly, you're aware of a pair of eyes on the side of your face and you're not surprised to find Jung Wooyoung staring at you in amusement. With all your defenses up, you ask, "What?"

His eyes twinkle with mirth. "I didn't say anything."

Another moment of silence between the two of you passes. Some guy comes to greet Wooyoung, he gives you a small nod in greeting which you return and after some small talk between the two of them he walks away, leaving you two alone once again in the middle of the semi-crowded kitchen.

Wooyoung inches closer to you again, mirroring your stance now by leaning against the island with his back. "Is being alone with me that scary that you refuse to talk?"

"Scary?" You scoff again, it's all you seem to do in his presence, without even looking at him. "Don't flatter yourself too much, Jung, you're not nearly as intimidating as you like to think you are."

"Who said I thought I was intimidating?" He asks calmly, enjoying the way you're riled up for no apparent reason.

You don't answer his question, aware that you're being a bitch for no reason. But it's his fault if anything, years of juvenile fights made Jung Wooyoung bring out the worst in you.

"These parties don't seem like they're all that." You comment, more to yourself than anything but he's obviously listening so you decide to include him in the conversation. "Don't you get bored of them?"

Wooyoung hums from next to you, lightly swaying to the music from the living room as he hands you a cold cup of...something and takes one for himself as well. It feels weird that he actually is sort of attentive by getting you a drink when he noticed your empty cup on the island. You decide not to dwell on it too much.

"Bored? Not really, they get repetitive but there's always something fun to do." He responds, mouth quirking up as he looks down at you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips just in time for his tongue to swipe across his bottom lip. You look away quickly.

Clearing your throat, for the life of you, you have no idea why you nod to a couple in the corner right next to the kitchen almost having intercourse against a wall. "Like that?"

Wooyoung snickers and you feel yourself flush slightly but you blame it on the drink which is...much better than whatever Yunjin handed to you at the beginning of the night. "Don't blame people for having fun, Y/L/N."

You turn to him with your nose crinkled, "That's your idea of fun?"

Wooyoung seems a bit surprised and yet strangely intrigued by the course of the conversation. Maybe you are too but in this moment, it feels all too exhilarating with him being so close and you being a complete and utter virgin and all. God, if Chaewon and Yunjin left you here in hopes of getting you laid, maybe they were right.

There's no reason to be acting like this around Jung Wooyoung.

Honestly, what is wrong with you Y/N? Maybe you really should fuck someone. You'd stop thinking about Jung Wooyoung this way and lose your virginity at last.

Two birds with one stone.

"I know lots of ideas of fun." Wooyoung starts before he gives you that devastating grin of his that you despised even as a lovesick teenage girl as he subtly nods to the couple, still at it in the corner, "That is one of them. Although I'd at least take it up to one of the bedrooms upstairs."

Your nose crinkles in disgust again at the thought of the state of the beds in these dirty testosterone filled frat houses. "Gross, they probably don't even change the sheets."

"My apartment is two blocks away." Wooyoung adds, a little too quickly in your, once again completely virgin, opinion. "I always have that option as well, y'know?"

You blink a couple of times, staring at the kitchen tiles as you start thinking that you're not talking about his ideas of fun only anymore.

Was he-? Is he trying to-? No. No way. Do not.

"Right." You say quietly, taking a tiny sip of your drink before smacking your lips.

There is no way that in any shape or form Jung Wooyoung is attempting to flirt with you.

He's quiet for only a couple of seconds before two other guys approach him, doing those weird half hugs half handshakes that assholes like Jung Wooyoung use to greet their friends. Which he seems to have a bunch of. Mr. Popular he is.

While they converse, your eyes are still stuck on the couple making out in the corner of the room and to not seem like a complete and utter creep, you draw your eyes away from them into the living room where...all you seem to see are couples.

Flirting. Kissing. Grinding on each other (Gross). Humping on the couch (Double Gross, you're sure people use that to sit on ordinary days). Clumsily walking up the stairs with their hands already on each other's clothes (Triple Gross). They're all going to have sex!

Meanwhile, you're a virgin. Not by choice either, if it were up to you you'd grab the first guy you see right this second and let him fuck you just to get it over with. It's not like you're saving yourself for someone special or anything. Too bad that they all seem to be taken one way or another and the only guy you've spent the whole night talking to is-

Wait.

Nononono.

But-

Wait.

You turn to observe Jung Wooyoung by your side, who is still talking to his two buddies. None of them paying you any mind.

As you mentioned before, there was a general consensus going around that Jung Wooyoung was good looking. You've seen him only a handful times since that night he dropped you off home after prom even if you're both on the same campus but you can admit (although you'll outwardly deny it if anybody asks) that he has gotten even hotter.

His face lost all of his baby fat with years that went by, his jawline got sharper and lips plusher. His eyes were expressive and the mole under one of them was cute. His hair was still long, you don't know if he cut it after prom night and just let it grow out again or if this was simply the length her preferred, now all black but it suited him immensely.

He had nice hands as well. Veiny hands, long fingers with nice and tidy nails. And you might've called his outfit ridiculous but you only did it to fulfill your role as his self-appointed enemy, it wasn't that ridiculous. Just a pair of baggy jeans and a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up. You guess he knows that he has sexy hands. The first three buttons of his shirt were undone, making sure to showcase the naturally tanned smooth skin underneath and a necklace decorating his collarbones.

This...whore.

A man that plays up his good physical attributes this well could be nothing else but a man that gets around a lot.

When you notice that you've spent a good two minutes doing nothing but checking Jung Wooyoung out, you notice that his two friends have left already and he's holding his red cup while staring at you with an amused smirk on his face.

"What now?" He asks and you part your lips before licking them, almost shivering when you catch Wooyoung following the action closely.

Well, your dad did say that should live your life and try at least. His words, not yours!

Although when he said them, you are most definitely sure your dad didn't think you'd ever be applying them when asking Jung Wooyoung to take your virginity but what he doesn't know won't put him in an early grave.

You are twenty-one years old and among a lot of other things, you are horny. It's time to get a move on.

"I'm going to ask you something now and for once," You let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you can't believe you're about to do this before opening them to level Jung Wooyoung with an open stare as you inch closer to him to make sure he can hear every word, "Just this once, I ask of you, nicely, to not be a dick about it. If you're not up for it, just...just let me down gently. Don't laugh at me, please, just tell me no and we'll forget it ever happened."

All traces of amusement leave Wooyoung's eyes after your all-too-honest speech and he turns to rest his hip against the kitchen island to be face to face with you. He looks serious and asks quietly, "What do you wanna ask me, Y/L/N?"

You take a deep breath, feeling undeniably nervous under his heavy gaze. "Those ideas of fun you mentioned before, the ones involving your apartment...."

Wooyoung presses the rim of the cup against his lower lip, teeth gently grazing it before he takes a sip. He nods, looking a little confused as he swallows, teeth coming back to bite on the cup.

"Mind showing me?"

It takes him a second to catch on but when he does, it only takes another second for the mischief in his eyes to triple and lips placed against the rim of his red cup to stretch into a wide breathtaking smile.

Wooyoung had an inkling of an idea where the course of the night would take him when he first left his apartment. Have a drink or two, mess about with the guys for a few hours and maybe if he was up to it, find someone to take home.

But this... if someone told him this would happen, he'd burst out laughing and call that person crazy. Insane. Deranged. A lunatic.

Really, he had no idea how the hell this happened.

This being two handfuls of your jean-covered ass in his hands, tongue shoved deep into your mouth as he pushes you against his hallway wall and swallows every tiny sound you make while your hands tug and rake through his hair.

He's pretty sure your dark red lip gloss is all over his cheeks from how messy and rushed the kissing is. Everything tastes like artificial cherries, a taste too sweet for Wooyoung's liking accompanied by a tinge of vodka and lemonade that you've both been drinking.

Your hands are soft when they run over his jaw and latch onto his shoulders, he swallows another surprisingly sweet whine of yours and slips a leg between your thighs. Embarrassingly enough, Wooyoung is already hard and once his hands slip from your ass to your hips just to feel the way you move them as you grind against his thigh - he fears he might finish in his pants.

Yeah, if at the start of the night someone told him that Y/L/N Y/N would be dry humping him in the hallway of his small studio apartment after he went out of his way to keep her company at a party, he surely would've dialed the nearest psychiatric institution to take that person in for much needed treatment.

When you reward him with a whimper that goes straight to his dick for placing a kiss underneath your ear, Wooyoung starts coating your neck in slow hot kisses and bites that leave you trembling in his arms.

He's been (as subtly as he could) staring at the naked skin that your shirt revealed for the majority of the night anyway so, truly, this isn't much of a chore for him.

When his teeth gently graze your clavicle, he pulls away for just a moment and realizes he's finally gotten a front seat view of your tits.

Jesus Christ.

When the fuck did you become hot?

Wooyoung always found you cute at most. And fine, he thought you were pretty too that night he drove you home from your prom night. But that's where it all ended. He didn't think about you all too much in any other way given your history and barely saw you as it is.

Looking at you now...your hooded eyes that glittered around the corners. Flushed cheeks and heavy breaths that made his head spin. Disheveled long hair that fell down your back and that he wanted to tangle his fingers in (which he quickly did as soon as that thought appeared, no time like the present!). And those fucking tits covered with nothing but a sorry excuse for a shirt that clung to your torso.

Wow.

It really must be true when they say that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Although there's little heart involved in this situation and a whole lot of thinking with his dick.

He pulls the thick strap of your top a little and watches at it smacks against your skin gently. You keep quiet, breaths still heavy as you watch him.

"This shirt is fucking ridiculous, Y/L/N."

No time left for talking, his fingers curl around your waist again as he bends down to place kisses against your chest. You both probably smell like smoke, sweat and booze but there's a soft layer of vanilla mixed into it the closer he gets to you and Wooyoung finds himself not minding the combination.

"I-It looks bad?"

It's the first words you've spoken since you stumbled into his apartment and Wooyoung has to pause, almost in disbelief. His first reaction is annoyance, not pegging you as the type of girl to fish for compliments by acting insecure even though she knows very well she looks delectable.

But then, the more he stares, the more he notices the way you twitch in his hold, shifting your gaze around his face in order to avoid his eyes, his annoyance disappears. You are insecure about the shirt. You are genuinely wondering whether or not it looks good on you.

And Wooyoung is nothing, if not ready to please at all times.

"I wanna drag it off of you with my teeth." He says the honest truth, hating the way his voice is low and husky. What the fuck is he doing. Why is he breathing so heavily?

The blush that overtakes you doesn't stop at your face but slowly curls around your neck and appears at the top of your chest. He hums, satisfied with the reaction he got before going back to business.

The business being your marvelous tits.

With his hand still curled around your waist as he lowers down so his forehead is basically resting on your bare chest, he groans once he thumbs over your left breast and feels a hard nipple under the material.

"Are you not wearing anything under this?" He murmurs against your skin, groaning again once he feels your fingers intertwine with his hair. Wooyoung doesn't wait for a response but roughly pulls one of the thick straps down your arm and places a hand over your naked breast feeling its weight in his hand.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He thumbs at your nipple, liking the soft moan that escapes you at the action as you continue to grind against his clothed thigh.

"Y-Yunjin said it didn't need a-a bra." You stutter out through a whisper and he places a soft kiss to the middle of your chest as if to soothe you before returning his attention to what's really important.

God bless Yunjin then. Wooyoung should remind himself to buy her that chicken sandwich she likes so much tomorrow morning.

His thumb rubs over the hard pink nipple one last time before its enveloped by his lips, tongue twirling around it and arm tightening around your waist as your breath hitches and you twitch even more in his hold.

When you let out a high pitched moan once his teeth gently graze the soft bud, Wooyoung thinks he'll send Yunjin a whole damn buffet to her dorm.

Wooyoung releases your nipple with a 'pop' that makes you groan lewdly and he scrambles to stand up to his full height to get the offending red shirt off your body.

"Off." He mutters and you quickly grab the ends of the shirt to pull it off, needing Wooyoung's help since it was genuinely so tight on your torso.

With your hair disheveled even more now and bare chest on full display, Wooyoung almost kneels down in front of you.

His dick ached.

"Oh my fucking God." He mutters, burying his face into your chest as he licked and kissed and sucked and...

"Bed." You whisper through a moan, tugging at his hair. You grit out almost bossily, "B-Bed!"

"Bed?" Wooyoung looks down on you in confirmation, body now completely pressed against yours and when he sees your wide, desperate but sure eyes, he quickly nods. "Bed."

His lips are back on yours again, hand grasping at your jaw as he pulls you from the wall and leads you further into his studio apartment. The bed was only a couple of feet away anyways.

You grunt against his lips as you trip over something and he pushes it away with his foot (it was a sneaker that fell out of place as he was getting ready in a hurry), continuing to lead the way to his bed.

"You take off your shirt too." You whisper, almost shyly which causes something warm to swirl in his stomach. He obeys quickly, dropping his shirt to your feet before pulling you in with a hand at the back of your neck, biting at your lower lip and letting out a small laugh as you gasp.

"Pants too." You add innocently and he huffs, growing amused at your bossy nature even in the bedroom.

So, of course, he'll be a little shit about it.

Wooyoung drops himself on the bed, thanking God he changed his sheets this morning, and obnoxiously spreads out his legs. He observes you with a tilted head and a grin on his face, "Why don't you take them off?"

You lick your lips at the request, feeling like it's awfully hot in the room despite the fact that you're not wearing a shirt. You without a shirt in front of Jung Wooyoung with your tits on full display was another thing that you weren't ready to unpack just yet.

He's beautiful.

Wooyoung's skin is a pretty color of fresh honey and you carefully step closer, between his legs, to place a hand on his firm chest and feel his velvety skin. He watches your every move with hooded eyes, holding himself up with his arms placed behind him on the bed.

There's a tattoo on the side of his ribs, one that you would never know about unless you see him like this, so you run a thumb over it in admiration. Still, you don't want to take too long at the risk of coming off as weird, so with all the bravery you can muster - your hand drops to the button of his jeans and you gently (because of your fucking knee) lower yourself down to sit between his legs.

You thumb it open and pull the zipper down, shivering at the way Wooyoung's lips part and he softly exhales in what seems to be anticipation. You further flush when you finally get to see the outline of his....well, his dick.

You felt it against your hip, when you were kissing by the entrance door but you didn't have the guts to ever look down.

When Wooyoung lifts his hips up to help you get his pants off, you realize you're about to see it now anyway.

Clearing your throat, you curl your fingers around the waistband of his jeans and underwear all at once and pull it down. If Wooyoung notices how clumsy you are with it, he decides not to comment at least.

And there it is. His dick. A dick, first of all. The first dick you've ever seen in your life that wasn't through the screen while watching a bad porn video.

You don't stop pulling on his pants until they're pooling at his ankles without breaking stare with his...penis.

You don't really know what you expected if you're being honest. You never thought a dick would be pretty and...it's not exactly ugly either. Just, odd looking you suppose.

You can't tell if it's either big or small as you have nothing to compare it to. Maybe average? What is considered small? You're scared what a big dick looks like if this is a small one. Or even average one. It's kind of thick though which is worrying, you don't even notice the way your lips part as you imagine how exactly is this...thing supposed to fit anywhere inside of you.

There's neatly trimmed hair at the base of it and the tip is flushed, a thick vein running at the underside of it and two-

"Uh," It's like a sound of a scratched record as you freeze, "Your first time seeing a dick or something, Y/L/N?"

Your head slowly lifts from his lap and up to his face where a Jung Wooyoung awaits with raised brows.

It's only then that you realize you've been examining this guy's dick like he was at a doctor's appointment instead of trying to get him off.

You're at a little loss of words to be honest and for a split second you're worried that Jung Wooyoung will take your stutters of "I, uh" and "Um"'s and "Uh, hm"'s the wrong way and think you're impressed by him or something. You're not, once again, you have nothing to compare it to. You barely know what you're looking at right now.

His facial expressions go a little like this in the next twenty seconds: Cockiness (that quickly fades though), Confusion and last but not least Realization.

"Oh my God, it is?!" He laughs in disbelief before his eyes grow even wider and mouth continues to hang open. He quickly places a pillow laying on his bed over his lap, to shield his manhood from the big bad scary virgin apparently, "You're a virgin?!"

It feels like a punch to the gut and you flush a deep red, already scrambling up to your feet and shielding your bare chest. While you try to find that damned crop top, Wooyoung is still rambling in the background.

"There's no way! Wow, seriously you've never had sex before?! Never?! Wow, there's no way! Wait, why are you putting your shoes on-"

You refuse to turn towards him, pathetic tears of embarrassment already welled up in your eyes and bottom lip wobbling, "Uh, I'm gonna go."

"Wait, what? Why?" You hear shuffling behind you and you assume he's trying to get back into his jeans.

You quickly slide your second sneaker on and are flinging the door open, not looking back. "I have to go. I'm sorry, bye."

"Sorry? What are you- Will you just wait a fucking second for me to put my clothes back-" The door falls shut and you're stalking down the hallway of the apartment building, trying to get as far away from his door as you can.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

What were you thinking? Kissing Jung Wooyoung, going home with Jung Wooyoung, doing anything with Jung Wooyoung. What were you thinking?

You cry only a little when you get back to your dorm. Really, it's only a little, just a couple of flimsy tears.

Then you scrub the makeup from your face and change into your pajamas. Yunjin still isn't back and you're angry at her too, for bringing you to that party in the first place. For leaving you with Jung Wooyoung as well.

You're angry and embarrassed. And on top of that, you're horny too.

Why did Jung Wooyoung have to be such a good kisser? Why did his hands have to feel so nice? Why was he so beautiful?

You huff, buried deep in your sheets and all ready to go to bed but sleep just isn't coming. You're too busy thinking about the guy you've sworn not to think about at all anymore.

It was going so well these last two years.

With another huff, you cover your face with your pillow and scream at the top of your lungs.

He tasted like lemonade.

#ateez angst #ateez x reader #ateez imagine #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung smut #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff

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