fallinnflower

[fallinnflower]

the witch & the nine-tailed fox - 2

young k x reader (kumiho!au, historical-fantasy!au, drama)

wc: 9k

tw: mentions of death and illness

a/n: hiiiii so it's been a while! i know i was talking about vampire bambam (and DPR Ian which lays the groundwork for that one and needs to be finished first... it's all still in the works i promise!) the original inspiration behind this sequel was "guard you," and now somehow this cute little part 2 has turned out to be longer than the first installment. thank you to everyone who still reads my work, it means so much to me. i hope you like this part 2 and if you're curious about my WIPs (i have so many. genuinely over 100 things in various states of incompletion.) feel free to ask!

"Younghyun-ah, Y/N-ah! Come in and eat now!" You both lift your heads at Eunji’s call, her voice ringing out over the valley that serves as your front lawn. 

"Coming!" you call back, hurriedly uprooting the last herb you'd spotted before straightening your back to look for Younghyun. 

You find him walking out of the woods, not disheveled in the slightest aside from the dirt on his hands. A wry smile curls across your lips as you swipe at your sweaty brow with the back of your hand, pushing stray hairs from your eyes. 

"What did you find?" you ask, peering around Younghyun's shoulder to see into his basket as you fall into step with him. He chuckles and nudges you with his elbow. 

"Focus on walking or you'll trip, Y/N-ah." You pout, pondering it for a moment before snatching the basket from his hands. In his surprise he doesn't manage to stop you, merely letting out a sigh as you rifle through it while walking. As you count the herbs under your breath, Younghyun's hand gently comes to rest on your elbow, guiding you around a hole in your path. 

"Thanks," you say, shooting him a quick smile before continuing with your count. He nods, keeping his eyes ahead and his hand on your elbow as you near Eunji's residence. The heat rises up on your cheeks when he doesn't pull away, and you press your lips together tightly to keep your smile concealed even though neither he nor Eunji are looking your way. 

Once you both get to the door, toeing your shoes off, Younghyun makes a beeline for where Eunji is hunched over the table. You watch fondly, looking up through your lashes while you bow your head and pretend to be counting herbs still, as he coaxes the utensils and dishes out of her hands, taking over for the old woman you both love dearly. It warms your heart to see the way Eunji fakes her exasperation with him but allows him to take over the task anyways. 

When you first brought Younghyun home, you'd been afraid of what everyone's reaction would be — Eunji included. However, despite his sharp features and often strange mannerisms, he instantly charmed all the villagers as he helped to administer the new medicine to them at your side. Eunji herself had been the one to suggest he remain in the hut, inviting him into the small family the two of you constituted. He had quickly slotted himself into your lives as though he belonged there, eager to make himself useful and far more adaptable than anyone could have expected. From gardening to cleaning and cooking, Younghyun managed to be good at everything and consistently in good spirits about even the most menial tasks. Eunji, recognizing his eagerness and potential, had begun teaching him how to make certain medicines and prepare materials for the two of you.

"Did you find enough?" Eunji asks, as the two of you make your way inside. 

"Yes, plenty," you reply, smiling. You set your basket aside and head towards where your mentor is busy cooking, inhaling deeply as you approach. Setting a hand on Eunji’s shoulder, you lean even closer to the cookware. "Ah, it smells so good!"

"Get away from there, you’ll get burned!" Eunji scolds you, gently pushing you back. With an exaggerated pout, you start to whine, but are interrupted by a light tug at your sleeve. 

"She’s right," Younghyun says. "You should be more careful." His expression, when you turn to look at him, is almost painfully earnest, his eyes filled with genuine concern as he looks at you. You can’t help but find it endearing.

"I know, I know. I’m sorry," you reply. "But even if I did get hurt, the two of you would nurse me back to health, wouldn’t you?" 

"Nurse you? I’m too old for that sort of thing, child," Eunji scoffs. "You should be the one nursing me, after all these years." You look to Younghyun, and he only offers your a half-hearted smile,

"I won’t be much help on my own." You let out an exaggerated sigh.

"I guess I have no choice then," you say. "I promise I’ll be more careful. Maybe."

Eunji swats at your shoulder once again, but you pay little mind to her scolding as you dissolve into laughter. Younghyun looks between the two of you, uncertain of whose side to take, and you bask in the warmth of the home you’ve made. 

It may be unconventional, but you don’t care. Everything feels just right.

Most evenings (when the weather is mild) find you and Younghyun outside and wandering — giving Eunji some much-needed solitude before the winter shuts you all in together. The late autumn chill is more brisk than biting, and so you find yourself (with Younghyun following your lead, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world) headed through the woods towards the crest of a hill where the view of the sunset is best. You stretch your arms up to the sky, loosening the tension in your spine before you take a seat on the grass. Younghyun carefully takes his place beside you, hands almost touching at your sides. 

"We’ll head back once the sun starts setting," you say, well aware of your companion’s tendency to worry for your safety. You turn to him with a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, 

"That should give Eunji a long enough break, I think." Younghyun chuckles and leans back on his hands, and you silently admire his profile for a moment. Despite the spirit leaving him, he still looks very fox-like — his sharp features give him an otherworldly handsomeness that would intimidate you if you didn’t know how soft he really was. 

"You know her well," he muses. It feels more as though he’s thinking out loud than anything else, but you choose to reply, turning away before your stare becomes too obvious.

"Well, I’ve known her most of my life." 

"You’ve been with her a long time," Younghyun agrees, thinking back to what he already knows about your relationship. "She’s almost like your mother."

"Hm, in a way…" You trail off, gaze on the horizon. "She raised me, but Eunji is… more than family," you say resolutely, gaze trained on the almost-setting sun. You can feel Younghyun's eyes on you, but you don't mind it — you just don’t feel the need to return his gaze. Not when the sky is so lovely. 

"What's your family like?" he asks, softly. You let out a short, awkward laugh, reaching up to twist the end of your braid around your nervous fingers. 

"Oh," you start. "Well, I don't really know them that well. Not that we don't get along!" You turn to Younghyun to emphasize your point, 

"I still make time to see them whenever I'm in their village, but, you know, Eunji raised me. My family and I are more like friends."

"I always wondered how you ended up with Eunji," he says, words slow and thoughtful. "But I worried that it might be a painful story, because of your family."

"Oh, no, nothing like that," you reply with a wave of your hand. You draw your knees up to your chest and cross your arms atop them, resting your cheek there as your gaze becomes unfocused in the haze of memory. 

"When I was very young, it became clear to everyone that I was different from the other children. My parents were so worried that they brought me to Eunji, and she was the one who discovered I had magical abilities, just like her." A fond smile makes its way across your face, and Younghyun feels his chest tighten for just a moment. 

"Did Eunji take you on as an apprentice then?"

"No," you chuckle. "Eunji is an independent person, as I'm sure you've noticed. She encourages that in other people, so she didn't even offer to take me. Later, when my powers were manifesting even more strongly, my parents brought me to her again. Even then, Eunji wouldn’t teach me any magic unless I asked her — and it just happened that I admired her so much that I asked all the time for her to teach me things." You pause and turn your face back to Younghyun, smiling wistfully. 

"If I had told her I didn't want to learn any magic, she would have accepted that. She would have shown me how to keep it under control and then sent me right back to my parents. But I wanted this life, I chose it.

"So, Eunji is… she’s more than my mentor, too. She’s like a mother, and an aunt, and a sister, and a best friend. She’s been my protector and provider, and, more than anyone else in the world, she's made me who I am. Somehow, I think she knows everything about me, even more than I do." 

Younghyun watches as you turn your gaze back to the setting sun, your skin awash in golden-red light. The tender expression in your face is warmer than any sunlight, he thinks. Ever since your first meeting, he had felt you were something of a mystery — a force of nature in and of yourself — but as he came to know Eunji he felt he was coming to know you, as well. He often found himself searching for the answers to his questions about you in her, his inexperience leaving him unsure of how to ask you those questions outright. 

As he loses himself in the sight of you, he feels a surge of emotion run through him: first, his fondness for you, an ever-growing affection that both thrills and alarms him; and second, the cold, unsettling chill of his own inadequacy. Even sat as you are, looking so small and delicate, you seem as grounded and certain as a mountain, strong-willed and clear-minded. 

Sometimes, he thinks that he was only made a gumiho so that he could wait for you to come to him. 

As the twilight begins to settle in, he notices bemusedly that you've fallen asleep sitting beside him. He can't help but marvel at you, a girl unafraid to sleep in the open valley, the same girl who ascended the dangerous mountain peak alone to find him — and succeeded. 

Slowly, he stands and removes the shawl from his back, draping it across your shoulders before gently lifting you into his arms. You curl comfortably against his chest, cheek against his shoulder, and for a moment time seems to stand still as you take his breath away without even opening your eyes. You look so vulnerable, lightly clutching at the shawl in your sleep, and Younghyun feels (not for the first time) the sudden and overwhelming urge to protect you from any and all harm. It frightens him, almost, that he instinctively knows he would follow you to the ends of the earth, go any distance at all to ensure you never had to face any dangers or pains that you may have before he came into your life. It’s more than gratitude that keeps him close to you, when he could go anywhere in the world. It's the fledgling, stirring sensation in his chest when he looks your way that frightens and enthralls him that compels him to stay. 

Younghyun takes a deep breath of the evening air, forcing himself back to his senses before he turns away from the horizon in the direction of home, holding you gingerly, preciously, as he goes. 

A knock at the door interrupts the rhythmic grinding of herbs against stone, breaking you out of your almost meditative state. You glance out the window, seeing that the sun has not moved very high into the sky, and wonder who it could be so early. After all, your home is rather remote, so they must have set off while the sun was still lingering by the horizon. Before you can even set aside your work, Younghyun, who had once again been tending the fire (he does it often to keep Eunji from getting up and down so much — despite what she insists, you both hear the way her knees and back tend to crack at her slow movements), hurries to the door. Your hands remain still as you strain to listen to their conversation. 

"Are the healers here?" You hear, faintly, and you gently set aside your task and go around the corner to stand behind Younghyun. Over his shoulder you can see a man with a slight hunch, looking winded and drawn. You can’t help the concern that squeezes your heart as you look at the worried lines of his face. 

"Yes," you reply, stepping around so that he has a clearer view of you. "Would you like to come in? It’s quite cold outside." The man nods, releasing some of the tension from his shoulders as he bows his head. It only takes a brief look from you for Younghyun to agree and spring into action. 

"Follow me," Younghyun says, "I’ll brew some tea." As he guides your new guest into the central room, you head into the back where Eunji is preparing medicinal sachets. You gently tap your knuckles along the doorframe, causing the old woman to look over her shoulder at you.

"A visitor?" she asks. You nod,

"Younghyun is making him tea. He seemed like he was in a rush to get here." Eunji hums in acknowledgement, and as she slowly begins to rise from her seat you take half a step towards her, arms outstretched — she dismisses your offer of help before it even passes your lips. 

"I’m not some helpless old woman. Go see to our guest while I get my shawl." You can’t help but smile. You have no choice but to do what she says.

You find Younghyun and the man engaging in quiet conversation over cups of tea, and Younghyun hurries to pour a cup for you. No matter how often you told him not to, as he was technically a guest, he refused to allow you or Eunji to pour for yourselves, worried you might burn your hands somehow. You find it funny, and a bit endearing, considering the conditions he’s already seen you in — burnt fingertips are the least of your worries, most of the time. 

"My mentor will be joining us soon," you say, taking your seat at the small table. The man’s worried expression gives way to a relieved smile, though you can still see the concern darkening his eyes. 

"Thank you," he says. He opens his mouth to say something else, gaze directed at you, but is interrupted as Eunji enters the room. He stands, fully prepared to bow to him, and Eunji doesn’t hesitate to tell him to sit back down as she approaches the table. Despite being obviously surprised, he does as she says, and Younghyun pours the final cup of tea. Eunji takes a  prolonged moment to sit whilst you and Younghyun watch on with thinly veiled concern, adjusting her shawl around her shoulders. Finally, she looks across the table at the weary man,

"You seem to have come a long way." The man once again seems taken aback by Eunji’s brusqueness, but nods.

"Yes. Many of the children in our village have fallen ill, and we are worried about leaving them untreated with the winter weather approaching…"

"It’s a perilous time," Eunji agrees, dipping her chin. "How far is your village?" His eyes brighten at Eunji’s question.

"Just over an hour’s walk, so long as the weather holds." Eunji glances over at you, and you nod resolutely. The man had arrived before the noon hour — plenty of time to visit the village, assess the situation, and return to prepare treatments. Of course, it might take until the next day to finish the medicines and bring them, but you can’t help that. A small smile curves along Eunji’s lips.

"These children will accompany you," she says, still smiling. You want to retort that you aren’t a child any longer, just as Eunji proclaims she isn’t an old woman, but hold your tongue. The man scrambles onto his knees, bowing deeply,

"Thank you, thank you!" You rise from your seat, Younghyun doing the same.

"Please, sit up!" you implore, cheeks burning. "It’s our job to help, there’s no need for this!" Younghyun places a hand on your shoulder, leaning around you to speak to the man himself,

"Finish your tea. We’ll prepare our things and leave once you're done." He lifts his head, eyes wide, and his gaze flicks back to the teacup on the table as though he had forgotten it. 

"Ah, yes. Thank you." He returns to his seat, somewhat sheepish but clearly relieved, and you turn to Younghyun with a grateful smile. Such fervent displays of gratitude have always made you embarrassed, especially since your skills are still so lacking. Younghyun returns your smile with one of his own, gently squeezing your shoulder before dismissing himself to start packing. You cast one last glance at Eunji and the man, now conversing more casually, before going to get your own supplies. Uncertain of what exactly you’ll encounter, you pack the most common medicinal herbs — remedies for coughs and fevers, always necessary as the winter looms. Soon, the three of you have begun your trek across the valley and into the edges of the woods, walking carefully alongside a stream, conversation kept light and minimal.

You brace yourself as you near the village, hoping beyond hope that what ails the inhabitants will reveal itself to you. The thought of last winter tightens your throat, making it hard to breathe. Younghyun, noticing the change in your pace and pinched expression, reaches out to touch your arm. The warmth of his hand lifts the invisible weight off your chest.

"Are you alright?" he asks. You feel bad, for a moment, that you always seem to be making him worry. You offer him a reassuring smile.

"Yes," you reply. "Just... worried. I hope treating them will be straightforward." Younghyun’s lips press into a thin smile, almost like a grimace, no doubt thinking back to that cold, unforgiving mountain. Both of you try to shake the thoughts off as you press on.

As you pass the first traces of the village, you begin to feel a heaviness in the air. Even if the guide were to leave you, you would easily be able to find where they had gathered the sick — the energy is hard to ignore. It wafts towards and beckons you past curious and hopeful residents looking out into the street as you pass. Through a dark, gossamer veil of mist only your eyes can see, the building is revealed. As you near it you can hear coughs, but also a low buzzing hum, unnatural and uncomfortable.

You think back to your childhood, when you had asked your mother about that same sound when your older brother was sick, and she had only looked at you — confused, exasperated, concerned — and told you there was no such noise that she could hear. Eunji later told you that it was nature’s way of alerting you to imbalance when it couldn’t be readily seen. As you approach the building you pass off your pack to Younghyun, who remains just outside the entrance, watching you as you perform your preliminary analysis. Most of the patients are, as your guide had mentioned, children. Many of them are sleeping, huddled near one another for extra warmth, faces flushed with fever. You make your way to one corner of the room and kneel near a young teenager, half-awake, whose eyes flutter closed as your cold hand brushes their hair aside and makes contact with their forehead. You close your own eyes as well, willing the darkness behind your eyelids to reveal the answers.

Many times since you first discovered your ability, you had tried (in vain) to describe the way in which these answers were conveyed to you. Eunji, likewise, had difficulty. Something inside of you, something which resonated so deeply with the world around you, was simply able to identify the unnatural imbalance that was the illness and then lead you toward what was needed to restore the balance. It was a feeling more than a vision, though sometimes a faint image may come into your mind. One of the first things Eunji had ever taught you was to meditate and empty your mind as an invitation to the spirits that guided you to enter. Curious, you had asked if it was like possession, which Eunji had pondered before telling you that you were both right and wrong. As with most questions you had about your abilities, there were no straight or definitive answers, only a half-blind trust in the earth.

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until it passes from your lips in a relieved sigh. Last winter is not repeating itself. You make your way to a few other patients throughout the room, verifying that the same illness reveals itself each time, and by the time you circle back around to the entryway you are able to smile genuinely at both Younghyun and the parents and guardians now gathered outside. 

"It appears to be a widespread cold," you report. You beckon Younghyun over with your pack, and after rooting around you find what you’re looking for.

"Doraji?" someone nearby asks as you unwrap the bundle, and you nod. 

"This is dried doraji, so you need to soak it in water. Just give them all a small piece. Tomorrow I’ll bring a stronger medicinal tea, but this should help to relieve the coughing for now. It’s bitter, so the children might only eat it cooked…" You find that you’re mostly speaking to yourself as people pass the small bundle of dried roots around, discussing who should be in charge of the process. Most of the villagers have encountered the bellflower before, but don’t have as many of its roots on hand as you and Eunji do, carefully  cultivated and dried in batches. When you get home, you’ll have to check and see if there are any fresh roots left — the fall harvest isn’t so far behind you that it’s impossible. 

As you make mental notes of what ingredients you’ll need to prepare for the tea, you methodically arrange everything back in your pack and affix it to your back once more. You and Younghyun bid the villagers goodbye, reiterating your instructions once more before heading towards home.

"Do we need to look for anything on our way?" Younghyun asks, and you take a moment to run through a mental inventory before you reply. You shake your head.

"Not unless you see late-season doraji blooming. We don’t need to go out of our way, we found plenty this fall." 

"And prepared it," Younghyun replies, a slight grimace on his face. You can’t help but to laugh when you remember how much he struggled to peel the roots, and the envy with which he watched Eunji’s hands easily working away. Eventually, she had sent him to work on something else, leaving him sulky for most of the afternoon. Somehow, he was even handsome when he pouted.

"You’ve gotten better at drying ingredients," you tease, and although he grumbles in irritation the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrays him. You feel remarkably lighter the longer you and Younghyun walk together, playfully bantering about his (lacking) medicinal skills and wondering what meal Eunji will be preparing when you return. There’s a warmth in your heart you can only attribute to Younghyun being in your life, and although you’ve never said it aloud you hope he knows just how much he does for you just being by your side. 

You rise purposefully alongside the sun, wasting no time in getting ready for your journey. While the trip to the village isn't long, the skies have looked troublesome since the evening before — the first storm of winter is approaching, and you can feel nature all around you settling in preparation. Normally, such reactions as these from the animals would keep you home, but you simply can't stay. Remembering the miserable faces of the sick you had visited with yesterday is enough to have you strapping your pack to your back with haste, moving for the door just as the sun has fully risen over the horizon. 

"You're still going?" You whip around, startled. You hadn't realized anyone else was awake, let alone out in the main room. Younghyun meets your gaze,  his expression marred with concern. 

"Of course," you say resolutely. "I have to." Your response only makes his brow furrow more deeply. 

"But the storm looks like it will start earlier than we thought…"

"I can't leave those people to suffer," you reply, voice more sharp than you had attended. Younghyun's winces, just slightly, and you avert your eyes in shame, softening your voice,

"I have to help them. I know that I can help them, so I have to go." 

You hear Younghyun sigh, but he doesn't say anything. The creaking of the floor lets you know that he's retreated from the room, and your stomach twists at the thought of leaving him mad at you — but your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of him approaching you once more. Before you can say anything, your vision is obscured by a shawl that he drapes around your shoulders despite the pack on your back. 

"At least bundle yourself up," he chides, his tone gentle. He carefully makes sure the shawl is wrapped securely around your shoulders, protecting your throat from the chill, and you can't help the laugh that escapes you. 

"I'm already wearing fur-lined clothes," you chuckle. "Look!" You hold one wrist out and peel back the edge of your arm warmer to reveal the plush white fur beneath. 

"Even the jeogori is lined," you add, patting the puffy sides of your skirt to prove that the fabric is puffy from the fur and not simply billowing around you. Younghyun's frown melts into a fond, if still concerned, smile at your antics. He reaches up and brushes a few strands of hair he had inadvertently pushed loose when draping the shawl over you back out of your face, the warmth of his hand lingering on your cheeks. 

He takes a step back and looks over your outfit once more, as if to assure himself that you truly are dressed for the impending weather, and you once again hold back a laugh. 

"You worry too much," you playfully scold, patting him on the shoulder. "The sooner I leave, the sooner I can come back. You'll take good care while I'm gone, right?" He presses his lips into a tight line, looking as though he wants to dissuade you from leaving — but his resigned sigh tells you he's realized those efforts will be futile. 

"Of course," he says. "So hurry back." You pull your hand off of him and move to the door before he can change his mind. 

"I will!" you chime, before stepping out into the morning chill.

Even as the breeze carries the scent of snow to you, the clouds hanging low and heavy, you push onward. It will be easy enough to distribute the medicine once you arrive, and so long as you’re home before nightfall everything should be fine. Nonetheless, your pace quickens without you even noticing, pulling your pack flat to your back. 

The villagers greet you with nervous gratitude, all the adults looking considerably exhausted, and are quick to usher you into warm buildings when they notice your windswept cheeks. As some of them bustle around, preparing tea and refreshments for you despite your protests, others help you to unload your pack.

“This is the tea. I tried to make it less bitter, since most of the children are affected,” you explain, laying the sachets of medicine out on a table. You remove a wooden spoon, the bowl narrower but deeper than one used for dining. “Use this to measure the dose. One scoop will suffice for small children, but adults should use two.” The adults around you murmur, and one eventually speaks up.

“Would you mind helping us with the first dose, Y/N-nim?” The use of the honorific momentarily stuns you, but nobody else seems bothered. Despite your many years under Eunji’s tutelage, you still feel yourself far too much of a novice to be deserving of such respect  — but to these people, who rely on you more as Eunji gets older, you imagine the lines are more blurred. 

Younghyun’s warnings about the weather echo in your head, but you find yourself agreeing. How could you leave these people in their time of need? What if the children are stubborn and need more coaxing, some gentle pressure from the ‘all-knowing witch’? 

Thankfully, most of the patients cooperate since their family matriarchs are present, though some are more stubborn. As the sun hangs in the afternoon sky you are ushered into someone’s residence for a light meal. Many of the village women gather around the room with you, taking a moment to relax after the prolonged brewing and portioning of medicinal tea. After eating a small portion, you pull out your extra herbs to measure more of the tea for the village, just in case. One of the women leans towards you as you do, a light smile playing at her lips.

"Y/N-nim, we’ve all been wondering — who is that man that came with you last time?" All eyes turn to you, the other conversations in the room halting. Their curiosity is far from unusual or unwarranted — every village Younghyun has accompanied you to has at least one person who raises the question, and plenty more who don’t ask but are clearly wondering too. After all, for so many years it's been only you and Eunji visiting these people unassisted. You barely glance up from your work at her question, a smile curving your lips. 

"I found him injured on the mountain," you say. Everyone knows the one, and the story of your journey, at this point. "He's been staying with us while he recuperates. He can't remember where he came from, or how he got on the mountain."

"Ah," the woman hums. She goes back to her own business as you continue tending to yours, almost laughing at the well-rehearsed story. At least it isn’t a complete lie, you muse, just a half-truth.

But the longer you sit, continuing your work, the more you start to think. Younghyun was living with the two of you as a means of getting used to human life again — it was never intended to be a permanent situation. Neither you nor Eunji had any intention of keeping Younghyun in your little shack in the valley if it wasn't where he wanted to be. Your hands falter for a moment before resuming their task purely from muscle memory, your heart sinking. If Younghyun were to tell you he wanted to leave…

You shake your head slightly. If Younghyun wants to leave, you should let him. You would let him — though the very thought makes your throat feel tight. You repeat it to yourself, a reprimand for your foolishness and selfishness. Younghyun deserves to do whatever he wants, even if it means leaving you. 

Eventually you decide you’ve made enough extra doses and should brew and distribute medicine to the remaining, most stubborn patients. Most of them are willful children who still have enough energy to argue despite their illness and were put off by the tea’s bitter smell, despite your best efforts to sweeten the mixture. Part of the reason for the afternoon break was so some of the village women could pull together something small and sweet for the children to eat after taking the medicine. With bits of dried fruit from various villagers’ homes now being presented alongside the tea, most of the children took the medicine (though still scrunching their noses at the bitterness) without much argument.

Some, however, required much more coaxing. In the end, it took you sitting amongst them and feeding into their misconception of you as a powerful, all-knowing witch alongside some bargaining with dried fruit to convince them. By the time you leave the village, you feel mentally exhausted and ready to collapse at home with Eunji and Younghyun. The clouds have sunk down over the mountaintops, heavy with snow — you smell the ice in the air and feel the stillness around you as all the other animals burrow away from the impending storm.

The snow begins to fall lightly, at first, but it sticks quickly to the frozen ground. You quicken your pace as the wind picks up. You know it’s no use; you can’t outrun the storm, so you’ll just have to push on. The tingling sensation in your hands, tucked deep into your fur-lined sleeves, warns you that conditions are going to get worse before they get better.  

Damn, you think, pulling your outermost shawl up over your nose as the storm howls. You really should have left the village sooner, but the children were so stubborn about taking their first doses of medicine. Thinking about it, you know you couldn’t have left without having assured yourself that all of them had taken it. You’re thankful it wasn’t the same plague as last winter, when you ventured up the mountain and made a deal with Younghyun but still couldn’t save everyone. The familiar shroud of guilt threatens to encompass your heart, the bitter wind blowing hard. Shaking your head, you burrow your chin and cheeks down into the shawl, trying to hide from the cold. Wisps of hair are pulled from behind your ears into view by the violent winds, and you squint through the snowflakes that cling to your lashes to be sure you're headed in the right direction before casting your gaze downward once more. As you continue plodding on, the crunching of your footsteps scarcely audible above the wails of the windswept winter trees, a voice suddenly cuts through the storm,

"Y/N!"

You lift your head and, for a moment, the wind stills. The snow is still falling, but through it you can see him approaching, and a smile creeps across your face. Seeing him like this, surrounded by snowflakes, reminds you of last winter — the first time you met Younghyun, up on the lonely mountain. Even the concern written in the creases of his brow look the same as they did the night he chose to reveal his true nature to you, to save you from the deathly chill. 

You lift your head and continue striding towards him with renewed vigor. The snow is just about at your ankles now, the frozen ground hard beneath your feet with each step. 

"Y/N!" he cries once you come more clearly into his line of sight. He looks relieved for a moment before running towards you, "Are you crazy?!" 

In a flurry he reaches out to pull your shawl further up your head, eyes flitting worriedly over your wind-whipped cheeks and frosty lashes. 

"I shouldn't have let you go alone," he grumbles, pulling the pack from your shoulders and slinging it over one of his own before you can protest. You hurry to follow him back to the hut, walking in his larger footsteps. 

"Then who would've helped Eunji prepare the house?" you ask, gently reminding him of your earlier conversation. You watch as his shoulders tense as though he's about to argue with you, but he lets out a sigh and ushers you into the house before him. Although you feel bad for worrying him, it does warm your heart to know that he stayed to help Eunji when you couldn't. 

Eunji, however, seems about as pleased with you and your decision as Younghyun — maybe even less. 

“That was foolish,” is all she says when you walk in the door. She barely casts a glance in your direction before turning back to the food still warm above the fire. You can tell she and Younghyun have already eaten just by the amount left, and the guilt resurges. 

"Sorry, Eunji…" you mutter, lowering your head like a scolded child. She only takes your food off the fire for you to eat, before rising slowly to her feet and shuffling off into her room. 

You eat accompanied only by the fire's crackle and glow, your own shadow cast long across the table from you as a stark reminder of your foolish decision. 

For hours after dinner you lie awake, unable to sleep. You listen to the howling wind outside and occasionally rise to your feet, walking to the far end of the room to be sure you can feel the ondol beneath the floor still warming it sufficiently. 

It's long into the night when you hear a faint melody, and you creep to your doorway to hear it better. 

It isn't Eunji, nor is it a song you recognize, yet the words fall easily from Younghyun's lips in a hushed tone, accompanied by the gentle scrape of him stoking the small fire in the agungi. No wonder the ondol seemed warmer than usual, you think to yourself, slowly creeping towards the source of the song. 

You watch from the shadowy corner as Younghyun tosses another piece of wood into the fire, dusting his hands off as he continues to sing. He glows golden in the firelight, and it's hard to believe that all traces of his former magic have left him — anyone seeing him would surely believe he had descended from the heavens that very day. 

As you listen to his voice, you try desperately to think of what song he may be singing, but none come to mind. Although it somehow sounds familiar, you know you've never heard it before.

Eventually, Younghyun stops singing, letting out a soft sigh as he holds his hands out towards the fire. Quietly, you step forward, but the slight creak of a board beneath your feet makes him turn. He doesn't look particularly surprised to see you, merely turning back to the flames as you go to take a seat beside him. 

"You have a wonderful voice," you say, finally. "What song was that?" He shakes his head. 

"I don't know the name. It's something my mother used to sing." His throat seems tight as he speaks, his words clipped and his expression stony. You stare at the side of his face, but he doesn't budge. Your nervous fingers pick at a loose thread you find on your clothes, and your eyes follow the pattern of the woodgrain until the shadows swallow them up. With great effort, you summon up the courage to speak,

"I'm sorry for upsetting you today. I didn't mean to make you mad." 

The smallness of your own voice makes you wince, and you're relieved that Younghyun doesn't look at you, as you couldn't possibly bring yourself to meet his eyes. 

"I'm not angry at you," he sighs, leaning back on his palms. "You just… you do things for other people without thinking of the consequences for yourself. It's like you think that nobody cares what will happen to you." 

You open your mouth to retort, but find no words to do so. After all, he isn't wrong — you've always thought of being a healer as your sole purpose in life. Regardless of how much you adored Eunji, you can still remember how it felt to be given away by your family, and how alien they seem to you at times. There's a part of you that's always believed you could never be part of a normal world, live a normal life, and as Younghyun's words sink in you realize that, maybe, you've been throwing yourself into being a selfless healer so wholeheartedly and recklessly to avoid the pain of facing what you perceive as a lonely future. 

Aside from Eunji and your family, you wonder sometimes if anyone else has ever cared about you for any reason other than you being a healer. And to avoid the thought you simply propelled yourself full-force into your sworn duty. Like anyone else, you wanted to matter, and healing was the only way you knew how to. 

Before you know it, your teardrops have begun to stain the floor by your knees. Younghyun notices and hurriedly pulls his sleeves down over his knuckles, gently pressing the backs of his fingers against your cheeks. 

"Don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry," he pleads, and you shake your head. 

"It isn't your fault," you reply, swallowing hard. "It's mine." Younghyun sighs, still gingerly drying your tear-stained cheeks. Even though you feel ashamed of your own childishness, you can’t bring yourself to stop him — or stop yourself from crying.

"You’re a good person," he intones, his voice as warm as the fire in the agungi, his eyes catching all the embers’ glow. "You care about other people, and there isn’t anything wrong with that. But you can’t help anyone if you don’t take care of yourself. You don’t ever make yourself a priority, even when you should, so of course Eunji and I worry about you. Especially when you do reckless things, like go out alone in a snowstorm…" The hint of a smile curls at one corner of his mouth, and you let out a short, wet laugh.

"Yeah," you sniff. "I deserve that." You leave your hands in Younghyun’s, watching as he gently runs his thumbs across the ridges of your knuckles. Somehow, he had managed to halt your tears without you even noticing, and though you still feel ashamed of having disappointed Eunji you feel more apologetic than anything else now.

"Does that mean you forgive me, then?" you ask, looking up to meet his gaze. Younghyun’s eyes hold all the golden light and warmth in the world as they meet yours, a full smile curving his lips now. He reaches out to brush loose strands from your braid behind your ear, a pleasant shudder running through you as his fingertips ghost along the shell of your ear.

"Yes," he says. 

Then, unexpectedly, he gives the lobe of your ear a swift tug. You yelp and reach up to cover your ear, but it’s too late. Younghyun only continues to smile at you, though you can see the mischievous glint in his foxish eyes as you pout across from him.

"But only if you promise to be more careful from now on." You huff, but lower your hand from your ear and extend a pinky out to him.

"Okay, I promise." 

Your lovely, wonderful Younghyun links his pinky with yours securely, lifting them up to press the back of your pinky to his lips. You’re grateful for the warmth and glow of the agungi, blaming the flush in your cheeks on it as the two of you unlink your pinkies and bid each other goodnight.

Eunji doesn’t stay mad at you for long, as is her way, but it probably helps that you try to actively stay in her good graces. The snow has finally stopped after falling for two nights, and Younghyun wasup since dawn clearing small paths around the hut for you and Eunji. 

“Go get him,” Eunji says sharply. “He’s been out there too long. It’s too cold.” You can’t help but smile to yourself, setting aside your task as Eunji shuffles, muttering, to make tea for you all. Draping a shawl over your shoulders, you poke your head out the door. Your eyes find him immediately, the only figure amidst the snowdrifts and gray skies.

“Younghyun-ah,” you call, and he turns to face you. He raises a hand to wave, and you beckon him with your hand. “Eunji says it’s time to come in.” Without hesitation he starts walking towards you, the shovel he had been using resting on one shoulder. As he gets closer you see how red his nose and cheeks are and can’t help but pout; you take the shovel from him and push him into the hut, chiding him,

“Why didn’t you cover your face? Your nose must be frozen.” You shut the door behind you and immediately reach up to feel his nose and cheeks, cradling his face in your hands. He smiles at you, eyes sparkling, and you feel your face getting hot — you pinch his nose, hard, and before he can begin whining at you about it you take him by the shoulder and start pushing him towards the table where Eunji has set out the teacups. The old woman looks over her shoulder at the two of you, tutting when she sees Younghyun’s red face.

“You young people, you never take care of yourselves,” she scolds.

“That’s why we have you, Eunji!” you chirp, taking the shawl off your own shoulders to drape it over hers. She rolls her eyes at you but tugs the shawl a little tighter around her and can’t keep the smile off her face as she waves you off. Younghyun obediently takes a seat at the table, and you follow suit with Eunji right behind you. It had taken you a considerable amount of time as a child to get used to Eunji’s lack of adherence to tradition. She didn’t care who served who, or the order in which things were done — she had lived alone and away from society for so long that she simply did what was most efficient. As Eunji got older, she let you do more for her, but never everything. She let Younghyun do more, and though you know she’ll never admit it, it was clearly her attempt to make him feel more comfortable.

Sitting around the table, you can’t help but bask in the warmth of your home. You have never felt so happy, you think, as you do with these two people, whom you love most in the world.

With the snow still thick on the ground, there’s little to do other than stay inside and prepare ingredients for the impending ailments the season brings. Neither you nor Eunji have been summoned, and until more of the snow melts you can’t venture very far from your hut. 

Most of the day has passed with all of you inside, working away at various chores and tasks. You’ve turned to mending clothing, having finished grinding herbs, and after hours hunched over by the table you set aside your task and stand, needing to stretch. It’s sometime in the afternoon, 

“Y/N-ah,” Eunji says, beckoning you into her room. You make your way over, curious as to why she’s calling you into her bedroom instead of coming to the central room to speak to you. 

“Yes, Eunji?” She tugs at your sleeve, then pushes your shoulder down so your ear is level with her mouth,

“I’m going to make Younghyun a treat since he’s been here a whole year. Take him outside and stay out until our evening meal.” You barely hear her request, stuck on the fact that Younghyun has been here, with you, off the mountain for a year. Does that mean he’s adjusted enough to human life? Is he going to want to leave soon? Eunji releases your shoulder, and you bring yourself back to reality.

“I can do that,” you say, though your head is still spinning slightly. Eunji smiles at you and pats your shoulder.

“I knew I could count on you.” Her statement lightens your heart just slightly, enough for you to make your way into the common room and tap Younghyun’s shoulder. He lifts his gaze from his work, a slow attempt to perfectly peel some roots, and you smile,

“Eunji wants us to get out of the house so she can clean.” 

“Shouldn’t we help?” he asks, but he’s already setting aside his work and standing up. You shake your head.

“She’s very particular sometimes, you know that. She said we’d only get in her way.” Younghyun thankfully accepts your excuse and pulls on his extra winter layers alongside you as Eunji makes her way into the common room to shoo you both out.

It’s cold outside, but not unpleasant. The sun reflects almost blindingly off the snow in the valley, so you and Younghyun both begin walking towards the woods in search of some shade.

“It snowed so much this year,” you remark. 

“It’s still nothing like last year,” he replies, and when you turn to look at him you find his gaze on the familiar mountain peak in the distance. One whole year…

“You’re right,” you say. “That storm was particularly bad. The beginning of that winter… before you, it was awful. Everything felt so hopeless.” Younghyun laughs softly,

“That’s how every winter felt,” he says, “until you.” 

You don’t know what to say, a lump forming in your throat as thoughts continue to swirl in your mind about Younghyun leaving. It’s foolish, you think (you know) to be so concerned with something that may not even come to pass, or not soon at least, but you can’t help it. After only a year Younghyun has become such an integral part of your life that you can’t imagine not seeing him every day.

But it’s his choice, you remind yourself. Just like you had never wanted anyone to stand in the way of your decisions, you knew you could never stand in the way of his. 

The two of you walk in comfortable silence through the woods. Despite the snow, you both know your way through the trees almost by instinct, having walked all these paths through the other three seasons. The trees become sparser as you near the river that lies in the bowl of the valley. Once again you’ve found yourselves at the hilltop where you have the best view of the sunset, the late afternoon sun casting long stripes of shadow and golden light across the ground. The river runs shimmering down in the valley, thawed from the day’s sunshine. You stand beside Younghyun in your usual spot, the warmth of his body radiating onto you, and the lump forms in your throat again. Enough, you think, biting the inside of your cheek. I should just get it over with.

“Younghyun-ah, have you ever…” you press your lips together, taking a deep breath before trying again. “Is there somewhere you want to go, Younghyun-ah? You know Eunji and I — we would help you do anything. You’ve adjusted well to life off the mountain, so…” Again, you can’t seem to finish, and so you simply let the statement hang in the air, hoping that he’s able to understand your babbling. You can feel his gaze on you, but can’t bring yourself to lift your face. If you look at him, you might just lose your resolve and end up taking it all back, begging him not to go. You can see when he turns to you completely, his feet pointing towards yours and not the setting sun.

“Do you remember,” he starts, taking your hands in both of his. He runs his thumbs across your knuckles gently, sending shivers down your spine. “How you said you saw me grow old in your vision?” The statement catches you off guard enough that you look up, but he’s smiling down at your hands in his, his expression soft. 

“Yes,” you reply, voice barely a breath, but you know he hears you. He lifts his face, resolve painted into his sharp features, and you gaze into his eyes, dark as the new moon sky. 

“I want to see you grow old too, Y/N-ah.”

The tenderness in his voice renders you speechless, and though you know your feet are on the ground you feel as though your body has risen into the clouds, face warming as his stare continues to pierce you. 

“What…?” What does that mean? What do you mean by that? 

“I'm asking you to let me stay by your side,” he explains, squeezing your fingers gently. “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I don't mind — I just ask that it isn't without me.”

You could swear your heart stops beating, that the world altogether stops for a moment. Younghyun’s eyes never waver, earnest and sure, and the longer you hold his gaze the further you feel yourself falling into the depths of your devotion to him. As you hurtle towards the conclusion you had been fearful to voice for so long, you remind yourself to breathe, the air trembling in and out of your lungs. 

“Why?” Is all you manage to ask, your heart aching, pounding desperately in anticipation of whatever confession awaits you. 

Younghyun chuckles kindly, and the sight of his smile causes your own lips to curl, a salve to your anxiety. He runs his thumbs soothingly along the ridges of your knuckles. 

“Because,” he says, then lifts your hands to his mouth. He presses a soft kiss on each of them, sending butterflies soaring in your stomach, and looks up at you through his lashes with that smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“You’re my destiny. I’ll do anything to stay by your side until the end.”

How could you ever say no to him? All you can manage is to nod, tears stinging your eyes, and Younghyun reaches up to wipe them away — just like before. His hands gently cup your cheeks, and you look into his eyes, the eyes that you love more than any others.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. You laugh, placing your hands on his shoulders,

“I thought you’d never ask.”

When the two of you return to the hut hand in hand, Eunji simply raises her eyebrows.

“Finally,” she says, before ushering you both inside from the cold evening air. “It only took a year. Congratulations, Younghyun.” She reaches up to ruffle his hair, and he bends down just slightly to oblige her, laughing all the while. 

As you all sit around the table filled with Eunji’s treats for Younghyun, you wonder what the future holds. Whatever comes, you think, you’re ready and willing to face it — with determination, and love, and magic — with Younghyun.

#my writing #kpop fanfiction #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop texts #day6 scenario #day6 fanfic #day6 young k #young k imagines #young k scenarios

[fallinnflower]

method acting

dk x reader (actor!au, drama, fluff)

wc: 833

a/n: another dialogue prompt i did a little while back. one of my bigger projects is almost finished and ready for posting. thank you everyone for your continued support and patience~ mwah~!

You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping backward with the force of your reaction. Seokmin remains seated, unperturbed by your intensity. His relaxed posture is far different from yours, with your hands balled into trembling fists at your sides and muscles tensed in preparation for a thus undetermined fight or flight. He looks down his sharp nose at you, brows raised just slightly and lips pressed into a thin, flat line. It's as you're staring him down, his aloof expression fueling the fire of rage in your stomach, that you finally find your voice, fight overtaking flight. 

"I will find out who killed my husband, with or without your help," you say, each word leaving your mouth sharply and determinedly, in a way that you hope is forceful enough to get a reaction out of him. 

So you stare Seokmin down, keeping your expression steely as he meets your gaze. Finally, he narrows his eyes, leaning back in his chair with an indiscernible expression that makes your heart skip a nervous beat. You maintain your cold, tough veneer as best you can, jaw clenched so tightly shut that it's beginning to hurt. 

However, as the silence continues to hang in the air, you find your resolve faltering, brows slowly drawing closer together in response to his silence. A muscle in your jaw ticks, and you immediately break character. Your shoulders slump from the tension, and you lean your head back to stretch your stiff neck with a sigh. 

"Seokmin," you whine, glancing down at your script, "pausing for dramatic effect is nice and all, but did you really have to wait that long?" You skim over the text again, reassuring yourself that you did indeed say the correct line. Your co-star doesn't reply immediately, once again, and you look up with the full intention of scolding him — only to find him gazing at you already, cheeks and ears tinged a pleasant pink. 

"Seokmin?" you ask, and he shakes his head, eyes darting away from you. Nervously, he clears his throat, eyes still cast to the side, and you find yourself even more perplexed than before. 

"You feeling okay?" you ask, setting down the script and reaching a hand out to feel his forehead. He flinches at the sudden contact but then goes completely still as you try to gauge his temperature. 

"Sorry," he blurts, lightly grabbing your hand as you begin to pull it away. 

"What's wrong? Did you forget your line?" you ask, gently rubbing circles on the back of his hand with your thumb. Seokmin looks down at your joined hands and purses his lips nervously,

"Not exactly…" His reticence and reluctance to look you in the eyes leave you both confused and a bit irritated at his antics now, especially since this scene had been going so well this read-through. It had taken you so long to figure out just how to deliver this scene properly, only for Seokmin to freeze up on you during your best run yet. 

You heave a sigh, ready to tell him it's time to call it a day, but he tightens his grasp on your hand ever so slightly, as though sensing your intentions. 

"It's just… I'm embarrassed to admit it."

"Admit what?" Seokmin's shyness suddenly makes you anxious — what could possibly have made him so silent? After taking a moment to compose himself, he finally lifts his chin and meets your gaze, still looking rather sheepish. 

"You, um — you know how sometimes people say someone is hot when they're angry?" he asks, voice small. You nod, and Seokmin glances away again before continuing. 

"Yeah, you're— I—"

"Seokmin," you interrupt, reaching out with your free hand to card your fingers through his hair, giggling under your breath as you watch him struggle to find the words. "Are you trying to say I'm hot when I'm acting angry?" 

"You just looked so pretty I got distracted!" he whines, finally breaking out of whatever anxious funk he'd been in, now grasping your hand in both of his. "I couldn't remember my lines, but I didn't want to make you feel awkward." His exaggerated pout immediately has you laughing at his cuteness, and you sit down on the arm of the chair he's in and shake your head fondly. 

"Ah, and everyone was saying you're the professional," you tease, and he whines again. 

"Hey, I'm good at my job! It isn't my fault you're so pretty," he retorts, though his voice trails off at the end, seemingly because he notices the sudden lack of space between the two of you. 

"Well, how do we work past this in time for filming, then?" you ask, and at that Seokmin smiles blindingly. 

"I have a few ideas," he says, eyes sparkling, and although you find yourself taken aback at his sudden boldness, you soon regain your composure enough to respond in kind. You lean in even closer, breath mingling as you reply,

"Then I say we try them all."

#caratwritersclub #cwc #dk scenarios #dk fics #dk fanfiction #dokyeom scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #My writing

[fallinnflower]

unpredictable

woozi x reader (fluff, neighbors to lovers)

dialogue prompts: “have you come to laugh at me?” / “today isn’t your day, is it?”

wc: 2.5k

a/n: hello!!! it’s been a while, huh? i’m still working on those bigger projects (like vampire!bambam and vampire!ian), but here’s a little writing exercise i did recently. i don’t have nearly enough woozi content out here, right? thank you all for being patient with me and supporting the blog, love you all, uwu

The forecast did not call for rain, you think, grimacing. You know it didn’t because you had checked over and over again before getting dressed this morning, but here you were, walking through the icy cold, pelting rain, without anything more than your usual lightweight jacket.

You’re shivering by the time you finally make it back into your apartment, having tracked water into the elevator and down the hall. Your hair is dripping wet, and you trudge to the bathroom, barely peeling your soaked jacket off before you hear your door buzzer going off. Taking a glance in your bathroom mirror at your miserable appearance, you frown and snatch a towel before heading to the door, wrapping it around your shoulders as though that’s going to help.

It may be a bad idea, given your current state, but you open the door without looking to find none other than Lee Jihoon, your neighbor-turned-best-friend of the past year, standing at an awkward diagonal from your door to avoid the puddles you’d left while unlocking your apartment. You huff and pull the towel tighter around you.

“Have you come to laugh at me?” you grumble, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s no doubt in your mind that Jihoon had heard you coming home, considering he lives right next door, and that he might just be here to say ‘I told you so’ after you had ignored his nagging about keeping an umbrella on you. You still stand by your statement that always carrying an umbrella is impractical and annoying, but you have to concede that he has a point. Not that you want to.

“No,” he replies, looking you up and down. “But I might now that I’m here. Why didn’t you stop and buy an umbrella?” As he speaks, you step aside to let him in, wondering how long it will take until you regret that decision.

“I have one, so it seemed like a waste of money,” you reply, keeping your voice low as though Jihoon won’t be able to hear you. He lets out a sigh and gives you a witheringly ‘disappointed but not surprised’ look that rivals your mother’s in how badly it makes you want to melt into the floor.

“Have you eaten? Go shower and I’ll make you something,” he says, not even waiting for your reply. You had not, in fact, eaten anything since breakfast that morning — when you had noticed the rainclouds, you’d chosen to skip lunch in hopes that leaving a little early would let you avoid the storm. Ha.

Jihoon pushes you towards your bathroom, and you pout exaggeratedly at him before the door closes, trying to look extra pitiful.

“Thanks, Jihoonie,” you simper, and he cringes. 

“Shower,” is all he says before he shuts the door in your face. You can’t help but laugh.

Your shower may as well be a miracle, with how rejuvenated you feel afterward. You carefully lift your soaked clothing and the towel you had set them on into your arms, now wrapped in your comfy, fluffy robe, and carry them out to the dryer. After stopping in your room to apply lotions and serums to your skin and throw pajamas on under your robe, you make your way into the kitchen to see what Jihoon is making. Still slowly towel-drying your hair, you pause in the entryway of your kitchen, observing Jihoon. 

It would be a lie to say you weren’t attracted to your neighbor, despite his bouts of grumpiness, so you take the rare moment to admire his figure before he notices. His workout regimen must be working, you think, biting the inside of your cheek. His waist is enviously tiny now, in contrast with his broadening shoulders, and you struggle to tamp down the urge to wrap your arms around that waist as he stands in front of your stove. It’s all cloyingly sweet and domestic, and you let yourself imagine that he feels the same way you do, just for a moment, savoring the fantasy.

“What's for dinner?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder at you. You slip around him to your fridge and pull out a can of Coke Zero for him, filling a glass with water for yourself as you watch him out of the corner of your eye. 

“You'd better not be putting ice in that,” he nags, without even looking. You frown and close your freezer. 

“How'd you know,” you whine, though it isn't much of a question. You and Jihoon practically lived together during quarantine, only socializing with each other, so he knows all your habits — and is exactly the type to tell you not to drink an iced drink when you just came in soaked from the rain. He doesn't even respond to that, skipping over it completely. 

“Anyways, I used the leftovers I found in your fridge for bibimbap. It’s almost ready; go sit down.” You watch as he cracks two eggs into your pan to poach them, glad for your tiny apartment’s relatively open floor plan. Jihoon used to gripe about you using your coffee table in the living room as a dinner table, but gave up after realizing you weren't going to buy a new table any time soon. Instead of sitting, like he asked, you start moving everything off of said table to make room for the food and drinks. 

True to his word, just as you're finishing, Jihoon walks out with a bowl in each hand. He's barely at the bowls down before he's frowning at you again. 

“Yah,” he gripes, dropping down onto your couch. “You just came in from the rain, and you’re leaving your hair wet again? Seriously. Come here.” You acquiesce, sitting beside him on the couch but with your back to him, handing him the towel you'd been using. You’ll never admit that you had hoped he would do this, though you never imagined he actually would. How totally unfair, you think, pouting, melting into his warm touch as he gently dries your hair. How could you ever resist falling for him, when he’s like this? The universe had truly set you up to be at the butt end of a cruel joke.

But you’ll laugh along, if it’s for him. For your Jihoon, whom nobody but you knows is yours. Maybe he's oblivious, or maybe he's ignoring it on purpose, the (sometimes hungry, always fond) way you look at him, your little flirtations, the devotion you can't hold back. Maybe he knows and chooses not to know. You don't know which would hurt most, so you shove the thoughts aside when they arise, contenting yourself with the closeness he allows already. 

If Jihoon minds that you're leaning into him just a bit more, like a cat asking for more pets, he doesn't say anything about it. He merely continues to carefully dry your hair, his touch light, as though he's afraid he'll hurt you. Frankly, you wouldn't mind even if he did. 

You don't know how long it's been that you've been sitting, eyes closed, turning blissfully to putty in Jihoon’s hands. From an outside perspective, the level of whipped you are for him is pathetic — but you don't feel like chastising yourself over it right now. You can't understand anyone not being whipped for your brilliant, talented, often cat-like neighbor – your Jihoon. 

“There,” he says, resting the towel around your shoulders atop your robe. “Eat before it gets cold.” 

“Thanks, Jihoonie,” you croon again, wrapping your arms around his bicep and leaning into him, pressing the top of your head into the junction between his neck and shoulder. He shivers from the cold of your still-damp hair, shrugging you off half-heartedly. 

“You always take such good care of me.” Your overly cutesy voice and act helps you mask the truth behind your words, because as much as you would like to scream from the rooftops that Lee Jihoon is your ideal man and should be everyone else's, too, you're too terrified of losing him to make the first move. So all your flirtations occur behind the thinly veiled excuse of ‘play,’ never crossing the invisible line you'd drawn yourself. 

Jihoon chuckles, shaking his head. You finally lift your head from his shoulder, letting your hands linger just a moment longer than they should on his bicep. 

“Someone has to,” he teases, and you pout while he ignores you in favor of eating his dinner. Overeager, and a bit flustered by your own actions, you move to scarf down some yourself—

And immediately burn your tongue, becoming an irritated mess in seconds. Jihoon tries his best not to laugh as you guzzle down water. 

“You should've let me have ice,” you whine. 

“That wouldn't have prevented anything,” he says. You frown because you know he's right, but you don't like admitting that to him, even though his smug grin is unfairly attractive. Your heart can only take so much at a time. 

You're glaring down at your food, as if it's the vegetables’s fault you forgot to slow down and blow on it first, when Jihoon’s hand suddenly rests gently between your shoulder blades. He rubs small circles there with the palm of his hand, the warmth radiating through your chest. 

“Today isn't your day, is it?” he asks, teasingly but not unkindly. His gaze is gentle when you turn your face to look at him. 

“No,” you sigh, letting out a defeated laugh. “I guess it isn't.” 

“I'm sorry.” It's such a genuine apology, despite there being no reason for him to be sorry, that you do truly feel better hearing it. You smile. 

“It's okay,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. You close your eyes, content once again, warm and fluttery in the way only Jihoon can make you. “You make all my days better. It's not so bad.” 

All is quiet and warm and pleasant. You think you could fall into a perfect sleep right then, into a dream where this moment never ends, but then Jihoon quietly pipes up,

“Me too.” You blink your eyes open, wondering if you had just hallucinated. 

“What?” you ask. You sit up. Jihoon’s gaze is fixed on your table, ears the faintest bit pink — you feel your own face warming up because of it. 

“Me too,” he repeats, more loudly. He turns to look at you and notice his cheeks are pink, too. “You make my days better too.”

“Jihoon…” Your heart is beating so loudly you can’t think of anything else to say but his name, your entire focus on him, everything behind the two of you a mere blur. Neither of you speak for what feels like too long, and maybe you don't need to, but it somehow feels like it's now or never as your heart is racing and racing and racing,

“I like you.” You want the floor to swallow you up, you want to disappear, because you're scared and it's all happening so fast all of a sudden. Jihoon’s eyes widen and his face flares redder and he stiffens, for a moment that feels like eternity but also a blink and then he's reaching for you very slowly. His hand gently brushes some of your hair behind your ear, feather light and spine-tingling as his fingertips brush against the shell of your ear, and you hold your breath. His hand comes to rest along your jaw, fingers at the nape of your neck, and he stares so intently into your eyes that you think he can see right past them into your thoughts. 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is a little rough. Your chest is about to explode, and it's a wonder you can speak at all, though your reply is barely more than a sigh,

“Yes, please.”

You taste the spices on his lips, and his gentle kiss burns hotter than the dinner he'd cooked for you, and you're certain that this moment and whatever comes after will scar you forever, no matter how many years pass and skin supposedly replaces itself – you think you will always feel the searing, sweet crush of his lips against yours, and the white-hot trace of his tongue as he parts your lips. He tastes like bibimbap and Coke Zero, sweet and savory, and he feels like home as you wrap your arms around his neck and lean into him, his body heat melting and molding you against him. You want to devour him, you think, eat him whole.

You sigh when he chooses to part from you, hands still lingering on each other. His lips are bitten red, his face flushed. You reach a hand up to smooth out the disheveled hair — hair you had disheveled, you think, with almost devilish glee — and somehow gather up the courage to speak. 

“So, what now?” you ask. You hope he doesn't notice the trembling in your voice as you meet his eyes with faux confidence. Jihoon smiles. 

“Can we call this a date?” 

You're stunned. All you do is blink at him a few times trying to confirm this is real. 

“You want this to be our first date?” you ask, incredulous and more than anything else embarrassed because of all the ways you could have imagined having a first date with Jihoon, him seeing you soaked as a drowned rat from the rain was absolutely not on the list. Jihoon, likely seeing the way you're getting more flustered by the minute, only laughs and gently pinches your cheek, snapping you out of your spiral. 

“Cute,” he says. You drop your face into your hands and lean your head against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you like it's the most natural thing in the world. His laugh reverberates from his chest and into you. 

“Unfair,” you whine. “You are so unfair, Lee Jihoon, seriously.”

“Then I'll make it up to you,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice. “However long it takes.” You slowly lift your head, and he readjusts, still keeping you in his arms. You rest your hands against his shoulders, and, too nervous to look at him directly, look up at him through your lashes. 

“What if I say it'll take forever?” 

Jihoon replies without missing a beat, still smiling,

“Then forever it is.” 

“I'll hold you to that,” you threaten, tightening your grip on his shoulders. He pulls you closer,

“I'm a man of my word.”

He kisses you again, or maybe you kiss him — does it matter? Your mind is spinning but in his arms you feel more grounded than ever before, like all is right in the world. You never want it to end. 

“This can be our first date if you'll be my boyfriend,” you negotiate, later, eating your (now very cooled) dinner with Jihoon’s arm looped around your shoulders. 

“Deal,” he replies, using his other hand to push some of your wayward hair out of your face once again. Your heart wants to burst—

“I'm gonna remind you to take an umbrella on every anniversary.”

“Jihoon!” 

But just like the rain, your anger at him quickly evaporates under the warmth of his kiss, and you think maybe you were both wrong before – no day has ever been so much yours as this, and nobody more yours than Jihoon. 

#cwc #caratwritersclub #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #woozi fanfic #woozi fanfiction #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #lee jihoon #my writing

[fallinnflower]

passing away because mingyu's Instagram post of josh covering "sunday morning" in oakland just fulfilled all my daydreams from writing "dark honey"

#y'all can't do this to me #i'm too sensitive for this #god to see a pretty boy like Josh perform at an open mic night #it hits too close to home for dark honey so now i'm gonna go idk cry about it? #my writing #i'm emotional #a message to joshua hong: BACK OFF #or i'll cry idk

[fallinnflower]

intrusive thoughts of redoing this blog theme while being relatively inactive due to Work and School ??? someone stop me i’m begging

#why do i like redoing my blogs so much #my main used to be changed with every single comeback i enjoyed #if anyone is curious yes it would still be a heize theme because I Love Her #should i do it no do i WANT to do it yes #also i am currently writing things just very slowly and also like 100+ drafts at once and trust me i wish that number was a joke

[fallinnflower]

in the bed

jun x reader (fluff, slice of life)

wc: 1k

a/n: bigger projects are in the pipeline, but my friend sent me a dialogue prompt list and i think this turned out cute. also in korea it’s already jun day!

There are a few things you’ve come to understand about Wen Junhui over the years. First and foremost, that behind his calm facade with strangers lies an exuberant and excitable inner child whose wonder has yet to ebb away; and second, that the better you get to know him, the more energetic he becomes. It isn’t to say the two of you can’t be comfortable and still in one another’s presences like other couples — just that Jun doesn’t feel comfortable being silly in front of strangers, and so you see that side of him more often than not. 

It can be a lot, sometimes, for a somewhat grumpy introvert such as yourself. But he wouldn’t be your Junhui without all his goofy antics.

For the first few days of his two-week post-schedule quarantine, he slept almost nonstop. On the bed, on the couch, on the extra chair in your home office when he came to whine about you not being available to cuddle him – he took numerous naps and slept soundly through the night. However, on the fourth day, a Saturday, he rises unexpectedly early. And he rises hyper.

“Y/N,” he whispers, poking your cheek. You feign sleep in an effort to actually make it a reality, but your boyfriend is relentless. “Y/N. I’m bored, wake up.” In response, you scrunch your nose and drag the blankets up over your eyes. He whines your name once more, louder, before flopping his body down onto yours. All your breath leaves your body in an audible oof, and Jun’s childish tactic finally succeeds. You wriggle your arms out from under him and begin trying to lift him.

“Okay. Off. Heavy,” you grumble with your eyes still closed.

“Are you awake now?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows and inspecting your face. You crack your eyes open enough to glare at him, huffing.

“Yes. Now get off.” 

Satisfied, Jun breaks into a wide smile and presses a quick kiss to your forehead before acquiescing, taking the blankets with him. You dig the heels of your palms into your tired eyes and sit up. Jun wastes no time, busying himself with worsening your bedhead and giggling at your expense as you tiredly grumble and try to swat his hands away, to no avail. He’s much too agile on mornings like this, and you’re much too tired to really try to stop him. Eventually, you drag yourself out of bed to the bathroom and emerge to find Jun waiting for you on the bed still, doing something on his phone.

“Alright, I’m up,” you say, stretching your back. “Now what?” 

“I ordered us breakfast,” he replies, proudly turning his phone screen towards you. True to his word, the delivery app on his phone shows an order in progress from your favorite cafe. The thought of not having to cook or brew your own coffee is enough to bring a smile to your face.

“Thanks, baobei.” Jun flashes a playful grin at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. He taps a finger against his cheek and leans closer to you. Admittedly, you find it endearing, but you hide that behind a sigh as you lean over the side of the bed to give him the kiss he wants as a reward. His ego is big enough without you always telling him outright how cute he is — especially because he already knows that you adore him, considering what you let him get away with. Jun beams proudly, having gotten you to bend to his (adorable) will once more, and you can’t help but smile yourself. 

“So, you woke me up early to order breakfast?” you ask, raising one eyebrow. Jun pouts.

“No, I woke you up early because I missed you.” You laugh,

“We slept in the same bed last night, Jun.”

“That doesn’t count,” he counters. 

“Then what does count?”

You regret asking the moment you see the expression on Jun’s face, but it’s already too late— 

“This,” he shouts, launching forward and pulling you back onto the bed before you can react. You let out an embarrassing sound, something like a squeak, which you can barely recover from before Jun is taking advantage of your position to engage in a tickle fight. It’s more one-sided than an actual fight, since Jun has the high ground and the element of surprise and all you can do is squirm and try to fend him off, none of which helps at all. Eventually, he relents, leaving both of you breathless. You pull yourself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard and purposefully ignoring your clingy boyfriend as he follows you.

“So cute,” he simpers, and you fix him with a half-hearted glare that doesn’t faze him at all. Instead he only laughs and flops down with his head in your lap, staring up at you. He reaches up to brush some of your hair out of your face fondly, looking unusually angelic as he does so. Your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“You love me, don't you?” Jun asks, feigning innocence while unable to keep the playful smile off his face. You hold your stony expression as long as you can in the face of his sparkling gaze before relenting with a sigh, gently carding your fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes in contentment, leaning into your touch like a pleased cat, and you let out a short laugh.

“Too much to function,” you finally reply, ruffling his hair a little more roughly. Jun, your lovely, lovely Jun, laughs and turns onto his side, his nose bumping against your abdomen, one arm reaching around your waist to keep you close.

“Me too,” he murmurs, finally. “I’m so happy I can barely think.” 

“Oh, that’s why you’ve got all these hare-brained schemes?” you tease, and he hums.

“Yup, all your fault.” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see, and resume playing with his hair. 

“I guess I should take responsibility, then.” 

“You should,” he agrees, turning his head just enough that he can meet your eyes comfortably. His beaming grin belies the seriousness of his words, “Forever.” 

“Okay,” you say, smiling softly. “Forever.”

And although you can’t stay in that comfortable, warm position forever, you do remain there until your breakfast delivery arrives, when you waddle towards the door with Jun clinging to your waist from behind all the way.

#cwc #caratwritersclub #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen jun #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop writing #my writing

[fallinnflower]

SEVENTEEN :: DARL+LING

[fallinnflower]

Omg vampire bambam!! Preparing my heart for the angst rn 💔💔💔

yes!!! it is slow going but it will get done because i'm committed to it. maybe i'll post a spoiler of it sometime~

[fallinnflower]

enchanting

young k x reader (fluff, maybe comedy, magic!au)

wc: 1.2k

a/n: based on a random prompt generator with the following prompts: magical realism; struggling musician; popcorn; mc loved by everyone; "it's your fault." also i know this is a very small offering considering how long i’ve been gone but rest assured i have a lot of stories in the works!!!

"Goodnight, Y/N! See you tomorrow!" 

"Goodnight! You guys be safe, okay?" you holler back, waving the last of the smiling regulars out from your place behind the bar. Younghyun, who had been smiling pleasantly at all of them and keeping up with their tipsy chatter for hours after playing his session, finally releases the tension in his shoulders and leans his back against the bar. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back in clear exhaustion. You glance at him, the hazy late night lights framing his sharp profile in an ethereal glow, his pale hair disheveled and haloed in faded gold. Even though his facial expression is somewhat tortured, brows furrowed and lips downturned, you can't help but find him beautiful. 

Eventually, you turn away from him to begin your nightly duties. Although spells and enchantments for objects exist that could cleanse the place in minutes, your magic skills are still too fledgling to confidently — or reasonably — pull them off. You settle for enchanting a mop in the corner to begin moving slowly across the floor, and levitating glasses as they're polished by an enchanted rag to check for their cleanliness. 

Younghyun eventually begins to munch on the remnants of a snack mix you had made for him for after his gig, picking out the popcorn pieces one by one and tossing them into his mouth. He doesn't say a word, the only sounds in the bar his crunching, the swishing sound of the mop on the floor, and the occasional squeak of the rag against glass. 

After a few moments, however, a heavy sigh sounds from your right, and you can't hold back the smile that teases at the corner of your lips. You shake your head, but don't take your eyes off the glass and rag levitating before you, focusing on making sure it's spotless before replacing it. 

"It's your fault, you know." You hear the slight creak of the barstool as your lone companion shifts his weight to look at you instead of the empty tables. 

"What do you mean?" His tone is accusatory, but you lift your gaze calmly to meet his. You shrug lightly as you levitate another glass. 

"You only ever perform here. It's no wonder you're struggling to advance your musical career when you limit yourself like this." 

"Hey—" he starts, but you lift a hand to stop him before he can begin his lecture. You set the glass and rag aside so you can focus solely on him, leaning against the bar and bringing your face closer to his. Younghyun freezes at your movements, but you pay it no mind. 

"Look, you know I love this place. I've poured my heart and soul into it. I love my customers, too, but this crowd isn't going to help you get a shot at the big time — and you know it too, whether you want to admit it or not." When you're sure he's sufficiently absorbed your words, you turn back to your polishing spell. 

"I don't know why you're not looking for other gigs, but you should."

"Well, it's—" Younghyun cuts himself off abruptly, and you turn your attention back to him in confusion. 

"It's what?" He shakes his head, and you roll your eyes, disabling your polishing spell once again. 

"Kang Younghyun," you say sternly, and he looks up at you in embarrassment. You plant your hands on your hips and straighten yourself into an assertive stance. After holding your gaze for a moment, he lets out another sigh in defeat and casts his eyes downward. 

"I'm not performing here to try and get famous," he says, finally. Your brows furrow and your posture deflates slightly. 

"But that's—"

"I know," he interjects, raking his hands through his hair. "I know, I told you that was my dream when I asked to perform here, but... I don't know, it's embarrassing. I don't really care if I get famous right now, I just found myself wanting to be around you constantly..."

You stare blankly at the slouched form of your bar's main performer for the last year and try to decipher his words. The Younghyun who came to you for an opportunity was passionate, burning brightly with his desire for a chance at stardom, and before you even realized it his conviction had dimmed. 

Or, no, you think as his eyes dart towards yours and catch. It hadn't dimmed, but been redirected. Regardless, you had been blinded to the changes within him. 

"Younghyun... I'm sorry..." He looks up, and it seems both of you are startled to find that you're teary-eyed. As you hurriedly swipe at your eyes, Younghyun shoots out of his seat, the stool scraping across the floor in his hurry. He reaches for your face, cradling your cheeks in his palms and hurriedly trying to wipe your sudden tears. 

"No, no, I'm sorry. Please don't cry, just forget I said anything—"

"I can't believe I didn't notice," you manage to say between hiccups and gasps for air. "All this time— I'm the worst!" Younghyun's movements falter slightly, and he tilts your face up so your eyes meet. 

"Wait, you don't— why are you crying, actually?" 

"Because!" you wail. "You've had these feelings and I— I didn't even notice! That's so unfair for you!" Through your blurred vision you can't make out Younghyun's expression, just the slight trembling of his hands where they press against your cheeks. After a moment of floundering for words, he finally opens his mouth again,

"So... are you not rejecting me, then?"

His words stun you out of your sobbing, leaving you hiccuping as the tears subside. You gaze at him, blinking in bewilderment as you try to process his question. Younghyun's gaze holds yours, his eyes shaking with uncertainty as he waits for your reply. 

"Rejecting you?" you parrot. "Younghyun, why would I reject you?"

"I mean— well, I—"

"Younghyun," you interrupt as his face begins to flush. You reach up and place one of your hands over his, smiling gently. 

"We've both been oblivious, I guess," you laugh. "I wouldn't ever reject you. I just didn't want to hold you back when you had such big dreams." His expression visibly softens, and he lets out a sigh of relief, lightly running his thumbs across your cheeks. 

"That's a relief," he breathes. 

"So, what now?" you ask, a bit startled by your own courage so soon after your sobbing session. Younghyun can't help but smile at your question,

"Well, honestly, I'd really like to kiss you." Your nervous yet playful smile mirrors his own as you lift your arms and loop them loosely around his neck. 

"Now that you mention it..." 

Just as the two of you begin to close the distance, Younghyun suddenly lets out a surprised shriek, startling you both. You both direct your gazes to the mop as it suddenly clatters to the floor at Younghyun's feet. 

"Oh my god," he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. "It was the mop." You glance down at his shoes and can't help but laugh when you find them to be wet. He glares playfully at you, almost pouting, and so you lean across the bar and press a quick kiss to his cheek. 

"Since you kicked the mop, why don't you finish cleaning the floors, hm?" 

"On one condition," he says, turning his face so his nose brushes yours, pout long gone. "I get to take you on a date when we're done cleaning." You can't stop the smile that breaks across your face as your lips finally brush against his,

"Deal."

#day6 young k #day6 scenarios #day6 texts #day6 fanfiction #day6 fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop scenarios #kpop writing #kpop reactions #My writing

[fallinnflower]

Ahh everytime there's a notification from you I go !!!!! what golden nugget doth thou shareth at long last with us this time ?

oh!!! dear anon, thank you!!! this truly made my week, i promise i'm working on things to post even though i'm not super active on here. having a 9-5 is stressful, y'all...

but i love you anon!!! thank you for hanging in there with me and you can expect a little fic to be posted this weekend 😘

#lovely anon #ask me #this was so wonderful thank you #i shall endeavor to share more golden nuggets with you in the future anon!!!

[fallinnflower]

Like a fine wine or cheese, my WIPs must age for a minimum of twenty years for it to be ripe and ready for consumption.

no this is not an excuse for me not writing what are you talking about

[fallinnflower]

idk if anyone cares but i'm currently working on a very dramatic angsty vampire!bambam fic that HOPEFULLY will be done soon lmao

#my writing #i just want to FINISH something

[fallinnflower]

SEVENTEEN AS

types of affection (pt.1)

1. S.Coups - giving

walking home to find flowers on your doorstep. sharing his meal with you at the restaurant. buying your favourite perfume/cologne when you're about to run out. having your favourite snacks ready for your movie nights together. finding his hoodie, that you love to wear, on your bed with a sweet note. waking up to a lovely breakfast, or coming home to take-out and your favourite reruns. he loves giving you everything he can. he loves to see you smile every time you receive something from him, no matter how big or small it is. if he could give you the moon, he would.

2. Jeonghan - kisses on the lips

small pecks on the lips before he leaves for work. longing kisses whenever you both find time in your schedule to see each other. soft kisses in the morning, between whispers of sweet nothings and I love you's. deep kisses when you come home late at night, tired after a long day. slow, warm kisses when you're both at home, finally spending the day together. he loves your lips, adores your skin and wishes he could taste them all the time. he loves the intimacy of your kisses, the sweetness of your lips, and he take the opportunity every time he can to kiss you and make you feel his love.

3. Joshua - massages

backrubs after a long day. massaging your arms in the morning. scalp massages whenever you're stressed or have a headache. massaging your hands when cuddling. propping your feet on his lap when watching a movie, rubbing your calves and feet mindlessly. he loves making you feel good, taking the pain and stress away from your body. you melt into his strong hands, ever so soft yet firm on your skin. he always seems to notice whenever you're tense, letting you lay down on your bed or your couch and taking his time massaging your skin, softly singing away your worries.

4. Jun - hugging and cuddling

warm hugs welcoming you home. sleepy arms sneaking around your waist in the mornings, pulling you closer to him as he buries his face in your neck. lose arm around your shoulders when you watch your favourite series together, bubbly giggles filling the air as he softly embraces you. tight hugs before he leaves on tour, holding onto you for the last time in the foreseeable months. he loves having you close, making you feel secure in his arms. your warmth and scent feel like home to him, and you sure do feel the same about him.

5. Hoshi - physical touch

playful hair ruffles. caressing your cheek before kissing you. feathery touches on your hands when you are talking to him about your day. rubbing circles on your back when you feel down. soothing words being whispered as he strokes your neck, relieving the tension build up there. waking up to feeling abstract shapes being traced delicately on your arms, back, thighs or stomach, his hands never leaving your body. he craves your warmth, the softness of your skin, your affection. he loves watching goosebumps rise on your skin when he touches you, he loves knowing you adore it as much as he does.

6. Wonwoo - listening and sharing

listening to you venting out your day at work at the dinning table. catching up after he comes back from tour, mumbling how much he missed you. sharing with you spoilers from their new album, excitement coursing through both your bodies. listening to classical music together, enjoying your morning cup of coffee. holding you close in his arms as you talk about the new series you started, smiling to himself as you go on about the characters. he loves hearing your voice, the passion you exude whenever you talk about something you love. your voice is his muse, and he can go hours on end listening to you talk about anything. you trust him with even your darkest secrets, and he never miss an opportunity to call you and be there for you.

7. Woozi - spending time together

inviting you to watch their dance practices whenever you're free. driving you to your workplace, insisting on grabbing a coffee before your shift starts. letting you in his studio to show you his work, knowing he spends more time there than anywhere else on this planet. ordering take-out once he's home so you don't have to worry about making a meal for both of you so late at night. scheduling moments in your week that you both are free so you can plan a date, an activity or just stay home and be in each other's company. he loves having you around, despite his heavy schedule. he'll always invite you wherever he goes. your presence in his life is a reassuring constant and you're the perfect reminder for him to let loose, get his mind off of work and breathe.

I hope you enjoyed! pt2 here.

[fallinnflower]

Unsure if anyone cares but yesterday I got hit with the writing bug and have almost completed Out Of The Shadows - and it has an extra chapter now 😅

I am sharing this because I felt as if I wasn't going to ever finish this series or get back my writing mojo. Thank goodness for a breakthrough 🙌🏻

#oh HELL yeah #man i wish i could get bit by the writing bug

[fallinnflower]

The Broken Moon

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x female reader

Genre: angst / star-crossed lovers / royal au

Warnings: angst

Prompt: “There is a full moon tonight.” - #29 of Idea Starters

Word count: 1113

Looking to the skies, Soonyoung smiled wistfully. The night was particularly inky tonight, the perfect dotting of stars giving contrast to the dark. And right ahead of him was the moon.

“There is a full moon tonight,” he whispered, leaning against a rolled hay bale in the grass, yearning to reach out and pluck it from the heavens. If he could control the moon, would that bring you back?

It had been too long since he had last seen you.

Keep reading

#ohhhh YES #good angst good GOOD angst #intense and dramatic #the run across the misty moors under the moonlight... #chef's kiss #maybe in another life you two just not this one #recommendations

[fallinnflower]

hi you're fucking amazing i found you recently your writings are ✨✨

oh wow, thank you! this is so kind, you really made my day 🥺 i hope you continue to enjoy my work, even though i post a bit less now haha

#my writing #anon

[fallinnflower]

the seamstress & the dragon (1)

wonpil x reader (river god!au, historical fantasy, strangers to lovers, drama, angst, slow burn)

wc: 6.7k

a/n: this fic has been in the works for ages and is loosely inspired by a Spirited Away fic i can no longer find online. there is an index supplied at the end!

tw: mentions of death/drowning

Were that you had been born blind. 

This is the bitter thought that crosses your mind as you make your way through your village streets, flanked by soldiers and sweating under the many heavy layers of silk, trudging over the dust of the streets. Were that you had been born blind, then you would not be where you were now, sent to the riverbed that should double as your deathbed. The weights stitched into the hem of your bridal robes ensure this. 

Though this may be the end of your story, cut horrifically short, the final chapter is even shorter — less than a month, to be precise. Not even time for the moon to become new again; in fact, you had stared out your window just last night into the bleak black sky, wishing to see it just once more, to no avail. The darkness would be the last memory of the sky under which you had been raised; even the heavenly bodies could not save you now, and turned away their faces in either ignorance or pity. 

Even the night has forsaken you now. 

The yangban who presided over your village was already in enough trouble, having been exiled to your tiny, dying home after doing something that had been interpreted as insulting. Nobody knew what exactly, but the rumors flew — and now, aside from being a demoted yangban, he would also be known for having a duplicitous, impure wife. 

In his anxiety over the worsening drought, the yangban had called upon a number of people, the most recent of these claiming to be a shaman from the hills. He claimed to have traveled far and wide, bringing good fortune wherever he trod with his prophetic visions. But not all men are men of good will, and such was he, and you happened to see it firsthand. Tucked away in the shadows where they thought no one would see, the shaman and the yangban's wife spoke in hushed tones, arms wound one another in a way you could only describe as intimate. 

Were that you had been born without legs, so that they would not have heard your footsteps. But, as it is, they did — and you knew you stood no chance. Beneath the glaring eyes of the so-called shaman, who shielded the yangban’s wife as if you wouldn’t have known even from her clothes and adornments who she was, you turned back the way you came.

As you work, heart thundering from both fear and anger, you contemplate what to do. In all honesty, you are a nobody — but a part of you feels it would only be right to tell the yangban what you saw. A woman like that… would it bring further misfortune to keep her here, in your village? Surely the shaman would cause more damage—

Your repairing of the laundry is interrupted by another maid, who grabs your arm and pulls you into the hallway. You notice that everyone is flooding towards the main gate of the yangban's estate, the yangban himself at the center of the commotion, the ‘shaman’ beside him, eyes closed and face upturned to the sky. You have a sinking feeling in your stomach,

“What’s going on?” you ask Minyoung, the girl who had pulled you from your work, tugging lightly at her sleeve. She looks at you with excitement glinting in her eyes, but behind it you see her anxiety.

“The mu is having a vision about the drought.” Your heart drops, and you mutely turn to face him, watching as he sways and pretends to be overcome, chanting words you don’t understand. Everyone gives him a wide berth as he moves blindly, until eventually he lets out a gasp which ripples through the crowd.

“A sacrifice,” he says, pausing dramatically. Whispers break out amongst the crowd, and he turns to the yangban. “A bride for the river god. That will solve your drought.”

“A sacrifice?” The yangban repeats, seeming both confused and frightened at the prospect. Nonetheless, the shaman has his undivided attention, and you watch as every woman in the crowd attempts to shrink back in fear, clinging to each other’s arms. You merely feel numb, even when the yangban asks his next question:

“But who? Did you see her?”

“Yes, yes,” the shaman mutters, closing his eyes. He nods emphatically, then turns to the crowd before opening them again. “She’s here…” 

You feel as though your soul has left your body, your feet rooted in place as his eyes sweep across the crowd. You know who he is searching for, and you clench your hands into fists, unable to fight the fury building within you—

“Her.”

Three weeks.

For three weeks your fellow seamstresses had worked tirelessly to craft a hwarot, a garment more luxurious than you could ever imagine. After all, the yangban had declared, they could not send a bride to the river god in anything less than finery. And yet, ironically, he had refused to surrender his own wife’s hwarot, instead choosing to spend precious village funds on rolls of brightly dyed red and blue silk, high-quality threads and new needles.

During that time you had sat alone in a guarded room with only one window, forbidden from seeing anyone until the day of your wedding. You would not be allowed to see your family or friends, for fear you would create a plan to escape; you could not leave your room unescorted or be given anything even remotely dangerous, lest you attempt to harm yourself and ‘tarnish’ the sacrifice. 

You heard the whispers in the hall, the seamstresses complaining of their aching fingers every day as they left the yangban’s residential compound. The embroidery must be difficult, you know; and the ‘shaman’ had stated that you must be sent before the new moon rose in order to ensure a good harvest. The whole village was preoccupied in gathering all that was necessary for a wedding, though the process had been rushed through almost all of the steps, leaving them scrambling in the process. You had never heard so many footsteps within these halls in all your years of working here, and it makes you anxious, the time dragging on as you pass the days staring at the walls, only interrupted when a meal is passed through your door. 

Finally, the day you had been dreading arrives. 

Embroidered peonies and lotuses surround a lithe, curling blue dragon, symbolising the god to whom you are meant to be wed, on the back panel of your hwarot; the first thing you see when you are ushered into a new room on your wedding day. Were this not your death dress, you would no doubt be admiring the fine handiwork of all the seamstresses. After all, such imagery as the dragon would be forbidden to you were it not for your chosen husband; only emperors would be worthy, and you were merely a common seamstress. Not only would you never wear such a garment otherwise, you would never see one. However, as with any other offering, you had to be presented with good fortune and grace — and what other motif could possibly serve to strengthen your bond to your husband than the very image of him stitched upon your back?

Were you not so numb, you may have cried. The luxuries you’re experiencing are far more than you could ever have imagined your wedding to be, and the presence of such beautiful and expensive things now feels horrific as the reality of your situation continues to press down into you like a seal into wax. But all you can do is stand still, like a perfect doll, gazing into nothingness as familiar hands carefully paint circles of red onto your cheeks. 

It doesn’t truly hit home until the hwarot is donned and you feel the weight lining the hem and the cuffs of your sleeves. You feel suddenly ill, cold as if the waters have already swallowed you up, knowing there is no hope you will ever resurface. While normally you think you would be flinching in pain at the way they have to tug at your hair, pulling it back into a sleek braid and pinning the daenggi into place, you instead sit perfectly still, staring blankly into space. The jokduri comes last, a crown for your common head, and you keep your chin level as they fix it in place. When you catch a glimpse of the ends of the daenggi, you’re a bit surprised to find them devoid of pearls. Clearly, some things were out of the budget — though the embroidery on it is equally as detailed as the work on the rest of your wedding garment, still making it far more beautiful than anything you would have had in a common wedding. 

And yet, the only purpose of all this lavishness is to weigh you down alongside the smooth rocks in the riverbed. 

You wish that the red of your hwarot and yeonji gonji would ward off the evil spirit that is the false mu and his new mistress, whose dark eyes seem to mock you as you walk slowly towards them. All your life you had envisioned the good fortune following you into your marital home, and now you are merely a vessel for your village’s wishes; the fortune you tout is not your own, and never was to begin with. 

When you reach the bridge, you can smell the iron scent of blood in the air — how ironic it is, you think, that your village has chosen to carry out so many of the groom’s traditional steps in lieu of you. No other steps had been followed; there was no proposal, no agreement, no meetings between families or trousseaus to be made. There was no groom to journey to her family’s home with the offering of a goose, and so your village had slain the goose themselves and you had performed the task of travelling the distance of your village for your wedding. 

At the middle of the bridge is your wedding table, draped half in red and half in blue. Upon it are all the traditional foods and the candles, one red and one blue; somehow, your village even managed to find a hen and a rooster to place upon the table, both wrapped in red and blue silk. You are led to the western side of the table, and when you arrive you lift your chin up high. There is no groom to face you, and so you are merely staring off of the bridge’s edge into the muddy waters, lower than you have ever seen them in your life. Your heart clenches a little, reminded of the drought and the pain it has brought upon your village. As much as you want to hate them, you feel their desperation for a solution as your own, the twisting knife of hunger and the sting of dust in your eyes and nostrils. With this thought, you kneel upon your designated cushion, your legs grateful to be relieved of the weighted dress, if only for now.

You bow to the water, your husband of the murky depths. Attendants help you wash your hands, and then the candles are lit before you are led in yet another series of bows by the honju, your village’s officiant; a man you recognize, who looks at you with pity even as his voice does not waver. There is nobody to reciprocate your promises of devotion, not even your own reflection to be seen in the silty waters. The food is served; your husband’s serving of dates dropped into the river along with their plate, and your own of jujubee left to be eaten before you. The eyes of the entire village can be felt on your back as you slowly chew. Your last meal, you think, and force yourself to swallow before you can begin to cry at the thought. His serving of wine is poured into the water, swept away quickly before the cup is handed over to you. 

And then comes the cruelest step of all. When the wine has been consumed, you hear the shuffling of footsteps. You’re hesitant to turn, but the honju and attendants prompt you.

Across the bridge are your parents, gazing at you with glossy, empty eyes. They look so frail, so much older than you had ever thought them before; haggard and thin. You feel your jaw tremble as you bow to them, what is meant to be an act of reverence now the only goodbye you are allowed to have.

As you press your face close to the ground, a single tear falls onto the wood of the bridge and is absorbed eagerly by the dry material. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, willing your body to stop trembling. 

When you raise your head, your parents have been removed from your sight once again. As you bow to the ancestors, you hear your guards stepping up behind you. For your final bow, you must turn to your entire village, your guests, and when you do you see the thinness of them, the hunger and the pain, the suffering. Not a single person looks as though they have not shed tears for you; not a single person looks relieved by this solution. You feel their grief as your own, weighing more heavily upon your back than your wedding gown, as you bow to them. 

The honju steps aside as the guards step forward. There is one to hold each of your arms, and another to stand behind you. You face the railing once more, where your husband should have stood, and step forward. The hands of the guards squeeze tight just above your elbow, maintaining your balance for you as you step up onto the top of the railing. You clasp your hands together within your sleeves, concealing them, and force yourself to keep your eyes open. You stare headlong into the water as the guards let go at once, sending you plummeting like a baby bird from the nest. 

When you force your eyes to open, all you see is red. Red as your blood, red as your fury as you sink helplessly into the murky depths. All the beautiful detail of the hwarot is lost as the silt rises to meet you, cloaking you until you disappear. You try desperately to continue focusing on the colors of the fabric, but it’s to no avail. Your arms and legs thrash violently, trying to push you towards the surface you can no longer see, but the weights in your sleeves and hem cause the fabric to tangle around you, rendering you helpless. Eventually, you surrender yourself to the current, unable to see the light any longer through the sand kicked up below you. The bubbles of your breath disappear before your eyes, and you can’t reach them, though you try fruitlessly to do so in a last-ditch effort by your dying mind to survive.

In the end, you succumb to the chilling embrace of your husband, the river, and the darkness of his depths.

It is a surprise to you when you open your eyes once again. The sky above appears shrouded in clouds, but not dark — simply a pristine white veil over the sun. You can hear the babbling of water rushing over rocks, and when you move your fingers damp pebbles clack together beneath them. Had you… washed ashore? Was that possible? You open your mouth and take a deep breath, shocked to find that you don’t even feel the need to cough; the air moves freely through your lungs and out again, as though you’d never been underwater in the first place.

Slowly, you try to sit up, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed.

“Just wait,” a voice calls, though the command is gentle. You look across the river to see a small group of people, all donned in pristine clothing, all shades of blue and white. When you make eye contact with a woman who had spoken, she smiles kindly, then beckons a small group of men forward from their post by a large stone gate. You watch as they walk across the river towards you, seemingly unconcerned for their clothing, almost skimming across the glittering water. Two of the men offer you their hands, and you accept both, uncertain if you can trust your legs to bear the weight of the gwarot, especially after it’s been soaked. However, as soon as they begin to walk, you realize the gown is no heavier than it had been on the bridge, as though you’d never been in the water at all. You stare down into the crystal clear water and see small, golden fish swimming around one another, not noticing your presence in the slightest. 

The woman who had smiled at you bows as you reach the shore on the other side, and all those around her follow suit. She is taller than the rest of the group, thin and graceful as a willow tree. You can’t help but wonder if she is not in charge of all the other seeming gungnyeo surrounding you. Confused, you bow back, though she responds with a light laugh. 

“You must be tired,” she says, looking into your eyes. Somehow, you feel as though she can see straight through you, though it doesn’t unsettle you as you think it should. “Come. It’s not far now.” 

As she leads the way, the men remain flanking you, though not in the same threatening way your village’s guards had. In fact, despite how strange the situation is, you don’t feel the slightest bit afraid. You take in some of your surroundings as you walk, finally realizing that you seem to have washed ashore in a wealthy person’s garden. All the plants appear to be full of life, not so much as a browning leaf in sight, and some of the flowers almost seem to glow from your vantage point. You wonder who could be so wealthy, to live in a place as beautiful as this. Despite the large number of people with you, you can still hear the river flowing behind, their footsteps barely audible on the stone-paved path.

A glint of gold catches your eye between the trees, but before you can ponder it too long it is revealed as you round a curve in the path: a gold-roofed palace compound sits amidst the trees, glimmering unobtrusively. Somehow, rather than looking gaudy, it almost appears warm. As you near it, you can feel your heartbeat quicken — regardless of who you are about to meet, your fate will change from this point on. It occurs to you, rather suddenly, that maybe you did drown after all, but you focus on the sound of your heart and try to calm yourself down. Who ever heard of a corpse with a heartbeat?

You’re led without any hesitation into a throne room, the most impressive space you’ve ever seen in your life. Everything seems to shine from within, looking untouched and fit—

Fit for a god, you find yourself thinking. And then, you consider, you really must be dead, to be seeing such a place.

They bring you into the throne room, which is unlike any space you’ve ever seen before. Prior to now, you had never left your small village, and the yangban’s compound was not nearly as intricately decorated. Everything shines, as though it’s been freshly polished and never touched. The other gungnyeo are dressed in pure, beautiful robes, not a single one looking at all like you had in your work attire — they look ethereal, otherworldly, and regard you with a mix of kindness and pity. You find yourself unable to focus on them, however, gazing at the architecture around you. You’ve never seen so much gold in your life, but you wouldn’t call it ostentatious. Somehow, everything has an air of delicacy to it, an elegance you can’t imagine ever finding anywhere on earth. Surely, you’re beyond your mortal world, now. 

A sudden noise breaks you from your stupor, and all the attendants turn towards the doorway behind the throne, where a sound like rushing water or a great gust of wind appears to be emanating. In fact, you swear it’s drawing closer, and you find yourself shrinking back slightly in fear as the palace floors rumble beneath your feet.

Suddenly, a great flash of white shrouds your vision. When the motion finally settles, you find yourself in the presence of an enormous, serpentine dragon, its body almost too large to even fit in the throne room. Its mane and whiskers remain in motion, its claws tap against the wooden floor as it comes to rest. It pierces you with its dark gaze, huffing out of its nose. You stare at it, unable to take it all in, its pearlescent scales shimmering and reflecting the gold of the room, its blue-green mane still flowing gracefully. Somehow, the creature is both terrifying and oddly endearing. After a moment, you find yourself shifting towards it, more curious than afraid — but as you do you are blinded once again by white light. You raise your hands to shield your face, feeling the weights in your sleeves bump against your hips, but as you peek through your fingers you see the dragon’s scales fluttering all about. Hurriedly you look down at the ground, but there are none to be found; as they make their descent they seem to evaporate into nothing before your eyes. You stare, dumbfounded, at the floor, until you hear the attendants moving. When you lift your head there is a man standing before the throne, adjusting his clothes. The attendants swarm around him, murmuring, but he ignores them, lifting his head.

He — the dragon? Man? River god? — stares directly at you, his eyes widening as he looks you over. He looks less like a dragon and more like a rabbit, his eyebrows drooping in concern and pity as he takes in your appearance. At least, you think that's what you read in his expression, but at this point you half expect everything to simply disappear as quickly as the dragon’s scales. 

One attendant approaches him again, and this time he leans down to hear what they have to whisper in his ear. You take the moment to admire his clothing — you've never seen such delicate, detailed needlework in all your life, or such shimmering golden thread. 

The words aren't meant for you, but the sound of his voice shakes you from your thoughts back to the situation at hand,

“Prepare a room for her, please.” His voice sounds slightly strained, almost stressed, but the sound of it is lovely nonetheless. You can't deny the way it soothes you, despite the absurdity of the situation. 

He casts one last look at you, brows knit together in concern, before he turns to exit. The attendants all bow, and it takes you a moment to do the same, watching the way he moves. His clothing seems to be ever-flowing around him, and although he moves rather quickly there's a grace, a fluidity in his steps you can't deny. 

By the time you remember to bow, he is out of sight and the handmaidens are suddenly herding you down an opposite corridor. Before long you are back outside, and you register with faint surprise that they are leading you to another building entirely.

“This building has never been used,” the woman who had led you to the palace says, regarding you with warm, gentle eyes. “But hopefully it will be comfortable for you.” You nod slightly, only to let her know that you’ve heard her, but you feel dazed as they lead you down another set of lavish corridors. Suddenly, the attendants come to a stop, opening a door for you and parting to allow you to enter.

You stop on the threshold, stunned by the beauty of it. Certainly, such finery can’t be meant for you? However, the attendants continue to gently usher you in, and the one who has been leading you bows politely to you once you have entered.

“You must be tired after your long journey…”

“Y/L/N Y/N,” you supply, bowing back to her. She smiles at you once more, expression warm.

“Y/L/N-nim,” she says, and you find yourself stunned. Nobody has ever referred to you with such a distinguished honorific in your life, but before you can correct her she is speaking once more. “Would you like us to draw you a bath?” 

“Yes,” you say, without really thinking. Honestly, it feels as though your brain is on autopilot, unable to comprehend what’s happening — but since it’s been suggested, a bath does sound nice. Your body aches from stress and the weight of your gwarot, and your scalp hurts from the tight styling of your hair. 

The various gungnyeo move quickly, and all you can do is stand still as they present you with a pristine set of bathing clothes before passing you off to the sesugan. You’ve never had a bathroom attendant before, but the sesugan welcomes you with a kind smile and quickly helps you out of your more elaborate items of clothing before ushering you behind a screen to change. The delicate, sweet smell of orchids wafts around you, and when you exit you find a tub far larger than any you had seen in your village sitting before you, flowers gently floating on the top. The sesugan helps you to sit down in the tub, and as soon as the warm water touches your skin you let out a contented smile.

“It must have been a very difficult day for you,” she says, combing gently through your hair. You merely close your eyes, the exhaustion of the day washing over you like the waters. Now that you find yourself in such a warm, secure position, all the stress seems to have caught up with you at once, and you allow yourself to relax as she untangles the knots in your hair and washes the makeup and perfumes from your body. You nearly fall asleep due to her soft touch and the warmth of the bath, not to mention its sweet smell, but your sesugan gently rouses you when the bath has finished and helps you out of the basin. She presents you with a pristine set of white silk sokgot for sleeping, which you accept in shock but go to put on nonetheless. Once you finish dressing, you find the head attendant waiting for you alone in your chambers.

“Should we prepare food for you, Y/L/N-nim?” Perhaps it was merely because of your bath, but you find yourself answering her more comfortably now.

“Yes, please.” 

As you wait for someone to arrive with food, your eyes follow the movements of your main attendant as she moves throughout the room. More than just authority, she moves with an ethereal grace, seeming almost to float and glide above the floor. Dazed, you find yourself speaking without thinking,

“What is your name?” She turns to you, brows arched slightly in surprise. Her expression quickly softens into a smile, however, her eyes holding an almost maternal tenderness that makes your heart ache for your own mother.

“Misun,” she says. When your brow furrows, she only chuckles lightly, “Beings like myself rarely have names, let alone familial ones.”

Before you can question her on her cryptic explanation, a gentle knocking at your door signifies the arrival of your food. Although it is only a simple rice porridge, it smells better than anything you’ve ever eaten in your life.

“We prepared something light for you, since your body has been through so much stress,” Misun says, looking at you apologetically, but you’re quick to shake your head. 

“This is perfect, Misun. Thank you.” Her countenance seems to brighten more at the sound of her name being said, and as you eat she continues to prepare your chambers for sleeping. By the time you’ve finished eating, Misun has laid out the most luxurious set of bedding you’ve ever seen, the silk sheets gleaming beneath the candlelight within your room.

As you settle yourself into the bedding, you realize you truly don’t even hear her footsteps as she leaves, only the soft sound of your door closing behind her.

Somehow, you manage to fall asleep. You had thought that such a strange environment would make it impossible, but perhaps your body was truly too exhausted to stay awake after all. When you finally rise, the sun is hanging high in the sky, and you feel better rested than you have in years. You sit up in your bedding and gaze around the room, half having expected it to be a dream, but as you take it in you confirm to yourself that this is, in fact, reality — albeit, one very different from your own.

As you had been falling asleep, you had pondered Misun’s words and come to the conclusion that, by some twist of fate, your sacrifice had actually been a success. Either that, or you were being treated exceptionally well in the afterlife, which seemed less plausible, somehow. 

Your thoughts are interrupted once more by a knocking at your door.

“Come in,” you call, reaching up to smooth the stray hairs away from your face. Misun enters with a smile.

“Good morning, Y/L/N-nim. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” you say. 

“Good,” Misun replies, smiling broadly. “Your presence has been requested in the dining hall. Would you like me to prepare an outfit for you?” You nod mutely, trying to imagine who would want you in attendance and why, but choose not to question it. Misun doesn’t seem particularly forthcoming, after all, despite her kindness. She goes to the door, waving in a handful of attendants who quickly set to work getting you ready. One gently braids your hair as Misun and another attendant carefully assemble clothing for you, and you allow yourself to be swept up into their work, standing patiently as they prepare you for your day. 

The hanbok is beautiful, intricately detailed but still lightweight, somehow. You let your gaze trail over the embroidered sleeves of the jeogori, the delicate pattern of lotus flowers mesmerizing you. Even your shoes are dainty, so beautiful that you almost feel bad to be putting them to use — but before you can dwell on it, Misun is ushering you out of your door and into the hallway. 

You find that your destination is set with three tables, a proper surasang, each table covered with a number of foods which make your mouth water. Although you knew that emperors had such elaborate rooms for eating throughout the day, you had never set foot in a suragan yourself, let alone eaten in one. Three female attendants stand within the room, one for each table, and Misun guides you to one side of the room. You realize that, although the other side of the room is set in a parallel manner, there is no food on those tables and no attendants standing by. Before you can ask Misun about it, you find that she has left your side to cross the room, disappearing down a corridor. The three other women, whom you assume to be poison tasters, do little more than glance at you, and so you find your gaze wandering between the various dishes. The sheer amount of food spread out before you is overwhelming, the options more than you’ve ever been offered in your life. And the room itself is just as beautiful as all of the others you’ve seen, although it somehow appears less lively, as though it hasn’t been used for a long time. 

You don’t hear any footsteps, but all of your attendants suddenly turn towards the corridor Misun had ventured down. Your gaze follows theirs, and suddenly a small entourage enters the room, headed by the man from the night before. His gaze falls directly on you, and you quickly find yourself bowing deeply, mirroring the actions of your attendants. You finally lift your head once he is seated, only to find him still staring at you, brows furrowed slightly. Under his gaze you feel small, as though he can see right through you, but you can’t seem to look away. 

“You must be hungry,” he says, and at his words your attendants begin to serve you. His tables remain empty; any attendants he has remain by his side. 

“Are you not eating as well?” you ask, unthinking, and immediately shrink into yourself slightly. Rather than angry, he merely looks surprised, his expression resembling a rabbit once more as he gazes at you with wide eyes. 

“Oh, I— I don’t—” After a moment of struggling, he takes a deep breath and composes himself, “I have no need to eat. Thank you for your concern.” No response seems suitable, and so you merely turn your attention to your food, finding yourself taking care with each bite. Although you don’t feel judged, you are acutely aware of the eyes watching you curiously, and after only a few bites you find yourself halting.

“Pardon my asking, but, if I wasn’t invited here to dine with you, then why did you send for me?” The man’s eyes darken slightly and you can see his body tense, and for a moment you fear you’ve angered him. However, when he meets your gaze, it isn’t fury you find there, but pity. 

“I needed to speak with you. I hoped you would feel comfortable meeting me here.” You nod slowly. After searching your expression briefly, he lets out a sigh and continues,

“Y/L/N Y/N. Your village offered you as a sacrificial bride to their river’s god. To me,” he intones, now refusing to meet your gaze. You find yourself holding your breath as you wait for him to continue. “As you’ve now entered the spirit realm, I’m afraid I can only offer you one option that ensures your safety: staying here, with all of us. Sending you back to your village would put you at risk not only from humans but from vengeful spirits.” 

Finally, he lifts his gaze, and he looks so utterly devastated that it almost makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry that I can’t do more.” Your mind struggles to comprehend what he’s said, and all you can manage to say in the face of his obvious sorrow is,

“The sacrifice worked?”

He blinks at you in obvious surprise before nodding,

“Yes. That’s why you’re here.”

“Then, does that mean the drought is over?” you ask, thinking back to the gaunt faces that had stared back at you a mere day before, the desolation you saw in their eyes. You look up at the river god, feeling a glimmer of hope rise above all of your confusion. Although they had stood by and watched, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate or even blame your former neighbors — what could they have done? Your death — was this death? — could save countless lives, and had they stood against the orders of your yangban then surely worse would have befallen them. 

The river god looks even more taken aback as he finally answers you.

“I— well, I could try. If that’s what you want.” His confusion and curiosity are written all over his face as he regards you, and you almost want to laugh. For a god, he seems so… innocent, almost. You can’t quite find the words. You find yourself smiling, though not entirely mirthfully, as you fold your hands in your lap and bow your head.

“Please, don’t let my sacrifice be for nothing.” When you lift your head, the river god’s eyes have a gleam you haven’t seen before, and the smile on his face is relaxed. He nods his head.

“I’ll do what I can.” You smile in relief and, after watching his expression for a moment more, captivated, remind yourself that it would be rude if you left all the rest of your food untouched. However, as you lift your chopsticks, you find yourself hesitating.

“Could I… could I ask you something…?” you realize you have no clue how to address the god, and he suddenly flushes slightly, as though he’s only just realized it himself.

“Yes, of course. And— Wonpil. You may call me Wonpil.” As you open your mouth to question him about his name, momentarily shocked by the familiarity, you’re reminded of what Misun had said the night before. 

“Then, it’s only fair that you call me Y/N,” you say, feeling strange even as you say it. It’s obvious that Wonpil can sense your discomfort, but he slowly accepts your response.

“As you wish, Y/N.” You feel a shiver run down your spine at the sound of your name rolling off of his tongue — not an unpleasant one, but one that surprises you nonetheless. Hurriedly, you avert your gaze, feeling your face heating up as you do. You take a deep, steadying breath before you look up once again, meeting his gaze as your original question falls from your lips,

“Wonpil, am I dead?”

“It’s hard to say,” he says, shifting his weight from side to side nervously. The rest of the attendants seem similarly tense at your question, and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

“The best way to put it is that your body has to adjust to the spirit realm. The longer you remain here, the less human you’ll be, and the more divine you’ll become.”

“Oh,” you say, “I see.” You gaze down at the food in front of you, remembering how Wonpil said he had no need for food, and wonder how long it will be before you cease to be mortal. Truth be told, you want to ask just that — but the overwhelming tension in the room has you holding your tongue. In an attempt to dispel it, you lift your chopsticks once more, reaching for one of the many side dishes, only to be interrupted by Wonpil speaking once more.

“If there’s nothing else, then I’ll leave you to your meal, Y/N.” You feel a shiver run down your spine again, and look up to find he had risen without a sound, his robes fluttering around him despite the stillness of the air. 

“Thank you, Wonpil.” 

However, as you watch him turn away, you find your curiosity getting the better of you one last time:

“One more question, actually.” He turns from his place in the doorway.

“Yes?”

“I— well, I was just wondering,” you say, unable to maintain eye contact under Wonpil's steadfast and curious gaze. 

“Are we… are we actually married, then?”

When you manage to glance up, you find yourself almost amused at how bad he is at hiding his surprise at your question. His ears take on a tinge of red as he clears his throat, wide eyes flitting away from you for a moment. 

“Well, that's— yes. That's part of why you can't just go back to a normal life.” For some reason, his response makes you shrink down into your seat, casting your own gaze downward.

“Oh…”

“Don’t worry!” he suddenly blurts, and when you look up he has that same anxious, rabbit-like look on his face, with his eyes blown wide and cheeks pink. “I’m not expecting anything of you, it just means you’re under my protection. Actually, you’re under the protection of everyone in this palace…” You glance around at all the attendants, who all bow their heads in deference as your gaze sweeps over them. You think of the lavish clothes and bedding; the abundance of food prepared especially for you; the care with which you’ve been treated. His words from before come back to you more forcefully, your impending divinity raising yet another question,

“What does that make me, then?” Wonpil smiles softly at you, his gaze at once luminous and pitying as he delivers his reply:

“The goddess of this river.” 

index:

yangban — “part of the traditional ruling class or gentry of dynastic Korea during the Joseon Dynasty. The yangban were mainly composed of highly educated civil servants and military officers—landed or unlanded aristocrats who individually exemplified the Korean Confucian form of a ‘scholarly official’ (Wikipedia).”

mu — “The general word for "shaman" in Korean is mu (Hangul: 무, Hanja: 巫). In contemporary terminology, they are called mudang (무당, 巫堂) if female or baksu if male… (Wikipedia).”

hwarot — “a type of traditional Korean clothing worn during the Goryeo and Joseon Dynasty by only royal women for ceremonial occasions and later by commoners for weddings (Wikipedia).”

daenggi — “a traditional Korean ribbon used to tie up and decorate braided hair (Wikipedia).”

jokduri — “a type of traditional Korean coronet worn by women for special occasions such as weddings.”

yeonji gonji — “pink/red dots [worn by the bride-to-be] on their cheeks to chase away ghosts and keep the wedding sacred (Wikipedia).”

honju — “the person presiding over the marriage in the family (The Talking Cupboard).”

gungnyeo — “a Korean term referring to women waiting on the king and other royalty in traditional Korean society (Wikipedia).”

“-nim” — “[as an affix is] used towards someone who is revered and admired for having a significant amount of skill, intellect, knowledge, etc. and is used for people who are of a higher rank than oneself (Wikipedia).”

sesugan — “the department in charge of the king and queen's washing and bathing (Wikipedia)...”

sokgot — “The general term used for undergarments regardless of the gender (Feeding My Procrastination WordPress)…” 

hanbok — traditional Korean clothing.

jeogori — “is a basic upper garment of the hanbok (Wikipedia)...”

surasang — “The set of three tables [for the main meals of the day,] usually set with two types of rice, two types of soup, two types of stew (jjigae), one dish of jjim (meat stew), one dish of jeongol (a casserole of meat and vegetables), three types of kimchi, three types of jang (장) and twelve side dishes, or called 12 cheop (12첩) (Wikipedia).”

suragan — “a room specifically used for taking meals, with the king seated to the east and the queen to the west (Wikipedia).”

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