#wooyoung fanfiction

[nateezfics]

THINGS ATEEZ SAY IN BED: WOOYOUNG

↳ things ateez say during sex. wooyoung version.

↳ warning: smut, dirty/sexual language

• “is that all you got? oh come on.”

• “you like that, huh? sure would be a shame if i stopped…”

• *mimics your moans mockingly*

• “oh god, keep doing that. yeah, just like that, baby. you’re doing good.”

• “you’re such a cutie when you whine for me. i fucking love it.”

• “you can be louder than that, right? am i just not making you feel good enough? guess i just need to fuck you harder until you’re screaming.”

• “you’re so shameless, dripping all over my fingers. and yet here you are covering your face. no need to be bashful around me, baby.”

• “go on, let it out. ahhh good, good.”

• “oh? going for more huh? soooo greedy.”

• “all you need to do is tell me what you want, baby. tell me, and i’ll give it to you. anything you want.”

• “you’re getting a little bossy. hah, i kinda like it.”

• “tell me how you want me, baby. on my knees? on top of you? under you? i’m all yours.”

• “i love it when you take what you want. ugh,, you’re so hot when you’re all greedy for me.”

• “ahhh show off that pretty pussy for me. spread a little wider – ah, there you go.”

• “such a pretty baby. my pretty baby.”

• “oh hush, you love it when i tease you.”

• “i don’t really give a fuck that they’re in the other room. let them hear how good i fuck you. show off those pretty little moans of yours.”

• “you love me, yeah?”

• “oh pretty, we’re far from done.”

• “i’m sorry, mind saying that again? can’t hear you. speak up, baby.”

ALL FICS ARE THE ORIGINAL IDEAS AND WRITTEN WORKS OF NATEEZFICS. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. REPOSTING WITHOUT CONSENT FROM THE AUTHOR NATEEZFICS IS PROHIBITED!

#wooyoung smut #ateez smut #ateez smut drabbles #wooyoung x reader #ateez x reader #wooyoung fanfiction #ateez fanfiction #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez headcanons

[daddyfordaeddy]

Pairing: Wooyoung x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1004

Warnings: cursing, fingering, couch sex, unprotected which you should NOT do guys ^^

Genre: smut, fluff, rated M for mature, established relationship au

Summary: You're watching a show in peace, but when Wooyoung comes home from work, he has a proposition...

The way this took me 5 months to write 👁️👄👁️

-

“Baby baby baby,” Wooyoung vocalises as he walks through the door. He’s in a good mood today. “Have you eaten?”

You smile up at him from where you’re lazily stretched out on the couch, reaching your arms out to ask for a greeting hug and kiss silently. “I had some ramen. How was dinner with the boys?”

Wooyoung hums, setting his bag down and coming over to let you pull him into your arms. You grunt a little at the weight settling over your body but you don’t mind. It’s almost therapeutic. “Fine as usual, we just ate at the company today. Jjampong and jjajangmyeon. Missed you, though,” he says before kissing you gently. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders as you smile at the feeling of his lips on yours.

“Whatchu watching?” He murmurs into your mouth and you giggle a little at both the feeling and his stubbornness to ask you about your day every time he comes home, even when either of you have something else on your minds, and today is no different.

You pull him closer, cupping his face with your hands and stroking the soft skin of his face with your thumbs. “Mmh, some detective show I used to watch with my mom. I’ve seen all the seasons before though.”

Wooyoung doesn’t speak for a few more minutes, instead opting to kiss you again and again. You’ve half a mind to stop watching your show and initiate something else when he finally speaks. “...Can I propose something?” Wooyoung hesitates and you raise an eyebrow at the sight of him being shy and nod. “Could you maybe, possibly, pretend to watch the show while I fuck you on the couch?”

He’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear his suggestion. “Mmh, yeah, Woo. I can do that for you,” you reassure him as you card your fingers through his thick hair and he sighs at the feeling.

“Okay! Can you scoot over a bit for me?” You can’t help but laugh a little at how quickly he becomes excited as soon as you agree. You press a kiss to the crown of his head before moving over and letting him shuffle behind you and plant his face in the crook of your neck.

You refocus your attention on the TV, although you’re not really paying attention to the chase sequence as Wooyoung peppers light kisses all over the back of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hands slip into your underwear but you manage to keep your body relaxed. You can feel the hardness growing in his pants as he groans softly at the fact that you only had one of his oversized shirts on as well as just underwear.

As his fingers find your clit, your thighs tense but you firmly keep your eyes on the show. With Wooyoung’s affinity for excessive PDA, you’ve gotten used to keeping a straight face even though you so badly want to turn around and kiss him senseless. Even though his fingers are deftly bringing you closer to your orgasm, you keep yourself focused.

One of his hands slides up your shirt, cupping your breast and playing with your nipple as his other fingers slide inside of you. You groan slightly and Wooyoung laughs, nipping at the sensitive skin at your neck.

"Fuck, you smell so good," he mumbles and you can't help but chuckle a little at that, but it quickly dissolves into a moan as Wooyoung bites at your ear in retaliation.

His fingers curl around your soaked-through underwear and gently tugs them down, lifting your hips to help him a bit. You hold your breath in anticipation as you feel and gear him shuffle around before finally sinking the tip of his cock into you slowly.

It takes all your willpower to not react, but you can tell how it affects Wooyoung, his breathing growing heavy as he finally bottoms out. He's not thick, but the length makes up for it plus a little bit more, able to reach the deepest spot inside of you with ease. The curve of his cock also hits your g-spot almost perfectly every time. He starts to thrust slowly, shallowly, but the movement feels like it melts your insides anyway. But the way the sounds that are overcoming the TV is what turns you on the most, surprisingly to even you. You can feel your pussy grow wetter and wetter and you know you're about to come.

"Fuck, I'm so close," Wooyoung whines, his hand aliding down from your chest to your clit and the sensation throws you over the edge as you come, impaled on his dick. He doesn't stop moving and you can feel your legs start to quake at the overstimulation and you moan, turning you head to meet Wooyoung in a messy kiss.

Not too long after, Wooyoung finally reaches his release, his hot come filling you up and leaking around his cock. His member twitches inside of you and both you and Wooyoung sigh, bodies relaxing together. He doesn't pull out immediately, and to be honest, you prefer it that way, with his dick acting as a plug.

"Thank you," Wooyoung mumbles into your shoulder and you smile even though he can't see it. It's always been a habit for him to thank you for sex and it's a sweet gesture that you can't get enough of.

"Thank you too, baby." You run your hands through his hair, turning in his arms to face you, sighing a little when his dick slides out of you, missing the feeling of being filled up. "I think you were onto something with that suggestion."

Wooyoung giggles, planting a kiss on your nose. "Well, we'll just have to do it again," he teases, letting his lips over yours. "Maybe next time, you can ride me while I watch TV."

You laugh. "You just want to be lazy, pillow princess. But deal. Can I finish my show now?"

@cultofdionysusnet

#pirateeznet #kvanity #cultofdionysusnet #ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #smut

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 10

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Ten: a relic from the past, confession, and dark magic.

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 15.3k

extra chapter warnings: panic attack, a non-consensual kiss, non-consensual drug use (but magical? idk?).

chapter summary:

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

a/n: guess who’s back :3 sorry this took me a million years to write, hopefully i can be a bit more consistent in the next coming months. hope you enjoy, and don’t be shy to let me know what you think! love y’all, thanks to everyone who has not abandoned this story after this massive hiatus LMAO <3

Seonghwa has never believed anger to suit him.

While Woo wears his anger like a loaded cannon, and San - like most other things - buries it until it inevitably rises to the surface, Seonghwa has tried to avoid fury when he can.

After all, anger is often the replacement of a different emotion. It comes easier than understanding, quicker than resolution. It’s the nasty, winding short-cut off the high road, and Seonghwa has learned that the high road is almost always the safer path in the long term.

Anger is ugly. It’s nonsensical and he doesn’t like how it looks on him. It’s why he prefers the cold shoulder to blind rage, sorting out his feelings on his own rather than lashing out on others. It’s the kind thing to do. The empathetic thing to do.

It’s never been overly difficult for him to settle this rage until now.

It festers in his mind every morning, as well as in the night before he falls asleep. Everytime he accidentally catches your eye over breakfast, letting his gaze drift away in hopes that you will think that his eyes were trailing by rather than staring.

He is so unbelievably angry with you, and he hates it.

From the moment the truth was revealed in the forest, it’s as if someone wrapped a hand around his lungs and began to squeeze, then never let go. A hot, burning fire in his chest that’s smoke rises up his throat, choking him with rage. It stings his eyes, fogs his senses. It feels unbeatable, indestructible. Blinding.

He knows that anger is just an emotion. A bad one, one that he’s had to expel from others countless times before. From San, after The Desert Lotus. It’s just another entity, another plague on the body. Settle down, feel it, think better of it, then let it be gone.

And yet now that feels an impossible task. Seonghwa doesn’t know the last time he was so angry. Perhaps it was the night in the kitchen with his mother, learning of the heights of human greed, the one he relives every time he uses his gift to expel the anger from someone else.

He supposes this memory may replace that one.

When he found out the truth about you it was like the last few weeks came crashing down around him. The closeness, the trust and understanding, the mutual respect and admiration.

All lies. All of it. And he feels like such a fucking idiot.

There was no trust, and by the gods, there was certainly no respect. He was a mere pawn in your game, a part of the plan, and all he can do is beat himself up about being too naive to not see it earlier. Woo has always harped on him for being too nice to people, or as the elemental would put it, “not behaving like an actual person, but more like a rock on a walkway that people like to kick around”. Seonghwa thought that Woo was just being grouchy, the pessimist he always is. But hell, maybe he was right.

After all, Seonghwa should have seen it coming. There was so much he could have done. If he had questioned why a beautiful stranger would have so much immediate interest in him in the first place, or why you constantly asked him questions while dismissing any deeper ones about yourself. If he wasn’t so passive about the parasitic emotions practically radiating off of you. If he looked past the ideal he so desperately wanted and dared to dig up the reality of what was underneath.

He’s not an idiot. The reality is that for you, it was never about him. It was about getting to Kuroku. For him it was about the journey, but for you it was always in the name of the destination.

And well, he certainly did his part in getting you there. He shared his gift with you as a token of trust, he took your pain away and made it his own, he vouched for you against Woo’s constant doubt.

All for a girl who’s name he didn’t even know.

The thought makes more anger - ugly, volatile, and oh-so-unflattering - surge within his chest, and he throws a rock into the lake before him. It doesn’t skip as he intended, and instead sinks with a loud plunk.

Seonghwa frowns. He grabs another rock to throw.

After being met with an even louder plunk, he groans, before creeping further up onto the shoreline to grab a flatter rock. His toes dip in the water, which feels colder than yesterday now that he’s no longer fueled by sheer terror and adrenaline.

The coolness brings him back to Maralya, when he and Yunho would sit on the fishing dock. Feet in the water, even though Seonghwa was older, Yunho was the one who had taught him to skip rocks. His half-brother always had a knack for things like that, or well, for everything it seemed. From medical skills, to scaling buildings, to setting a fishing line; Yunho could master whatever he picked up. He must have inherited it from his father, a man Seonghwa doesn’t really remember, as he died when they were young.

Seonghwa doesn’t remember his own father either, as he disappeared on an escapade to The Mainland directly after he was born. His mother told him that his ship was lost at sea, but Seonghwa is pretty sure he just left and never came back.

It doesn’t really matter, he’s never had much of a desire to know the man. After all, the only thing Seonghwa inherited from him was his foolishness. And maybe his nose.

Seonghwa sighs. Picking up another rock, this one flat and polished, he recalls the steps in his mind. Yunho's voice runs through his head as he goes through the form, before bringing his hand back and letting it fly.

Plunk.

He stares at the ripples surrounding the sinking stone for a moment, before sitting down. He must have forgotten a step. It was a long time ago.

He lays back so that his head presses into the sand, the little grains cold and damp against his scalp. It’s familiar. It’s a little like the shore at home, although the sand isn’t as white, and the water’s colder, nor as blue. There’s no sound of hustle and bustle from back in the village, or his mother yelling at him to take a dip in the ocean before coming back inside because he’s covered in sand and he can’t track that into the house.

So maybe it’s not so similar, but he will pretend.

Seonghwa sighs, grabbing a handful of sand, letting it fall between his fingers. It’s times like these, ones where he’s dejected, broken-down, and lonely, that he wants nothing more than to go home. Only then does he remember that there’s no home for him to return to.

He sighs, his anger drifting to sadness, and yet he doesn’t mind. He believes that at the very least, it suits him better.

Footsteps approach from far off behind him, and he knows that it’s you. Woo walks faster, heavier footed, and he likely wouldn’t have heard San until he was closer. Besides, you’ve been walking with a slight limp since the fall, and he can hear it in the thump of every second step.

A part of him wants to ask what happened, what hurts. If you’re okay.

The angry part of him won’t let the other speak.

He hears your steps stutter, coming to a sudden halt from what he assumes is about a dozen feet off. Silence follows, and he wonders what you’re thinking. If you’re nervous to approach him, taking the time to contemplate your words before you say them.

Eventually, you do come closer. “San and Woo want to head towards Bebbanburg,” you call out from behind him. “I said that I’d come get you.”

“Thanks,” Seonghwa says flatly, making no motion to move. He will, of course, but not until you head back to camp. He’d like to avoid the awkwardness of walking in a strained silence, pretending not to notice as you try to meet his eye.

Although when he doesn’t hear you leave, it seems as if he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Sighing, he pushes himself up into a seated position. Glancing back at you, he has to place a hand over his forehead to block out the rising sun blinding his vision.

You stand with your arms wrapped around yourself, watching him with a dampened expression. Your tunic billows in the wind, torn around the waist and covered in dirt and dust. Chewing on your bottom lip as your fingers tap along your arm, you appear on edge. As if you wish to say something.

Seonghwa hates the way he wishes to know what it is. He hates how he wants to smooth your hair that is violently blown by the wind and wipe away the smudge of mud that has hardened against your cheek.

He hates how even now, after everything, he yearns for you.

Perhaps this is how it always would have ended, anyway. Having grown more attached then he ever should, not ready to lose what he knew was never his.

“Seonghwa,” you say finally, although it’s a little strained. Rigid. “About yesterday, by the fire.”

Ah yes, that. You and San hadn’t noticed him at the time, but when neither he or Woo came back to the fire, the two of you went out looking for them. It only took a moment, finding them sitting against the caves outer wall. Quiet and avoidant. Woo had fallen asleep, but Seonghwa had met your gaze. He held it for only a moment, watching your own eyes widen as you realized he’d seen the whole thing. He looked away when your lips parted to speak.

“With San. I hadn’t expected it to happen,” you say, calling loudly over the wind, and yet somehow your voice still seems quiet. Trapped and tight. “I… I don’t regret it. But after everything, it feels unfair to you-”

“I don’t care about you and San,” Seonghwa butts in. Not aggressively, or overly angry, merely factual. After all, that’s not what he’s angry about. He doesn’t care about you and San. That’s your business.

He wants San to be happy. Whatever it takes, the swordsman deserves a bit of peace.

Besides, now that he will not, perhaps San will wipe the mud from your cheek.

“Oh,” you say, followed by a pause. “You just seem upset.”

“I’m not angry about that,” Seonghwa replies, lips pursing together. He swallows hard. “Just about everything you did before it.”

Your expression falls. Mouth dropping open into a small part, your eyes fill with a sudden sense of shame and hurt. Your hands grip your elbows, hugging yourself tighter, even if only slightly.

Your expression settles like stone in his gut, and he knows that what he said has made you hurt. He has made you feel that same pain that tightens in his chest and floods up his throat.

Seonghwa wishes he hadn’t said that.

No matter his anger, no matter the pain, Seonghwa has never wished to pass an entity on to another.

“I’ll meet you back at the cave in a moment,” he says, because he doesn’t want to say anything else that he’ll regret. He doesn’t want to force his gaze from yours while at the same time feeling a pull towards you like a beacon, begging him to take it away. Take it all away. All the horrible entities that radiate from you like a plague, a blackened sickness.

Turning back towards the lake, he waits. When he hears the sound of your footsteps - fading away, not growing louder - he lets out a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t like what this has made him into. The anger that has filled him, strangles him, stops him from drifting towards you like a moth to a flame. Sure to be burned, but the glow will be glorious.

No, anger doesn’t suit him. And yet he wears it, draping over him, akin to a stranger’s jacket.

If there is any luck to be found following your fall from the cliff, it’s in that at least you’ve found yourselves closer to Bebbanburg.

The journey to the small kingdom only took a few hours, the fact that you had nothing to carry but the clothes on your back having sped up the trek. It was spent in silence.

You know there’s certain to be some of the black-clad men poking around in such a populous city, so upon reaching the kingdom, the first order of business was to purchase you a cloak, as Mingi’s own had remained within a satchel on the horse’s back.

It weighs down on your shoulders, knowing that it’s gone, the final piece of him you had left. You’ve tried to view it as for the better, as the cloak of a Libaiyan Royal Guard could have attracted the attention of the wrong pair of eyes.

Even so, it hurts.

The cloak you wear now isn’t nearly as nice, a tattered brown fabric that’s itchy in the spots where it touches your bare skin, but it only cost a few bronze pieces. Considering that all the group of you have to your name is the pouch of coins attached to San’s waste, you have to know where to ration your spendings.

This is only on the necessities. San is trying to locate a cheap blacksmith to fashion him a new sword. Meanwhile, Woo and Seonghwa are searching if there’s anywhere for your group to stay that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. Bebbanburg is an expensive kingdom, and so long as you find a place with a roof and walls that doesn’t blow through all of your savings, you’ll consider yourselves lucky.

With all the men on their own errands and a new cloak purchased, you’ve had about an hour to kill before now, as you currently make your way to meet them back at the city center. You’ve spent it wandering, peering into shop windows but never making your way inside. You don’t have the money to spend, nor do you want the undivided attention of a shop-keeper when you’re trying to lay low.

You’ve passed a few of your wanted posters strown up about the town, plastered to bulletin boards, poles, and shop windows alike. On top of being newly adorned with a far more accurate portrait of yourself, they’ve also added the detail of your recent scars. Printed along the bottom is the following: “Last spotted travelling with three young men. Potentially dangerous. Approach with caution.”

As an incentive due to what you assume is the elevated danger risk, they’ve increased the reward for your capture or demise to 300,000 gold pieces.

Apparently, someone at the tavern ratted the group of you out. Likely Yeosang and his band of not-so-merry men, or perhaps the poor shop-keeper desperate for a bribe.

Either way, someone is on your tail. Considering the new addition to the posters, that someone is in this city.

You haven’t seen them yet, but you know that it’s the black-clad men. They have to be lurking around here somewhere, they’re just being quiet about it.

You swallow hard, pulling the hood of your cloak further down.

Fortunately, the street’s are bustling with people. Bebbanburg, while not quite as big as the four major kingdoms, is still a hub for tourism. With money to spend, the streets are clean, the buildings well-kept. Despite being a narrow path in the merchant’s district in town, the air smells fresh.

It doesn’t feel quite right, in your opinion. Between the few towns you’ve visited these past few weeks, there was a certain scent to the air that felt more…natural. A strange concoction of smells as different taverns and homes didn’t agree on a pre-set menu for the night, dirt and pebbles aligning the trails as hunters dragged home their latest catch, or the muddy hoof-prints left by horses that stick to the bottoms of your shoes.

Bebbanburg feels too polished. The sort of polished that takes an effort, that works extra hard to rid itself of anything it deems unclean.

Trying not to obsess too much over the fact, you do your best to retrace your steps in order to return to the city center, taking a turn down another street. A slight limp to your step, ankle still not having fully recovered from your fall off the cliff, you count the shop doors that you pass along the alley’s stone wall. You kept count on your way here in order to know which alley to take back.

Counting down the doors, you pass by a butcher’s shop, cafe, and Zarian boutique for rare gems, all of which you’d passed along the way here. Gaze fluttering passively over the alley next to the boutique, you nearly miss the pair of eyes that lock on your own. Cat-like gaze fixated on yours, the bottom half of the figure's face is covered by a black cloth, their head shrouded in a dark cloak.

You pause. Hesitant, you retrace your last few steps, peering back down the alley.

The figure’s cloak follows behind them as they disappear behind a winding turn.

Swallowing down the bile that arises in your throat as an unsettled chill creeps down your spine, you keep moving along your original route. It was just a stranger. You’re paranoid, on edge, searching to find shadows and enemies in places in which they are not there.

Nevermind how something about the stranger's gaze felt oddly…familiar. Although you cannot place from where.

You continue along your original path, turning down the alley that will take you back to the city center. Glancing over your shoulder, you see nobody behind you, just the bustle of people continuing their way down the mainstreet. You mentally scold yourself. You’re being ridiculous, and casting lingering glances as you loiter in one place for too long is only going to attract attention.

When you turn forward, you catch a glimpse of movement, as something disappears behind a wall up ahead of you. “Shit,” you think to yourself, rushing forward as you place your back against the stone wall, peeking an eye out to see if you can spot them.

All you can manage is the tail end of the dark cloak disappearing down another alleyway. You wait a moment, as if contemplating how daring - or foolish - you’re willing to be, before heading after them.

“This is a bad idea,” you whisper to yourself, hand drifting to the hilt of the sword at your waist as you follow after the mysterious figure. However, even if unwise, you’d rather know your enemy and have them right in front of you compared to being stalked like prey. You’ll get slain in a fair fight any day before getting your throat slit from behind.

It’s a morbid thought, something San would likely say during combat practice, and you wonder if you’ve been spending too much time with these men.

Following the stranger, you keep quiet on your feet. Pulling the sword out from its sheath, you tread carefully, slowing your pace as you near the corner that the cloak had disappeared behind. Holding the sword firm in your grasp, you take a deep and shaky breath, before jumping to face your attacker.

Only to find there is nobody there, just another barren alleyway. Another alleyway that leads to nothing but a dead end, a stone wall looming tall before you.

You frown, confused at how this is possible. Your gaze darts around the narrow alleyway, searching for a cloaked figure, but it remains entirely empty.

Letting out a troubled sigh, you resheath your sword and turn back around.

Only to be met face first with the masked stranger.

Your breath dies in your throat, and you instinctively pull an arm back, aiming to strike them. However, as you swing forward, they narrowly dodge your strike, managing to grab your wrist instead. They twist it, not so hard as to dislodge anything, but enough that it disarms you. Then, using their free hand to push you backwards, they press you up against the stone wall. Elbow against your chest and hand gripping your upper arm, their spare hand grips tightly around your other wrist, rending you immobile.

Your chest heaves, not from tiredness but scheer panic. They’ve got you. Your gaze flickers up, to scan the face of your assailant. The person that will turn you in to the black-clad men, or is perhaps one themself.

The strangers' dark eyes meet yours from beneath their thick cloak, black orbs dancing as they move to scan over your face. Cat-like in their shape, with thick eye-lashes and brows.

Then the stranger laughs.

It’s not a menacing laugh, nor one you would expect from someone who is about to kill you. Instead it’s joyous, almost disbelieving.

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

The stranger’s eyebrows furrow together into a look of confusion, before lighting up in realization. “Oh!” They say, before doing the last thing you would have ever expected of removing their hands from you entirely. “Of course!”

The stranger pulls off the hood of their cloak, revealing a head of long, thick red hair. They follow the removal of their hood by doing the same with their mask, and with it, you are hit with a wave of not only relief, but scheer and unadulterated joy.

“Yeji!” You nearly shout, pulling your back from the wall and wrapping your arms around your old laundress.

She chuckles, and then you are both laughing. In happiness, in relief, in sheer and utter disbelief. You pull away, placing both of your hands along her jaw to cup her face. You scan every detail, to ensure that she is real and actually standing before you, not some sort of trick or illusion.

But is her, just as you had seen her last at the castle. Maybe not exactly the same, wearing far different clothes than the modest beige dress she had adorned as your laundress, hair worn loosely, and eyes holding more of an edge than they ever had before.

Still, it is Yeji.

Yeji with the shimmering grin and freckle on her nose. Yeji who you know, and knows you in return. Yeji from your castle. Your home.

Yeji, a relic from the past that has not been destroyed.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, following me around like that,” you laugh, taking one of your hands and giving her a slap on the shoulder, playful and not hard enough to actually hurt.

“Sorry,” she grins. “I didn’t want to attract any attention on the street. Figured it would be safer to lure you somewhere quiet, and you know, I also wanted to make sure it was actually you first.”

She then scoffs, returning the slap onto your own shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to pull out a sword on me! Where did you even get one of those?”

You consider answering, but a heavy cloud of unanswered questions hangs over the two of you, its presence loud and rattling like thunder. The jovial nature to your reunion cannot last long, not when there’s so much at stake, not when your world has crumbled to ash since you last spoke.

“What are you doing in Bebbanburg?” You ask, before realizing there’s a far more pressing question at hand. “How did you get out of the castle?”

Yeji smiles, placing her hand over one of your own along her cheek. “After what happened with the king in the ball-room, it was chaos,” she explains. “The Dark Army were rounding up and capturing all those who worked in the castle and may have been close to you.”

Your heart seizes at the statement, and your voice is quiet as you speak again. “Did they hurt them?”

“I don’t know,” Yeji replies, tone equally as somber. “A group of us laundresses escaped together using the underground tunnel system. I didn’t see what happened to those they had rounded up, but…”

She swallows hard, eyes pitiful as they meet your own. “But with how The Dark Army were talking, and the screams that followed behind us…I don’t think it would have ended well for them, Princess.”

Your throat swells at her admission, and it becomes more difficult to breathe as your eyes fill with the remnants of tears. Your mind is flooded with the unwelcome image of all of your old servants - your friends, as they had far surpassed their job description - tortured to try and probe them for information regarding you.

You wipe at your eyes with your hands, stuffing down the rising guilt and pain, placing a lid on these horrible thoughts. You will mourn later, when you have the time to properly grieve and honour all that they have lost because of you. For now, you must keep moving, deal with what is right in front of you.

“You keep calling them The Dark Army,” you begin, changing the subject. “Is that a made up title, or something they’ve defined themselves as? Do we know who they are?”

Yeji shakes her head. “Nobody knows who they are, it’s just what we’ve been calling them because of their armour. Not to mention the fact that they are about the sourest men I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve spoken to them?” You ask, scolding yourself for the fear that seizes in your chest at the thought of it. Of them being anywhere near her, or anyone you care about, for that matter.

She nods. “They’re poking around the city. Trying to keep a low profile, because Bebbanburg doesn’t like any semblance of war or conflict contaminating their streets, but they’re here. We try to keep to ourselves by not causing any trouble or disturbances and they mostly leave us alone.”

Your head buzzes at the confirmation that they are here, within the walls and perhaps a mere alley-way over, which is far, far too close.

“You keep saying we,” you note. “There’s more of you?”

Yeji nods, a soft smile grazing her lips. “Lot’s of us. We’ve set up a refugee camp on the outskirts of the city. Bebbanburg doesn’t want us here, because of course they don’t, but at least it’s safe. Not much crime or Anti-Libaiyan extremists in the city, so even if it’s not much, it’s all that we can really ask for.”

If she had told you this a couple weeks ago, you’d have been startled to know that there were Anti-Libaiyan extremists at all. However, having been given insight into the monstrosities your father was capable of, this no longer comes as a surprise, but rather expected.

“Can you take me to them?” You ask, and Yeji nods.

“Of course,” she says, grabbing your hand as she begins to walk back up the alley-way. “Although, I’d recommend keeping a low-profile, seeing that you're alive might cause a little too much excitement. Draw attention.”

You nod in agreement, following behind her through the winding alley-ways. It’s not until you’re almost back on the main city street that you remember why exactly you were trekking through the alleyways in the first place.

“Wait,” you say, stopping. Yeji turns to face you, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “There’s some people I need you to meet first.”

“Where have you been?” Woo asks as you approach. The three men have gathered around the fountain within the center of the city square, water spouting from the tall and golden statue into a small pond embedded with various coloured jewels along its rim. The falling water casts a veil of mist around them, as well as the various other groups gathered beside it. Many of them are tourists from different kingdoms, which you can recognize by the various types of clothing they wear, such as the vibrant coloured patchwork of the group next to you that is distinctly Zarian. It seems a prime spot to talk, the definition of hiding in plain sight.

“You were supposed to meet us here a half-hour ago,” Woo says with a scowl, before he notices Yeji beside you. His gaze flickers up and down, as if assessing her potential danger. “Who is this?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself, before motioning to her. “You guys, this is Yeji.”

She gives them a smile to which none of the men return, and for a moment you stand in silence.

“We’ve heard that one before,” Woo says.

Your face warms with embarrassment, and you clear your throat before beginning to explain. “This is the real Yeji, the girl whose name I used. She was one of my laundresses back at the castle, as well as a close friend.”

Another moment of silence follows, as none of the men appear to know what to say, or how to approach the appearance of a stranger.

Eventually, Seonghwa speaks, tone polite. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, to which Yeji returns the sentiment. Although he isn’t looking at you to see it, you cast Seonghwa a grateful smile all the same.

“This is Seonghwa, San, and Woo,” you say, pointing to each of them in turn. “They have been helping me get to Kuroku.”

“Thank you for aiding Her Highness,” Yeji says, placing a hand on her chest while delivering a curtsy. A sign of respect. Although…exceedingly formal respect.

San’s lips pull together into a stifled smile, and Woo raises an eyebrow.

“You, um, don’t have to do that,” you say, placing a hand on Yeji’s shoulder and gently tugging her upwards. “It’s not really like that.”

“Oh,” she says, straightening herself as her eyebrows raise in surprise. There’s a silence that follows, as well as a sense of discomfort that hangs in the air, as Yeji chews nervously on her lower lip.

And for all the love that you have for her, you know exactly what she’s thinking, as it’s been drilled into her since the moment she began to work at the castle: The demands of Libaiyan proprietary.

She ponders that if the relationship with this group of men escorting you is not formal, then what is it, and how far have you stretched the rules of etiquette that bind you?

You wouldn’t even know how to answer that question even if she asked.

Instead of dwelling on the subject and the lingering discomfort, you turn to Woo and Seonghwa. “Did the two of you find a place for us to stay the night?”

Woo scoffs in annoyance while Seonghwa shakes his head, defeated.

“Not anywhere reasonable,” Seonghwa says. “There’s a few places we can go if nightfall comes, but we honestly might be better off sleeping in the woods. It should be a clear night, and at least it won’t cost us an arm and a leg.”

You frown, not fond of the idea of spending yet another night on the ground, especially without a tarp or blanket to shield you from the elements.

Fortunately, Yeji pipes up from beside you. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, we’ve formed a refuge on the outskirts of the city. I believe we have an extra tent to spare.”

Now this finally causes the men’s expression to shift, the discomfort and wariness on each of their faces replaced with a glimpse of relief.

“Alright,” San says, gaze shifting over to you even as he speaks to Yeji, and his expression is difficult to read. He appears almost bemused. “Lead the way.”

The refuge, while about as bleak as you expected it to be, fills you with an undeniable sense of glee. Mostly due to how big it is, meaning that even if the mass size of the refuge indicates that there have been hundreds driven from the Libaiyan kingdom, there are also far more people who survived and escaped the castle than you’d originally thought.

Gathered just outside of Bebbanburg’s walls, dozens of the beige and tattered fabric tents are clumped together, creating a sort of maze as people make their way between the narrow passages. Head shrouded beneath your hood, the five of you pass through the different camps, ducking beneath laundry lines hanging between tent poles and maneuvering through the small groups gathered around make-shift fire pits as they roast small rodents and birds for dinner.

You watch their faces, searching amidst them for anger, for loss and resentment. While some are quiet, dark circles of tiredness hanging beneath their eyes, others are not so beaten down. There is the sound of laughter in the air, and a group of children nearly bump into you as they recklessly chase each other through the labyrinth of tents.

You smile. All is not lost.

You’d been so focused on your own survival, of getting to Kuroku alive and fighting to give your kingdom a chance, that you hadn’t realized the fear you had of there being no kingdom to fight for. Of not only the castle being besieged, but the entire kingdom being left in ashes.

Yet, even if this is so, there are still Libaiyans left. There is still a nation, full of life, that will not let themselves be stripped of their pride so easily.

“This way,” Yeji says softly, trying not to draw too much attention to your party. A group of girls wave to her as you pass by, and you recognize some of them as your kitchen maids, although you were never close enough to have learned their names.

The women are seated around a small fire. With the setting sun, they gather closed together, a blanket stretched over them. Or, upon closer look, a Libaiyan flag, its golden sun bright against its stark white background.

There is a man playing the lute sitting beside them. He has light eyes and a soft voice, fingers dancing as he strums the small wooden instrument in tune with his voice.

The man sings a Libaiyan folk song, one about a man arriving home to a small Libaiyan village after fighting many long years at war. The song doesn’t make clear which war exactly, centuries old and deriving from a time of high conflict, but it doesn’t really matter.

After all, the song is less about the war, and more about coming home. The ghosts of his fallen comrades following him, cane in hand to support his leg that will never heal, and his love having left the village to marry another man from the kingdom city.

The song is normally sung in a minor chord. It’s sad and melancholic, painting a tale of loss and grief.

However, the man currently singing has changed its tune to a major chord.

A message of triumph. Of defiance. Of the man’s survival, even after all else is lost and destroyed.

A song of hope.

You want to join them. To listen to this man sing your nation's song, to let his tune of triumph fill not only the air, but your entire body. Your heart, even your soul. Reignite the reason you started this journey, why you couldn’t give up.

These people need you. Your people need you.

Yeji wraps her arm around your wrist, giving you a gentle tug forward as you linger near the fire for a little too long.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “You’ll be able to hear his voice late into the night, even from your tent.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, how to depict your gratitude for all of this. For her taking you in and letting you hear these songs that you weren’t so sure you’d ever hear again, for being alive and granting you hope.

All you can do is reach to give her hand a soft squeeze, and hope she understands.

Yeji stops before a small tent, one that doesn’t seem big enough for two men, let alone three. “I know it isn’t much, but I hope it will do.”

“It’ll do,” Seonghwa answers with a smile.

“Especially considering we have no luggage,” Woo grumbles.

If Yeji hears the dissatisfaction in his voice, she doesn’t show it. “My own tent is just over there,” she says, pointing to what is only a few tents over. It’s a bit larger than the one before you, although not by much. She turns to you. “You can stay with me.”

You’re grateful for the sentiment, considering none of the men - except maybe San - would enjoy being forced to share such close quarters with you.

“There’s a table inside, if you’d all like to sit and regroup. I can catch you up on all that has happened since the siege,” Yeji says.

Her gaze flickers over to the three men, and it is hesitant. Curious, as it returns to you. “And you can do the same.”

“Scorpion beasts, a mimic, and a dragon-basilisk hybrid all in just a few weeks?” Yeji gapes, hands clutching tight around her mug of hot tea, as if she needs something to hold onto. “And you’re alive?”

“I take it your journey here wasn’t so exciting?” San asks, sipping his own mug. He seems in good spirits today, as he willingly engages in conversation with Yeji. Especially compared to Seonghwa - who is more hesitant, likely less willing to jump the gun on trusting a new stranger - and Woo, who sits with his eyes bearing down into the table, not touching his mug even as the tea inside grows cold.

“No, we took the main path down the Arila River, so far less rural,” Yeji explains. “Although it was a good thing you didn’t do the same. There were Dark Army ports all along its bank. We were stopped and searched at every one of them.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt from Yeji’s recollection of the besiegement and the time that followed, it’s that the black-clad men are relentless in their pursuit. They want you, at any cost. You only wish you knew who they were, so at least then you’d know why.

“I really am glad you’re alive, Princess,” Yeji says suddenly, hand drifting to rest on your own atop the table. “Libaiya has a chance to be strong again, so long as your blood sits on the throne. You’ll make the perfect Queen.”

You open your mouth to thank her, albeit bashfully, but are cut off as Woo pushes himself from the table. It rattles in protest, although the elemental does not seem to care, as he stomps towards the tent-flap. He does not meet any of your eyes as he disappears beneath it.

“I’m sorry,” Yeji says, tone worried. “Did I say something to-”

“It’s not you,” San reassures her. “He’s just been dealing with a lot lately.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” you say, because you have a feeling about what may be bothering him. Your blood, as Yeji had said. Although to him, it’s more like poison.

“No,” Seonghwa cuts you off, already rising to his feet. “You shouldn’t, I don’t think he’d take it well. I’ll go.”

You want to protest, as Seonghwa does not know about Woo’s past, about the orphanage. The Libaiyan orphanage, and all the horrors that happened there. But the empath is already heading towards the tent flap, and the words die on your lips.

Even so, maybe he is right. Woo is upset, upset about you and your nation, perhaps you are not the one who should attempt to console him. Besides, Seonghwa has always been far better at that.

Yet, as you watch Seonghwa disappear after Woo, you have the sinking feeling it may not go as the empath plans.

Wooyoung cannot breathe.

Making his way blindly through the darkness of the refuge, the sun having set over the horizon, he pushes past Libaiyan’s as he heads for the exit. They turn and look at him as he shoves past, and he wonders if they know. If they can smell it on him.

“You were his,” they whisper as he walks by, or is that just in his head? “One of his dogs. Our dogs. A machine for use. Worthless.”

The last word is in Warden’s voice, and Wooyoung places a hand over his ears to try and tune it out. The other clutching his chest.

He can’t breathe. By the god’s, he really can’t breathe.

Each short pant is as unsatisfying as the next. He feels dizzy, wanting to summon a ball of flame to guide him, but he can’t seem to move his hands in front of him. He pushes forward, searching for an exit through the mazes of tents.

Then he’s covered in something. It’s thin, engulfing him, and panic rises hot in his chest. They’ve gotten him. Again. It’s happening again. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

It’s only after nobody attempts to drag him away and he gets a whiff of soap that he realizes that what covers him is not a bag, but someone's laundry. With shaky hands, he untangles himself from the fabric, before glancing down at his captor.

It’s a Libaiyan flag.

The bright, golden, and horrible sun stares back at him. The same one hung in the cafeteria, the one he pledged allegiance to three times a day. The one plastered atop the ceiling of his bedroom, watching him every night. The one deckled on Warden’s shoulder, as he tortured them relentlessly, as he murdered Yeonjun.

Wooyoung throws it to the ground, hands still shaking as he walks over it, the dirt on the bottom of his shoe stark against the flag’s white background.

“Woo!” A voice calls from behind him, but it sounds far away. Maybe it’s also just in his head. He keeps walking.

He can hear the sound of the same man singing as when you’d all entered the camp. He has a nice voice as he sings Libaiyan songs. Songs he’s never heard. Songs that were reserved for Libaiyan citizens, not slaves.

Wooyoung’s throat burns with the taste of Libaiyan tea. Only one sip, and it will not leave his tongue.

It tasted like the infirmary tent after Assessment Day in the orphanage. Before Warden got there, but not before Wooyoung got beaten within the sparring ring. They’d given him the tea to calm him down, try and make him forget the burns lacing up and down his arms.

With the taste on his tongue it’s as if he can feel them again, the searing pain starting in his mind and seeping into his skin.

“Woo, hold on!” The voice calls again, closer than the last. This time Wooyoung knows it’s not in his head, as he recognizes it to be Seonghwa. The sound of foot-steps follows behind him, as the empath chases after him.

He does not turn around. He needs to get out of this place.

Wooyoung begins to run.

Tearing through the refuge, he sees Bebbenburg’s outer walls appear ahead of him, the light emitted from the lanterns hung on the outside fortress drawing him in like a beacon.

When he reaches the wall, he makes sure to take a few steps inside and past the gates, to ensure that he is no longer within Libaiyan territory. Here, he is within the Kuroken realm. Safe.

He pauses to catch his breath, less from the running and more from the panic that has seized him. Hands placed on his knees, Wooyoung lets the foggy haze fade from his mind, although it does not relinquish control so easily. His heart continues to race, ears ringing with a constant buzz.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why this is affecting him so horribly. He’s been to the Libaiyan castle since entering the orphanage, having stolen plenty of Libaiyan treasures and heirlooms on their heists within the castle.

Then again, that was in the dark of the night, when there were no songs to be sung or tea to be drunk. When the flags were shrouded in pure shadow, not wrapped around him like bonds of rope.

That was when he was in control. That was when he was taking from them. That was revenge.

That was before he entangled himself with their princess.

“Woo, what the hell?” Seonghwa asks as he approaches, slightly out of breath from chasing down the elemental. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” Wooyoung says, because it is all he can manage. He doesn’t look up at Seonghwa, instead staring at the cobblestone beneath his shoes, blinking blearily as he tries to direct his focus to its stone patch-work.

“Why did you just storm out of there?” Seonghwa asks. He’s not mad. Not yet. He genuinely wishes to know.

“Because of what that woman said,'' Wooyoung answers in his mind. “Because it’s true, she is the Libaiyan throne. Because it is her blood that’s done all of this. That did this to me.”

Wooyoung, of course, does not actually say any of this out loud. Seonghwa won’t understand. He doesn’t know, not only about Wooyoung’s past, but the orphanages in general. He’s from a small town within Zaria’s realm, far away from any news about Libaiyan political treachery.

He won’t get it, and Wooyoung isn’t going to even bother to try and explain it to him, especially when his tongue feels three sizes too large and his heart beats at a million times per minute.

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” he mutters, turning away from Seonghwa and heading deeper into Bebbanburg, hoping the empath will take the hint and piss off.

But he doesn’t, because after all, it’s Seonghwa. The blonde follows after him. “Where are you going to go, Woo? You saw the poster, it’s better to stay together, keep a low profile.”

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” Wooyoung repeats, beginning to walk faster, tone a little more pointed.

“Is this about her?” Seonghwa asks, and now his own tone is rising, annoyed as has to jog to catch up to the elemental. “Look I know you’re mad, I am too. But can’t you just push that aside? We’re almost to Kuroku, then we’ll be past it. We can move on.”

“Right. We’ll get to Kuroku. She’ll leave. San will leave. And then inevitably, you will too.”

After being met with silence, Seonghwa lets out a groan of annoyance, continuing to chase after him.

“Woo, stop!” He calls, reaching out to grab Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung slaps his hand away, perhaps a little harder than he should have. “Can’t we just talk about this? Can’t we have an actual conversation for once instead of you shoving me away?”

Wooyoung keeps moving, because no, they can’t. Not right now. Not like this. Not when he can’t think straight.

“I don’t get what you have to be so mad about anyway!”

Wooyoung stops at this, finally turning around to face Seonghwa. “What?”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth parted with surprise that Wooyoung actually stopped. Then he frowns, eyebrows furrowing together, as if remembering his annoyance.

“Yes, she lied to you,” Seonghwa starts. “And I know it sucks. But it’s San’s money on the line, and clearly he’s been able to forgive her.”

Seonghwa swallows hard. “And even if I haven’t been able to do the same, even after all she’s done to me I’m willing to swallow my own feelings to get this journey done. For them.”

Them. By that Seonghwa means San and you. You, after all that you have done - to Seonghwa, to San, to Wooyoung himself - he’s still choosing you.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t, Hwa!” Wooyoung says, and now he’s shouting. It’s good. The anger provides him comfort, something familiar to latch onto. “She used you! She used all of us! I know you have this deep-seeded issue of thinking everyone and everything has good in them, but open your eyes! Not all that glitters is fucking gold! A pair of pretty eyes doesn’t repair what she’s done, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t rotten inside!”

“Just as you are too,” a voice reminds him within his mind, but he ignores it.

Seonghwa opens his mouth to cut back, but Wooyoung is not finished. “She lied through her teeth, and you’re really just going to let it slide?  Keep quiet because it’ll make things easier for her? For the sake of the gods, grow a spine!”

“Why do you care so much about what I do?” Seonghwa yells back, taking a step towards Wooyoung. Seonghwa’s fist is clenched at his side, and for a moment Wooyoung thinks that Seonghwa might actually hit him. He almost wishes he would.

“Why do you care if I forgive her? Why do you care so much about whether I let people walk all over me? Why do you care?”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he does it.

Maybe it’s the way his mind still buzzes from moments prior, hazy and foggy and unable to think of anything beyond his anger. Anything beyond the way his heart pounds rapidly and vision blurs with an anxious haze.

Maybe it’s the way Seonghwa’s words sting, more than Wooyoung wants to admit, and he wishes to prove the man wrong. Show him that it’s not so simple. Win, in a strange and possibly fucked up way, but win nonetheless.

Or maybe, more than anything, it’s the way Seonghwa is looking at him. Big brown eyes scanning his face, full of anger, but also passion. Desperately searching for an answer, as if there will be a solution to the enigma that is Wooyoung hidden somewhere on the elemental’s face.

Wooyoung knows what the answer is that Seonghwa seeks.

It’s the part of himself that Wooyoung has never admitted exists. The part that he has shoved down, smothered, pretended wasn’t there. The part that flutters at the sound of Seonghwa whining at his teasing. The part that stalls when Seonghwa lets his hand fall onto Wooyoung’s shoulder, thinking nothing of it, simply trying to get the elemental's attention or leaning in to point out something in the distance.  

The part that broke the first night you and Seonghwa spent together. Defeated, angry, and beaten down, crawling into his bed that night in a drunken stooper, aching at the thought of the elemental being intimate with someone. Well, someone else.

The part that he once again shoved away the next morning, and had every day before and has every day since.

It’s that part of himself that he’s dejected and ignored that now comes crawling to the surface, invited by Seonghwa’s searching eyes, that unleashes its presence in a way that will make itself known. That will ensure it will no longer be forgotten, that it cannot be ignored or subdued again.

That part of Wooyoung unleashes itself in the form of a kiss.

It’s a horrible one, teeth smashing into teeth as Wooyoung grabs onto the collar of Seonghwa’s tunic and roughly pulls the man into him. In fact, it’s less of a kiss compared to two faces smashing together, Seonghwa clearly not prepared for it, but the message is sent all the same.

Wooyoung holds him there for three seconds, which feel far more like an eternity as they pass by.

Then Wooyoung pushes Seonghwa off of him, letting go of the man’s collar as the blonde stumbles back.

For a moment they stand in silence, and it’s a deafening one. Seonghwa’s hand drifts up to his lips, grazing them, eyes wide as he stares at Wooyoung. He’s clearly in a state of shock, as he says nothing, just stares with his mouth parted open in disbelief.

“There,” Wooyoung breathes. “Do you get it?”

Seonghwa continues to stare at him. Then his eyebrows furrow together, and when he begins to speak, Seonghwa’s tone is incredulous. “Woo, what are you-”

“Forget it,” Wooyoung cuts him off, because he doesn’t want to know what Seonghwa is going to say. He doesn’t want to hear the empath call him crazy, ask him what the hell he’s thinking.

Because Wooyoung doesn’t know the answer to that either. The mind-numbing fog has returned to his head, his heart racing even faster than it had before.

He needs to get out of here.

“Just go back to the tent, Hwa,” Wooyoung says, and then his feet are set in motion. He heads deeper into Bebbanburg, away from the Libaiyan tent. Away from you and San. Away from what he’s done, the irreversible mistake he just made.

He runs away, and this time Seonghwa doesn’t follow him.

“What were you thinking, what were you thinking, what were you thinking?” Wooyoung repeats the question to himself over and over again in his head, trying to make sense of what he’s done.

The look of bewilderment on Seonghwa’s face, followed by incredulity. Shock, then disbelief. Almost angry, and why shouldn’t he be? How could Wooyoung do something like this? Something so blatantly stupid and thoughtless?

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Wooyoung still cannot come up with an answer, because frankly, he wasn’t thinking. And he still can’t.

He turns down one of the many alley’s surrounding him, head buzzing, not a clue of where he’s going. All he knows is that it’s away, and for now, that is enough for him.

Wooyoung closes his eyes, hand trailing along the wall beside him as he runs. He feels silly, running with his eyes closed, but he cannot bring himself to keep them open. This way, the world around him fades. He can simply be moving, feel the air rush past him, and pretend that nothing happened.

There are no Libaiyan refugees a few alleyways over. He does not care for the Liabiyan princess, nor did he lose San a mere night ago. He did not reveal his feelings to a man he loves and ruin their entire friendship in one fell swoop.

He is merely running in the darkness, chest heaving for air, fingers scraping along the cobblestone wall.

Maybe, if he keeps running like this, he’ll actually have escaped it all.

Or maybe, running like this is not such an acceptable option, as it stops him from noticing the figure that has been following after him.

Wooyoung does not notice he is being followed until it is too late. Until he’s already been shoved sideways, face smacking into the stone wall beside him.

At the very least, the blows knock him from his stupor, and his eyes fly open as he stumbles. Whirling to face his attacker, fire ignites immediately within his hand, dancing in between his fingers.

However, the second he turns, he’s met with a swift punch to the jaw that catches him off guard. Mostly because it does not come from where he can feel the man beside him - who now pins Wooyoung’s wrist to the alley-wall - but from the other side.

It’s not one attacker, but many.

“Shit,” Wooyoung thinks to himself, spitting out the blood that fills his mouth, the metallic taste thick on his tongue and gritty between his teeth. Eyes searching the darkness around him, his attackers are nothing more than blurs within the night, and he gives the one in front of him a swift kick to the groin. The man lets out a long string of curses, and Wooyoung uses the opportunity to try and rush forward.

It’s of no use, as another man (or two, maybe even three?) pins his wrists to the wall.

It’s not the most efficient way to capture a person, as it leaves their legs functional to kick and mouth free to spit, bite, or scream for help.

Unless, of course, you’re capturing an elemental.

Wooyoung tries to summon fire into his hands, and while it manages to dance around his fingers, the inability to move his arms stops him from managing anything greater. He tries to summon the flame with only his mind, staring at his hand with sheer determination. He knows it’s possible, he’s done it before. Once. The night Yeonjun died.

Of course, he didn’t exactly mean to, and apparently it isn’t the sort of thing he can do by will, as his hands remain barren of flame.

Instead, he’s left helpless, pulling against the grips of the men that bind him. His eyes dart amongst the shadows that surround them, and he tally’s roughly ten of them, although he’s certain that there’s more as he hears shouts from down the alley-way.

One of the men’s hands digs into Wooyoung’s hair, pulling his head forward before slamming it back into the stone-wall. Hard.

Stars dance before Wooyoung, and a darkness creeps into the corners of his vision. He continues to kick out in front of him, although each swing is far weaker than the last, as the pain leaves him sluggish.

The man yanks on his hair again, before slamming his head back into the wall once more, and suddenly Wooyoung is on the ground.

He doesn’t remember crumpling, but the stone pathway is cold against his back, so he must have passed out for a moment. He opens his eyes, vision swaying as he tries to make out the men surrounding him.

He can vaguely spot the face of the man above him. Middle-aged, with a dark beard and intense eyes. He speaks to someone beside him, although Wooyoung’s mind is too muddled to make out the actual words.

Likely not thugs then, as they aren’t even bothering to hide their identities. Besides, there’s too many of them to be a regular mugging. Too conspicuous, so it must be targeted.

But if it’s targeted, then who are they?

“W-who?” He asks, because the full sentence is far too much effort. His words are slurred and he sounds drunk. Which to be fair is an awful lot like how he feels.

The man above him doesn’t answer, but instead places a hand on Wooyoung’s throat, silencing him. With his other two hands, the man pins Wooyoung’s wrists to the ground.

No, no, that doesn’t make any sense. He can't have three hands. Which means it must be somebody else pinning his wrists to the ground, as well as another that slips the cloth bag over his head. How many were there again?

By the god’s Wooyoung really can’t think right now.

“Knock him out,” one of the men speaks from above him. Now that Wooyoung can make out.

Then the world goes black.

“And he seriously didn’t tell you where he was going?” San asks, arms crossed as he leans against the training post outside of the men’s tent. It’s covered in grooves, clearly crafted by a sword, and one in the hands of someone not too pleased. A testament to San’s opinion on Woo not returning to the refuge last night.

“I already told you,” Seonghwa replies. His tone is also frustrated as he sits at an outside table, fingers tapping anxiously in rhythm with his jittering leg. “No. He didn’t.”

“He just took off?” San repeats, and you can understand why Seonghwa is becoming a bit annoyed. It’s also the third time you’ve heard San ask, although you have a feeling the swordsman isn’t actually expecting the answer to change. He simply wants to hear it again, to let him fuel the flame of his annoyance. “Without a word? Without a reason? Out into a city we’re currently being hunted in?”

Seonghwa’s eyes shift to the ground. “Yes.”

“And you let him?”

Seonghwa scowls at this. “What did you want me to do? You know Woo, he’s going to do what he wants no matter what anyone says or thinks.”

Seonghwa has been in a sour mood all morning, and something tells you there may be a little more to Woo leaving than he may be letting on. However, now is not the time to ponder what it might be, nor is it the time to start a fight. You simply need to find him.

“Let’s not start bickering with one another just because Woo’s not around to start it,” you say, attempting to remedy the argument before it can start. Fortunately, neither of the men are overly confrontational, at least not with each other.

“You’re right,” San sighs, turning to Seonghwa. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed, I know it’s not your fault.”

Seonghwa gives San a sort of half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before staring back down at his shoes. He appears to immediately lose himself in thought, knee bouncing anxiously.

Yeah, something definitely happened last night.

“This isn’t like him,” San says, pulling his sword out from his sheath and spinning it around in his hand. A nervous habit. “Staying out for the night, sure. But he’s always back by the next day. Always.”

With morning long past, the sun high in the sky with the arrival of late noon, San’s statement of “always” is replaced with “until today”, and a sense of uneasiness passes through you.

Something is wrong. You can feel it.

And with both San’s sword spinning in his hand and the sound of Seonghwa’s fingers tapping the table, you know that they can feel it too.

“I think we should go looking for him,” you say, expecting immediate approval. Instead both men look at you, and San shoots Seonghwa a side glance, to which the empath returns.

“What?” You ask, uncomfortable at the fact that it appears they’re both in on something you’re not.

San sighs. “You shouldn’t come.”

“What?” You say, this time with far more anger than confusion. “If Woo’s in danger then of course I’m going to come-”

“If Woo’s in danger then it’s likely because of the men who are looking for you,” San cuts you off, and while his tone is not accusatory, it is pointed.

You prepare a rebuttal, but it dies on your lips. San is right.

If the black-clad men have done something to Woo, then you going looking for him is likely exactly what they would want for you to do. While the stubborn part of you wants to go anyway, put Woo’s safety before your own. Be daring, bold, and perhaps a little stupid, just as Woo is in the face of danger, you know that this is not an option.

You need to get to Kuroku, and if you aren’t yet certain of the danger Woo may be in, you cannot afford to take such blatant risks.

“Alright,” you say, tone defeated as Seonghwa rises to his feet, San making his way towards the path leading outside of the refuge.

You don’t manage the next words until they’ve already left. Leaving you alone, face shrouded by your hood, suddenly aware of the wind’s chill nipping at your skin. The seasons are turning.

“Good luck.”

They are back sooner than you expected.

You sit at a table with Yeji, playing a game of Skirmish. A traditional Libaiyan game meant for children, due to the fact it has few rules and never really ends, so it can keep them occupied for hours. You didn’t particularly want to play, but Yeji said it might help to keep your mind distracted. You figured it was worth a shot.

It didn’t work.

However, it doesn’t matter, as when both San and Seonghwa approach from down the refuge’s path, the cards are forgotten. Tossing your deck to the side, you give San a look, one that asks: “Any luck?”. Although, you’re fairly certain of the answer, as there is no Woo in tow behind them.

San does not give you a look of his own. In fact, he does nothing. He simply stares back at you, a dead look to his eye.

It’s that look, the emptiness of it, that tells you something has gone wrong.

“What happened?” You ask as he approaches, although San does not reply. Instead he gives Seonghwa a fleeting glance, and the blonde meets it. His own expression is not as empty as San’s. In fact, it is the opposite. Brimming with emotion, Seonghwa’s eyes hold worry, mouth drawn tight, jaw clenched. A look of nothing less than pure fear.

“Seonghwa?” You ask, your own worry settling deep in your chest. Something has gone wrong, but what, and how badly?

The blonde doesn’t answer you with words, instead he moves towards the table. You hadn’t noticed before, but he holds something in his hands. The paper is a light tan colour, the size also familiar, and you recognize it to be one of your wanted posters. Immediately you're confused, as why would Seonghwa show you one of these? You’ve already seen dozens of them plastered all over Bebbanburg.

However, as he lays it down onto the table, the answer is blatantly obvious.

The paper is smeared with blood. The red stark against its light colouring, it doesn’t coat the poster fully, but is rather smothered haphazardly, the semblance of fingerprints notable. It’s testament to a job done quickly, as whoever did this did so with one purpose: to get a message across.

The message is made even more clear by the thick, dark lock of hair tied to the corner of the page.

Woo’s.

Beneath the lock of hair is writing, scrawled in black ink.

The Concursos Mountain Pass.

Three Days.

Wooyoung awakens to the back of his head pounding in a violent, aching fashion. The world sways in front of him, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is exactly.

However, at the sight of tarps on all sides of him, the tent coated in darkness as only the light of the setting evening sun is able to get through, he remembers.

Right, the Libaiyan refuge.

Wooyoung groans, blinking as he tries to get his eyes to focus, his pounding head making his thoughts difficult to string together.

He moves his hand, attempting to wipe the sweat beading along his forehead, only to realize that he can’t.

His hands are tied.

Eyebrows furrowing together, he looks over his shoulder. The chains that tie his wrists to the chair that he sits in are thick and made of iron. If he tried to melt his bonds with the fire between his fingers, rather than catching fire like rope, they’d heat up and burn his wrists.

“What the…” He croaks out, throat raspy. Who would have tied him to a chair? Surely not Seonghwa or San. Not very likely you, as he couldn't see what good that would do you. Maybe your friend, the Libaiyan patriot? But why?

Wait.

Wooyoung’s brain pauses, mind doing a double-take as he stares at his bonds, noting bruising along his wrist. The massive purple marks are dark against his bronzed skin, and are almost line-shaped, as if someone had been holding him.

No, he’s not in the Libaiyan refuge, he’s somewhere else.

The memories of last night come rushing back to him. Running from the tent. The fight with Seonghwa. The subsequent kiss with Seonghwa.

His capture.

The shock of it is enough to cause Wooyoung to jolt awake, mind finally clearing even if the pain at the back of his head does not subside.

As if sensing Wooyoung’s realization, a man appears from under the tent-flap. He’s older, his face like a worn-glove, leathery and wrinkled in its places most used. His dark hair is cropped short, although his beard remains long, as well as scruffy.

Most notably, he’s dressed entirely in black armour. One of your predators.

“Ah, good. You’re awake,” the man says, and his voice is not as deep as Wooyoung expected.

“Who are you and-”

“Don’t speak. Not everyone has arrived yet,” the man cuts him off dismissively. “Besides, we’ll be the ones asking the questions.”

“Oh, my mistake, I thought-”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he is surprised by the slap, but he is. Maybe because he hadn’t even had the chance to say the insult he was planning yet. Usually the hit would at least come afterwards.

These men, they aren’t playing around, that is clear.

His cheek stings, and he can imagine the bright red mark appearing along his skin as more men in dark armour appear from under the tent-flap. Wooyoung is surprised by the amount of them that manage to crowd into the space, almost a dozen.Then again, it is a big tent. Mostly empty, other than a small table in the corner, scattered with a variety of knick-knacks and spices that seem non-sensensical. Lunadore pollen, silver beads, Alagor Root, and a bunch of other rare ingredients the Wooyoung does not have time to make sense of, although set him on edge nonetheless.

If they plan to torture him, the table should be full of knives. Hammers. Maybe a few pliers to pull off his fingernails. Not plants.

The man who slapped him - their leader, it seems - clears his throat, and the group of men fall silent. Each of them turn to face Wooyoung, eyes glinting with something dark, something that says that they know more than he does.

Wooyoung makes sure to give each of them in turn a glare.

“I’m sure you know who we are by now,” the man says.

Wooyoung considers playing dumb, maybe earning himself a matching slap on the other cheek. However, he needs information, which means at least for now he must play along.

“You attacked the Libaiyan castle. Killed their king,” Wooyoung answers, meeting the man’s gaze. His eyes are sharp, intimidating, and Wooyoung makes sure not to look away. Not to show any fragility. Even if he has been made into the weakest in the room, he need not show it.

“People have been calling you The Dark Army,” Wooyoung says, and then because he can’t help himself, adds: “Cute name. Very scary. Did you come up with it yourselves?”

The man doesn’t answer his question, but instead smirks. “If you know who we are, I’m sure you also know what we’re looking for.”

You. That’s the answer the man wants. But Wooyoung won’t give that to him. “Power?” He ventures instead. “Glory? Access to the king’s many bejeweled robes?”

The man steps forward, grabbing Wooyoung's face in his hand. His fingers squeeze Wooyoung’s jaw, so much so that it not only hurts, but prevents him from speaking.

“Enough playing coy,” the man says. He still does not seem angry, face blank and tone almost bored as he grips Wooyoung’s face between his fingers. “Tell me where she is.”

He eases his grip just enough to let Wooyoung speak. “Where who is?”

The man’s grip tightens once again, fingernails digging into the elemental’s skin, and Wooyoung forces himself not to wince. “The girl you’ve been running all over Burovia with. The princess turned convict. Ring any bells?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung manages. At this the man lets go of his jaw, but it’s only to deliver another slap that burns along his cheek. The man grips his jaw again, and Wooyoung struggles to focus on the man’s face, blinking away the stars that dance across his vision.

“Yes, you do,” the man says, and this time his tone is almost soft, gentle as he attempts to coax out an answer. Somehow it’s far more unsettling than the blankness. “Is she with the refugees? At one of the hostels, or even a tavern?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Wooyoung says through gritted teeth. This time the man does not slap him, but instead grips his hair as he brings Wooyoung face down into his knee. Pain radiates from his nose through the rest of his face, and when the man lifts him back up, it takes Wooyoung a moment to register the man’s face before him through the blurriness.

It’s not until now that Wooyoung realizes the severity of the danger that he is in.

They want him to hand you over to them, and Wooyoung can’t do that.

But why can’t he do that? It would be the easiest thing to do. Nobody would blame him, after everything that you’ve done, especially if it came down to choosing between his own life or yours. San and Seonghwa would understand.

You are the Libaiyan Princess. Your family sent him to the orphanage. Turning you in would rid himself of the volatile confusion that has plagued him, it would fulfill the dream that his younger self wished for every night and morning. So why can’t he do it?

He knows the answer. How he feels towards you has grown beyond hatred. It’s grown beyond mere toleration for San and Seonghwa’s sake. It’s grown beyond the excuses he’s been telling himself for weeks.

He’s not going to hand you over to them to die, no matter what that may mean for himself. Unfortunately, what that may mean for himself is not looking good.

“You’re going to tell us,” the man states, not to persuade, but to simply state as fact. “It’s just a matter of how much you’re willing to put yourself through before you do.”

“Well I have nothing but time,” Wooyoung answers, grinning, and he knows his teeth are bloody. Can feel the grittiness on his teeth, or maybe that’s still from the night before.

The man smiles back. “You have three days.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “Because I’m just such lovely company?”

“Because that’s how long we’ve given her to come find you.”

Wooyoung pauses at this, and he knows he’s shown a glimpse of weakness. How did they get a message to you? Is he bluffing?

Would you really be stupid enough to come after him?

“Nobody will come,” Wooyoung says, and even he can hear the uncertainty in his voice. Surely you wouldn’t come after him. Not when you’re so close to Kuroku, to San’s freedom. You have to keep going, there’s no way you, San, and Seonghwa could take on a dozen armed and highly trained men, especially considering there’s more of them out there somewhere. It would be pointless, a suicide mission.

But Wooyoung also knows that none of you would leave him behind to die.

“That’s fine,” the man says with a shrug. “Either she comes to us, or we go to her with the information you’ll give us. It doesn’t matter.”

“You aren’t going to be able to torture anything out of me,” Wooyoung says with a scoff, tilting his chin up, defiant. “Pain? Yeah, I’ve been through my share.”

The corner of the man’s lip curves upward, eyes gleaming. “I know. That’s what they told me.”

Wooyoung frowns. They?

The man chuckles at Wooyoung’s weary expression, finally letting go of his hold on the elemental’s jaw. The group of soldiers step back, creating a pathway for him as the man heads over to the table covered with rare ingredients and spices.

The man begins to fiddle around with them, although what exactly he’s doing Wooyoung can’t make out, his vision obscured by the other men standing before him.

“Do you know what they say about those whose body cannot be broken?” The man calls over his shoulder, and Wooyoung catches a glimpse of what is in his hand: a small bowl and mallet, which he uses to grind down the Alagor Root.

“No,” Wooyoung answers, wary.

“Break their mind instead,” the man states, holding up a small vial of purple liquid that Wooyoung cannot identify, before pouring into the bowl. A strange, dark and odorous smoke wafts up from the concoction. It smells like something burning, although what exactly Wooyoung cannot place. That is, until he can. It’s burnt flesh. It reminds him of the infirmary tent, of his scorched arms.

An inkling of fear settles into Wooyoung’s chest as he becomes increasingly aware of the bonds on his wrist. He can’t move, run, fight back, or do anything, really.

For a man with so much power, he’s grown accustomed to never feeling powerless. For a moment, it’s like he’s thirteen again. At Warden’s disposal and no fire to call his own.

The man places the empty vile back down on the table, before grabbing something else Wooyoung cannot see, although he can hear the sizzling noise it makes as he adds it to the bowl.

Wooyoung cannot take the silence any longer, his curiosity - or better, fear - overtaking him. “What are you doing?” He asks.

Instead of answering him, the man begins to mutter something beneath his breath, making a strange circular motion with his hand above the bowl, which he has set back down on the table. Wooyoung cannot make out what he is saying, but the way the words leave his lips is almost rhythmic, like a priest delivering a chant.

Wooyoung scowls, opening his mouth to interrogate the other men around him as to what the hell is going on, but the words die on his tongue. He knows what the man is doing.

It’s part of the Old Faith. Old Magic.

Dark magic.

Wooyoung has never been a devoted servant to the gods. In fact, for all of his life he’s hated them. He hated them as a child for giving him a gift he could not use. He hated them as a teenager for cursing him with the power to destroy everything he held dear. He hates them as an adult for idly standing by as all of the horrible events of his childhood tumbled down one after the other.

However, even with his hatred towards the gods, he’s always considered worshiping them to be far more understandable than the Old Faith. More particularly, the Old Magic aspect.

It’s a breach of order. If the gods blessed the gifted with their powers, then Old Magic defies that. It’s taking from the earth what was not given to you. It’s blasphemous. Immoral and unnatural. At its very core wrong.

Wooyoung tugs at the chains around his wrists, which clatter in protest. Panic begins to rise in his chest, as one thought fills his head: “What the fuck are they going to do to me?”

The man finishes his chant, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a miniature knife. He uses it to create a small cut along the tip of his finger, holding it above the bowl as a drop of blood collects around the wound, before dropping into the potion.

Smiling to himself in satisfaction, the man takes the bowl with him as he heads back towards Wooyoung. Stopping before him, the man takes a moment to meet the elemental’s eyes, that glimmer of darkness potent within his gaze.

Wooyoung does not look away, but by the gods, he wants to.

“Well,” the man says. “Open up.”

Wooyoung keeps his mouth shut, lips pursing together. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, feeling its thump throughout his entire body. He can’t drink that. He isn’t sure what it will do, but he knows that its something horrible.

It will break his mind. That is what the man had said.

And while Wooyoung has always had confidence in his abilities, perhaps even relied on himself more than he should, for the first time that confidence falters.

“So this is what it takes for you to be quiet,” the man jests, earning a few chuckles from the others around him. “Good to know.”

When Wooyoung doesn’t reply, the man nods to a couple of the soldiers beside him. “Open his mouth.”

Four of the men approach him, and Wooyoung fights against the bonds of his chair, even if he knows it’ll be pointless. The chains against his wrists and ankles hold him still, and as two of the men grab his shoulders to stop the chair from rattling, he’s left with nothing but twisting his face away from the men who grab at him.

Hands blur across his vision as he feels one of the men press an arm to his throat. Another digs into his scalp, pulling his hair in order to bring his head back and face upwards. Fingers claw at the crevices of his face, digging beneath his cheekbones, into his ears, scratching along his lips.

It’s overwhelming, but Wooyoung stays focused, repeating over and over again in his mind, “Don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth.”

It’s not until the elbow pressing into his throat has been there for a little too long that Wooyoung registers that he needs to breathe. Black lines creeping into the corners of his vision, head beginning to feel foggy, he does his best to ignore it.

Until he can’t any longer. Against his mind’s will, when the man removes his elbow from the elemental’s throat, Wooyoung gasps for air.

The men do not waste the opportunity.

Fingers dig themselves into his mouth, and while he attempts to bite down on them, their force is too strong as the many hands pull back his cheeks. Limbs bound, hair pinned, and face pulled back, he’s left helpless as the man with the bowl approaches him.

As the man lifts the bowl above the elemental’s face, a smile grazes over his lips, and Wooyoung knows that he is enjoying this.

The liquid burns as it pours down his throat, rubbing like sand-paper along his tongue. It tastes familiar. Like stale bread, but worse. Rotten with mold. Wooyoung gags but the man does not stop, not until the final drops fall from the bowl and into his open mouth.

The men do not release him until he swallows the concoction, and he feels it as it settles down into his gut, twisting and turning like cheap whiskey.

Wooyoung attempts to catch his breath, chest heaving and sweat beading along his forehead as he looks at the man before him. He continues to smile that awful, wretched grin, empty bowl in hand.

“See? Now that wasn’t so hard,” the man says, for no other reason but to rub salt in the wound.

Wooyoung spits on his shoes.

The man does nothing, merely takes a few steps back as he continues to watch Wooyoung with an analytical gaze, as if observing whatever the hell is supposed to happen. For a few moments, Wooyoung feels nothing but the tension that hangs in the room as all of the men stare at him. He feels like a monster in a cage, like one of those griffin’s from a traveling circus he saw passing through Gloria many years ago. Undeniably dangerous, but stripped down to a mere display for people to gawk at.

Then he notices it. It doesn’t start as much, more of a feeling in the back of his mind than anything else. An uncomfortable tingling sensation creeping through him, like an itch beneath his skin, little prickles of worry like ants tunneling through his veins.

He blinks, and his vision goes blurry.

The men in front of him transform into foggy statues and he blinks again, but instead of focusing it only gets worse. He swallows hard, only to find his throat has gone dry, the saliva refusing to go down.

Heat settles itself in his gut, rising into his chest as an aching sensation washes through him. Wooyoung lets out a low whine, one that under any other circumstances would humiliate him, but he can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Not when his body feels as if it’s rejecting him.

“What did you do to me?” Wooyoung asks, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper. The man hums softly, reaching forward to hold Wooyoung’s chin. This time his grip is gentle, and Wooyoung wants to slap it away, but he doesn’t have the strength. In fact, if it weren’t for the man holding his head up, he’s certain his chin would have fallen down to his chest. Maybe it already had, Wooyoung doesn’t remember.

“This is the easy part, Jung Wooyoung,” the man says, and Wooyoung swears that that is the first time the man has said his name. Although the worry is replaced by agony as another ripple of pain rattles through him.

“Remember. You tell me what I want to know, I’ll make it stop,” the man says. “You’d be wise to accept that offer.”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, and he thinks thaf tears stain his eyes, although his vision is too foggy to notice a difference. “And if I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” the man says, giving a soft, condescending thumb-stroke along his cheek. “They always tend to comply.”

You cannot sleep.

The tent feels crammed, even though you’re well aware that there’s more than enough space. Yeji sleeps soundly, a few feet away and face turned from you as the peaceful sighs of deep slumber escape her lips. It is dark, only the faintest hint of moonlight seeping through the tent’s thin fabric, and yet it feels too bright.

You do not wish to sleep. There are things to be done. This is no time for rest.

They have Woo.

The men you’ve been fearing this entire journey. The ones that ambushed your father, that killed Mingi, that besieged your castle and robbed your life right out from under your feet. The men that have made you paranoid, always keeping one eye over your shoulder, creating wariness with each new city and step you have taken.

The men you have feared would kill you, they have taken him instead.

And somehow that is so much worse.

It’s not something you’d anticipated, always having assumed that if the black-clad men were to find you, you would be the one to face the consequences. The idea that travelling with the three men was putting them in the crossfire of the mysterious army hadn’t occurred to you. After all, it’s your wanted posters on every city street, not theirs.

How stupid you had been, and now Woo is gone. Captured by your family’s assassins, and only the god’s know what sort of danger he is in.

It’s your fault. It’s you they really want, he is just a pawn in their greater game. You’ve been outplayed, and Woo is the one forced to pay the price of your failure.

They could be torturing him for information. You know the sorts of things powerful men do to prisoners, having heard whispers about it in your halls, the dungeons located deep beneath the castle. Using a whip to lash the back until there's more blood left than flesh, spending hours drowning them within a bucket of water, pouring vials of liquid metal along the skin. Maybe one of them is a sadist, and Woo’s face is blistered and burnt beyond repair.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You roll over, eyes accustomed enough to the darkness that you can make out the ceiling of the tent above you. Although really, what you see is Woo, pleading for mercy as one of the black-clad men delivers the final blow. Woo goes silent, his eyes still open, and you know that it is over. He is gone.

Another person you care for, dead.

You cannot just sit here like this and let that happen. However, while you were prepared to head to the Concursos Mountain Pass the moment Seonghwa placed the message down in front of you, both he and San urged caution.

“This is clearly a trap,” San had said, wrapping a hand around your wrist to stop you from heading down the path towards the refuge’s exit. “They’re going to be prepared, which means we need to be. We need to come up with a plan before we do anything.”

“We have three days,” you snapped back, frustrated. “Yeji said the journey is at the very least a full day’s ride. We don’t have the time to sit here and twiddle our thumbs.”

“Then we have a day and a half to come up with something,” San replied, tone calm but also curt. He was not entertaining the possibility of going now, no matter how much anger you added to your glare. “Maybe we can form a group of some of the other refugees and leave together.”

“There’s only two horse’s between the entire refuge,” you cut back. “We cannot make it in time by foot. There’s no chance of us building our own army, if that’s what you're implying.”

“We’ll figure it out,” San said, still not budging. However, beneath his steady gaze, you could see the faintest hint of worry. Of doubt. Of knowing that there may have been no other option but to go alone, although he was not ready to admit it. Not ready to acknowledge the truth that weighed down on each of your shoulders.

The fact that it may come down to Woo’s life, or your own.

Thus, a second truth sat just as heavy. He would choose Woo. They both would.

It’s not until this moment, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, that you realize you would choose Woo too.

You will not have him die for you. You will not have the black-clad men take anything else from you. Not him. Not like this.

If they are to kill you, let it be your own doing. Not ambushed for the money they have placed on your head, or killed silently in an alley-way along the streets of Bebbanburg. You will not be your father, stabbed at his own celebration, unaware of what was coming. If you are to die, let you come to them with your sword in hand, fighting for a man who - even when you haven’t deserved it - fought for you.

Rising to your feet, you pull the blanket off of you, heading towards the tent flap. Stopping in place, you turn back, watching Yeji’s sleeping silhouette, chest rising and falling peacefully.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it is not only to her, but to all of them. All of the Libaiyan’s uprooted from their homes, left to wander Burovia with no kingdom to call home. They had finally been reunited with their princess, only for you to leave them once more. It is selfish. It is what your father would consider an abandonment of responsibility.

Maybe you are abandoning your royal duty, or perhaps you are fulfilling your duty to another.

Either way, it must be done.

Slipping out from under the tent flap, you can hear San and Seonghwa talking within their own tent, though you cannot make out what they are saying. Good, they're busy. They will likely not notice you’re gone until morning.

Scanning the field, the man continues to sing by the fire, and it is the same song as before. Lute in hand, he serenades the men and women surrounding him, although the number has depleted under the blanket of the night.

As you approach the horse tied to a nearby tent-pole, you sing along quietly beneath your breath, to the words you have known your entire life.

“My love for whom I do come home,”

“I’ve been bathed in scars, both body and soul,”

“And while I’ve returned beneath darkened gloam,”

“Without you this place may never be whole.”

Although, while you may sing his words, unlike the man within the song you will not be so passive.

You will find Woo, and you will bring him home. Even if you do not come back with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next chapter.

#seonghwa fanfiction #wooyoung fanfiction #san fanfiction #seonghwa angst #wooyoung angst #san angst #seonghwa fluff #san fluff #wooyoung fluff #seonghwa smut #san smut #wooyoung smut #seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez #seonghwa x you #san x you #wooyoung x you #ateez series #ateez fantasy au #wooyoung fanfic #san fanfic #seonghwa fanfic #woosanhwa

[daemour]

Pairing: biker Wooyoung x barista gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, light angst barely there

Warnings: Cursing, mean customer who throws hot coffee

WC: 1809

Summary: Customer service sucks, and today even more so. But a certain regular makes it better.

Yes, yet another wooyo fic LOL im sorry but i love this man and biker wooyo makes my knees weak

-

“(Y/N), your favourite customer is here,” Keonhee peeks his head around the back, wriggling his eyebrows at you as you make a face at him. “He’s looking especially fine today, you know.”

As you walk past him, you try to shove at his shoulder but Keonhee dodges and giggles. “What a butt,” you roll your eyes at him with no maliciousness. He isn’t wrong anyway. Every Friday, a group of bikers would come in and order a bunch of coffee. When you first started working here, they terrified you, but as time went on, you slowly got used to them and even came to enjoy their company.

And yes, one of them has caught your eye. Not that it was any of Keonhee’s business. But god damn was he fine. The gang itself was filled to the brim with young, handsome guys who would send even the most stoic person into a blushing mess. But there was something about this guy—Wooyoung, you learned his name was after overhearing their conversation—that just sparked something in your gut.

Maybe it was the way he smiled or his loud laugh that you could hear even in the back storage room. Or maybe it was the way he always included a lollipop along with his (very generous) cash tip. And the way he was nice to look at helped as well.

To your surprise, the rest of his friends were nowhere to be seen. It’s weird enough to see him on a Tuesday. “Hi, fancy seeing you here today,” you greet him, wiping your hands on your apron. “Your usual today?”

“Hey, it’s my favourite employee!” Wooyoung beams as soon as you come into view and you can’t help but smile back. “What’s popping, dude?”

Wooyoung leans forward, elbows propped on the counter, and it takes all your willpower not to stare at the sliver of chest showing. “Nah,” Wooyoung drawls. “I’ll try something else. What do you reccommend, doll?”

You try your hardest to keep your face still but even if you succeed you’re sure your burning face gives you away. “Trying something new?” you ask, attempting to cover up your awkwardness.

Wooyoung’s smile widens. “Yeah, I think I will. What’s your favourite drink?”

Is he flirting? You’re not quite sure. It sounds like he is but you’re also a pessimist and would much rather go for the safer option. “Ah, I know you like your coffee strong, but I actually don’t drink it. I prefer a matcha latte, but if you prefer coffee I can ask my coworker?”

Wooyoung shakes his head, his smile unwavering. “That’s okay, I’ll try your favourite drink. You can make it just how you like it.” He punctuates his sentence with a wink and you immediately busy yourself with the register, avoiding his eye contact so that you can calm your heart rate down. Surely he’s got to be flirting now? Sometimes you hate your obliviousness.

You know Keonhee is absolutely listening in on your exchange and you accept your fate of getting teased for the next four shifts until Friday rolls around and he finds new blackmail material. “This one is on the house,” you attempt to regain some dignity by keeping your voice steady “as thanks for being such loyal customers.”

Before Wooyoung can protest or even say anything, you quickly process the order and turn to make the drink, willing your face to cool down in the process. As you mentioned, you don’t know what it is about Wooyoung that makes you flustered and become so socially inept.

As you are pouring the finished drink into the cup the door opens and the bell tinkles. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” you call out, slightly thankful for the distraction but also mildly annoyed you can’t spend more time with Wooyoung on your own.

“Here’s your drink,” you hand it to Wooyoung over the counter, “enjoy!”

He smiles at you and you return it before heading back to take the next customer’s order. “Hello! Sorry for the wait, what can I do for you?” Before you can even say anything, the middle-aged lady gives you a once-over and you already know what kind of customer she will be.

“That’s fine, I guess,” she sniffs and waves her hand dismissively. “Can I get two hot chai lattes with oat milk and four pumps of syrup?”

“What type of syrup? All our flavours are listed here.” You motion towards the plastic taped to the counter. Apparently, this was the wrong move because the lady rolled her eyes.

“You don’t have to give me such attitude! I can read perfectly fine! I’ll take the vanilla.”

Your eye twitches and you bite back a snarky reply, instead opting for a polite, “I apologise. I’ll get this done ASAP.” As you input her order, you can feel Wooyoung’s eyes on you. It’s not quite how you wanted him to see you, but that’s just how customer service is, you suppose.

As you finish up, you can hear the lady grumbling under her breath about the disappointing service and you have to take a few deep breaths to avoid letting your temper get the better of you. “Here’s your drinks, ma’am.”

“Finally! You know, I am in a rush, you should hurry up next time,” the lady snaps, snatching the cups from you and taking a sip from one.

“Ma’am, that’s a hot–” you try to warn her but to no avail. The lady chokes, and in her surprise slams the cup down onto the table, creating a mess that you inevitably will have to clean up.

“How dare you!” the lady screams at you as you stare in disbelief. “I am a paying customer!”

“Sorry ma’am,” you grit out. “It does say on the cup that it is a hot beverage, but I can make you a new one if you’d like?”

Your offer was not enough to appease the angry customer and she grabbed the other drink, attempting to throw it at your face. Thankfully, you take a step back and her aim is just as bad as her manners, but it still catches on your shoulder.

Keonhee gasps behind you but before he even has a chance to kick her out, Wooyoung steps forward.

“Get out.” The lady snaps her head towards him, incredulous, and opens her mouth to speak but Wooyoung slams his fist on the counter. “Get out of my sight, and get out of the store. I never want to see you here, or even hear of you here again. Am I clear?”

Without another word, the customer scurries away and Wooyoung turns to look at you. “Uh…I’ll go get the med kit,” Keonhee says, turning tail and leaving you in the front with Wooyoung, but with a completely different vibe surrounding the two of you.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” you apologise to Wooyoung, bowling low, but he waves away your apologies.

“Don’t worry about it, that lady was such a bitch,” he scoffs, glancing out the door as if she’d come back. “Tell me if she comes to bother you again. Are you okay though?”

You glance down at the soiled fabric and it’s only then the pain hits you and you wince as you try and shift your shoulder. “It’ll heal. Thankfully it wasn’t too bad and it wasn’t my face.” You peel back the sleeve and both you and Wooyoung wince at the sight of the red flesh.

“(Y/N), I got the med kit,” Keeho calls out as he returns with the white box in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. “Do you need to take the day off? I can have Minho come in to cover for you.”

You start to decline but Wooyoung interrupts. “Yeah, call him in,” Wooyoung stares you down when you try to argue and you’re much too tired to fight him on this. “You’re in no condition to work. I’ll take you to the bus stop and you will rest.”

You look at him for a long moment and Keeho looks unsure about his offer, but you’re not in the mood to argue about this either. “Okay, you win, Wooyoung,” you concede with a sigh. “I’ll take the day off.”

Wooyoung hums, happy with your choice and Keonhee dares to wink at you in full view of Wooyoung, who just laughs smugly. “Come on, then. Do you have everything?”

You nod, and as you walk around the counter towards Wooyoung, he ushers you out with a hand on your lower back and you fight to keep your smile off your face. Maybe that customer was worth it—you get a day off and kinda of get to “hang out” with Wooyoung.

As the two of you walk down the sidewalk, you’re not sure of what to say, or how to even start a conversation. Usually, there’s a counter between you and Wooyoung, but with his hand on you, you apparently can’t think straight. “So, what is your name?” Wooyoung breaks the silence. “I never got it yet.”

“Ah, I’m (Y/N). I’m surprised you didn’t hear my coworker yell it from the backrooms.” Wooyoung laughs.

“I don’t really take to eavesdropping, unlike how you learnt my name,” Wooyoung bumps your good shoulder, a laugh in his voice and you squawk. “I don’t mind, really. We’re a loud bunch, which I’m sure you’ve known by now.”

You laugh a little at that. Your boss is always annoyed at the noise they make but they are regulars and tip well so he can’t do much about that. “So I have. Speaking of which, are they not with you today?”

Wooyoung shakes his head, his bangs falling into his face. “Nah, I wanted to steal you all to myself. And I definitely got more than I bargained for.”

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, ducking your head down to hide your burning face. “How are you so smooth?”

Wooyoung snorts. “I can’t help myself around you,” he teases, poking at your face.

“Oh, hey look, the bus stop! And how lucky, the bus is coming too.” You keep your eyes firmly ahead and Wooyoung laughs as you approach the stop. “Thank you for walking me back, Wooyoung.”

“Hey, of course. I’ll see you Friday?” You nod, turning to board the bus when he grabs your wrist. “Wait, hold on! You need your lollipop!”

Wooyoung fumbles in his pocket before pulling out a lollipop and you laugh, taking it. “Blue raspberry? You’re so basic.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “I’m so nice to you and this is all I get in return? You don’t deserve to see me Friday, me nor my lollipop stash.”

You laugh at his antics and Wooyoung smiles, proud of your laughter. “I’ll see you Friday, Wooyoung. Thank you.”

#pirateeznet #kvanity #wkcnet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez au #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung au

[99guz]

Opening the door to your apartment you didn’t expect to see a pair of shoes at the entrance. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you stare at them almost missing the smell in the air. Quietly taking off your shoes and slipping into your house slippers you carefully make your way into the apartment peaking your head around the corner to the kitchen area. There is a man over the stove with his back towards you and your eyes widen in terror. How the hell did this person get into your place? You go to yell out to them when they turn their head to the side and you instantly recognise your best friend's side profile.

Your shoulders relax and a sigh leaves your lips “Oh my god you scared the shit out of me.” you say.

Wooyoung looks back from his place at the stove with a smile overcoming his face. “Welcome home!” he greets.

Placing your work bag onto the dining table you work to take off your coat. “I thought you said you were coming back next week?” you ask. Wooyoung had been on tour for the past few months. A tour which the both of you have been very excited about because he had been able to go to more countries. He loves to travel and learn about other cultures. It’s a trait that you really admire in him.

You watch as he focuses on the food which he is preparing. “Yeah I wanted to surprise you which is why I said I was coming back next week. I missed my best friend so I was thinking we will have dinner and catch up on everything that I missed while I was gone.” he explains and you nod.

“Alright well I’m gonna shower. Be right back.” Leaving Wooyoung in the kitchen you make your way down the hallway and into the bathroom to freshen up. By the time you are back the table is set up with food. “Where do you want me to start?” you ask taking a seat at the table.

Wooyoung opens a bottle of soju pouring into two different glasses. “What is going on with Jia and Tayong? Last I heard the engagement is off?” his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity.

Taking a sip from your glass you hum. “Okay so we need to take it real back for the full story. So you remember they got engaged right before Tayong had gone on that business trip a few months ago. Well, it turns out that he cheated while on that business trip!”

Wooyoung’s mouth hangs open in shock “Are you serious?! Tayong cheated?” he squealed out.

Nodding your head, taking a bite of the meat Wooyoung cooked. “Yes but that's not even the part that is crazy. So you know like a few months ago that Jia’s cousin moved in with them cause she needed a place to stay while she was apartment hunting. Well turns out she knew Tayong even before that happened.” you jested

His eyebrows narrow “Does she know the girl he cheated on?” he questions. I nod my head and Wooyuong crosses his leg placing an arm on the table leaning on it. “Who is it?” Leaning back into the chair you cross one of your legs over the other soju cup in hand while taking a drink. He observes your facial expressions and you can see the moment in clicks in his head. His eyes widen and a scream escapes his mouth slamming his hand onto the table. “Shut the fuck up! No? No!” All you do is nod. “That bitch! How did Jia find out though?” he inquires.

You place the glass back on the table. “They got fucking cocky and were fucking in the house! She came home and saw them. So the engagement is off and both sides of the family are in an uproar right now. It’s full on war.” you state. “And the fucking audacity of Tayong to come and be like ‘Baby please forgive me it meant nothing it was a mistake’ give me a fucking break.”

“You fucking cheated on your fiance with her cousin! Why is it when they are cheating it’s not a mistake but as soon as they get caught it is full of dramatics.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“I would fucking be in jail right now if it was me.” you blurt out.

“Okay dail it back I’m a public figure here cant bail you out and have my reputation fucked.” he takes a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

You tilt your head to the side “You wouldn't bail me out if I killed my cheating fiance?” you questioned. Wooyoung doesn't answer, just takes another bite out of his meal. “You’d let me rot in jail you bitch!?” You scoffed.

Silence takes over the table before you both burst out into laughter. “Let's be honest, I'm in there with you. We can get San or Yeosang to bail us out.” The image of Yeosang and San bailing you both out of jail makes you laugh.

We continued to go over all the drama which Wooyoung had missed while on tour until we both finished off our plates and moved over to the couch. Wooyoung tells you about all the countries he went to and everything he did while on tour. You both stay up late into the night talking about everything before going to sleep.

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez wooyoung #best friend wooyoung #BestFriendWooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung drabble #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung #BestFriend Wooyoung #wooyoung comes back from tour #gossip session with wooyoung #ateez fic

[hwashotcheeto]

𝑰 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑩𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔

BadBoy!Wooyoung X masc!prep!reader

Summary: You have to say good bye to the boy who lit up your world.

WC: 2.2k

CW: Angst, crying, hugging, kissing, mentions of sex, homophobic time period (70s-80s)

AN: This hurt so bad to write, but I couldn't get it out of my head. Homophobia/transphobia is so fucking awful.

But I still hope you all find a way to enjoy my painful ideas. I'm gonna go lay down and cry now.

Tag List: @cherrycel @mxnsxngie @malldreamprincess @asjkdk

Late August is a time like none other, especially the summer after high school. It’s not quite Autumn but not quite Summer either. It’s warm enough to wear t-shirts and shorts, but not cold enough to wear sweaters and pants. The perfect temperature to just go enjoy life. 

To drive down the highway with your friends right at sunset, when the sun’s almost disappeared behind the horizon line, and the gorgeous oranges and pinks are thrown across the skies like a desperate painter, stretching towards the growing, inky black night. 

Laughing with your friends as you blast your music, singing along badly, laughing at how awful you all are, slapping each other’s arms. 

It felt like how teen summer should be. 

“We should stop by the drive-in!” One of your friends suggested. It was met with uproarious agreement, and that’s exactly where you ended up. 

The car stopped under one of the awnings, and your friends all took turns clamoring to order their food. You elected to wait until they were done to place your order, deciding to avoid being talked over and misheard. 

You learned your head against the cool glass of the car and looked around the drive-in. There were other groups of teenagers hanging out as well, in and around their cars. There were some families and couples as well, all laughing and having a good time. 

Your eyes came back to the building, and your gaze landed on an all too familiar man. 

Black slicked back hair, sunglasses on his head, eyes that could kill if they wanted to. He had not just his ears, but his eyebrow pierced too. He wore all black, with chains around his neck. 

His black leather jacket sat on his shoulders as he leaned against the drive-in wall, a cigarette between his lips. 

You gulped as your eyes ran over Wooyoung’s body. Your breath caught in your throat when his eyes landed on yours. He froze for a moment before he put out the cigarette. You felt your heart crack inside your chest. 

“Hey man,” your friend nudged your shoulder. “What do you want?” The whole car was staring at you, waiting for your answer. 

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” you mumbled. “Just get me a drink.” 

“Are you sure-Hey!” 

Your friends called after you as you got out of the car, but you weren’t listening. 

Wooyoung. One of the stereotypical “bad boys” of your high school. He skipped class, he broke the law. He wore black clothes, he wore chains, he flirted with all the girls in school. 

And then there was you. A boy. 

You didn’t care for Wooyoung. You kept up with your studies. You were productive, trying to do better for you and your classmates. You even considered running for student president, but you decided it was too stressful on top of everything else you were doing. 

You’d flirted with a few girls in the school, kissed a few, but nothing ever clicked. Nothing felt like how all the books said it would, it never felt special like the movies showed. 

Until you and Wooyoung were tangled up. 

You never wanted anything to do with him. You didn’t dislike him, you two were just opposites. You cared about school and your future, and Wooyoung cared more about himself and his pleasures. 

But if you didn’t care, then why did you get butterflies when you saw him? Why did your body get hot? Why did your heart flutter? 

Why did you silently beg him to look up at you and shake the stray strands of hair out of his eyes to properly look at you before he’d give you a little smile and go on talking to his friends? 

If you didn’t want Wooyoung, why did you two end up together after school in an empty classroom? 

As you stood in front of him at the drive-in, with his head tilted back against the wall as he looked at you, you were thinking back to that moment. 

You thought of the moment where Wooyoung trapped you against the classroom door and locked it, and his lips hovered over yours. You didn’t push him back. And when he kissed you, you kissed him back. 

And fireworks exploded all around you. This was the moment. This was the magic moment when you realized why the girls never felt right. Your heart swelled and your limbs felt like jelly. You had to wrap your arms around Wooyoung to stay standing. 

You whimpered when his hands locked around your waist and he pushed you further against the door, kissing you harder, deeper. It was Wooyoung’s magic moment too, and he never wanted it to end. 

So all the uncomfortable feelings with every girl he fucked wasn’t supposed to happen? Sure, it felt good, but he thought that every uncomfortable feeling was supposed to be there. After all, isn’t sex for pleasure a sin? Of course it wouldn’t feel perfect. 

But it did that day. It felt better than it ever did before. For both of you. Every kiss, every touch, it was euphoric. When Wooyoung kissed down your neck, he was lighting a fire in you. When his hands ran over your skin and gripped onto you, it was like he was meant to be there. 

It could never have been one time. Not when the world felt right when you two were together. 

The next thing you knew, you were sneaking out to meet up with Wooyoung. You’d walk down the street to where Wooyoung was waiting on his motorcycle for you. You’d sit behind him, hug him tight, and you two would disappear into the night. 

You’d find some secluded place to divulge in your sinful fantasies all over again. Wooyoung’s house, a park, anywhere that you two were hidden from the hateful world. 

Somewhere where Wooyoung’s lips could blissfully press against yours. Where your hands could run through his hair. Where you two could be one. 

And when it was over, he held you. You laid on Wooyoung’s chest as he held you close. He’d rub your back as you two would recover. He’d make sure you were okay afterwards. He’d kiss over the hickies that you’d cover up tomorrow with your clothes. 

It went on for months. Months that you’d secretly meet up with each other. Eventually, sex became a bonus instead of the main event. You both would just cuddle, and talk, and kiss. Laying in Wooyoung’s bed and just talking about anything with some kisses thrown in the mix. 

Wooyoung wasn’t just a good for nothing, fucked up boy. That was part of him, but not all of him. He did care about more than himself, because he went out of his way to spend time with you. He picked you up, he took care of you, he listened to you. 

He never smoked around you. He always put it out when he saw you. 

He let you wear his jacket when you were cold. 

He kissed your neck in the spot you liked. He held your hands when you were pinned under him. 

One day, he even surprised you with flowers. Just like the books and movies promised someone like him would do. 

But you weren’t in his arms right now. You weren’t all over his pretty lips. You hadn’t been in months. 

Wooyoung finally lifted his head off the wall as he turned to you, pulling his hands from his pockets. 

“Why’d you disappear?” He asked. You gulped nervously as you shifted around. You knew this was coming. “You ignored me at school. You never even gave me a chance.” He leaned a little closer as you looked down, not being able to look him in the eyes anymore. 

Wooyoung looked around for a moment before he grabbed your arm and pulled you behind the wall of the drive-in, trapping you against the bricks and leaning close to you. 

“I waited for an hour every night,” he growled, the smoke on his breath washing over your lips and going up into your nose. “Every goddamn night, I waited for you. And you didn’t give me anything.” 

Your heart cracked in your chest again. Your nose burned as tears threatened to form in your eyes. 

“Did you not want me anymore?” He continued, “Did you think that if you ignored me long enough, I’d disappear? That you could walk away from me?” 

“You did it to every other girl in the school,” you shot back. 

“But not with you.” Wooyoung’s eyes turned glassy as the snarl in his face disappeared. “Never with you, baby. I could never do that to you.” 

The tears finally formed in your eyes as his words finally shattered your heart. 

“I didn’t want to,” you breathed desperately, your chest heaving as you tried to keep the tears away. 

“But you did.” Wooyoung swallowed back his tears as he gripped onto the wall beside your head. “But you left me and ignored me-” 

“My parents found out,” you sobbed, the tears spilling down your cheeks. 

Wooyoung’s face fell. His knees buckled and he nearly fell to the ground. His worst fear had come true. It’d been a theory he had from the moment you stopped seeing him and started ignoring him. 

But he still prayed to the god who condemned him every night that it wasn’t that. That you just weren’t interested, that you didn’t want him. He could accept a taste of his own medicine, no matter how bitter it was or how long it took to swallow. 

But knowing that it was unwilling, that you wanted to see him but couldn’t, drove a knife through his heart. 

Wooyoung grabbed you and pulled you into his chest, hugging you tighter than he ever had before. You hugged him back, trying to keep your sob quiet as you spilled them into his chest. 

More than anything, you wanted to run away with Wooyoung. Forget everything and jump back on his motorcycle and disappear into the night like you’d done so many times before. To be happy with the only person who’d lit up your life forever. 

But your parents were waiting for you the last time you were with Wooyoung. They knew you’d been sneaking out, and forced you to tell them where you were going. 

They threatened to disown you if you kept seeing Wooyoung, that they wouldn’t help you go to college. They threatened to take away your whole life. 

Unless you stopped seeing the man who made you happiest. 

You hated it. You hated that you couldn’t have both. You cried into your pillow for hours. Guilt ate you alive every time you ignored Wooyoung at school. 

But here you were. Crying in his arms because all you wanted was to be with him. And that’s all he wanted. To take you awake and keep you for himself. 

“We can still leave,” Wooyoung whispered onto your hair. “We can run away.” 

“No we can’t. I can’t.” You pulled back to look up at him. “I have my family, and school-” 

“Your family doesn’t give a shit about you.” Wooyoung reached up and held your face, pulling your lips close to his. “If they loved you, they wouldn’t keep us apart.” 

“Most of the world hates us, Wooyoung,” you protested as you leaned into his hand, relishing in the warmth. 

“Not all of them do,” he murmured, leaning his forehead on yours. You closed your eyes as you did, and so did he, as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest, softest kiss he’d ever given you. 

It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. Your body felt like it was on fire. Your heart felt like it was being wrenched out of your chest. Your throat closed up and burned. 

The last kiss you’d ever get from your lover. 

You both reluctantly pulled away and looked at each other. Tears ran down both of your faces as your chests heaved. 

There was only one ending to this story. 

“I wanna be yours,” Wooyoung breathed against your lips, sniffling after. You nodded as you held his hand that was still holding your face. 

“I do too.” 

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t make it work. Not now. You both knew it. 

So Wooyoung swallowed hard before he pressed another kiss to your forehead as he held your face in his hands. Another long, loving kiss, before he whispered onto your skin: 

“In another life, sweetheart.” 

You nodded as another wave of tears ran down your face. You held his face and kissed his cheek, inhaling the last of his familiar cigarette and cologne scent. 

“In another life, Wooyoung.” 

In another life, years from now. Your souls would hopefully find each other again. 

And live the life you’re meant to live. 

It took all the strength you could muster to pull out of his arms. Wooyoung almost didn’t let you go. He helped you wipe your tears before he finally took his hands off you for the last time. 

Your skin screamed his name as you craved to be back in his arms. But you made yourself walk away. One step at a time. 

You didn’t tell your friends what happened. You couldn’t. 

You watched in agony as Wooyoung drove away on his motorcycle. 

You’d never see him again.

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol(s) in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fic #wooyoung ff #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x male reader #ateez x male reader #ateez angst #wooyoung angst

[mingkist]

[2:56 PM] It has been two minutes since Wooyoung asked you —in a suspiciously innocent manner, if it mattered to you whether he breathed or not. Then another fifty-six second since you last saw the rise and fall of Wooyoung's chest.

You sat on the couch besides him, side eyeing his now red and struggling face whilst pretending to be paying attention to the TV where Single's Inferno played loudly.

"Wooyoung," you started exasperatedly, eyes still on the TV. "Why are you doing that?"

He shrugs, his hair falling onto his face within the process. "Doing what?" He says nonchalantly.

You turn to him now, body facing him as you watch the vein on his neck starts to protrude. "Why are you not breathing?"

"Oh so now you care?" He huffs, finally taking in a breath and scoots to the other side of the couch.

"What?" You murmur, confuse as to what he meant. "What are you talking about?"

Wooyoung faces the other way. "It took you a whole minute to notice that I wasn't breathing."

"Huh?"

"It's like you don't even love me anymore," he says off-handedly. "Do you want to break up with me or something?"

"That's not—" you paused, assessing him with a confused look. "—Wooyoung, what are you talking about?"

Wooyoung only huffs dramatically, crossing his arms as his body faces the opposite of yours.

"Okay then," you murmur, turning back to the screen. And as you think that you've finally found peace once more; and that you could now actually enjoy the show.

Wooyoung asks: "would you still love me if I was a fly?"

this is my first ever written fic on this blog feeling silly and nervous and silly and nervous hehe

p. ateez: @italiekim @realjonko @aestheticsluut @rielleluvs @youngestdelacour @alanniys @dogsongy @mingiholic @sankatchu @stopeatread @miriamxsworld

#⇔ timestamps: ateez #ateez humor #ateez x yn #ateez x you #ateez fanfiction #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fluff #8makes1teamnet #ateez fluff #wooyoung Humor #wooyoung Crack #ateez x reader

[hahafixon]

A Fake Wedding ~ *Jung Wooyoung*

Summary: The bride and groom are nowhere to be found, however you have to do this rehearsal! Who better to fill in than the Maid of Honor and Best Man?

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung X G/N!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 1050

Warning: Use of the word Maid of Honor for the reader. I also got a little carried away...

Masterlist

Taglist: @foxwinter​ @imagine-a-life-like-this @mxnsxngie @maeleelee @kpop-will-kill-me

You were thoroughly freaking out. Your best friend wasn’t here at her rehearsal dinner for her wedding. According to a vague text to the bridesmaid group chat, she and her husband-to-be, Yeosang, were in Las Vegas and would hopefully be back for the actual wedding the day after tomorrow. But the officiant wasn’t about to postpone the rehearsal.

It had to happen today, whether the couple was here or not.

“You should fill in.” One of your other friends said. “You’re the maid of honor. And the best man should be the groom.”

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, biting your nail. This was crazy! But so many people were here and you knew at least the bridesmaids were desperate for dinner.

“Just do it already! I’ve already texted the best man and he said he’s in.”

“Oh my God!” You groaned before sighing. “Fine, let’s do this.”

Your friend stopped you from leaving the hotel room. “Oh, no, no, no. You’re not going out like that. This may be a rehearsal, but it has to be a good rehearsal. Let me fix all of this.”

As you let her fret over your appearance, you tried not to completely lose it. Wooyoung was the best man and he was your longtime boyfriend. You didn’t talk to him about wanting to marry him, but this would feel all too real. You weren’t sure you could do this.

“Alright, let’s do this thing!” Your friend cheered as she marched you through the hotel to the ballroom. She had you change into a white outfit, which you knew was her way of trying to get the idea of marriage into Wooyoung’s head. She was determined to score all the bridesmaid dates by the end of the wedding weekend and she was colluding with the bride to get you that ring by spring as they say.

Right before you entered the ballroom, you noticed the other six groomsmen standing around. As soon as San saw you, he gave a low whistle.

“Aren’t you just a vision?” He grinned. “Wooyoung is so lucky.”

“Of course you would say that.” Your friend rolled her eyes before placing her elbow on his shoulder. “Is everyone ready to do this thing?”

“Yep, just waiting on you guys.” He said as everyone paired up. “Wooyoung wants us to play maid of honor and best man.”

“Works for me.” She shot you a wink. “See you out there.”

And so began the rehearsal. You watched the six of them walk down the aisle as you fiddle with the makeshift bouquet in your hand. This was crazy, absolutely mad, but it was too late now. It was your turn down the aisle.

So you walked, your breath catching in your throat. Wooyoung was standing there in a simple white top and pants. And yet he looked ethereal, almost like an angel. And if you didn’t think about it, it almost felt like you actually were getting married to him.

As soon as you reached him, he took your hand. He leaned in and whispered, “You look extraordinary today.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You shot back with a teasing wink.

The officiant gave a vague description of how the ceremony was going to go and to make certain the walk down the aisle was correct. You made sure to memorize everything so you could tell the bride when she got back from her little impromptu vacation. However, you also noticed that Wooyoung was hardly paying attention. So you made sure to also have tips to pass on to Yeosnag when he came back as well.

When the rehearsal was finally over and you thanked the officiant, you slumped into one of the chairs. Your bridesmaid friend smiled as she sidled up next to you, San by her side.

“So, how did it go?”

“What do you mean?”

She nudged you playfully. “Did he pop the question?”

Your jaw dropped. “That’s so inappropriate, you know! This is someone else’s wedding! I am not getting engaged during our friend’s wedding weekend! And if Wooyoung knew me at all, he wouldn’t even dream of trying it!”

San held up his hands. “Alright, alright, relax! It was just a joke. But you have to admit, it did feel nice to feel like a bride, even for a brief moment, right?”

Shrugging, you looked away. “Even if it did, it’s not about me. Look, thanks for trying, but this isn’t the weekend to convince him to think about marriage, alright?”

Your friend wrapped her arm around your shoulder and squeezed. “Alright, we’ll stop meddling. But maybe, you know, you could still talk about it. Who knows. He might surprise you.”

Taking San’s hand, the two of them left for dinner. You stayed there for a little while longer, pondering over her words. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear Wooyoung take the seat that was previously occupied by your friend. You jolted a little in your seat when he knocked his shoulder with yours.

“I just wanted to let you know that no one in this wedding party has been discreet about trying to get me to ask you to marry you.” He explained softly, not looking you in the eye.

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “It all started when Hongjoong and Seonghwa got completely hammered after the bachelor party and tried to offer me big brother advice. And they haven’t stopped.”

“Ah.”

“Hey.” He took your hands gently and finally looked you in the eyes. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to propose, it’s just, I know a lot of things that you can’t tell anyone. San is going to propose a month after this wedding. Hongjoong is proposing in the spring and Mingi is proposing in the fall of next year. I just wanted our moment to be special, you know? Away from all of theirs.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t know. But you felt touched by the thought he put into it. Leaning against his shoulder, you closed your eyes as he kissed the top of your head.

“Thank you.” You whispered. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to think we’re engaged until we make it public. Are you okay with that?”

He nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

#Ateez #Ateez Fanfiction #Ateez Oneshot #KPop #KPop Fanfiction #KPop Oneshot #Atiny #Jung Wooyoung #Jung Wooyoung X Reader #Jung Wooyoung Fanfiction #Jung Wooyoung Oneshot #Jung Wooyoung Fluff #Wooyoung #Wooyoung X Reader #Wooyoung Fanfiction #Wooyoung Oneshot #Wooyoung Fluff #Wedding #Wedding AU #Oneshot #Fluff

[pirateprincessblog]

LIBIDINE

>> 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒕? <<

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: park seonghwa is a hard working, drop dead gorgeous, and caring man. he is a good boss, caring father and husband, and also almost thirty years older than alice. just why is alice so enamoured with this man, despite knowing that he could be her father?

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: love triangle, dilf!trope, age gap, dr*g abuse, domestic v*olence, daddy issues, cheating, erotic scenes

read here

#ateez #ateez imagine #ateez smut #ateez imagines #kpop smut #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa fanfiction #seonghwa smut #Seonghwa angst #seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa imagine #seonghwa imagine #seonghwa imagines #wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fan fiction #ateez fanfiction #Jung wooyoung smut #wattpad #ateez wattpad

[wewouldbesavage]

i'll be here, don't forget it | jwy

Synopsis: Somehow, Wooyoung always knew when you needed him. Even when you wouldn't say it out loud.

Word Count: 1280

Tags: fluff, established platonic or romantic relationship (up to you!), emotional hurt/comfort

Author's Note: first fic here i am very nervous but i hope you like it <3 very self-indulgent, i wrote it bc currently i am very stressed with college and need a wooyoung of my own lol

It was nearing midnight, and you were still sitting at your desk, hunched over your textbook and pages and pages of notes. Your desk had definitely seen better days, as currently it was stained with coffee cup rings and pens and highlighters were scattered about. You knew cramming the night before a test was bad, and you were usually pretty good about studying weeks before the day of a test; but you had an upcoming test in your philosophy class that you had completely forgotten about, and you were cursing yourself for not being more responsible. 

You could barely keep your eyes open as you silently read the same sentence in your textbook over and over again, trying and failing to understand what was being said. In defeat, you closed your textbook, slamming your head down on the desk, feeling the tears pool in the corner of your eyes. 

Suddenly, in the midst of your crying session, you heard three soft knocks on the door. You knew it would be no other than Wooyoung, your best friend and roommate. You sat up in your chair and hastily wiped away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. It's not that Wooyoung had never seen you cry; he had seen you in far worse shape, like the one time you drank too much at a party and spent a good few minutes puking up breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Or the one time you had your heart broken by your crush and you were a weeping mess for a week straight. Wooyoung was always there for you, and depending on what you needed in those moments, he always delivered --whether it be a stupid joke or a lengthy cuddle session, Wooyoung always knew what to do. 

"Come in," you said softly, trying to hide the tremors in your voice. Wooyoung opened the door slowly, peeking his head in first. When he took in the sight of your desk, his expression melted into one of concern.

"You're still up?" He asked, inviting himself in. You nodded sluggishly in response. 

"I'm studying." You replied, before chuckling dryly to yourself. "Well. I was studying." 

Wooyoung threw himself on your bed, yawning obnoxiously loud like he always did. "I can't imagine studying at this hour would be very effective." He said. 

For some reason, you felt like crying again. You kept your head down, not being able to meet Wooyoung's eyes, knowing full well that the dam would break if you did. Wooyoung, ever so observant, noticed this behavior and immediately commented on it. 

"Hey. What's up." He spoke. He didn't even have to ask if you were alright because he already knew. 

You shook your head, the tears gradually getting harder to fight. You felt so pathetic in this moment, crying over a test, but to be fair your entire week hadn't gone that great. It was exam season, and you had spent so much time working without giving yourself a single break. On top of that, you worked retail, and dealing with rude customers on the daily only pushed you further toward your breaking point. Now, you were studying for a test that you're sure you were going to fail. Your grade in your philosophy class wasn't fantastic to begin with, and if you didn't pass the exam it would most definitely put you at a failing grade. 

Everything was building up within you, ready to explode – and that's what happened next.

You started openly sobbing, your tears cascading rapidly down your cheeks. Wooyoung was by your side instantly, wrapping his arms around you. When you felt his arms encompass you, you closed your eyes and just focused on him. You were grateful for Wooyoung, because when it felt like you were floating, he would be there to ground you.

His oversized sweatshirt smelled of laundry detergent; fresh and clean. He was warm, so warm, and his hold on you was tight and reassuring. He rubbed your shoulder in a supportive manner, subtly reminding you that he wasn't going anywhere.

"It's okay. It's okay." He repeated, and you just kept crying and crying until your whole body was shaking and you were beginning to heave. 

Wooyoung kneeled down in front of you to look at you better, seeing as you were still seated. Both of his hands were on either side of your face. With your eyes bloodshot red and snot dribbling out of your nose, you were sure you looked hideous, but Wooyoung couldn't care less, even going as far as wiping away the wetness on your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"Look at me. It’s okay. Wooyoungie's here." He said with a silly smile, and almost instantly, you felt a smile appear on your face, too. 

"Come with me?" Wooyoung asked softly. You stared at him, confused. He nodded his head in the direction of your bed. "Let's rest, yeah? How does that sound?" 

With a final glance at your messy desk, you turned to him and said meekly, "that sounds so fucking good." 

Wooyoung grinned, grabbing your head and standing up. Together, the two of you walked the short distance to your bed. Wooyoung climbed in first, and he outstretched his arms, doing grabby hands at you and making you giggle. 

You slipped into bed next to him and immediately curled into his side. His arms were around you once more, his chin on top of your head. He rubbed your back gently, and for several minutes, the two of you laid there in complete silence (other than the sounds of your sniffles). 

Eventually, Wooyoung was the first to open his mouth. "How are you feeling?" 

You smiled into his chest. "So much better. I'm still worried about that test, though. I'm totally fucked." You replied. 

Wooyoung made a noise of disapproval. "Even if you don't do well, it's okay; it's not like your life will be ruined. People fail stuff all the time, it happens. If it makes you feel any better, I totally failed my math exam the other day." 

You snorted. "That actually does make me feel better." 

Wooyoung laughed, and it was adorably loud as always. "Well, good. That's what I wanted." 

A few more beats of silence pass. You feel your eyelids getting droopy, and Wooyoung's breathing has slowed considerably. Before either of you succumb to sleep, you say one more thing.

"What the hell would I do without you, Wooyoung?" 

Wooyoung chuckled and you could feel the vibrations through his chest. "Please don't get all cheesy on me now." He replied. 

You rolled your eyes. "I'm serious though. It's times like this where I'm reminded of just how lucky I am to have you." 

"Just the other day you called me an annoying buttface." 

"You still are an annoying buttface. But, like, a really awesome one." 

Wooyoung's high pitched laughter filled the room. 

"Well, I'm your annoying buttface." He replied, to which you pretended to gag. 

"I'm the cheesy one? What kind of k-drama are we in right now?" 

"Oh, shut up." Wooyoung said jokingly. "I love you. A lot." He said, his voice taking on a more serious and sentimental tone. 

You held onto him tighter. "Love you too, stupid. Thanks again." 

You felt his lips ever so gently caress the top of your head. It was a fleeting kiss, happening so quickly it was almost as if it never happened at all. But you felt it.

"Anything for you." Was the last thing you heard Wooyoung say before you fell asleep peacefully in his embrace.

#ateez fic #ateez fanfiction #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fic #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #atz fic #atz fanfic #atz fanfiction

[kwanisms]

➔ back to character select | back to main menu

🔞 many of these works contain sexual content (18+ mdni) 🔞 ♤ — angst :: ♡ — fluff :: ♧ — smut ✍ — ongoing :: ⊝ — hiatus :: ⊗ — discontinued :: ✓ — completed

— oneshots

»» Kinktober: begging + mommy kink ♧

➥ 6.4k; Wooyoung bites off more than he can chew when he agrees to finally meet his online dom in person.

»» Library of Illusion: Arachnophobia ♧

➥ 8.1k; Deep in the Horror Section, Y/N finds herself descending into a dark cave where she meets a man who is not what he seems.

ⓘ DISCLAIMER :: MONSTER/ALIEN FUCKER ENTHUSIAST ⓘ ©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me. Content and support banners made by me using cafekitsune's template.

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez x reader #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez masterlist #kwanisms masterlist

[nateezfics]

LET IT SNOW!

PAIRING — ateez x reader

GENRE — fluff, romance, established relationship, holidays, boyfriend!ateez, gn!reader

WARNINGS — no warnings apply;; just a lot of sappy sweetness <3

WORD COUNT — 2.6k

SUMMARY — fluffy snow, holiday movies, hot chocolate, and freshly baked gingerbread cookies. it’s the most wonderful time of the year!

HONGJOONG — “oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful.”

“it’s still snowing.” your voice was soft, barely audible over the crackling fire. snow fell gently outside the window, and while your head rested on a warm chest, you watched it fondly. you weren’t sure if you were heard until there was a small chuckle above you.

“the forecast called for lots of wintery weather,” hongjoong responded, shifting a bit so he could watch the snow with you. you lifted your head to allow him room to move, and once he was comfortable again, you nuzzled your face into his chest. his sweater was soft, and you inhaled his scent that was tangled in the fabric. “i don’t think the snow will be letting up any time soon.”

you hummed. you absentmindedly toyed with the edge of his sweater, liking the way it felt. you were comfortable just like this — laying on his chest, the two of you on the couch under a heap of blankets, and warm from the heat of the fire. free days like today were rare for hongjoong, and you were simply glad to be in his presence. you didn’t need to go out to do anything; watching the cold snow from the warmth of each other’s arms was enough. after some time of silence, you spoke up, “hey, hongjoong?”

“hm?” he sounded sleepy. you gazed up at him to find his eyes closed.

“i love you. and i’m glad we got to spend time together today.” your voice, while quiet, was full of conviction. you saw his lips curl into that smile you adored so much, and affection swirled in your chest.

hongjoong opened his eyes and bent his head to place a soft kiss against your hair. his arms grew tighter around you. “i love you, too,” he paused for a moment, feeling emotion for you surge, “and i wouldn’t trade these moments with you for anything.”

SEONGHWA — “and since we’ve no place to go, let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!”

“seonghwa! we can’t have a snowman without a nose!”

“i don’t think it matters,” seonghwa replied. he noticed you stop what you were doing, gloved hands frozen over the round rump of the man-shaped snow pile. he winced, immediately regretting his choice of words.

the debate of whether or not a snowman needed a nose was put to rest the moment you shot your boyfriend a glare. of course a snowman had to have a nose! duh! “yes, it does! now help me find something we can use.”

seonghwa was eager to aid you in your search for a nose, feeling a little bad about his earlier comment. the search was short lived since mostly everything was buried under inches of snow. “don’t snowmen usually have, i don’t know, carrots for noses?”

“yeah, but i didn’t think to pick up any carrots at the grocery store,” you said with a pout. your shoulders slumped in defeat. “there’s got to be sticks or something we could use…”

“it’s all under the snow,” seonghwa pointed out. at your pouty face, he smiled. he put a hand on your shoulder. “you know, our snowman may not have a nose, but —” he took the knitted hat off his own head and placed it on the snowman’s, “—he does have a cute hat!”

you giggled, appreciating your boyfriends attempt to make you feel better. it worked, and you instantly felt much more cheery. you looked over your snowman and smiled. “he looks good in that hat, but i think it looks better on you.”

seonghwa laughed as he leaned in to kiss your cold cheek. “of course it does, but i think i’ll let him keep it.”

you nuzzled yourself into his side in search for warmth. despite the layers of sweaters and jackets, the winter air still managed to get to you. “let’s go inside. all this snowman building has me freezing!”

seonghwa lead you inside, the two of you remaining close together. “sounds like we need some hot chocolate, yeah?”

YUNHO — “man it doesn’t show signs of stopping, and i brought me some corn for popping.”

“all these holiday movies are the same,” yunho critiqued just as the movie ended. he stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth while he watched the credits roll.

you huffed. “so what? i still like them. they’re nice and make you feel good! plus they always help to get you in that christmas spirit!”

yunho smiled at you fondly just as you finished speaking. “i know you like them,” he said, reaching over to grasp your hand in his. his larger hand overwhelmed yours, something that never failed to make the both of you laugh. “that’s why i sit here and watch them with you, even if they bore me to tears.”

you bumped his shoulder with yours. “i appreciate that.”

“so, are we watching another one?” yunho knew the answer already. another movie was starting just moments later. he reclined into the couch cushion, patting his chest in invitation.

you grinned and cuddled into his chest. when he sat the bowl of popcorn on his lap, you took the opportunity to grab you some. you watched the movie in comfortable silence, enjoying the time spent together. about halfway through, you had an idea. “hey, after this, do you wanna bake some cookies?”

yunho kissed the top of your head. cookies sounded very good, and his mouth was already watering at the thought of the warm and sweet treats. “as long as i’m with you, i’m up for anything.”

YEOSANG — “the lights are turned way down low. let it snow! let it snow!”

you took a step back to appreciate your work. you felt proud, eyes twinkling as you took in the sight of the glimmering tree. “it’s beautiful!”

yeosang, who had helped you decorate the tree, nodded in agreement beside you. the tree was alive with ornaments, shiny tinsel, and flickering lights. a star shined brightly at the top. “it is. you did a good job, babe.”

you blushed at the compliment. “not just me, you helped, too!” you reached for him and circled your arms around him, pulling him in close. your heart skipped when he returned the embrace, his scent filling your senses.

“the tree looks the same every year,” yeosang pointed out, and you didn’t know where he was going with that until he continued, “but every year i’m astonished at how pretty it looks.”

you giggled as you looked up at him. “i think it looks prettier after decorating it with your favorite person.”

“i think so, too,” he agreed. he gazed down at you, and affection buzzed between you. his face was very close to yours, leaving him only inches to cross if he wanted to. he looked so handsome amidst the colorful lights. you could see the lights from the tree playing in his dark eyes. “i never was into the holidays, at least not until i met you. you make me enjoy this time of year.”

you were touched. yeosang wasn’t a man of many words, but the words he did say were always so heartfelt and genuine. he never failed to remind you of just how much you meant to him. “i love you.”

yeosang finally closed the space between you, lips meeting yours in a slow kiss. “i love you, too.”

SAN — “when we finally kiss goodnight, how i’ll hate going out in the storm.”

you always loved christmas parties with friends. it made this time of year even more fun. wooyoung liked throwing a few of them at his place every year, and they were never short of a good time. especially once the eggnog got spiked (no one could figure out who kept putting alcohol in it, but everyone suspected mingi).

you sat on a couch in a less rowdy area. wooyoung’s apartment wasn’t the most spacious, and with so many people there wasn’t many places to go. but this little space in the living room was at least less crazy than the other side of the room, where wooyoung and yunho were taking shots while an exasperated hongjoong watched. you took a sip of your hot chocolate, enjoying the warm, chocolatey goodness.

“i wonder if alcohol would taste good in hot chocolate,” came san’s voice. he sat next to you with his own cup of hot chocolate.

you offered a smile towards your boyfriend. new boyfriend. the two of you had only started dating last month, but you’d been friends way before that. you were still acclimating to this new dynamic with san; going from friends to lovers was a major transition, but you both were happy to explore this relationship together. “nah, wouldn’t want to ruin a good thing. hot chocolate is superior on its own.”

san laughed and nodded in agreement. “yeah, maybe you’re right. besides, i think the spiked eggnog is a good example of what happens when alcohol gets in the mix.” you both eyed the commotion across the room with amusement.

“yeah,” you said into your cup. you hummed in enjoyment.

“hey, y/n?”

you met san’s eyes. heat rose to your cheeks when you noticed how close he was. you waited for him to say something, but no words ever left his mouth. instead, his lips met yours before you knew it. they were soft and tasted like chocolate, and you sought them out again just as he made to pull away.

san smiled into the kiss. “you had a hot chocolate mustache.”

you attempted to respond, but Wooyoung interrupted you before you responded.

“you guys realize we can see you, right?”

MINGI — “but if you’ll really hold me tight, all the way home i’ll be warm.”

mingi shivered. “must we really find a tree out here? it’s freezing!”

“oh, come on! being out in the snow, looking for that one perfect tree, it’s all part of the fun!” you made sure to not let him see you shiver.

mingi rolled his eyes. “i’d rather be at home, nice and warm. now that’s fun.”

you ignored him and kept on walking with him in tow. you went all over the tree farm in search for the best looking tree. it took a while, but eventually you found it, and you jumped for joy as you gazed at the full, lush tree. “mingi, this is the one!”

mingi eyed the tree. “it looks the same as the others?” you stilled, shooting him a cold look. he watched your smile fade, and guilt coiled in his chest.

“do you not enjoy doing this stuff with me?” you asked and he felt even worse. mingi sighed.

“i do,” he revealed as he stepped closer to you. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you feel like i don’t enjoy doing this with you. truth is, i enjoy it, i’m just a wimp when it comes to the cold.”

you smiled, elated over his words. “i know you hate the cold, and you still came with me despite that.”

“so apology accepted?”

“yeah, apology accepted.”

mingi grinned. “good, now come over here and hug me before i freeze!”

you laughed and wrapped your arms around him. you both reveled in the heat your bodies brought. mingi held you tight while you buried your face in his neck. “better?”

he nodded. “better.”

WOOYOUNG — “and the fire is slowly dying. and, my dear, we’re still goodbying.”

“that looks more like a gingerbread blob than a gingerbread man.” you rolled your eyes at wooyoung’s comment.

“so what he doesn’t like like a normal gingerbread man. i think he’s perfect just the way he is!” you gazed down at your gingerbread blo — gingerbread man. “and it doesn’t matter what they look like as long as they taste good.”

wooyoung laughed as he began piping icing onto his much more aesthetically pleasing and anatomically correct gingerbread cookies. “that’s what everyone who can’t bake says!”

you scoffed and swatted at his arm. you were glad when you caused him to mess up one of his cookies. “you are in my kitchen and you insult me? the audacity! i think you should leave!” you bit back a laugh when he made a face at you.

“it’s practically a blizzard outside. i’m not going anywhere in that weather. you’re stuck with me now!” wooyoung was so amused.

“fine, but you’re sleeping on the couch.” you started to decorate your batch of oddly shaped cookies. and in your opinion? they looked way better than wooyoung’s!

“oh really? then what must i do to get back into your good graces so i can be with you in the warm bed tonight?” wooyoung stopped what he was doing to look at you. you looked cute while you concentrated, focus on your cookies. really, your cookies looked a million times worse than his, but he couldn’t help but admire the way you looked at your batch so fondly.

you held up a finished cookie. it had a rounded shape with four nubs that only barely resembled hands and feet, and the icing work was slightly messy. wooyoung almost laughed, but refrained before he could let it slip. “you’ve got to admit my cookies are better!”

wooyoung sighed. “guess i’m sleeping on the couch then.” when you gave him a shocked look, he allowed himself to laugh. when you reached out to swat at him again, he caught your hand and pulled you close. “just kidding. your cookies are better than mine.”

you rolled your eyes, sitting the gingerbread blob on the counter. “it’s a good thing i love you, you know that?”

wooyoung pecked your lips. “i know.”

JONGHO — “but as long as you’d love me so, let it snow! let it snow! and snow!”

one thing was for sure: jongho was a ruthless opponent in a snowball fight.

he was relentless, throwing snowball after snowball at you. there wasn’t anywhere for you to go. your only opportunities to retaliate were the small spaces of time between his blows. you didn’t really land many hits on him, and after every missed snowball he’d laugh hysterically. you were about to admit defeat until you hatched an idea.

you waited until he sent a particularly hard snowball your way, and when it made contact with your side, you let out a loud yelp while falling to the snowy ground. you stayed down, feigning pain with your hands pressing into your side. jongho stood some distance away, unsure of what had happened. at first he was confused, but when you didn’t get back up, he rushed to your side.

“babe! are you okay?” he pulled you into his arms, eyes scanning over your body to find where you were injured. you had him right where you wanted him.

you gripped some snow into your gloved hand and smooshed it into his face. you were never going to forget the look on his face. you smiled victoriously. “gotcha!”

jongho grinned. “not fair!” his fingers poked into your sides, tickling you relentlessly.

you wiggled in his hold, not even caring about the cold snow under you. your laughter filled the winter air, accompanied by the sound of jongho’s own amusement. “okay, okay! i’m sorry! i surrender!”

“oh no! it’s too late for that!”

the tickling didn’t cease until many moments later. your sides hurt from his fingers and your laughter. you rested in his arms with your head on his shoulder. neither of you made a move to break apart, even though the snow was beginning to seep into your clothes. “i can’t believe you fell for it.”

jongho chuckled. “i can’t believe you cheated.”

“at least i managed to get one hit. i’m proud of myself.” you looked up at his cheek, still covered in snow. you kissed it as your way of apologizing. “i’ll play fair from now on, okay?”

“and i’ll take it easier on you from now on. maybe.”

AUTHOR’S NOTES — now that it’s december, i’m feeling the holiday spirit! i know fluff is so rare for me, but i just felt like posting something soft would be a good way to start off the holiday season 🎄

TAG LIST — @abiaswreck @jungkookieprincess @lilie-dctl @mjyungi @mylovelymito @marievllr-abg @nebulousbookshelf @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @thesafecafe

NETWORKS — @kflixnet @wonderlandnet

ALL FICS ARE THE ORIGINAL IDEAS AND WRITTEN WORKS OF NATEEZFICS. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. REPOSTING WITHOUT CONSENT FROM THE AUTHOR NATEEZFICS IS PROHIBITED!

#wonderlandnet #ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #hongjoong fanfiction #seonghwa fanfiction #yunho fanfiction #yeosang fanfiction #san fanfiction #mingi fanfiction #wooyoung fanfiction #jongho fanfiction

[daddyfordaeddy]

Pairing: Wooyoung x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1244

Warnings: cursing, none otherwise (smut warnings under cut)

Genre: smut, fluff, rated M for mature, established relationship au

Summary: It's your birthday and Wooyoung's a little surprised at your wish, but not against it

Smut warnings: fingering, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex (wrap before tap guys🔫)

Wrote this in one day (yesterday) but didn't finish it time to post on my birthday lololol that's what i get for starting it 6 hours before the day ends

When you wake up, you’re hot. And if Wooyoung was up, he would claim “Hell yes you are”, and wink. But he isn’t awake, just tucked into your neck with his arms wrapped around your waist as he snores lightly away. You chuckle at the sweet display, lifting your free arm to comb softly through his hair. It’s your birthday, and Wooyoung has taken the day off to be with you, a sweet gesture you appreciate.

He claimed yesterday that he would wake up early and make you breakfast, but his plans have not gone to fruition. Not that you minded at all. He had to stay at work late to make up for his absence today, and you didn’t really expect him to be able to wake up before you did. With a light kiss to the top of his head, you shimmy your way out of his grip, making sure to smooth down your shirt before making your way to the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of you.

As you start mixing batter for pancakes, arms wrap around your waist and a head reclaims its previous spot in the crook of your neck. “Why’d you go?” you hear Wooyoung mumble, half-asleep, and you chuckle.

“Gotta eat, babe. We can go back to bed after breakfast.” Wooyoung groans as he presses his face further into you. “If you help me out, I’ll give you a kiss.”

He tilts his head to look up at you with one narrowed eye. “It’s your birthday, you shouldn’t be bribing me to help you out. Move over, I’ll finish the pancakes.”

Considerably more awake than he was a few seconds ago, he pushes you away from the bowl with his hip and takes the whisk from you at the same time. With a sigh, you relinquish your control and go sit down at the counter. There’s no fighting him, but you’re not about to complain, not when you get a look at his toned back peeking out of his yellow sleep shirt and the soft curve of his ass.

The unholy thoughts don’t leave your mind as you eat the fluffy pancakes Wooyoung prepares for the two of you, not when your eyes flick to his delicious neck every so often. “Hey babe,” you hum as he bends to put your plates into the dishwasher. “What are the plans for today?”

Wooyoung shrugs, leaning over the counter on his elbows. “Whatever you wanna do, of course. It’s your special day, birthday girl.”

A smile tugs at your lips as you reach out and intertwine his fingers with yours. “I can think of one thing I want to do.” Wooyoung’s eyebrows raise as he waits. “I want to suck you off.”

Wooyoung chokes at your shameless admission—usually, it’s him who’s always making innuendos. “But it’s your birthday, shouldn’t I be the one ravishing–” he starts to argue but you snort.

“Yeah, and to celebrate me turning a year older I want to choke on your cock. Is there a problem?” Your smile widens at the look of both surprise and arousal on Wooyoung’s face. “Come on, you can’t say no to that, especially not today. Plus, who said I can’t enjoy having you weigh on my tongue?”

“Well, I won’t say no to that,” Wooyoung chuckles, straightening up. “Bedroom?”

—

Wooyoung sits against the headboard, you lying on your stomach between his legs as your hands press at his growing bulge. “Fuck,” you sigh. “What have you done to me, Wooyoung? Every day I wake up and all I want to do is suck your soul out through your dick.”

Wooyoung’s ears burn red as he bites his lip. As much as he dishes it out, he’s always embarrassed when you take the reins, but it’s something you find endearing about him. You tap his hip, and he moves so you can tug his boxers down, revealing his half-hard cock. Without hesitation, you lean forward and press a kiss to the velvety head, revelling in the way it twitches and leaks precum.

Wooyoung lets out a groan as your tongue pokes out to press gently into the hole and your hands move to grip the base of it. “(Y/N), you’re so good,” Wooyoung praises, his hands gripping the sheets already. You chuckle at how done he already seems to be.

Without warning, you relax your throat and let your head sink down onto his thick cock. As you told him earlier, the heavy weight on your tongue is one of your favourite feelings and you can feel your underwear getting wetter every second. 

Wooyoung’s hips are shaking with the effort to keep them still, and you chuckle, letting the vibrations of it add to the sensations around Wooyoung’s dick. You push your head down even deeper as your hands twist around the base of his cock. The veins press against your tongue and you can’t help but press your hips into the bed to try and relieve some pressure.

Your throat constricts and Wooyoung can’t help but let his hips buck up into your throat, ripping a moan out of both of you. You pop off his dick, the precum and saliva squelching as you look at him through your lashes. “Don’t hold back, just fuck my throat. Let me taste you,” you whisper before letting your mouth sink back down.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung whines, his first words since you started and his hands grip your hair, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. Once you relax your mouth enough, the movement becomes more practised and stronger and you moan around him.

He doesn’t last too long, his hips jerking until ropes of cum shoot into your mouth. You don’t move an inch, happily swallowing every last drop and swirling your tongue around the tip. As he lays back panting, you crawl your way up to him, leaving down to press a kiss to his lips before letting yourself settle to lay next to him.

You’re almost ready to just let the day continue with relaxing, but Wooyoung has other ideas, rolling over to cage you between his arms. “Done already? You didn’t even come, birthday girl.”

His hand slides down your torso until it reaches your clothed cunt, sliding past it to push his long fingers into your dripping folds. You throw your head back, eyes closing as he presses into the spongy part making your thighs clench. Wooyoung chuckles at the look on your face, shoving down your own shorts and grinding his half-hard cock against your folds.

Without warning, he slowly presses in and your legs hook around his waist and pull him even closer. “More,” you pant, “Please, Young-ah, please please please.”

Wooyoung tucks his face in your hair, peppering kisses on top of it as his hips piston even faster into you. “Look at you, birthday girl. So needy for me. But I live to serve, and you’re my life.” His head dips down to suck on your neck, gently scraping the sensitive skin with his teeth and you come undone, clenching hard onto his cock.

“Fuck,”  you both say in almost unison before Wooyoung pumps a second load of come into you, his hips stuttering as he kisses you deeply.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he smiles down at you, and you lean up to kiss him once more.

“Thank you for a wonderful morning, Young-ah. I can’t wait for another year with you.”

#cultofdionysusnet #kvanity #pirateeznet #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung smut #smut

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 07

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Seven: an orphanage, an elemental, and comfort

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

chapter wc: 13.2k

extra chapter warnings: n/a

chapter summary:

“Have you ever killed a person?” You ask, and Wooyoung finds he isn’t surprised by the question. He doesn’t want to answer it, but he isn’t surprised by it.

He also believes the answer is something you should hear.

“I have,” he replies. “But sometimes people are monsters too.”

a/n: gave up on nanowrimo bc big surprise, i don’t have the time! everyone act shocked! plus side is y’all get this a bit earlier. this chapter’s a bit of an odd-ball. different, but i think it’s important. enjoy!

“I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you-”

When Wooyoung awakens, it’s with a start. Flying upwards from his place atop the pillow as if forcefully pulled by an invisible string, he holds himself on the back of his hands, arms trembling as they individually steady on both sides of him.

The tent is dark, too dark. The moon having disappeared beneath a cloudy blanket for the night, he can’t see anything amidst the blackness. The only indication of San’s presence is the sound of his breathing, and Wooyoung acknowledges the steadiness of it. He’s sleeping well, soundly. The pattern is rhythmic, and it’s a relief. Wooyoung knows that the swordsman hasn’t had a solid rest since Gloria, having overhead as San has fearfully muttered Jay’s name in his sleep.

He’d reach out to touch him, to try and comfort him, but San has made a point of sleeping on the opposite side of the tent. Wooyoung has accepted that this is just the way it’s going to be for now, until San decides to tell him why exactly he’s been so angry with him these last few days. Wooyoung thinks he might be embarrassed from his breakdown after Gloria, but while that would explain the evasiveness, it wouldn’t justify the coldness the swordsmen has been inflicting on him.

It irritates Wooyoung, but maybe San just needs time, and he doesn’t have much choice but to grant it.

Even so, it remains true that he’s glad that San is finally sleeping peacefully. However, Wooyoung is not as fortunate. His chest heaves, each breath requiring an almost gruelling amount of effort. His palms are clammy, forehead drenched in sweat. His clothes cling to him as if threaded through his flesh.

It’s been a while since he last dreamed of them. Almost a month to be exact, but no matter how long it’s been, the nightmares always leave him feeling as if his skin has been turned inside out.

Bringing up a hand to wipe the hair that clings to his forehead, his fingers are almost too shaky to manage the task. Falling back onto his pillow, he stares up into the blackness.

Amidst it, Wooyoung sees a face. His face. Those mischievous, affectionate eyes. He sees the blood. He sees the burnt flesh.

Then he sees her. He sees her unbridled, agonizing tears. He hears her broken sobs.

Wooyoung needs to get out of this tent.

Pushing himself back upwards, it takes far more effort this time around, his body wishing for nothing more than to shut down. Yet, he manages, tossing the blanket off of himself - which has begun to feel far too hot, anyway - he rises to his feet. Keeping light on his toes as to not awaken the swordsman, he steps over him, lingering only a moment to gaze upon San’s sleeping form. It’s barely visible through the darkness, but Wooyoung can swear he sees the hint of a smile on San’s lips.

If it weren't for the way it currently feels as if he’s suffocating, Wooyoung would have the urge to smile too.

Sucking in a tight breath, the elemental slips through the tent-flap, out into the brisk forest air. After days of what has felt like endless struggle, the group of you have finally made your way out of the Calanthian Desert and into the outskirts of Morrow Forest, soon to be followed by the Burovian Mountains.

Wooyoung is immensely relieved. He’s considering approaching San and Seonghwa with the idea to take a different path on the way home from Kuroku. Even if avoiding the desert would lengthen the trip almost double-fold, he thinks they’ll all be in agreement that they never wish to touch another grain of sand so long as they live.

The wind of the forest is stronger than he’d expected, its brisk chill almost stinging against the sweat that beads along his forehead. He welcomes it, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. It almost works.

Turning towards the make-shift fire pit, he fashions a ball of flame within his hand, hoping to reignite the campfire. However, upon turning around he finds that the fire he’d started earlier in the evening continues to burn brightly, sparks flying as the large flame contests the sharp wind.

You sit, bundled in a woolen blanket as you cling closely to the fire’s warmth, hand resting on yet another log to feed the flame. You don’t notice him.

Wooyoung attempts to take a quiet step backwards and towards his tent, but the branch that crunches beneath his foot betrays him. Echoing throughout your campsite, he grimaces as your head whirls around, eyes locking with his own almost immediately.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Eventually, it is you who speaks. “I thought you went to sleep.”

Wooyoung doesn’t move, neither closer to his tent or towards the fire. “I did. I woke up.”

You hum at this, gaze drifting from his own and back towards the flames. You toss another log on top of them, and the fire crackles in appreciation, sparks billowing from beneath the wood. They dance around you, the growing flames casting a rich auburn glow over your face. It’s only then that he realizes you’ve been crying.

He swallows deeply, and despite himself, he takes a few steps towards the fire. His mind is not fuzzy per say, the nightmare enough to shock his brain into awareness, but in a way it feels as if he’s still dreaming. As if his body is being led rather than consciously moved.

“What time is it?” He asks, standing before the flames. He extends his hands out to warm them, although he strengthens the fire while doing so, feeds into its energy. It’s not a conscious decision, but instinct. A calling towards the element, a need to wield it. Seonghwa has described his gift the same way.

“A few hours near sunrise, I think” you reply, not looking up at him. Instead, your eyes reflect the flames as he bends them, there’s a certain emptiness to them.

Your eyes have held that emptiness since your run in with the mimic yesterday morning. You haven’t spoken much since then, and as much as Wooyoung wants to pretend he doesn’t, he feels for you.

He gets it, that helplessness. The realization of what horrors you are capable of. The fear that you would do it again.

Or worse, the knowing that you would do it again.

“You couldn’t sleep?” Wooyoung asks, and you laugh, although it’s more of a humourless exhale through your nose.

“I didn’t try,” you reply plainly. He isn’t sure what to say to this, so he remains quiet. After a tense moment, he sighs. He wants to be alone, to bend the flames until his mind slows down to settle back into a weak sort of half-rest. But now you’re here, and that doesn’t appear to be an option.

He can’t bring himself to resent you for it. He thinks that tonight you may need the company of the flames even more than he does.

When you finally speak, your voice is hollow. Defeated. “I killed a person.”

“You killed a mimic,” Wooyoung amends. He knows it won’t ease any of the pain, but he figures it’s worth an attempt. It’s a fact after all. “You killed a monster.”

“He looked like a person,” you reply, before shaking your head. Wooyoung fears you may begin to cry again, but you don’t, simply allow your eyes to fall shut. “He talked and breathed like a person. He bled like a person.”

There was a lot of blood, Wooyoung cannot deny that. Still, the statement rubs him as wrong, and he presses a little harder. “Yes, but he wasn’t a person. He was a monster.”

You don’t acknowledge this. Instead your eyes flicker open once more, staring into his own rather than the flame. “Have you ever killed a person?” You ask, and Wooyoung finds he isn’t surprised by the question. He doesn’t want to answer it, but he isn’t surprised by it.

He also believes the answer is something you should hear.

“I have,” he replies. “But sometimes people are monsters too.”

You blink at this, chewing on the corner of your lip as if mulling over his response, not entirely satisfied. “Does it keep you awake at night?”

Wooyoung does not have to consider the question before answering. “Somewhat,” he says, finally pulling his gaze away from you and up towards the sky, to the blackness hanging above him, to where the faces of his ghosts come alive.  “It’s a part of why I’m awake tonight.”

He thinks you may accept that as answer enough, but you do not. “Talk,” you say softly, and he can feel your eyes still on him even if he can no longer see them. “Tell me about it.”

“With all due respect, Kuroken,” he sighs, shaking his head. “We are not friends. We had an understanding yesterday, a mutual interest. Do not read any more into it than that.”

He thinks you may get angry at his dismissal, but instead you laugh. Genuinely, as if something about what he said was amusing.

“Do not mistake what I say as kindness,” you cut back, bringing your legs upwards and shuffling yourself backwards to lean against the log behind you. A far more comfortable position, as if you’re preparing to be seated there for a while. “I do not wish to comfort you, I wish to comfort myself. I figure since I am hardly more than a stranger, and will be out of your life forever in less than a week, you may be able to grant me that.”

The reasoning is strange, and Wooyoung looks over at you. Eyebrows furrowing together, he scans your expression in search of ill intent, of any falsity. You watch him in return, and your face gives nothing of the sort, only sincerity.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t make you,” you say, accompanied by a small shrug. “I just need a distraction. Maybe someone to relate to.”

If you had asked Wooyoung for anything similar yesterday morning, he would have laughed in your face. He would have told you to piss off, to leave him alone and talk to Seonghwa, or someone else who cared.

But Seonghwa wouldn’t get this, and San wouldn’t either. Neither of them have killed from fury, from unbridled anger and vengeance. Seonghwa doesn’t even kill the beasts they hunt, merely wounds them with his arrows. San does, but not humanoid beasts. Nothing that can speak to him. San had offered for them to kill the mimic yesterday morning, but Wooyoung knows that he would have been the one to do it. He would have been the only one who could.

Well, other than you. You did it, and you did it with a thirst. Passionate hatred, followed by agony.

And for the first time - not only on this trip, but in the years since the orphanage - Wooyoung saw himself in somebody. The darkest part of himself that he pretends does not exist, the part that would burn Jay alive if he had the chance, that sadistically screamed with a vengeance on that fateful night so many years ago. The part that haunts him with the horrors of what he has done, that keeps him awake on nights such as this one, he saw it in you.

It scares him to know that something so dark resides in you. A rich and pampered girl from Kuroku, who has known little of the danger they have all faced, whose mind is somehow a home to a fury so horrid.

It scares him equally as much how it comforts him to know that he is not alone.

“I don’t know, Kuroken,” he says, shaking his head. A part of him doesn’t understand why he doesn’t automatically decline. He does not talk about his dreams, just as he does not talk about his past. Partly due to the fact that he fears digging up old woes may only give them strength, will only cause them to fester. Best to keep the past buried, where only the subconscious of the night can touch them.

However, his avoidance also has to do with the fact that he doesn’t think San or Seonghwa would understand. They don’t carry that darkness with them, that same thirst for vengeance that he does. Seonghwa longs for his home in a way that reminds Wooyoung of a sailor, dreaming for a past land even though the sea carries him in the opposite direction. Even San, who has been wronged in the most horrific and deprecating of ways does not talk of killing Jay, only escaping him.

They would not relate to his history, nor would they respond to it the way Wooyoung wishes them to.

Which perhaps is why he now hesitates. You will relate to his history, to the horrors of his actions, at least a little more than they would. You would also not comfort him, not take his feelings on as your own responsibility the way they would.

His buried past has always been just below the surface, clawing at the dirt above, poking out a greedy hand whenever he has let his guard down. Maybe now is a chance to dig them up without the consequence, without the immense vulnerability. If he tells you now, in a week's time you will be gone, and then he can pretend as if he never did. Maybe then the ghosts will leave him alone, if he finally takes the opportunity to cast them out.

When he begins, he approaches the admission like descending into a free-fall.

“I grew up in one of the Libaiyan elemental orphanages,” he says, practically bracing himself for the spews of sympathy he’ll surely be given. Instead all he receives is silence, and when he glances up at you, he’s met with a bewildered look.

“The…what?” You ask, and he almost laughs. You must be joking.

“Come on,” he starts, raising an eyebrow as he snorts. He’s still not sure if you’re being serious, even as your confused expression does not change. “You said you’ve been working in the Libaiyan castle for the entire summer, surely you must have heard about the orphanages.”

“No,” you begin, hesitant. He’s not sure why, but the statement seems to strike you deeply, as your frown worsens. When you speak, your tone is almost defensive. “They don’t make orphanages strictly for elementals.”

At this he actually does laugh. “They do more than just that,” he replies, and when your frown deepens, jaw opening in something of shock, he pauses. “Do you actually not know what I’m talking about?”

Your lack of response is answer enough. Wooyoung blows out a puff of air through his lips, realizing that this may be more daunting than he’d expected. When people hear “Libaiyan elemental orphanage”, they’re prepared for the horrors they may hear. They know what to expect, and those are details that are anything but pleasant.

“Alright, Kuroken,” he sighs, finally relinquishing his standing position to seat himself beside you. “Brace yourself.”

“Wooyoung, put that back!” Winter spits, although her voice remains a hushed whisper as to not alert the warden. Reaching out to grab the extra breakfast roll, Wooyoung lifts it up and out of her reach. He’s not much taller than her, just the perfect amount that even as she rises onto her tip-toes, the bread remains just out of reach.

Wooyoung chuckles, pulling the bread back down and shoving the entire roll into his mouth. Winter glowers in response, and he laughs through the bite, little pieces of bread flying out with every individual chuckle.

“You’re a pig,” she mumbles, reaching forward to grab her own breakfast roll from The Caf’s counter. She doesn’t mean it, not exactly. After all, the singular breakfast roll they’re permitted is certainly not enough for any growing child. While she criticizes him for taking another one, she doesn’t truly perceive it as gluttony.

Wooyoung knows that she worries for him, she just doesn’t want him to get in trouble… again. He feels a little bad for the amount of stress he puts her through, as he always seems to be in trouble for something or other these days.

“Do you want me to grab you an extra one?” Wooyoung asks, and before she can irritatedly decline, a voice over Wooyoung’s shoulder answers for her.

“What, and drag her down with you on your quest to royally piss off every single warden?”

Wooyoung is already grinning before he turns around to meet the boy's eyes.

Despite his words, Yeonjun is smiling when Wooyoung turn’s to face him, looking down at him with affectionate eyes. Yeonjun is tall for his age, much taller than Wooyoung. It makes Yeonjun’s grey slacks fit better than his do, more fitted to his body compared to the way his own sag slightly. He isn’t sure why, but something about that makes Wooyoung feel lighter, his cheeks warm.

“Hey, I’m making progress,” Wooyoung chirps, walking past Yeonjun to grab a cup of water. It’s made of paper, as to not grant the children any possible weapons should they break them. The cups are also only half-full, so should they choose to wield their gift, there wouldn’t be enough water for them to do any damage, either.

It’s smart, fool-proof. They’ve had over a decade to perfect the system.  

“I think I only have a couple left,” Wooyoung boasts, waiting for Yeonjun and Winter to grab their own cups of water before making his way over to a spare table. “Well, maybe more. This guy is new, I think.”

Wooyoung nods over to the new warden in the far corner of the room. He looks just like the rest of them, adorned fully in white armour, the Libaiyan sigil across his breast-plate. The only way to differentiate him from a regular soldier is the fact that the majority of his face is covered, an embarrassingly large helmet to hide all of his facial features but his eyes.

When he was younger, Wooyoung didn’t understand why they wore that. It looked ridiculous, especially considering they were tasked with watching and disciplining children. Even if they were elementals, it’s not like they were given access to any elements to bend. Well, unless they were more-so air affiliated like Yeonjun, but even then you quickly learned the repercussions of wielding the elements anywhere outside of practice.

Wooyoung now understands that it is to make them look inhumane. Soldiers, not to be mistaken as care-givers, or a replacement to a parent. They are not here to love the children, they are here to shape them. Discipline them, turn them into the soldiers they are meant to be.

It makes Wooyoung feel sick.

“Well, I’m sure it won’t be long until you can check him off your list,” Winter says, and despite the way she rolls her eyes, Wooyoung can detect a certain amount of fondness in her tone.

“That’s the spirit,” Wooyoung grins. Taking a sip of his drink, he reaches forward to try and sneak a bite of her breakfast roll, to which he’s met with the water in his cup spontaneously flying up at him and into his nose.

Spluttering, he pulls his hand away, and Winter giggles to herself. Bringing her own hand - the culprit to the water’s sudden attack - back down, he hadn’t even noticed she’d raised it in the first place. After all, she has to be sneaky about it, if she doesn’t want to get caught. “Nice try,” she snorts, taking a large bite of the roll, wrinkling her nose at him in a teasing fashion.

“Mean,” Yeonjun says, reaching over from his place beside her and ruffling her dark hair. Winter whines, shoving his hand away. Yeonjun often treats her as the child of their trio, even though she’s only a couple months younger than Wooyoung, who is only a few months younger than Yeonjun. As of now they’re even all the same age, thirteen.

Winter despises it when Yeonjun teases her, which Wooyoung finds amusing.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” Yeonjun asks, shifting his attention to Wooyoung. When he raises an eyebrow, Yeonjun clarifies: “It’s the first day of the autumn season.”

Wooyoung groans, having completely forgotten. “Don’t remind me,” he grumbles, dramatically burying his face in his crossed arms resting on the table.

The first day of the autumn season, or in other words, Assessment Day. The day in which the Libaiyan King makes sure all his little soldiers are being bred and trained to perfection. It’s a day of challenges, of performing different functional tasks and sparring against the other orphans.

For most, Assessment Day is gruelling and tiresome. For kids like Wooyoung, who can barely use their gift, it’s utter hell.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll get it this time,” Winter offers. She’s trying to be kind, but Wooyoung just feels patronized.

“Or maybe I’ll sprout wings and fly us all out of here,” he mutters, and he doesn’t miss the concerned glance Yeonjun and Winter share between one another. They’ve been watching him get his ass-kicked and confidence beaten down on Assessment Day for years now, and Wooyoung can tell that they’re starting to feel as dejected as he does.

“It’ll be alright,” Yeonjun says, reaching over and holding Wooyoung’s hand on the table. The gesture makes Wooyoung’s heart beat a little faster. “You could surprise yours-”

Yeonjun isn’t given the chance to finish the sentiment, as he’s cut off by a loud banging noise. The pounding echoes loudly throughout The Caf, the sound bouncing off its thick concrete walls, and Wooyoung’s hands fly up to cover his ears.

“Chit-chat is over!” A voice announces, followed by another fit of banging. Wooyoung turns to find that the source of the noise is the warden, the new guy. Not necessarily a surprise, considering the mallet and miniature gong he holds in his hand is also new. And loud. Wooyoung hopes it doesn’t become a regular presence during breakfast, he’s already not much of a morning person.

“Everyone stand for the pledge of allegiance,” the warden orders, and for a moment nobody moves. Winter raises an eyebrow, casting Wooyoung a wary look. They don’t pledge allegiance to the king in the mornings, only after dinner.

“I’m sorry, you all must not have heard me,” the warden laughs, before banging the mallet against the gong three more deafening times. “Get on your fucking feet.”

They don’t need to be told a third time, as The Caf is immediately filled with the sound of kids shuffling themselves off of the cement benches. Turning towards the Libaiyan flag that hangs in the top corner of the room - a golden sun cast over a stark white background - everyone opens their mouth in unison, prepared to speak.

“Hold on,” the warden says, lifting a hand up in protest, and the entire room hesitates. “There are going to be some new rules around here, I suggest you listen closely, you wouldn’t want to be caught forgetting them.”

Wooyoung frowns. Who is this guy?

“Firstly, we will pledge allegiance three times per day, at every meal. Assessment Day will no longer be at the start of every season, but every month, and we will focus solely on sparring. When you receive an order, you are expected to follow it, immediately and with no questions asked. Disobedience will not be tolerated, and neither will dawdling. You are expected to-”

“Somebody's got a big ego for his first day on the job,” Wooyoung whispers to Yeonjun, who stifles a laugh.

The warden suddenly pauses. He doesn’t even need to scan the room, his eyes land immediately on Wooyoung.

“Jung Wooyoung,” he says, and the boy freezes. How does he already know his name? “Get your ass to the front.”

He doesn’t move, and the warden’s eyes widen, almost crazed. Wooyoung cannot see the rest of his face through the mask, but he can almost hear the smirk in the man’s voice. “What did I just say about dawdling?”

Winter gives him a small nudge from behind, pushing him forward. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him as he makes his way to the front. It doesn’t really bother him, it’s not the first time he’s been reamed out in front of everybody. He’s been yelled at so many times he’s lost count, and received a belt to the wrist enough that the skin is almost permanently bruised.

He’s not ashamed of it, if anything, he’s proud. They can’t break him, he hasn’t let them. He will never let them.

When he gets to the front, the warden places a hand on his shoulder. His touch is gentle, and yet the gesture feels anything but compassionate.

“Jung Wooyoung,” he repeats, tilting his head as his eyes flicker up and down, observing him. “The other warden’s told me about you.”

Wooyoung knows that he shouldn’t say anything, but he can’t help himself. “All praise, I’m sure.”

The warden laughs, but something tells Wooyoung that he doesn’t actually find his words amusing. “They tell me you’re nothing but a brat,” the warden answers, tone almost jovial. “Supposed to have an affinity to fire, yet can barely light a candle. A waste of a good pair of slacks. ”

Wooyoung stiffins, the comment causing a flare of annoyance to light inside of him. “I could say the same about your uniform.”

For a moment, the warden pauses, entire body stilling. Looking Wooyoung in the eye, the elemental cannot quite make out what he’s thinking, but something about the warden’s gaze troubles him. There’s a darkness behind his eyes, something sinister.

Then the warden grabs him by the back of his hair - which is conveniently tied into a short ponytail, perfect for grabbing -and cracks Wooyoung’s nose over his knee.

The shock of the blow is enough for him to let out a gasp, a few seconds passing by before he’s even able to register the pain. Instead, he feels the blood pouring from his nostril, a steady stream that drips down onto his lips.

Hand still gripped in his hair, Wooyoung is pulled harshly towards the warden’s face. The man’s breath smells of something sweet, almost sickly so. Wooyoung focuses on keeping the tears that dwell in his eyes from falling.

“You’ve been lucky to get away with this piss-awful attitude,” the warden grits through his teeth. His voice is drawn low, but the room is so silent that Wooyoung is sure everyone can hear him anyway. “Fortunately, that ends today.”

At this, his grip tightens, yanking Wooyoung away from his face and holding him outwards to look at the rest of the children. The warden grasps him a little too high, so that Wooyoung has to remain on his tip-toes in order to touch the floor. He feels like a doll, a toy haphazardly being tossed around.

“The King is unimpressed with your progress,” he announces to the room, shaking Wooyoung as if he’s an exhibit to his point. “The other warden’s have been going far too easy on you. You are soldiers, not children. They appear to have forgotten that.”

Shoving Wooyoung forward, the sudden loss of his grip as him stumbling, crashing down onto the cement floor. His knees burn at the impact, skin stinging through the newly-formed holes in his slacks. He grimaces.

“That is why I’m here,” the warden continues, tone almost proud. “Today, I take matters into my own hands, in the name of your true lord.”

Wooyoung turns backwards, eyes locking with the warden’s. The man does not look away.

“Today, the formation of the new army finally begins.”

“Maybe they’ll match you up against Felix  next,” Winter says, gently wrapping a bandage around Wooyoung’s freshly burnt wrist. It stings and Wooyoung can’t help but wince, to which she casts him an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, he can barely form a gentle breeze,” Yeonjun adds, giving Wooyoung a pat on the back. It doesn’t reassure him, it just hurts. He’s really fucking sore.

“They aren’t going to pin me against Felix,” Wooyoung murmurs, shaking his head. “If you haven’t noticed, they only pair people up with the same affinity.”

And because Wooyoung is just so damn lucky, that means he’s paired with those of the fire affinity. Or in other words, the most painful affinity.

He doesn’t think it’s fair, mostly because it’s a joke to even say he has an affinity to fire. It’d be more accurate to say he has an affinity to nothing. Hell, he’s barely even an elemental. He can light a candle on a good day, he’s no more useful than a flint and steel.

It also doesn’t help that Winter and Yeonjun are both extremely talented in their respective areas. Winter has an affinity to water, especially in its frozen form, it’s how she got her nickname. Wooyoung’s seen her lift about a ton of ice from a frozen pond, which had even the supervising warden impressed.

Meanwhile, Yeonjun is talented in basically all elements. He can light a fire out of thin air, redirect a rushing stream, or even separate a rock clean into two. The wardens only labeled him under the affinity of air because it’s undoubtedly his greatest strength. Watching him spar is like watching the wind blow, he has an unmatched elegance, using the breeze to increase his speed and strength behind his strikes.

Wooyoung wishes he was like that. He wishes he could simply light a torch, or strengthen a flame. He wishes the word “gifted” applied to him, because “fraud” is beginning to feel more and more appropriate.

It’s been three months since the new warden showed up, meaning three Assessment Days have come and gone, meaning Wooyoung has gotten his ass handed to him enough times that he’s even been tempted to pray to the gods for a miracle. Well, not a miracle, more so a chance to actually use the gift they supposedly gave him.

“Jung,” a voice pipes up from outside the medical tent, and Wooyoung already knows who it is before turning to face him. Nobody else calls him that.

The warden - or Warden, as they’ve taken to referring to him as based on the fact that he is clearly a level above the rest of them - stands in the entry-way with his mask and thick white armour, arms crossed. “Get in the ring, you’re up next.”

“But he just finished a match!” Winter protests, placing a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder defensively. Warden chuckles.

“Get in the ring, Jung,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Don’t drag your friends that are actually competent down with you.”

While Wooyoung doesn’t see eye to eye with Warden on much, he does agree that he doesn’t want Winter getting into any trouble on his account. Gently removing Winter’s hand from his shoulder, he gives her a small smile before following Warden out of the tent. Both her and Yeonjun trail after them, keeping their fair-share of distance so as to not irritate Warden.

“Who am I sparring with?” Wooyoung asks, and Warden’s hand falls onto his shoulder, painting the illusion of comfort. He does his best not to flinch, Warden always does this before he’s about to announce something awful. Wooyoung braces himself, maybe he’ll be forced to spar with Taehyun again, his leg is still healing from the burn marks from over a month ago.

“Me,” Warden answers, and Wooyoung stills, feet rendered imobile as his entire body freezes. Warden stops with him, as if he’d expected it.

“What?” Wooyoung asks, and he hates the way his voice shakes, a mixture of both shock and fear. “But that’s not part of the rules-”

“The rules are that we match you together based on your affinities,” Warden explains, leaning in a little closer. His eyes bare into Wooyoung’s, an icy shade of pale blue that feels almost inhuman. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have an affinity. Which means I’m the only one here you can spar with. Isn’t that fair?”

Wooyoung doesn’t respond. Warden finally removes his hand from the boy’s shoulder, making his way towards the ring. Wooyoung can’t bring his feet to move.

Warden twists around, blue eyes glinting in the reflection of the fallen snow. “Come on, Jung. Let’s get this over with.”

“He’s a fucking tool,” Yeonjun spits, wrapping a bandage around Wooyoung’s finger. Wooyoung winces, biting hard on his lower lip in hopes of distracting himself from the pain. He’s sure to keep his gaze on Yeonjun’s face, as the horrific angle at which his finger is bent is too sickening to look at.

“We’ve done little to no sword training, and yet he thinks it’s funny to take you on like that in front of anyone? What a prick,” Yeonjun continues. He’s practically fuming, and Wooyoung isn’t sure if he’s ever seen him like this. Maybe when Winter stole his family ring during a particularly bad spat between them a few years ago, but even then he calmed down pretty quick after they sorted it out.

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung says, even though he doesn’t mean it. He’s fuming inside, and frankly doesn’t understand why he’s trying to console Yeonjun considering he is the one with the broken finger. He just doesn’t like seeing Yeonjun upset.

“It’s not fine,” Yeonjun says, gaze flying upwards from the bandages to meet Wooyoung’s own. “Someone should teach him a lesson.”

Wooyoung knows that he’s being sincere, but he can’t help but snort at that. “Who, you?”

“Why not me?” Yeonjun asks, taking his words as a challenge. “If he took off that armour I could beat him in a fight. I could beat him using just one element.”

“And then what?” Wooyoung asks, giving him a sad smile. “Get beaten to death by the other wardens for defiance?”

“Well for you maybe it would be worth it,” Yeonjun grumbles. Wooyoung knows that he’s just mad, that he doesn’t really mean it, but he wishes Yeonjun wouldn’t say things like that. Half because it hurts him, half because it makes his chest swell in a way he can’t explain.

Wooyoung doesn’t say this, instead settling for silence as Yeonjun finishes wrapping his finger. He watches as Yeonjun’s eyebrows draw together in deeper concentration, full lips pouting absently.

“There,” Yeonjun says suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts. “All better.”

Finally looking back down at his hand, he isn’t sure if he agrees with the sentiment. The wrapping is by no means professional, as well as uneven in places. But considering he wasn’t permitted to visit the medical tent after the fight, it’s the best that he can ask for. After all, it does look better, not perfect, but also not noticeably crooked or coated in blood.

Wooyoung stares at the bandage, flipping his hand over and then back again. Then he looks up at Yeonjun, and the words are out of his mouth before he can contemplate them.

“What if we escaped?”

Yeonjun looks back at him, eyes wide in surprise. “What?” He asks through a laugh, assuming that he’s joking.

Except Wooyoung is not joking. Looking out the window to his right, the moon shines brightly upon them. It’s a beautifully clear night for the middle of winter, especially in southern Burovia, where the weather tends to be more extreme. “What if we took off in the middle of the night?”

“They’d kill us, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun says, voice soft. He’s not angry in his disagreement, but gentle, as if he wishes he had Wooyoung’s spark. “They have guards stationed all over the grounds, you know that.”

“But what if we really planned it out?” Wooyoung continues, rising to his feet and moving over to the window. His mouth is moving faster than his thoughts. Until now, he’d never even considered deserting, but now that he’s speaking he can’t believe he dreamed of anything but leaving. Overthrowing the wardens is an impossible task, but escaping them? Now with that they may have a shot.

“If we figured out which areas are the least guarded, which hallway has the quietest floorboards to tread over. We could search for which warden has a trick knee, or maybe a weak ankle. You even said you could take out the strongest warden with just one element, surely you could take out a few weaker ones with all four!”

“Okay, wait, slow down,” Yeonjun says, placing a steadying hand down on his shoulder. “Are you being serious?”

Wooyoung whirls around to face him, mimicking the gesture by placing his own hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “I’ve never been more serious.”

For a moment, Yeonjun remains silent. Eyes flickering over Wooyoung’s features, he opens his mouth to say something, before snapping his lips shut as if deciding better. He tries again, and this time his tone is hesitant. “I think it’s an awful idea. But if you are going to leave, I’ll come with you.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow together at this. “If you think it’s stupid then don’t come, Jun. I’m not forcing you.”

“I know you’re not,” Yeonjun replies, almost a little too quickly. Once again, he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. Wooyoung feels a jolt of annoyance.

“If you’ve got something to say, then just say it,” he says, crossing his arms. “I don’t get why you have this constant need to protect me. I can take care of myself, whether you come or not, so don’t feel obligated-”

“I don’t feel obligated,” Yeonjun cuts in, tone serious, and Wooyoung eyes him carefully. When Yeonjun’s eyes meet his own, the older one does not look away. “But you’re right that I want to protect you.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Why? I know I can’t use my gift and that makes me useless by yours and Winter’s standards, but I’m not some helpless-”

He’s cut off by Yeonjun’s lips placing themselves on his own.

Wooyoung blinks, eyes practically glued to Yeonjun’s nose-bridge as he can not bring himself to move. Entire body frozen, he attempts to get the gears in his mind to start turning again, the entire system momentarily on lock-down.

Until now, he’d never been kissed before. He’d imagined it, certainly. Not really with anyone in particular, but rather just what it may be like. He knew it was supposed to be nice, having overheard some of the older kids who were emitted to the orphanage in their teenage years talk about it before, but he didn’t really understand why.

Why would shoving your lips against another person’s be pleasant? In fact, the thought of his tongue being anywhere near someone else’s was utterly repulsing. As far as Wooyoung was concerned, saliva should be reserved to a person’s own mouth, and nowhere else. Spit was considered indecent, so why would people voluntarily ingest it.

But now, as Yeonjun places his hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder in order to pull him closer, he guesses it sort of makes sense.

Closing his eyes, he attempts to reciprocate this kiss. He feels a bit awkward, focusing too much on what his own lips are doing, almost self-conscious. His arms hang inept at his side, and he wishes he had some sort of clue for what to do with them.

The kiss only lasts a few seconds before Yeonjun pulls away. When he does, it takes Wooyoung a moment to open his eyes again. He finds that Yeonjun is already looking at him. There is a small smile on his face, almost amused, but not quite. Affectionate, perhaps.

“It’s not that I think you couldn’t do it without me, Wooyoung. I know you’re fully capable,” he murmurs, hand gently squeezing Wooyoung’s shoulder. “It’s that I can’t stand the thought of being left here without you.”

Wooyoung doesn’t know what to say, as his tongue has apparently decided to lose its ability to form words, so he simply nods.

“It’s dangerous,” Yeonjun continues. “Incredibly stupid, but if you really want to do this, I’m coming along. Whether you like it or not.”

“I like it,” Wooyoung replies dumbly, and Yeonjun lets out a breathy chuckle. The boy may only be a few months older than Wooyoung, but at this moment Wooyoung feels about a million years younger. Yeonjun has always been so confident in everything he does, in combat practice and in conversation. Even now, after taking such a leap of faith, he appears unphased. Maybe a little giddy, yes, but not nervous or afraid.

Wooyoung tries to be the same way, but for him it feels like pretending, like he’s putting on an act. He wishes that one day he’ll hold that same sort of natural sureness that currently makes his own heart race a little too quickly.

“We’ll have to talk to Winter, get her on board,” Yeonjun says, pursing his lips in thought. After a moment he sighs, shaking his head. “She is not going to like this.”

“We’ll convince her,” Wooyoung assures him, before shrugging. “When does she like any of our ideas at first, anyway?”

Yeonjun laughs at this. His gaze drifts out the window, the smallest hint of a smile settling on his lips. Hand suddenly reaching out, his fingers intertwine themselves with Wooyoung’s own, who clumsily accepts them.

“Alright,” Yeonjun breathes, and his tone is playful. Teasing, as he squeezes Wooyoung’s hand. “You better not get us all killed.”

It’s two months after the night Yeonjun kissed him that they escape the orphanage. Two months of planning their escape route, of sneaking out to test the floorboards in the middle of the night, and nearly getting caught a handful of times. Of observing the different wardens to check for any physical flaws, discovering one with a trick knee and another with the slightest hint of limp. Of analyzing their posture and stature in order to figure out which warden is placed on watch duty at the gate of the east entrance, so they can plan which night the weakest will be on guard.

Two months of making sure that their escape plan is foolproof, that there is no possibility for failure.

And as of now, it seems that their persistence has paid off.

An hour outside of the orphanage gates, the forest stands thick around them. Guided by the light of the moon, as well as the ball of fire within Yeonjun’s palm, they creep quietly across the beaten forest past. They aren’t sure where exactly they’re going, never taught the geography of Burovia - or of anything outside of the orphanage’s walls - but they hope that if they follow the path long enough they’ll wind up somewhere more populated.

“I think I hear something,” Winter whispers, grabbing Yeonjun’s arm from out in front of her and pulling him back, before casting Wooyoung a worried glance.

“It’s just the wind, or maybe a squirrel or something.” Yeonjun assures her, chuckling as he pulls his arm free. “You’re being too paranoid. We’ve done it.”

“We haven’t done it,” she argues, although she does start walking again in order to continue after him. “They could still find the guards in the bush and come after us, or check our sleeping quarters. They could be following us right now.”

Yeonjun had been right, Winter did not want to do this. When they first approached her with the idea, she’d told them that they were both insane and that she would have no part in their madness. However, after about a month of Wooyoung and Yeonjun planning their escape, she must have begun to feel left out. Or better, scared that they may go through with it, and then she would be left behind.

Wooyoung feels a little bad for dragging her into this, especially considering it had been his idea, but he knows that at the end of the day she wants this just as bad as they do. It’s been years since they entered the orphanage together, eight to be exact, and they’ve all been forced to deal with the warden’s cruelty. The unyielding obedience, the severe punishment. Just last month Winter was locked in the watch-tower for three days after being a few minutes late to breakfast, and thus the pledge of allegiance.

Wooyoung cannot wait to never pledge that stupid oath again in his life. Maybe the three of them will develop a new oath, one that pledges to never stop seeking vengeance on the King of Libaiya for what he did to them.

“It’ll snow within the next few hours, I’m sure you can feel it,” Yeonjun reasons, raising a hand to let the wind trickle between his fingers. “That will cover our footprints. We’ll be fine.”

Winter doesn’t say anything in response, chewing nervously on her lower lip as her gaze scans the underbrush, barron in its frozen state. “Something just feels off, like it was too easy.”

“That’s because we planned it,” Wooyoung says, teasing. “Did you want it to be difficult?”

“No, I did not want it to be difficult,” Winters spits, as if it is the most brainless thing she’s ever heard. Then she sighs, arms wrapping around herself, more from fear than the cold.  “I just… don’t you think it should have been?”

As if on cue, an arrow flies out from the forest, lodging itself deeply within her shoulder.

Winter lets out a scream, one loud enough that Wooyoung would normally wish to cover his ears, if it weren’t for the sudden ringing that blares through them. Winter stumbles backwards a few steps, eyes blown-out wide as she stares in shock at the wound.

“You’re a clever girl,” a voice speaks out from the forest. A voice Wooyoung knows, with an arrogant tone that has practically embedded itself in his mind. His heart stops. “So much potential. Unfortunate how you got yourself wrapped up in the wrong crowd.”

Warden steps out of the bush, white armour gleaming in the moonlight cast down from above the tree’s canopy, like a king standing atop the equally stark white snow.

“No,” Wooyoung thinks, mind fogging in a haze of shock and horror. “No, no, no.”

Warden is not alone, as almost a dozen other sets of white armour walk out behind him. One of them has a bow in hand, the obvious culprit of the arrow. They filter out of the forest like ants, swarming out around them in a semi-circle, so that if they were to run it would be directly back in the direction of the orphanage.

“I knew you were pathetic, Jung. But deserting?” Warden says, piercing eyes watching him through the mask. “This is a new level of low, even for you.”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to defend himself, but Yeonjun speaks before he has the chance. “Piss off,” he spits, the ball of flame in his hand sparking higher, a testament to his rising anger.

“And you,” Warden begins, eyes drifting from Wooyoung to land on Yeonjun. “You are talented, you actually fulfill the word gifted. And yet you decided to throw it all away for your useless little boyfriend?”

Now this catches Yeonjun off guard, jaw hanging open slightly, eyes widening as if caught.  “H-how did you-”

“You think I didn’t know?” Warden cuts him off, before laughing to himself, a borderline insane sound. “Do you actually think I’m not aware of every little thing that goes on in those walls? In my walls?”

Yeonjun’s lack of response seems to be answer enough, and Warden continues.

“Do you think you actually got away with sneaking through the halls around the sleeping quarters every night? That I didn’t notice the creaking floorboards? Or that I didn’t see you eyeing the wardens, whispering to one another after noticing Carter’s limp?”

Carter. It’s strange, that’s the first time Wooyoung has heard one of their real names. It almost feels too human.

“Did you really think I started putting the two weakest guards together on the least secure gate every Monday night just out of stupidity?”

Wooyoung swallows hard, a sob arising thickly in his throat. They messed up. He messed up, dragging them into this, for thinking they ever could have outwit Warden.

They were just kids, trying to play a grown-up game. Now they’ve lost.

“I knew everything, I know everything, and I will always know everything that happens within my walls,” Warden says, hand suddenly drifting to the sword against his hip, grip tightening on its hilt. “And don’t worry, your attempt at escape will not be pointless. I’ll bring your bodies back to the quarters, send a message to any others who are harbouring any similar ideas.”

At this he raises a hand, snapping his fingers before pointing forward, clearly a non-verbal command as the rest of the wardens begin to move behind him, creeping towards them slowly. Warden stands tall, gaze darting between the three of them, sharp and analytical.

It’s not until now that Wooyoung truly acknowledges how powerful he seems. Aside from his hatred toward the horrible cruelty of the man, he radiates an undeniable sense of command. Wooyoung wonders what his place used to be within the king's army, perhaps a lieutenant or even a captain. He wonders why he left, how he ended up here.

It doesn’t really matter, he’ll never have the chance to find out.

The wardens each unsheath their sword, and Wooyoung finds himself taking a step back. He’s entirely useless, no weapons or magic of his own to fight with. They tried to take a sword from one of the guards, but considering it both weighed a ton and none of them knew how to wield it, it seemed redundant.

Now he wishes they did, at least then he’d have the illusion of being able to defend himself. Maybe he was wrong for getting annoyed at Yeonjun for always feeling the need to protect him, because as of now, he needs it.

Winter raises a shaky hand, attached to the arm that is not currently impelled. Taking a closer look, it doesn’t seem too bad. Well, not exactly. It looks horrible, the arrow sticking out from the edge of her shoulder, but it doesn’t appear to be fatal, as even the amount of blood is limited.

Wooyoung wants nothing more than to rush over to her and check if she’s okay, but something tells him any sudden movements are only going to set the warden’s quicker in motion.

Yeonjun, fortunately, doesn’t have to move much to begin causing damage. Bringing both hands up from his side, he summons a ball of flame in one, before using the other to blow a gust of wind behind it. A sort of make-shift flamethrower, a few wardens take a step back from the flame, as it spreads in a thick line before them.

Meanwhile, although Winter’s abilities are limited due to only having one hand, she begins to use her water affinity to its advantage. The snow around them begins to lift, like a massive white blanket flying above the ground, floating upwards until it hovers at eye-level. Then she clenches her fist, and it all rushes towards them, like a terrifying blizzard limited to only a few seconds.

And Yeonjun does not waste a single one of them.

When he approaches the wardens, it’s like a gust of wind whirling between buildings, sharply twisting and turning with a grace that could only be gifted by the god of the air. When he strikes a warden, it’s less with his fist, and more the gust of wind emitted from it, causing them to fly backwards as if thrown by something far stronger.

Blinded by Winter’s blizzard, the wardens are terribly thrown off, and Yeonjun handles them with ease. They drop like flies, or better, dominos that tumble down one after the other.

It strikes Wooyoung in this moment just how powerful they are. Not him, obviously, but Yeonjun and Winter. The elemental children, just two of them able to take down a dozen armed soldiers. Even if he hates the Libaiyan King for his lack of humanity, he can understand his desperation to cultivate an army from them. Even if there are only a few as powerful as Yeonjun, that is all it would take to create a force that is incredibly dangerous. Indestructible.

Warden stands amidst the center of them, neck twisting back and forth as watches his comrades drop around him. He’s clearly surprised, ego too big to have anticipated his entire force being taken down by two kids, even if elementals. Wooyoung can’t fully blame him though, Yeonjun has never gone full out in the Assessment Day duels, he’s never had to.

Warden crouches down, so that he stands stable on bent knees, likely to improve his balance as well as steady himself to the ground. It surprises Wooyoung as Warden slips his sword back into his sheath, instead opting to hold both hands out in front of him, watching as Yeonjun darts around them.

It all makes sense, however, as in the blink of an eye the warden swings, his fist making perfectly-timed contact with Yeonjun’s jaw. The strength of the punch is multiplied greatly by the speed at which he was traveling, and the elemental stumbles backwards. Tripping over his feet as he doesn’t manage to withhold his balance, he falls backwards into the snow.

However, what surprises Wooyoung is the sharp “crack” that follows Yeonjun’s head hitting the ground.

There’s a thick moment of silence as everything seems to stop moving. Minutes pass by, but to Wooyoung it feels more like hours. Even Warden remains still, hand having drifted back down to his sword’s sheath, although he doesn’t remove it. They all watch as they wait for Yeonjun to either let out a pained groan or miraculously rise to his feet.

Neither happens, and Wooyoung’s feet are in motion before he can even contemplate the safety of rushing closer towards the wardens.

None of them move to attack him, perhaps equally as curious as he rushes to Yeonjun’s side. The boy lays on his back, head tilted to face away from Wooyoung. Wooyoung can now see that his head had landed on a rock, neck tilted at an odd angle as he’s almost lifted up from the rest of his body.

“Jun,” Wooyoung says, giving his shoulder a small shake. Yeonjun doesn’t respond. “Jun?” He says again, this time with more uncertainty.

Shaky hands extending outwards, he gently takes Yeonjun’s chin in his, tilting his head over to face him.

Wooyoung wishes that he hadn’t.

Yeonjun looks at him, except that he doesn’t. His eyes are open, but they show no recognition. Well, not only a lack of recognition, but a lack of thought. They’re completely empty, and Wooyoung feels his heart sink, dropping into his stomach as his entire body freezes, throat seizing.

“Jun?” He says again, hoarse through the way his throat closes, unable to get a real breath in. Shaking him a little harder, his body moves with Wooyoung’s touch, putting up no sort of protest, like a doll being jostled back and forth. “Jun!”

Wooyoung lifts his head up in both hands, and that’s when he feels the blood. Hot and thick all over his fingers, as well as the rock and snow beneath him, its metallic stench floods his nose. Despite the way it repulses him, he can’t bring himself to let go, Yeonjun’s head almost vibrating as he clenches it within his shaky hands.

Leaning forward, he connects his lips with the boy's own, hoping that somehow it may breathe life back into him. That the gods may see two of their supposed “gifted” suffering, and grant them a second chance. A chance to live outside of the walls of the orphanage, as something other than a machine created for slaughter. To go to a real school, to eat a real meal. To love one another freely.

Instead, Yeonjun’s lips are cold and stiff. They do not move to accept his own.

Wooyoung pulls away, staring down at his best friend’s cold face, and he can’t bring himself to look away. They are too young for this. He is too young to feel this loss. Yeonjun is too young to be dying. To be dead.

Wooyoung clutches him tightly, trying to take in the last remnants of warmth within Yeonjun’s skin before the cold robs it from him completely. Just a moment ago he’d been breathing. He’d been thriving, mastering the winds and commanding the earth. Yeonjun was impenetrable, and yet in just a matter of seconds, he’d been taken from him. A cruel twist of fate.

Wooyoung’s grief tears through him, like lightning rushing through his veins and erupting from his mouth in the form of a scream. A lament of anger, of fury and anguish and loss. His eyes scrunch shut, tears simultaneously welling and falling, dripping down onto Yeonjun’s face.

He wants to hurt them. He wants vengeance, thirsts for it. He wants the wardens surrounding him to feel the same suffering as he does now.

He wants them to die.

With his agony the forest around them erupts into flame.

When Wooyoung awakens, he is facing the sky. Eyes bleary, he blinks a few times, only then recognizing the blackness above him as the night, it’s face freckled with stars. His body feels sore, head fuzzy, and he struggles to sit himself upwards, muscles aching in protest.

However, his mind comes rushing back to him when he catches sight of the forest around him. Or well, what was the forest.

The once snowy landscape has been transformed into a barren waste-land. The grass which hadn’t been visible for months is now painted a stark black, the trees horribly chared as smoke wafts up from the few closest to him, obviously dead. The underbrush of the forest no longer exists, all the previous bushes and shrubs the wardens had been hiding behind reduced to piles of soot and ash.

The wardens. They fare no better, their bodies scattered in what is an almost perfect semi-circle. Their armour remains in-tact, although it glows in a fearsome molten hugh, the smell of burnt flesh hanging thick in the air. They were fried from the inside, trapped by the very armour sworn to protect them.

Wooyoung swallows hard. Did he… did he do this?

He must have, and yet it doesn’t feel possible. Trying to ignore the sickening feeling that pools within his stomach, he shakily rises to his feet, before hearing the sound of crying in the distance. It’s familiar, and he quickly recognizes it to be Winter.

Heading towards the noise, he sees her nestled by a tree, clutching onto something as she sobs. Walking past the fallen bodies of the wardens, he startles as something grabs onto his ankle, pulling him down. He stumbles but manages not to fall, whirling his head around to find Warden laid out on the ground.

Warden looks up at him, and the area around his eyes is seared, the remnants of his skin a bright and awful shade of red, accompanied by sickening blisters bulging with yellow puss.

Although even amidst the damage, his eyes remain intact, those inhuman blue bulbs staring back at Wooyoung, almost through him. Warden doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to.

Then his eyes dull, and Wooyoung knows that he is dead.

Despite himself, he kneels down, reaching forward for Warden’s mask. It sears Wooyoung’s hands as he grabs it, skin practically sizzling, but he forces himself to endure it. Riggling it from the man’s head, he haphazardly discards it onto the grass.

Warden’s face is badly burnt. Not as horrifically so as his eyes, which had directly been touched by the flames, but enough that his skin swells. Cheeks and chin puffy, all painted that same blazing red hue.

Even so, Wooyoung can somewhat tell what he looked like. Not if he was handsome or fearsome or princely, but at the very least, he can decipher that he was young. With a defined jawline but full cheeks, as well as tight rather than wrinkled skin. Very young, likely having just reached his second decade.

It makes Wooyoung feel ill, bile rising thick in the back of throat. He swallows it down, forcing his gaze away from Warden and back onto his feet. He does not let himself look back.

When he reaches Winter, he rests himself down beside her. She sits atop her knees, fists clenched tightly around the fabric of Yeonjun’s shirt, who she has laid against the tree before her. Wooyoung can’t read her expression, as it’s covered by a tangled curtain of black hair that hangs over her face, but he imagines it as sorrowful as he feels. The arrowhead is still embedded in her shoulder, but the staff has been burnt off. She seems alright otherwise, having her own ability to have protected herself from the flames, which grants Wooyoung immense relief.

However, when Wooyoung’s gaze drifts from Winter to Yeonjun, he chokes on his own breath.

Yeonjun’s face is perfectly visible, although completely unrecognizable. Wooyoung wouldn’t even have known it was him had he not witnessed everything that had happened. Yeonjun’s eyes are now shut, so swollen it appears that they’d almost been sewn that way. His skin bubbles in that same sickening fashion, and his grey slacks are completely scolded, the mere remnants being what Winter currently clutches within her fists. All of his hair is gone, the skin of his head bare and equally as blistered.

Wooyoung turns his face away from both Yeonjun and Winter. This time he actually does vomit, both from the harrowing sight as well as the revulsion towards his own actions.

“You did this,” Winter whispers, so quietly that Wooyoung can barely hear her.

“I know,” he replies, voice shaky. Running both hands through his hair he attempts to steady himself, but he feels the panic rising hot in his throat, rattling around in his head. “I-I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know how-”

“No,” Winter cuts him off, shaking her head back and forth.  “I mean everything. All of this is your fault.”

“Winter…”

“Yeonjun never wanted to go,” she says, the words spoken through a sudden sob that blubbers her words. “He knew it was a horrible idea, but he said he couldn’t let you do it alone.”

“I-I didn’t…” He begins again, only to find he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to defend himself, because surely he cannot be blamed for all of this. For Yeonjun’s death, for the bodies that surround them, for the thick stench of death and burnt flesh that hangs in the air.

But in the end, who is left alive but him?

Only Winter, who wanted nothing to do with this. Who had begged them not to go through with it, who knew they’d never succeed and that it would only bring them trouble.

He should have listened to her, when earlier tonight she asked them to go back. He should have listened to Yeonjun when he told him it was a terrible idea a myriad of times these last few months.

He should have listened to Warden, who knew that he was useless before anyone else.

“He loved you,” she says quietly, grip tightening against the remnants of his shirt. She shakes her head, letting out another sob, although she clearly tries to withhold it for the sake of her anger. “We both loved you, and this is what we get for it?”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung whispers, and he is crying too. Tears streaming down his face, he places a hand on Winter’s shoulder, attempting to comfort her. “I’m so sorry.”

She doesn't shove him away, but doesn’t accept the gesture either. Wooyoung remembers the time a few of the older boys tore up her doll - the one thing she had left of her parents - a few years back. Wooyoung held her as she cried for hours, while Yeonjun went out into the training yard and beat the shit out of them.

That’s how it had always been, the three of them. They were each other's family, all they had. Now Yeonjun is gone, and Winter stiffens at his hand on her shoulder, as if he were nothing more than a stranger, or even an enemy.

“Get out of here, Wooyoung,” she whispers.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“Get out of here!” She repeats, and this time it is in the form of a scream. Shoving his hand from her shoulder, she finally turns to face him, and when she does Wooyoung lets out an involuntary gasp.

Her skin is also burnt and blistered. Not as horrifically as Yeonjun’s and the wardens, but enough so that her pale complexion burns red, skin peeling around her cheeks. Her hands are also burnt, and now that he looks closer, he can see that her own grey slacks are spotted with blackened holes.

Winter had never excelled with controlling fire.

“I don’t want to see you again,” she whispers, pursing her lips together to withhold another sob. “Never come back here.”

He knows he shouldn’t say anything, that he should just leave, but he can’t help himself. Worry for her turns and twists within his gut. “Winter, you aren’t going back there are you-”

“It’s none of your business whether I stay or go!” She answers. Her eyes linger on his for a dreaded silent moment. It’s only seconds, but for Wooyoung it feels like days. It’s a moment he’ll replay in his mind in the years to come, in the dead of the night, those dark eyes bearing into his own with a wretched misery.

It’s the moment she gave up on him. The moment she stopped loving him.

“I hate you,” she whispers, finally looking away. Her gaze turns back to Yeonjun, and she pulls the remnants of his shirt upwards, burying her face in it. It’s covered in ash, but she doesn’t seem to care. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” she mutters through her sniffles and sobs.

Wooyoung feels numb. Forcing himself to rise from his knees and back onto his feet, he gets one last look of Winter clutching onto Yeonjun’s destroyed body. The two people he loves more than anything, destroyed by his own hubris, by his own stupidity. For what may be the first and only time in his life, he mutters a prayer beneath his breath, hoping that at least one of the gods may hear him. That they’ll watch over Winter, now that he and Yeonjun cannot.

Then he walks. He walks down the forest trail, even as the smoke that hangs in the air burns his eyes and stings his nostrils, even as Winter’s sobs fade away and are replaced by the sound of wind gently rustling through the forest trees. Even as a village appears before him, the only populated place that Wooyoung has seen outside the orphanage in almost a decade.

“Gloria” the sign outside of the town reads in thick bold lettering.

Wooyoung heads inside.

There’s a dense moment of silence that follows after Woo finishes speaking. You aren’t sure what to say, and perhaps he thinks that’s due to the horrors that he has told you, the shock of what he’d been through. What does a person say after someone tells them they’ve experienced something so dreadful?

Which is partially true, yes. Your heart aches for him, in a way you never could have anticipated towards the elemental, but that is not what renders you speechless.

It’s that the source of his terror, the founder of the orphanage and the employer of Warden, the one searching to create this “new army” of elementals… was your father.

Your head swims at the thought. Why would he want to do that? How could he do something so monstrous, so inhumanely cruel? When did he arrange this, and how could you possibly not know about it?

It’s insane, and it makes you want to almost not believe the elemental. It seems impossible that your kingdom - your family - could do something so horrifically elaborate and you be completely unaware.

But you do believe him. Despite how you don’t want to, despite the image of how kind your father had been during the earlier years of your childhood, it doesn’t strike you as impossible that he would do something like this. It doesn’t even strike you as dubious, which makes your stomach turn in disgust.

“So yeah,” Woo starts, albeit a bit awkwardly. “If you ever feel bad for killing one monster, remember that I killed a dozen men.”

“You didn’t mean to,” you offer. “Not really.”

He shakes his head. “No. But I’d do it again if I had the choice,” he says, voice soft, reminiscent. He looks up at the sky, at the smoke wafting from the fire and up towards the stars. “I think I’m supposed to regret it, that it should eat me up inside and keep me awake at night or something. It doesn’t. They deserved it.”

You pause on this. You don’t judge him, in fact, you understand. You also think they deserved it. Still, you don’t quite believe him. “But you’re awake tonight.”

“Not really because of them,” he says quietly, the very corners of his lips curving upwards into a small, sad smile. “Because of Yeonjun and Winter. What happened to them, it’s my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen,” you reason, and it’s true. Woo shouldn’t blame himself, there’s no way he could have anticipated something that horrific. Yeonjun’s death was a freak accident, an unlucky fall.

“No, but I think I always knew it wouldn’t end well,” Woo says, and for a split second you think you see his eyes glisten, reflecting brightly in the light of the fire. “Even if I wanted to think we could do it, a part of me knew it wouldn’t work. That little bit of cynicism that those orphanages beat into you, it’s that same part of my friends that tried to convince me not to go through with it. Deep down I knew it wouldn’t work, that they would stop us, but I still dragged them along with me. I just wanted to be able to say I tried.”

Woo laughs to himself, a sad sound. He blinks, and the glistening of his eyes exits in the form of a single tear, sliding down his cheek. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“Well, I tried,” he says, voice plain. “But I’ll never escape it. It will never leave me.”

The silence that follows is thick. Dense, difficult to wade through. “I’m sorry,” you say, and it sounds lame. Feeble.

Woo does not treat it as such. “Thanks,” he says, before finally looking away from the sky to meet your eyes. His expression is surprisingly gentle. “I’m sorry you had to kill something, but I’m far more sorry that you feel guilty for it. Guilt is the heaviest thing for a person to carry.”

If only he knew how guilty you really are.

“My real name’s Wooyoung,” he says softly. It’s a surprise to you, as neither San nor Seonghwa have mentioned it before. “I don’t let anyone call me that anymore. I can’t stand it. Can only hear it in their voices.”

You nod and he sighs. Pursing his lips, he gives you a small nod, before turning his gaze back to the fire. He appears done with the conversation, but you aren’t, not quite yet.

“San and Seonghwa,” you start, hesitant. “Do they know?”

Woo smiles. “No, not really. I’ve never told Seonghwa about any of it. San knows about the orphanage, and he knows about Yeonjun and Winter, but nothing of what happened to them.”

Your chest tightens at that. “Why don’t you tell them?”

Woo laughs, as if something about what you said is funny. “Because,” he begins, looking back over at you, as if the answer is obvious. When you don’t respond, he sighs. “If I tell them, Seonghwa is going to get that look on his face that says: ‘I need to fix this’,  and then offer to take some of the pain himself. Which is bound to piss me off, because why the fuck would I want him to feel this too?”

“And San…” He continues, trailing off. Clenching his hands in and out, he seems almost pained, and the fire twists and sparks with his struggle. “He’ll look at me like I’m broken. He’ll treat me like I’m going to shatter. I just… I don’t think I could handle that.”

You frown, but you get it. Woo has a lot of pride, has acted as if he’s indestructible since the moment you met him. This is the first time he’s told you anything otherwise.

Yet, while he may expect that to make you pity him, it only makes you respect him far more than you ever had.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think San will treat you any different.”

Woo almost chuckles, a brief laugh through his nose. “No, you will not treat me any different. San will.”

You aren’t sure if you agree with that, but Woo seems set on it, so you don’t bother convincing him otherwise.

“You can’t tell him. Either of them,” he says suddenly, casting you a wary expression. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at the statement. Not out of disbelief, but how incredibly certain you are that he would. “I didn’t plan on it.”

He smiles at this, chuckling himself. Then he pauses, something different wedging its way into his gaze, clearly pondering something. Glancing up from the fire, he holds your own eyes, then swallows.

“Turn around,” he says quietly, and you stop yourself from physically recoiling. Your lack of enthusiasm towards the statement must read blatantly on your face, because he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to choke you out or anything,” he says, tone irritated. “Just humour me for a second and turn around.”  

“Alright,” you say, hesitant. Had it been any other night, you would have laughed in his face, but tonight he has been vulnerable, perhaps you can return even an ounce of the same. Turning around, you face away from him and into the dark of the forest. As a moment of silence passes, you consider the fact that if he wanted to, now would be the perfect opportunity to slit your throat, make sure you really never do tell San or Seonghwa.

Instead, you feel as he shifts your hair away from the back of your neck, and the touch is surprisingly tender. Stretching his other arm forward and in front of your face, you suddenly feel something cool against your throat. Not a knife, but a necklace.

Your heart stalls for a moment, the chain familiar, the exact size of the diamond against your collarbone something you could never forget.

It’s not just any necklace, but your necklace. The one your parents had given to you as a child, the one he’d taken from you back at the cottage as collateral.

Feeling as he clasps it shut, you’re quick to whirl around to face him, granting him an expression that exclaims nothing less than: “What the fuck?”

“Don’t look too surprised, Kuroken,” he says, and when you raise an eyebrow, he laughs.

“Okay, listen,” he begins, tone suddenly serious. “When I first met you, I thought you were a spoiled brat. I thought your entire story was shady, and maybe didn’t quite believe that the King of Libaiya had really died. That he could really die. I didn’t trust you.”

He reaches out, fixing the diamond on your necklace which had been sitting crooked, before continuing.

“But then in Stockholm your story proved to be true. Then in Gloria you risked your life to save San. You saved all of us in The Desert Lotus, because even though it makes me feel sick to admit it, I don’t think I could have done that myself. Then you helped me with the mimic back in the village. Even though you didn’t quite believe that it wasn’t Seonghwa, you chose to help me nonetheless.”

Woo finally takes his hand away from your neck, and it’s accompanied by the smallest of smiles. “You’ve been proving me wrong time and time again, and even though there’s nothing I hate more than admitting defeat, I can say I was wrong about you.”

“Woo-” You begin, because although his words are overflowing with the most kindness the man has ever shown you, you can’t bring yourself to accept them. He wasn’t wrong, you are lying to him, to all of them.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re annoying. Too headstrong, but maybe that’s something we have in common,” he continues, cutting off your protest. “But I was wrong not to trust you, and for giving you such a hard time. I’m sorry.”

You open your mouth to speak. To protest, to thank him and accept his apology, to apologize yourself, to say something.

Instead you say nothing, and Woo shifts himself onto his feet. “I’m going to try and fall back asleep. We probably still have a couple hours until the sun rises, you should do the same.”

He begins to make his way towards the tent, before pausing suddenly. Turning back to face you, he appears almost sheepish. “Rest well, Yeji.”

With that he disappears behind the tent flap, leaving you alone in the darkness of the woods. The fire begins to falter, no longer being stoked by Woo’s gift and now struggling due to the absence of logs. It makes the light breeze feel infinitely cooler, and you shudder, clinging to the woolen blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

‘Yeji’ he’d called you. A testament to his newly placed trust, to burying the hatchet. To putting aside all the little jabs in your direction, the constant disapproval, the endless belittlement.

It’s only until now you realize that you don’t want him to. You don’t want him to stop being cruel, to stop distrusting you and making snide comments that make you want to wring his neck. After all, they’ve made it easier to lie to him.

Yeji, Woo had called you. Or better, Wooyoung had called you. After confiding in you, after granting you a piece of his most authentic self, one that he’s never shared with anyone else. A piece only you hold.

His reward for such vulnerability? A horrible betrayal that will prove he was right about you to begin with.

The fire finally dies, its last burning flame shriveling into smoke and ash. You should go to the tent, the night is far too dark and the wind's bite is far too cold, but you can’t bring yourself to move. Your legs are like lead, shoulders weighed down as if bricks sit upon them, and it leaves you unable to stand.

Woo is right, guilt really is the heaviest thing a person can carry.

~~~~~~~~~

next chapter.

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[daemour]

Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, non-idol au, bf!wooyoung, established relationship, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1611

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex/intimacy

Summary: Although you and Wooyoung are dating, sometimes it fees like you have completely different intentions. Is it something worth worrying about? Seonghwa doesn’t think so but you disagree.

And of course big thank you to @the-boy-meets-evil​ !! I appreciate all ur help <3 go check out her fic coffee dates & soulmates :)

-

“Seonghwa, I need some advice,” you corner your best friend in the kitchen during a movie night, away from the prying eyes and ears of your mutual friends and boyfriend.

Seonghwa gives one long sigh as if you’re making him miss out on his firstborn’s birth even though he’s seen that movie over twenty times. “What is it now?”

“Okay, let me preface this by saying I’m not expecting you to give me answers or anything, just hear me out since I know you’re friends with Woo–”

“I resent that implication, I’m more of his victim than anything,” Seonghwa interrupts and you smack his arm to shush him, holding back your own giggles.

“Anyways, I just need to ask you…does Wooyoung actually like me?” Both of Seonghwa’s eyebrows raise and you can practically see the surprise grow on his face. You suddenly feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sure he at least likes me, why would we even start dating—but…and I know this is really dumb probably, but seventy-five per cent of the time we spend alone is just us messing around. I just get scared that our relationship is purely physical.”

Seonghwa’s eyes soften, but before he can respond, Yunho pops his head around the corner. “What’s taking you two so long?”

Seonghwa shoots you a look that tells you he’s not done with the conversation and heads back to the living room, you following shortly afterwards.

As you take your seat next to Wooyoung, you can’t help but wonder…what would you do if you were right? Of course, you understand that in a relationship, levels of affection and types of affection are different. But, selfish as it may seem, you don’t think you could handle a relationship where the intentions are completely different.

It’s almost a week later when you and Seonghwa find time to talk. It took a little coercing, but Wooyoung understands that you and Hwa were best friends before either of you met him and you need one-on-one time. Wooyoung doesn’t need to tag along.

“So, (Y/N),” Seonghwa starts, “like you said, I can’t tell you exactly how Wooyoung feels, nor do I totally know myself, but I just want to reassure you that it’s not like that. Wooyoung is an enigma to even us, but it’s most likely that you’re just overthinking.”

You bite your lip. “You’re probably right…but what if I’m right? I know it’s not supposed to be all about me, but–”

Seonghwa holds up a hand. “Let me stop you right there. It’s okay to be unsure. It’s not selfish at all. But this is something you need to talk to Woo about.”

You groan and bury your head in your hands. “I wanted to avoid that if possible.”

Seonghwa laughs kindly, leaning over to pat your head like a parent consoling their child. “(Y/N), it’s a relationship. You gotta have communication.” “But it’s hard,” you whine, drawing out the last word, and you’re only half joking. The only reason you’ve waited this long even to ask Seonghwa for some advice is because of your aversion to resolving conflicts properly. You’d much rather pretend it isn’t an issue until you believe it yourself.

“(Y/N), you’re never going to solve the issue if you don’t talk about it,” Seonghwa reminds you gently and you nod miserably in resignation.

And yet, you still haven’t made a move to talk to Woo for almost two weeks now. You’ve been acting like nothing is wrong and it would’ve worked…except you’re a shit actor. Anytime he gets the chance to, Seonghwa shoots you a look, and every time he does, you blatantly ignore it.

But as time goes on, it gets worse and worse. Wooyoung spends even less time with you, and lately, he doesn’t even seem to want to be intimate. It’s really been taking a toll on your mental health and you know you can’t put it off any longer.

It’s on a rainy weekend that the both of you are off when you gather up your courage. “Wooyoungie,” you call out and your boyfriend tenses as he turns to look at you, “can we talk?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “Yeah, what’s up?” He’s trying to be nonchalant but it’s not working that well.

The two of you stare at each other in the hallway for a long, long minute. You don’t know where to start, and Wooyoung looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Err, I don’t really know how to start this…” you say, trailing off. “I suppose I should have brought this up much sooner.”

“I know,” Wooyoung interrupts. “It’s Seonghwa hyung, isn’t it?”

You blink slowly. What is he talking about? “What?” you voice your genuine confusion, cocking your head, but Wooyoung doesn’t notice and continues on.

“I totally get that you might end up liking someone else, so I’ve been trying to give you space and give you time to figure it out and come to me first. I’m not mad…well, it is my friend you ended up liking which stings a little, but Seonghwa hyung is a good guy.”

Your mouth drops open and Wooyoung looks at you, waiting for you to speak. “Woo– what?” you repeat yourself more urgently. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Wooyoung, confused, tries to explain. “You’re in love with Seonghwa now, right? Well, love might be a strong word but you like him more than me?” With each word, his voice gets smaller and smaller.

“I’m not..why would you think that?” Hurt leaks through your voice, although you try to keep it at bay. Why would he think that, considering that he’s the one who’s been distant? “Are you? In love with someone else, I mean.” You can’t help but ask, insecurity stabbing you in the heart.

“No.” Wooyoung declares with his whole chest. “Absolutely not. It just that I always see you with him. I would absolutely understand if you were–” It’s almost heartwarming to hear how immediate and sure his answer is, but you still have to get through this almost painful conversation.

“I don’t like Seonghwa like that. Not at all. I’m so sorry you came to that conclusion, it wasn’t my intention. I just needed to hear some advice from him. About…us. It’s just that I– Woo, do you like me at all?” The question comes out much faster than you intended but everything’s out on the table now.

Your boyfriend’s eyebrows furrow, but he stays silent, perhaps understanding that you need to get this off your chest. “I mean, we rarely spend time together when we’re not just fucking…I don’t care if that’s the case but I just want to know where we stand,” you try to explain, holding back your tears.

Wooyoung frowns and takes a step forward. As much as you’re vaguely regretting starting this conversation and really wish you could run away, you don’t move an inch. “(Y/N)...you really don’t know?”

You shift your eyes to look at the ground, at Wooyoung’s socked feet. They move forward and you can feel Wooyoung’s hands, always, perpetually cold, come to rest on your shoulders. “...no, Wooyoung, I don’t know,” you practically choke out. “I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung bends down and plants his head in the crook of your neck. “Don’t apologise, I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, a far cry from the energetic and excitable Wooyoung you’re used to, and the strangeness of his actions as well as the shaky breaths he’s exhaling make you tear up. “I didn’t mean to make you feel insecure. I do love you, a lot. I just…don’t realise how I can be all over the place. I’m so sorry, baby.”

You can’t help but let out a single sob and Wooyoung does his best to comfort you, rubbing circles into your shoulders gently and whispering reassurances into your ear, but it only serves to make you cry harder. Soon you can feel his shoulders shake and the wetness on your skin tells you he’s crying too.

“Sorry,” you manage to get out through your tears, but Wooyoung shushes you.

“Don't, (Y/N), you really don’t have anything to apologise for.” Wooyoung sighs deeply and you can feel his breath and his tears on your neck. “Let’s cry it out now, and we can approach this tomorrow, okay? Can we move to the couch?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

Wooyoung carefully leads you to the couch and sits first, leading you to lie between his legs, your head on his chest. Your face is buried into his shirt for long enough that when you finally look up, the rain has stopped and the light filtering through your windows is now a golden orange. Your hands are gripping the back of Wooyoung’s jersey and his breath has evened out.

The emotionally-charged time has weariness setting into your bones and you can’t help but yawn. You can hear Wooyoung’s soft, rough laughter on your shoulder. He must have fallen asleep. “Tired?”

In response, all you do is groan and return your face to the comfort of Wooyoung. He laughs and his hand comes up to stroke your hair. As you lay there for a moment more, you suddenly remember– “I love you too, Woo.”

“Hm?”

“You mentioned…I just wanted to say it back,” you mumble into his chest and you can feel Wooyoung’s body tense and then relax.

“I did. And I do love you. So much. I promise to do better for you.” Wooyoung bends down to plant a kiss on the top of your head and you sigh through your nose, relaxing in his warm embrace. It will be okay.

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[99guz]

Best Friend Wooyoung who is so excited for you to go on a date but also wants to make sure you’re safe. He makes sure to remind you to put your location on and knows exactly where you are going on the date. So here you sit at the small little hole in the wall restaurant your date across from you having a conversation while waiting for your food to arrive.

And here he sits just a few seats away in disguise. Dark sunglasses and your damn sun hat which in his defense he had bought you so he has every right to wear it. Yeosang told him this was a dumb idea. He should just wait for you to get back home and tell him about the date but what if you needed to send an SOS!

Yes there is an SOS system. SOS Yellow, the date isn’t going well, definitely not gonna see them again. SOS Orange, definitely a creep, come get me. SOS Red Get Me Out Of Here Now! Wooyoung had used SOS Red once and you called him in hysterics saying your grandpa was missing and you needed his help to search. Grandpa wasn’t actually missing; he was at the senior center playing cards.

The date is going well. He is funny, nice and so far nothing short of a gentleman. You had decided to eat first before heading off to watch a movie at the theater. Through laughter you have been going back and forth on what to watch. You say horror, he says action. So here the both of you sit trying to prove which one is better and why.

“Sitting there and imagining yourself in the action, come on. Ca-pow!” he punches the air. “That’s the best thing about action movies.” he places his hands on the table in front of him.

You nod at his words. He has a point about the amount of times you have pictured yourself as a superhero many times. “Okay you have a point but, admit it you get chills down your back while watching a good horror movie. It’s the best feeling! Plus when it's over there is still a thrill left over.”

He shakes his head leaning back into his chair. “No, I stick by my decision. Action is better.” He takes hold of his fork and next thing you know he is taking a forkful from my plate. You gasp and he chuckles. “Ooh good choice.”

That’s when it catches your eye. Looking behind your date's head a few tables away there is a person wearing sunglasses and a sun hat. A sun hat which seems very familiar, since you have worn it multiple times. Your eyes fall lower to the hoodie they are wearing, limited edition Hunter x Hunter hoodie starting price $400.00 you barely wear it.

They angle their head down to block their face and turn their head to the right before getting up and walking away towards the bathrooms. You excuse yourself from the table claiming to need the bathroom. Wooyoung is racing to the bathroom to escape from your wrath he knows you’ve spotted him. He saw the face that you made when you recognised the sweater but you had left it in his car so he can totally wear it. Probably shouldn't have thought to be fair.

He almost made it to a sweet escape but you had caught him by the arm. Wooyoung turns an innocent smile on his face. “Oh my god what are you doing here?” His voice is high as he fakes innocence.

Your eyes narrow shooting arrows at him. “Wooyoung I told you I was coming here! What are you doing here? And in my limited edition Hunter x Hunter shirt! That’s $400.00! Have you lost your damn mind?” you whisper yell.

“I’m sorry I was worried. This is your first date since gorilla shit and if you think I was gonna send you in without backup. What if he’s a creep?” he leans in closer, peaking around the corner at the table then back to you. “Is he a creep?”

“No, he is actually really nice.” A smile creeps onto your face. “He is giving me a Viking vibe.”

Wooyoung nods “Tattoos, full beard, tall, and muscular total Viking.” he smirks.

You smirk. “Super nice voice too. Great tone.”

“Okay I will go home but text me as soon as you get home. You know I’m just worried right?” he clarifies.

You smile because you know he means well, and it makes you feel really safe knowing he has your back the way he does. “I know Woo and I really appreciate it and I love you for having my back. I’ll text you as soon as I get home, okay?” assured him.

He sighs and nods his head. Taking hold of your hands he intertwines your fingers and looks into your eyes with a loving look. “I hope he rearranges your guts. You deserve only the best.”

“I can’t fucking stand you!” you bark out throwing his hands off yours and turn to go back to your date. “Take my goddam fucking sweater off too! And my hat!” you finish. With that you leave Wooyoung behind and get back to the table where your date awaits. Just behind him you can see Wooyoung making his way out of the restaurant, both of you sharing one last secret smile before he sets out.

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