As your final days in New York wind down, you decline an offer from Matthew while constantly scanning the city crowds, trapped in a tense, agonizing limbo of wondering if Mingyu will ever show up on your doorstep.
The weight of your mother's voice lingered in the apartment like cigarette smoke, bitter and impossible to air out. Days bled into each other after that call. You woke, you wrote, you walked, you slept—or tried to. The workshop became your anchor, the only structure in a life that had suddenly lost all its legs.
Professor Harding noticed. She was a sharp-eyed woman in her fifties with silver-streaked hair and a habit of asking questions that peeled back skin. "You're writing with your teeth clenched," she told you after class on Wednesday, tapping a finger on your latest submission. "Technically proficient. Emotionally bankrupt. What are you running from?"
"Deadlines," you said, and her expression told you she didn't believe a word.
You took on three extra assignments that week. Then four the next. You pulled advance readings from the course outline and spent hours in the university library, your highlighter bleeding yellow across pages you wouldn't remember. Anything to keep your brain occupied. Anything to stop the mental cinema from screening its greatest hits: your stepfather's hollow eyes, your mother's measured devastation, Sarah locked in a hotel room, and Mingyu, always Mingyu, walking out of his own wedding with nothing but the clothes on his back.
When the library walls pressed too close, you turned to the city's more expensive distractions. You wandered into boutiques on Fifth Avenue where the sales associates smelled your desperation and descended like well-dressed vultures. A silk blouse you'd never wear. A pair of heels that pinched your toes. A cashmere throw blanket that cost more than your monthly grocery budget. You swiped your credit card and felt nothing—not pleasure, not guilt, just the brief mechanical satisfaction of completing a transaction.
The shopping bags accumulated in the corner of your studio like shedding skin. You stopped unpacking them after the first week.
The restaurant Matthew chose was small and candlelit, tucked beneath a wine bar in the East Village. Brick walls. A single rose in a bud vase. The kind of place that announced intentions before a single word was spoken.
He looked good. Healthy. The two weeks in New York had relaxed something in his shoulders, smoothed the sharp angles of his stress. His linen shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his hair still damp from a shower. When he stood to greet you, he pulled out your chair.
"Chivalry," you said, aiming for lightness. "Didn't know they taught that in law school."
"They don't. I'm self-taught." His smile crinkled his eyes, but there was something careful in it tonight. Something held back.
The dinner passed in easy conversation—his plans for the fall, the firm he'd be joining, a case he was excited about. You asked questions. You laughed at his jokes. You performed the version of yourself that wasn't quietly hemorrhaging, and you did it well enough that he almost seemed convinced.
Almost.
"You're doing it again," he said over dessert, his fork hovering above his tiramisu.
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you're here but you're not. Like you're watching yourself from somewhere across the room."
You set down your spoon. The gelato had melted into a sweet puddle. "I'm trying my best, Matthew."
"I know." His voice was gentle. "I'm not criticizing. I'm just... asking. Are you okay?"
Three words. Such simple words. You looked at him—his windswept hair, his kind eyes, the face of someone who had been nothing but patient and good and safe—and you couldn't lie.
"Trying my best," you said again, quieter this time.
The candle flickered between you. Outside, the city hummed its endless song. Matthew reached across the table and covered your hand with his, his palm warm and dry.
"Come back with me," he said.
"What?"
"To the hotel. Tonight. And then tomorrow, on the flight." His thumb traced circles on your knuckles. "You don't have to stay here alone. Come home. Let me be there for you."
"Matthew—"
"I know the timing is terrible. I know you're dealing with... whatever this is. But I've been thinking about it all week. About us." He took a breath, and you saw it then—the nervousness beneath the composure, the vulnerability he'd been hiding behind his easy smiles. "I want to do this properly. I want you to be my girlfriend."
The word landed like a stone in still water.
Girlfriend.
His girlfriend. Someone's girlfriend. Someone who would call to check in, who would hold your hand in public, who would post photos of you on Instagram with heart emojis and captions about being lucky. Someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who wasn't a secret.
Your throat constricted. For one dizzying moment, you let yourself imagine it. A life without hiding, without shame, without the constant electric fear of being discovered. Sundays spent reading in the same room. Dinner parties with friends who knew your name. A relationship that existed in the light.
But Matthew deserved more than being your escape hatch. He deserved someone who looked at him the way you looked at Mingyu, with that desperate, consuming, catastrophic hunger. Someone who didn't flinch when he touched her because his hands weren't the ones her body was trained to crave.
"Matthew." His name came out broken. "I can't."
His thumb stopped moving. "Can't, or don't want to?"
"Can't. I'm not... I'm not in a place where I can be anyone's girlfriend right now."
"Is this about him?"
The question hung in the air. You could have lied. Should have lied. Instead, you said nothing, and your silence was answer enough.
Matthew withdrew his hand. The loss of warmth felt like a punishment. He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly, and when he looked at you again, the easy warmth that had always lived in his eyes had been replaced by something more careful. More distant.
"I understand," he said. And he probably did. That was the worst part.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of polite conversation and forced smiles. He walked you to your door like a gentleman. Kissed your cheek like a friend. And when the door closed behind you, the apartment felt emptier than it ever had before.
Sleep became a fighting match you couldn't win.
You lay in bed that night, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, your body exhausted but your mind on fire. The sheets tangled around your legs. The pillow grew hot and then cold and then hot again. You flipped onto your left side. Your right. Your stomach. Nothing worked.
Somewhere around three in the morning, exhaustion finally pulled you under.
When you wake, the apartment was still dark, but not empty. A silhouette sat on the velvet couch across from your bed, its shape carved from shadow. As you watched, paralyzed, the figure rose and moved into the amber streetlight bleeding through the window.
Mingyu.
He looked different. Thinner. His jaw sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced, dark circles carved beneath his eyes like bruises. But his gaze—that dark, possessive, consuming gaze—was exactly the same.
He crossed the room without a word. His movements were slow, deliberate, predatory. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he slid into the cool sheets behind you. No preamble. No gentle words. Just the heavy, familiar weight of his chest pressing against your back, his rough hands sliding beneath your shirt to grip your hips with bruising force.
His mouth found your neck. His breath scorched your skin.
"Did you think you could run from me?"
His voice was gravel. Smoke. A sound that vibrated through your bones.
Your body betrayed you instantly. Your spine arched, pressing your ass back against the hard ridge of him. A gasp escaped your throat, half protest, half plea. His teeth grazed your earlobe, his stubble scraping the sensitive skin of your shoulder.
"You're mine," he growled against your pulse. "You'll always be mine."
His hand slid down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He didn't ask. Didn't wait. Just yanked the fabric aside and—
Your eyes flew open.
You sat up in bed, gasping, your heart slamming against your ribs like a caged animal. Sweat cooled on your skin. Your shirt was twisted around your torso. Your thighs were pressed together, slick and aching.
The apartment was empty.
The couch was vacant.
The silence was absolute.
A dream. Just a hyper realistic vivid dream. But your body didn't know the difference. Your nipples were hard peaks beneath your thin tank top. Your core throbbed with a desperate, unmet need. You pressed your palm against your chest, trying to slow your heart, trying to convince your nervous system that you were safe.
It didn't work.
You lay back down, trembling, and didn't sleep again until dawn.
The second month in New York was a tightrope walk over a pit of your own making.
You developed rituals. Checking the street before you left the apartment. Scanning the crowds on Hudson Street for tall men in dark sweaters. Tracking every broad-shouldered silhouette until it passed safely out of range. Your neck grew stiff from the constant swiveling. Your dreams remained a battleground.
Some days, anger consumed you. A pure, clarifying rage that burned through your veins. You hated him. Hated his hands and his mouth and his lies. Hated the way he'd made you believe you were special while he was fucking his fiancée with the same passion, the same face, the same desperate sounds. You wished you'd never met him. You wished he'd stay gone forever.
Other days, the anger curdled into something more difficult to name. A sickening worry that sat in your stomach. You'd catch yourself searching the faces on the subway, half-hoping to find his. You'd check your spam folder for messages that weren't there. You'd lie awake at night and wonder where he was sleeping, whether he was eating, whether he was even alive.
Your mother called every few days with updates. Her voice was strained, exhausted. The scandal had rippled through their social circle like a shockwave. The Parks were demanding compensation for the cancelled wedding—a figure with more zeros than you wanted to think about. Mr. Cho had hired a private investigator to find Mingyu, not out of concern, but out of fury. Sarah had apparently thrown a vase at a wall.
"Your father still won't say his name," your mother told you one evening. "He's rewritten the will already. Mingyu gets nothing. Not a cent. It's like he never existed."
"And Sarah?"
A pause. "She's... unraveled. Her mother says she's not sleeping. Not eating. She keeps calling our house, demanding to know if we've heard anything." Another pause. "I think she loved him. Really loved him. Not the merger, not the money. Him."
Guilt stabbed through you like a needle. You knew exactly how Sarah felt. That was the cruelest part.
The email arrived on a Tuesday afternoon.
You were sitting at your desk, the window cracked open to let in the late summer air, when the notification pinged. No subject line. No sender name. Just a string of random characters that made no sense: `[email protected]`.
Your finger hovered over the delete button. Spam. It had to be spam. But something—some pricking instinct at the base of your skull—made you click it open instead.
Inside was a single audio file. No text. No explanation. Just an MP3 attachment and the encrypted silence of an anonymous sender.
Your hands shook as you plugged in your headphones. Your finger hovered over the play button. You knew, before you pressed it, exactly whose voice you were about to hear.
The audio clicked open. Static hissed for a beat. Then:
"Hey."
His voice hit you like a physical blow. Deep. Gravelly. Exhausted in a way that went beyond physical tiredness. You pressed your palm against your mouth.
"I'm really sorry for everything." A pause. A shaky exhale. "I know you're mad and probably don't wanna hear from me, but I just want you to know that you're out of this. Of everything. I hope you don't blame yourself for what happened. All of this was because of me and my decisions."
The words came faster now, as if he'd rehearsed them and was trying to get through before his nerve failed. "Also, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I hope someday you find forgiveness in your heart for me." A beat. "And please keep this message a secret. Don't try to track me. I promise to stay away from everyone."
Long, heavy silence. You could hear him breathing on the recording—ragged, uneven breaths that spoke of sleepless nights and too many cigarettes. The track kept running, capturing every shuddering exhale.
Then, lower. Raw. Unraveled.
"I miss you."
The words cracked something inside your chest.
"So much. It fucking hurts."
His voice splintered. Just slightly. Just enough.
"I'm sorry."
The recording cut off.
You sat there in the silence of your studio, your headphones still pressed to your ears, tears streaming down your face before you even realized you were crying. The sound that escaped your throat was animal—a choked, gasping thing that had been building for months.
You missed him too. God help you, you missed him too.
But you clenched your jaw. You wiped your face with the back of your hand. You did not save the file. You did not reply. You buried the secret in the hollow of your chest, next to all the other secrets, and you did not let a single tear fall after that first wave.
No more. I'm done being destroyed by him.
The summer ended without ceremony.
You packed your suitcase on a gray morning, the studio stripped of your presence. The shopping bags you'd never unpacked went to a donation bin on Bleecker Street. The cashmere throw, still in its box, you left on the bed for the next tenant.
The flight home was spent staring at the seatback in front of you, rehearsing your lines.
Your mother met you at the arrivals gate. The moment you saw her face, the careful composure you'd constructed nearly crumbled. She looked older. The lines around her eyes had deepened. Her smile, when she saw you, was genuine but exhausted.
You threw your arms around her and held on tight.
"Mom."
"Welcome home, sweetheart."
You pulled back, scanning her face. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." She smoothed your hair back from your forehead, a gesture from childhood. "I'm just glad you're back. Tell me everything. How was New York?"
"Perfect," you said, the practiced lie sliding out with ease. "The program was incredible. I learned so much. I'm completely fine."
She seemed to believe you. Or maybe she was just too tired to dig deeper.
The mansion felt different when you stepped through the front door. Quieter. Heavier. The absence of Mingyu was a physical presence, a negative space that sucked the warmth from every room. The staff moved through their routines with subdued efficiency. The guest wing sat dark and empty.
Your stepfather found you in the study an hour after you arrived. He looked shrunken somehow, his tailored suit hanging looser on his frame, his sharp eyes dulled. He pulled you aside with a hand on your shoulder, his grip weaker than you remembered.
"I wanted to tell you something," he said. His voice was thick, heavy with something that sounded almost like grief. "I'm proud of you. For pursuing your studies. For doing your best."
"Thank you."
He looked at you then, and his eyes were hollow. Empty in a way that made your stomach drop. "I just hope you turn out to be okay." A pause. His jaw tightened. "Unlike..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. Mingyu's name died on his lips, unspoken and forbidden. He squeezed your shoulder once and walked away, leaving you standing in the study with guilt coiling in your gut like a snake.
This is my fault too.
You carried that guilt with you through the following weeks. Through the quiet dinners where no one mentioned the empty chair. Through the phone calls your father took behind closed doors, his voice raised in arguments you couldn't quite hear. Through your mother's forced cheerfulness and the careful way everyone avoided saying his name.
The Pilates studio was a twenty-minute drive from the mansion, tucked into a strip mall between a juice bar and a boutique that sold artisanal candles. You'd started going three times a week, needing the physical exertion to quiet your mind. The burn in your muscles was a cleaner pain than the one in your chest.
On a hot Saturday afternoon, you stepped out of the studio into the blinding sun, your gym bag slung over your shoulder, your muscles buzzing with endorphins. The asphalt shimmered with heat. Your car was parked at the far end of the lot, a hundred yards of baking pavement between you and the driver's seat.
You were halfway there when the black sedan cut across the lane and pulled up directly in front of you.
Your feet stopped. Your heart didn't.
The tinted window rolled down with a mechanical whir. Sarah's face appeared behind the glass, perfectly made up, her dark hair swept into an elegant twist. She looked expensive. Polished. But her eyes were dead—flat and cold in a way that made your blood run slow.
"Let's get some afternoon coffee," she said. It wasn't a question. "Have a little talk."
Your mouth opened. Closed. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to claim an appointment, to do anything but get into that car. But there was no logical way out. No excuse that wouldn't sound exactly like what it was—cowardice.
"Sure," you managed.
The interior of the sedan smelled like leather and her perfume, something floral and sharp. The doors locked automatically as she pulled out of the lot. You gripped your gym bag in your lap like a shield.
The café she chose was quiet, almost empty, tucked at the end of a cobblestone street you'd never noticed before despite driving past it a hundred times. Secluded. Private. The kind of place where conversations could happen without witnesses.
Sarah ordered a black coffee. You ordered the same, your throat too dry for anything else.
"How have you been?" She didn't look at you as she asked, her eyes fixed on the foam art dissolving in her cup.
"Fine. Busy. New York was..." You trailed off, unsure how much she already knew. "Productive."
"Productive." She repeated the word like she was testing its weight. "That's nice."
"And you? How are you doing?"
Her gaze lifted. Met yours. The emptiness in her eyes was terrifying. "Trying my best to be okay."
The silence that followed was razor-sharp. You took a sip of coffee you couldn't taste.
"Did he ever visit you in New York?" The question came out flat, casual, as if she were asking about the weather.
"No." You held her gaze. That much, at least, was true. "He never did."
"What about a call? A text?"
You shook your head, maintaining the lie with a steadiness that surprised you. "No. He never did. I wish he had, so everyone could finally have some answers, but..." You shrugged, letting the sentence trail off.
Sarah drained the last of her coffee. Set the cup down with a deliberate clink. She stood, adjusting her coat with precise, controlled movements.
"I sure hope you're telling the truth."
Her fingers played idly with her phone screen as she spoke. Then she turned and walked out of the café without looking back. The door swung shut behind her. Through the glass, you watched her car pull away from the curb and disappear around the corner.
You sat paralyzed at the table, your hands wrapped around your cooling coffee, your mind racing.
Then your phone buzzed.
A direct message notification. From Sarah.
Your thumb swiped the screen open.
The air left your lungs in a violent rush. Your body went numb. Flashing on the screen, unmistakable and devastating, was the photo Mingyu had taken months ago, the ball of white cotton and pink fabric on his bathroom counter. Your stolen tank top. Your soft panties. The evidence of everything you'd tried to bury.
You looked up frantically, scanning the street through the café window. Sarah's car was gone. She was gone. But the photo remained, glowing on your screen like a brand.
She had access to his cloud? His iPad? His old phone?
The questions hit you in rapid succession, each one a fresh wound. Did she read the texts? Did she find the call logs? Does she know about the hotel rooms and the hidden bruises and the hands clamped over your mouth in the dark?
Your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped the phone. You clutched it to your chest, staring at the empty street, paralyzed by a flood of terrifying unknowns.
Sarah hadn't confronted you because she wanted an explanation. She'd confronted you to show you that your sanctuary was an illusion. That she knew. That she'd known all along. And now you were completely at her mercy, drowning in the agonizing suspense of what else she was holding over your head.
The café hummed with indifferent life around you—the hiss of the espresso machine, the murmur of distant conversation, the clink of cups on saucers. Normal sounds. Ordinary sounds. They belonged to a world you no longer inhabited.
You sat alone at the corner table, the phone clutched in your trembling fingers, the photo still burning on the screen, and waited for the next blow to fall.
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Synopsis ✨ As the new personal assistant to the manager of the biggest rock band in the world, you see a lot of the shenanigans that go on backstage. And you have no intention of getting involved. But sadly for you, the drummer very much wants to get involved with you.
Genre ✨ rock band au, (sort of) enemies to lovers, angst, fluff
Plot warnings ✨ Seungcheol is an ass at the beginning, the biggest pair of idiots in love (emphasis on the idiots), jealousy, bickering, passive aggressive to the max, mild threats of violence (god help anyone who touches Seungcheol in OC's presence), a little bit of bullying (it isn't Cheol and it lasts about two sentences), she's a little insecure for like a minute, social anxiety in big crowds, a lot of chat about bats (?), drunken phone calls, a huge misunderstanding, he's never been in love and doesn't know how to process his feelings, confessions after they've more or less ruined each other, Woozi has the patience of a saint, a horrible amount of HORRENDOUS pickup lines
Smut warnings ✨ suggestive, references to Seungcheol's various one night stands (we learn a little too much about where his tongue has been), OC can't keep her mind out of the gutter, lots of chat about his arms (a valid smut warning), references to dry humping, references to porn, references to oral. f receiving, references to sucking on balls (?), making out but no actual smut
Word count ✨ 16.7k
Meet the other band members here.
a/n- I've saved my favourite till last and this was going to be the last story for the Shadow guys, but a lovely anon suggested the subby side of Mingyu and I couldn't resist. I have other things I'm working on but I will revisit Shadow sometime soon and show the other side of Mingyu and OC's relationship.
I'm also disgusted to admit that even though those pickup lines Cheol uses are horrible, one of them was literally the reason I went on my first date with my ex-girlfriend years ago..... So, they do work.
And thank you to the anon that asked about having stories for the other band members after you'd read Dino's original one shot. Writing these really cheered me up and helped get me out of a pretty low point I was having. So thank you anon 🩷🩷
Osaka
Your boss said it might take a while but you didn’t think you’d need to spend a whole fifteen minutes knocking more and more loudly on a hotel suite door. Sure, you’re an assistant and to many deemed unimportant in the grander schemes of music producing and performing, but blatantly ignoring someone seems a bit much. You know you’re being ignored because you can hear giggling from the other side of the door, the pair that are in the room obviously in no great rush to see who might be daring to interrupt whatever the hell they’re doing.
You rest your forehead on the door and take a deep breath. This is your first day and already it seems to be going to shit.
Fuck this. You can do this. It’s just a simple form. Your fist connects with the heavy wooden door in a series of bangs that sound more like a police break in than an assistant trying to rouse a rowdy rockstar, but you don’t care. He’s taking the piss and you have other things you need to be doing.
“FUCK WOOZI I GET IT, I’M COMING!”
The door swings open and you’re confronted by the drummer of Shadow, the band your new boss manages and the biggest band in the world, in nothing more than a pair of shorts.
Neither of you say anything for a few seconds, you don’t know what to say. You’re pissed off he’s made you wait. But can you really be mad at a man that looks like that? Because he’s big, bigger than you even imagined. Not that you’ve spent much time thinking about the body of the drummer of your favourite band. You’ve definitely not searched Choi Seungcheol arms over a hundred times on pinterest. Absolutely not.
“You’re not Woozi ,” He smirks, his gaze assessing you from head to toe as he leans on the door frame with his big, muscley, perfect, biteable arms folded. Fuck you need to stop looking at them, but they’re just so big.
“N-no,” Damn, his smirk only grows because of your stuttering. “You need to sign this.”
“There’s no fans allowed into the hotel.”
“I’m not a fan.”
“Sure you’re not. Listen, unless you want to join us, or wait for her to leave and then come in and get a taste of this," he gestures at his body, "I suggest you fuck off and crawl back under whatever weird little rock you came from. Breaking into a hotel is stalker behaviour." His smile is one of sarcasm and it’s at that moment you suddenly realise that the drummer from your favourite band is a fucking asshole.
“I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.” You smile back, enjoying seeing him falter a little, “You or rather your friend needs to sign this. I’m Woozi’s new assistant. I’d ask if you could shout your friend out here for me but I presume you don’t know her name, so can I come in?”
You don’t wait for an answer. Just push past him, ignoring how his skin seems to be as soft as a baby's, and storm into the room to find the poor girl who needs to sign the NDA in your hand.
“Hi,”
“Who’s she?”
“He doesn’t know my name, just like he probably doesn’t know yours. And honestly you seem much too pretty a girl to be treated that way.”
They both look at you a little shocked but you don’t care.
You scan around the room, noting how they’ve clearly had quite the night if the various pieces of clothing around multiple surfaces are anything to go by. You can’t help scrunch your nose a little in disgust when you see three used condoms thrown messily near the bin. You suppose you should be thankful for small mercies, at least he’s not riddling the poor women with diseases and he’s saved an unsuspecting cleaner the trouble of cleaning cum stains off the floor because the idiot has tied a knot in them.
Woozi said he hated having to ask you to do this but there’d been an emergency with the guys taking the stage down in Osaka, ready for you all to move onto Tokyo, and he needed to rush off. You get why he hates it, it’s like making sex a business transaction and you’re the one who’s having to facilitate it. But if you didn’t, you risk the band’s secrets being spilled and then every fan in the world would have the same realisation as you. That Seungcheol is a prick.
“He knows my name,” She narrows her eyes at you but you’re just trying to ignore the little marks Seungcheol has left behind on her neck and breasts. Her only being in her underwear makes it easier to see them and the sight leaves a weird feeling in your stomach even though you’ve just recently decided you hate him.
She turns to Seungcheol, waiting for him to say that he obviously knows the name of the woman he’s spent the night with.
You wish you had her blind optimism.
“S-sure! It’s er…….well it’s er………J….” His “friend's” eyes get wider as he tries to ask if it starts with a J and your heart sinks for her.
You’re all for one night stands. Or not having one night stands. It’s up to whoever it is. But you know if any of the people you’d slept with did what he’s doing right now, you’d feel fucking horrible.
“Could you just sign this please?” You say softly, trying to ignore the clear awkwardness you’ve helped contribute to. Fuck you shouldn’t have said that about names, you were just pissed at him being an asshole by the door.
“No. He can tell me my name.”
You inwardly grown. You love that she’s standing up for herself but you’d rather be back in the hallway whilst she did it.
“Baby,” He smiles, moving towards her, “we just met last night!”
“And yet I’ve had your dick in my mouth. I tend to like to know the names of people whose dick I’ve had in my mouth. And as your tongue has been in my ass hole, I presumed you’d know mine”
Well shit.
You decide to appraise a very odd looking stain on the ceiling and ignore whatever is unfolding in front of you.
“I didn’t……..Did I?......Oh shit, yeah I remember…….NO!” He rushes but it’s too late.
“You’ve already forgotten what happened between us?!!! You literally had your tongue down my throat a minute before she came in here.”
Is there anywhere in this poor woman Seungcheol hasn’t had his tongue?!
You resist giving her a piece of your mind for the way she said “she” and continue assessing what you think might be a wine stain on the ceiling, though how it got there you don’t know.
“Tell me my name and I’ll sign it.”
You glance at Seungcheol, you can tell he’s panicking but you’ve never met either of them until about three minutes ago, so it’s not like you could help even if you wanted to.
When you move over to the desk to get a pen, hoping Seunghceol may somehow remember this woman’s name in this lifetime, you spot her small card holder by her phone. A small card holder holding her drivers license. You hate having to help him, you’d much rather see him suffer but you do technically now have to have his best interests at heart. You don’t suppose your job with Woozi will last very long if you allow this woman to decimate the character of one of the band members.
You glance round, noting she hasn’t moved and does still have her back to you, just as Seungcheol’s panicked eyes find you and he realises what you’re doing.
Slowly, you pick up her wallet and move the license up a little. It feels less like a complete disregard for her privacy and not so big a break in girl code to not fully take it out of the card holder.
“SORA” You mouth dramatically to Seungcheol whilst he tries to act natural. But him fucking squinting like he doesn’t understand isn’t helping.
“SAW,” You mouth, mimicking sawing something in half, “RAAAAA.”
This is fucking stupid and more than a little demeaning. But the big idiot still doesn’t get it.
“SAAAAAAAAW,” You try to act out seeing something in the distance but she turns around and you have to suddenly act natural, holding her card holder behind your back.
“Well?! MY NAME SEUNGCHEOL?!” She whips round back to him.
“SORA.” You mouth in the biggest way you can.
“So…..” You put your thumbs up and mouth it again, “So…ra…..Sora! You’re Sora! See! I never forget a name.” He grins.
You roll your eyes and quickly throw the card holder back just before she turns to check you’ve not helped him in some way.
Fucking moran. He behaves like a chauvinistic pig and yet still somehow gets away with it.
“Could you sign this?” You pear round her with the paper and pen in your hand.
“Like I’d want to tell anyone about being anywhere near him.” She snarls, much to Seungcheol’s shock.
He can’t honestly think she believes he remembered her name? He cannot be that arrogant to think she’d let what just happened slide and continue fawning over him like she no doubt was last night.
She snatches the paper and pen from your hand and marches over to the desk to fill out her name and sign it. You follow Seungcheol’s gaze and note he’s not got a care in the world that he’s probably ruined poor Sora’s whole week. He’s too busy eyeing her ass hungrily, his busy tongue licking his lips like she's lunch.
What. An. Asshole.
“Here.” She slams the paper into your chest and throws the pen at your head.
There is no need for that. And you’re ready to tell her so before Seungcheol pipes up.
“Hey, leave your number. We come back to Osaka every tour y’know.” He leers at her as she quickly gets dressed.
“Get fucked.”
And with that she’s gone in a waft of floral perfume and anger.
“Oh and!” She shouts from the doorway, “Your dick isn’t as big as you say it is!”
The door slams behind her and you both just stand in silence.
“That is not true and the way she was waddling proves it.”
“You’re disgusting.” You glare at him.
“You shouldn’t speak to your boss like that,” he smirks, clearly not affected by a thing that's just happened.
“You’re not my boss. Woozi is.”
“He works for us.” He scoffs.
“You’re signed to his and Jeonghan’s company. They own the company. My contract is with him specifically. I have nothing to do with you.”
“I always like a hot nerd.” He creeps closer.
“Well. I imagine most of the world’s population could be classed as a nerd if they’re comparing themselves to your intelligence.”
You march out of the room. You don’t need a response from him, you’ve already made your mind up about him. Choi Seungcheol is a womanising lowlife who you never want to speak to again. You will never let him anywhere near you, not even if he was the last man on earth.
Tokyo
“Did something happen between you and Seungcheol?” Woozi asks, somewhat apprehensively.
You’re sitting in his suite with him and Jeonghan, all three of you with laptops out, trying to plan schedules for recording the new album and deciding which brand deals, out of the influx of offers that have come in recently, any of the guys should do.
It’s only been five days since you started working for Woozi but you’ve found him to be the complete opposite of Seungcheol. In fact you’ve found that almost everyone on the staff is the opposite of Seungcheol. Every single person, including the other band members, have made you feel nothing but welcome, each of them coming over to introduce themselves and offer help if you need it.
The same cannot be said for Seungcheol.
He has been the most petulant idiot you’ve ever met.
He purposefully asked you where a man called Jihoon was in front of everyone, having not uttered a word to you since the little debacle in his suite. When you told him you didn’t know who Jihoon was, he humiliated you in front of the whole band and the stylists by replying “oh right yeah, I forgot Woozi only tells people he likes his real name.”. Nobody laughed, they all just looked perplexed at what the hell was going on as you both glared at each other. They didn’t even realise you’d been introduced, let alone already seemingly enemies.
You got him back though. Sort of.
You’d had to travel between Osaka and Tokyo with Seungcheol and Woozi because Seungcheol was designing new bass drum skins and you’d be the one putting the order in. As Hoshi had already gone ahead for an event and the two other members tended to like to travel with their girlfriends, you’d ended up with the king of the boneheads.
Just as you saw him taking a gulp of his drink out of the corner of your eye (and checked there were no cars behind you), you shouted out that there was a cat in the road. The driver slammed on and poor old Seungcheol ended up covered in coffee.
It did somewhat backfire on you though. He had sent his bags in one of the other cars and because his sweater was covered in coffee, he decided it was probably best that he just not wear anything at all and opted to discard his sweater completely. You tried your best not to look at him, really you did, but you couldn’t help glancing at him. His knowing smirks and the constant need to catch yourself before you looked at him again, made that seven hour car journey feel like days.
“No.” You glance at him before going back to your laptop, “Why?”
“He’s just being……odd.”
“Is he not odd all the time?” Jeonghan snorts at that and you feel a weird sense of pride that you’ve managed to fit in with them so quickly.
“She’s got a point there.”
“I guess. He just seems different.”
You feel a weird twinge in your stomach at that, a slight panic that there’s something wrong or going on with him. Though you’re not sure why you care, he’s nothing but an ass to you.
Maybe it’s because of what happened in his suite that first morning? He doesn’t like that you saw him being humiliated and now he’s being weird because of it. But he didn’t seem bothered by it at the time so why would he care after the fact.
“There was a girl in his suite when you got me to take the NDA to him, maybe it’s that.”
“_____,” Jeonghan smiles knowingly, “I’d be more surprised if there wasn’t. I don’t think he’s ever been alone in a hotel room in all the years we’ve been doing this.”
That leaves a sour taste on your tongue but you know it has no right to be there.
“She wasn’t exactly…..kind….to him when she left. He’d forgotten her name and she didn’t really like that,”
“Ugh Seungcheol,” Woozi leans back in his seat, wiping his face with his hands, “when will he grow out of all this bullshit!”
“I agree with you but that doesn’t explain what’s going on with those two,” Jeonghan points at you.
“Well. Well. I might’ve called him disgusting?.” Your cheeks heat when neither of them give any sort of reaction.
You jump slightly when laughter ripples through the air and they both beam at you.
“I think you’ll fit in well here ______.” Woozi smiles whilst Jeonghan nods along.
You smile and sheepishly say thank you but you can’t help feeling weird. Something isn’t sitting right with you at all and you’re certain it’s down to Seungcheol. It’s probably hatred and the fact his voice sounds like nails down a chalk board. Yeah…… That’ll be it. It’s definitely nothing else.
One of the main reasons you were excited for this job was because you genuinely loved the band. You were a fan of their music, I fan of their style, you just loved everything about them. You didn’t even really have a favourite, they just all seemed like great guys who made amazing music and that was it. You’d told Woozi you liked the band during your interview and he said it was a good thing, it meant you’d care about your work and so far, that is proving to be true.
You’re standing at the side of the stage watching as thousands of screaming fans sing every word back to Shadow as they perform. That would've been you, in total awe of them as they rocked out in front of tens of thousands of fans.
But instead. You're standing glaring at the drummer whose arms glisten with sweat every time he strikes a cymbal and who you're desperately trying not to look at. But you can't help. He's gone too far.
About twenty minutes before they were due to go on stage, the whole crew was gathering for a team talk. It was everyone. Stylists, security, fuck you're certain even the guys that print the lanyards were there.
But one person that wasn't, was you.
He was holding the door open for one of the makeup artists to go into the large shared dressing room. You knew he was going to do something, he'd seen you walking towards him. You know he had because he'd made a point of checking out the makeup artist's ass and then directly looked at you with a smarmy smile.
You braced yourself for the door closing on you or him sticking out his foot to trip you up. But he took it a step further, a step too far.
“Where are you going?" Seungcheol blocks off the doorway as he leans on it.
"To the team meeting,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. Surely it's fucking obvious where you're going.
"Why?”
"Because it's a whole team meeting. Move out of the way please.” Adding the please is done begrudgingly but he is still a member of the band and so you can't just tell him to fuck off and kick him in the balls how you'd like to.
"But you're not part of the team.”
"What?” You frown, "Move please, I don't want to be late.”
"You can't be late for something you're not invited to. You told me yourself, you work for Woozi. Everyone in here is part of team Shadow,” he declares like it's obvious, "guess you're not part of any team.” He sighs.
Embarrassment creeps up your spine. You're certain Woozi would be expecting you to be there but short of pushing past him and making a scene, you're not entirely sure how to get round this.
“You've had your joke," you mumble, “come on move, we'll be late."
“I will be late, you mean. You're probably early to whatever plans you have for the evening. There's probably some private moment going on that you can shoe horn your way into and make ten times worse.”
You stare at him. Both of you almost challenging the other to look away but the difference? He holds all the cards and he knows it. You don't win in this situation. If you tell him to fuck off, he'll say you've been unprofessional and no doubt tell Woozi and you lose the best job you've ever had. Or you don't tell him to fuck off and you have to walk away in embarrassment.
"Is Woozi in there?”
"I mean yeah, we're all one big family really.” He shrugs, “It'd be weird if he wasn't there.” He insisted, his smirk only getting more annoying.
Part of you wants to punch him, to put this arrogant rock star in his place. But there's a weird feeling in your chest too, that you can't quite figure out what it means.
He doesn't stop looking at you, his smirk never faltering. But you just pull your sweater over your hands and avert your eyes, pretending to look past him and like this isn't making you want to cry.
“Bye then." You say quietly, sending him a false smile but still not looking him in the eye.
You wander down the corridor to the side of the stage and hope you find something there that'll occupy you when the “one big family" all turn up to start the concert. At least then if Woozi asks where you were you can say you were caught up with something.
Seungcheol watches you leave pretty pleased that he's got the upper hand. He'd been enjoying the little back and forth you guys had been having the past few days. And if he's honest, he wants to get you back for the other morning. You were fucking annoying and ever since he's had this need to get a rise out of you.
But as he watches you walk off, he gets a weird feeling in his chest that unsettles him. His smirk leaves and his eyebrows inadvertently knit together. He got this feeling when you called him disgusting too, though he ignored it then and tried to put it down to his hangover. Add that to the leaping feeling he had in his stomach when something the driver said made you laugh, he's starting to get a little worried about all these unknown feelings he's having.
This must be what hatred feels like. The sound of your laugh must physically cause him pain and the feelings in his chest are just pure annoyance when you're around. Yeah. That’ll be it. It's the only logical explanation.
“You know we don't object to workplace relationships,” You jump a little, you hadn't realised Jeonghan was so close to you.
"What do you mean?” You avert your eyes to him but quickly refocus on the band.
"You and Cheol, you keep staring at each other and I think even Woozi's realised there's a tension there and he's normally so lost in schedules and shit, he doesn't realise anything.”
"I don't stare.” You snap.
"Whatever you say,” Jeonghan smirks, "I know he's got a reputation but he's one of the kindest guys you'll ever meet under all that swagger.”
You wonder how much Seungcheol pays people to lie for him. You've got proof he's not a kind person, and you do not believe that he doesn't live up to that "reputation” Jeonghan is referring to. Both you and Sora can attest to that.
"There's no tension. I'm just trying to do my job.”
"Okie dokie.” Jeonghan smiles though you can tell he’s not convinced at all. "Oh! And we missed you at the staff meeting! You don't have to work so hard!.”
You watch as Jeonghan glides away. It relieves a few of the worries you'd had about not being missed at the meeting, at least there seems to be people who are genuinely looking out for you. But it just makes you more pissed at the drummer who adverts his eyes the second you look back over to him.
This can't all be because of that first day. He's taken an instant dislike to you and, to be honest, you feel exactly the same way.
One thing is for sure. You won't let him win.
Bangkok
And so for the next three weeks of the Asia leg of the tour, a battle ensues. You both happen to be at breakfast at the same time? You’re making sure that you take the last of the muesli he likes. He notices that you’re carrying a heavy bag? He’ll purposefully pick out another member of staff who is also carrying something and make a grand gesture of asking if they need help, right in front of your face.
Everyone knew what was going on. It was like the both of you couldn’t hear a conversation going on with the other without passive aggressively butting in.
“Do you want to try this hat for the magazine cover?”
“Are you sure that would fit over his enormously oversized head?” You’d chide as the room erupted in laughter and Seungcheol glared at you through the mirror.
Or.
“______ seriously you’ve got me so organised I’m running out of things to worry about.” Woozi beamed at you.
“Pretty easy to be so anal about shit when she’s got a permanent stick up her ass.”
It was just an everyday part of your life now. Wake up, make sure Woozi has everything he needs and then go out of your way to piss off Seungcheol. His schedule seemed pretty much the same except where you organised Woozi, he played for thousands of fans and partied until the early hours.
And it’s his partying, or rather the whole group partying, which is putting you in a situation you didn’t really want to be in right now.
Seungcheol had used your dislike for partying when he was trying his best to embarrass you in front of everyone. The trouble for him was that you didn’t care what he thought about you in that respect. You’d never been one for huge crowds of drunk people, it just wasn’t for you. You loved socialising, you loved going out with friends for drinks or good food but being in a confined space with a bunch of sweaty drunk people? You’d really rather sit in a bath of ice.
But this was the last night of the Asia tour. It was a big deal and even though you’d told Seungcheol to get fucked when he’d called you boring for not going, it turned out you weren’t going to get away with it so easily. Woozi made you promise you’d join them all for one drink at least and your best friend at home had made you promise you’d put yourself out there more just before you started this job. You didn’t need to make sure everything is ready for the next day or spend your time writing in your diary, or any of the other one hundred things you could think of doing to avoid situations you felt uncomfortable in. You just needed to be brave enough to actually go.
So with Woozi’s promise that you only had to stay for one drink and your best friend’s words whirring round your mind, you find yourself standing in front of the mirror in your room, not knowing whether you’re even dressed right. You know you can’t wear your usual sweaters or jeans but you didn’t want to seem too over dressed, too out of your comfort zone.
You’d gone with a leather mini skirt which you didn’t even realise you’d packed, your good old bestie still looking out for you even when she’s not with you, and a tank top that felt too tight but you could work with it and it made your tits look great even if you do say so yourself. You hadn’t brought heels so your trusty doc martens would have to do. It isn’t something you’d wear to a club you suppose but drinking with a rock band? It works. Sort of. You think?
“Fuck this get a grip _____. No one will even notice you’re there, one drink and then you can come back and pack.” You mumble to yourself as you fix your eyeliner in the mirror. “You’ve got this.” You fake a smile to yourself before you take a deep breath, grab your phone and head to the rooftop bar of the hotel.
It wasn’t as bad as you thought, you’d had a drink with Dino’s girlfriend who has become a good friend in the month you’ve been on tour with them. And Woozi had made you join him in a dance but it felt very much like dancing with your dad and so you’d spent most of your time laughing with him whilst he showed you how to do the robot.
You didn’t see Seungcheol. You’re not even sure why you were thinking of him. He was probably with some woman by now already and he wouldn’t want to see you anyway. You tell yourself your eyes scan the room every three minutes because you want to prove a point to him. You want to show him that you’re not as boring as he says you are. But why should you even care what he thinks? It’s probably just because your competitiveness has peaked in this month-long battle with Seungcheol, you just want to show that you won this little challenge. It’s not even really about proving a point to him. It’s about winning.
You bid your goodbyes to Dino and his girlfriend as they run off giggling after informing you they’re going for a late night swim, and you head towards the elevator.
“Hold the door please!” You run towards the closing door as a hand stops it and you throw yourself in.
“Thank you,” you sigh before you realise who it is, “oh.”
“_____?” Seungcheol saying your name makes you feel weird but it’s probably irritation. That’s the only thing that would explain the goosebumps that’ve erupted all over your body.
Your eyes drift to the woman in his arm, one of her hands under his shirt, tickling his skin. You get the sudden urge to scratch this woman’s eyes out, a feeling of utter rage coming over you like a dark cloud but you bat it away. You don’t care who touches him.
His eyes drift over you, his eyebrows knitting together but he snaps back to himself and holds his girl a little closer.
“Does she work for you?”
“Nah, she works for Woozi. A professional busy body.”
You know he’s waiting for your reply but the sight of the woman still touching his skin has you mute. What the fuck is happening and why does it feel like those words he just uttered actually hurt? You’d been tearing shreds off each other for weeks and it hadn’t bothered you. The last time you’d truly felt upset by something he’d done was the staff meeting but you were over that. Now though it just felt like he was being mean for the sake of it and you were so confused by what you were feeling towards him and his “friend” that you can’t even muster a response.
“You came then?” He smirks when he doesn’t get a response.
“Oh you’ve been to the party? You didn’t feel like dressing up?” She says in the most sickly sweet way she can.
Fuck you feel like you’re in school, the resident school bully deciding it’s your turn to feel their nastiness.
You just glance at both of them and then look forward, willing the elevator to move quicker.
“It’s no wonder she’s going back to her room alone,” you hear her whisper to Seungcheol, although you’re fairly certain she intended you to hear it.
Sure you weren’t overly confident in your outfit but the longer the night went on, the more you felt happy in your own skin. Others at the party were dressed like you, you didn’t stand out. If anything it’s her that looks out of place, a sequin dress and sky high slingbacks making her look like a christmas tree. And yet her words are cutting as deep as a knife.
Your bottom lip threatens to wobble but you stay strong. You won’t break in front of either of them.
The elevator rings, your floor finally arriving and you rush out without sparing them another glance.
You don’t see how Seungcheol moves like he wants to say something to you or how once you’re out of the elevator he suddenly distances himself from the woman he was with, much to her confusion.
You just rush to your room, rub the makeup off your face in a shower that’s so hot it’s only a few degrees below actually burning your skin and spend an hour making sure you’ve packed everything you came with. Making sure the leather skirt is right at the bottom of the pile. Just the sight of it makes you want to melt away in a puddle of embarrassment.
You’ve so many feelings fighting for supremacy that you don’t know which to focus on most. Sure you’re embarrassed but the thing that’s annoying you is why you hated that woman before she’d even insulted you. You had every reason to loathe her now she’d made you feel like the ugliest runt in the litter but before that you wanted to end her. The second you saw her hands on Seungcheol’s skin you wanted something horrible to happen to her and you can’t explain why.
You don’t get much sleep after all that. Just toss and turn with her words ringing in your ears as images of her and Seungcheol laughing about how pathetic you are, as they fuck each other race through your mind.
And what’s even worse. Things are going to get a whole lot more uncomfortable.
Hua Hin- Thailand
“Ok what's wrong?"
All four members of Shadow take up a table and four seats on the coach taking them to the Thai resort they'll spend a few days at before the South American leg of the tour begins. It wasn't the whole crew, just the members, girlfriends and managers. And you. At everyone's insistence other than, of course, Seungcheol.
The four of them had been having a little song writing session as the coach would take four- five hours. But Seungcheol hadn't joined in with any of it, not even when they'd purposely rhymed the same word twice just to annoy him, knowing he hates repeating words when they can't think of a proper rhyming couplet.
“Nothing."
“She was that bad?"
“Who?"
“Whoever you took back to your room."
“Oh." He wriggles in his seat, “nothing happened. I asked her to leave, I wasn't in the mood."
His three friends stare at each other wide eyed.
“You weren't in the mood?" Dino clarifies.
“Are you not well?" Hoshi asks.
“I'm fine! Can't a man just not be in the mood?" His eyes flick up the bus but then back down at the wordless notebook.
They all turn to look where he just has, knowing looks on their faces when they face each other again. Because it's you. You're who Seungcheol has just glanced at unknowingly and it's you who's been the only woman they've ever seen get under Seungcheol's skin.
They've seen it happening right in front of their own eyes. How both of you proclaim to hate each other and yet you both search for each other in every room you go in. You both spend each day seeking each other out even if it is to be complete idiots.
"How do you know when you've gone too far?”
"What do you mean?”
"Like when banter becomes bullying?”
The three exchange looks and Dino kicks Mingyu under the table, silently telling him to take the lead.
“What makes you ask that?"
Seungcheol doesn't look up from the paper, instead he decides to just draw little flowers on the pages. But he needs to figure out what's going on, he can't keep feeling all these feelings every day.
“Last night," he sighs, “that girl, she was really mean to _____. Basically called her ugly."
“That's fucked up."
“But…..is it…..is it fucked up that I didn't stick up for her?"
“Yeah."
“Dude what the fuck!" Hoshi kicks Dino.
“What?! I'm just saying if you hear someone say that to anyone unprovoked then you should stick up for them. Unless it's some like seven foot dude with an axe."
“Why are you and _____ the way you are?"
“What?" Seungcheol’s eyes snap to Mingyu.
“She's kind, she's funny, she's a bit shy, sure but she's part of the team. Why are you two the way you are?"
“We're not like anything. Just normal."
“We all know that's not true Cheol. There's something about her. And you know it."
“I can't stand her."
“Cheol, you look for her in every room apart from when you're partying because you know she's not there."
“That's because I know she's going to pull some bullshit!" He shouts but lowers his voice when Woozi and Jeonghan turn around, luckily you have your headphones on and are deep in some game on your switch.
"You've been turning up early to soundcheck then you know you can speak to her or annoy her at least.”
"I've decided to be more professional,” he shrugs.
"You're drawing the exact flower she has on her necklace.”
All four of them look down at the piece of paper. Shit. It is the same flower that you have on a gold chain. You wear it every day, a small golden charm on the necklace, it was a gift from your parents when you graduated. Seungcheol knows that because he heard you tell Jeonghan when he asked about it, he remembers wanting to punch Jeonghan on the nose for daring to take an interest in you. He wanted to ask about it. Not Jeonghan.
"That's not……I'm not…. Fuck I don't know what to do! I feel weird whenever she's around and I spend most of my time counting down the hours until it's time to meet up with everyone because I want to see her. And taunting her is the only way I think she'll talk to me. Because someone like her isn't going to be interested in me! Fuck the first day we met was because she came to my room and saw exactly how I behave! And I feel like my heart is physically breaking whenever she laughs and jokes with someone else because I want to do that. I want to make her laugh. And she looked so fucking pretty last night but I didn't think she’d come to the party! And I didn't know that woman would be such a bitch to her! And she looked so fucking sad and I did nothing. I'm having all these feelings and I don't know what they are or how to deal with them! I don't even like partying anymore! You know, the other day all I could think about was how much I wanted to just sit with her and hold her and talk to her! I've never just wanted to sit and talk to a woman!”
He's gasping for breath by the time he's finished. All of them including Woozi and Jeonghan and Dino and Mingyu's girlfriends are looking at him in shock. Thankfully you're still blissfully unaware of the mini breakdown Seungcheol has just had at the back of the coach.
"You need to tell her.” Dino's girlfriend chimes in kindly. "Not telling her will just make a huge mess.” She looks knowingly at Dino who just sends everyone an embarrassed smile. Everyone knows the chaos that went on between them on the last tour.
"It's gone too far. Even if it hadn't, it definitely has now. She looked so fucking sad when she left the elevator last night. She isn't going to trust my intentions is she?!”
"She will.” Mingyu nods.
"Would you?” Seungcheol asks their girlfriends who are on the table next to them.
"Well,” they look at each other. "Probably not? But!” Mingyu's girlfriend rushes to say, "I think you need to show her who you really are. Don't just go in with some big confession. She needs to know the real you, the one we all know. Not this idiot who knocked a drink all over her."
“She did that to me first!"
“Grow up." She deadpans as Mingyu giggles behind him.
“How do I show her! I doubt she'll even talk to me."
"You'll think of something.”
"Yeah I doubt it," Seungcheol pouts, slamming his pen on the notebook. “I even downloaded a list of the best pickup lines last week when I'd convinced myself to do something. But I'm not gonna be one of those sad acts that creep up on women at bars with some awful line to be laughed at."
“We're here!" Your voice breaks through the tension as you excitedly look through the windscreen and throw your headphones off your head.
“Fucking great." Seungcheol grabs his bag and storms up the coach.
“He’ll sort this out, won't he?"
“I hope so. They’d make a cute couple and I'm never wrong, am I baby?" Mingyu's girlfriend taps his chest to back her up.
“Never. She clocked you two the day you met." He smiles at Dino.
“We weren't obvious!"
“Whatever you say dude."
They all hurl themselves off the coach, not even noticing just how beautiful the resort is that Jeonghan found because they're all so lost in watching the way you try to avoid Seungcheol and how he can't seem to keep his eyes off you. That is apart from Mingyu who is happily accepting the snacks being offered by the resort staff as they all enter the main building.
“_____! We thought you'd gotten lost!"
You smile at them as you sit down but in reality you're questioning everything. You didn't plan for this break and yes you've got summer clothes with you and bikinis, but you didn't really plan to be at a five star Thai resort. And after last night your usually high confidence was wavering.
"I love your dress,” Mingyu's girlfriend says to you quietly as you sit between her and, sadly, Seungcheol, at the long ornately decorated table that's been set up by the golden beach.
"Thank you. I didn't know we'd be coming somewhere like this. I think I'll need to check out the stores in the village tomorrow.”
"Let me know when you go! We could go, all the girls together.”
"I'd like that,” you smile. And for the first time today, it's a genuine one.
She goes back to talking to Woozi about something and everyone else seems to be preoccupied too, so that just leaves you and Seungcheol. You fiddle with your thumbs before your eyes land on the wine bottle. But before you can even reach for it, Seungcheol grabs it. Does he have to do this? Does he have to carry it on even…..now…. What?
“Why have you done that?"
“You didn't have a drink."
“But I could pour one for myself."
“Well I needed a top up so I thought I'd do yours too."
“Why?"
“Why not?"
You don't answer, just watch him and wait for him to take a sip of his wine.
“What are you looking at?"
“I want to see you drink it first. Make sure it's not poisoned or some shit."
“You know what?" He turns to you like he's going to fire something back, “n-never mind." He takes a sip of his wine and goes back to staring into the distance.
Well. That's new. Very new. Perhaps he's worn out from all the fucking last night and can't be bothered with you anymore. But the idea of him not even bothering with your usual banter leaves you feeling hollow.
The meal passes in a cloud of laughter but you can't help feeling weird. Seungcheol doesn't say any shitty comments, he doesn't purposefully knock your food off the table, it's all very…..cordial? It's unsettling if anything.
“Enjoy your bats!" Woozi laughs as he waves you off.
“You can still always come with me? It's famous y’know!"
“Sure it is," he beams at you, “I think I'll spend the whole evening by the pool."
“Fair enough," you giggle as you walk back to your room.
The second you found out where you were going, you were online looking for things to do. You loved making sure you'd seen the sights, the pool is great and everything but what if you never come here again? Every pool more or less looks the same, the sights don't.
And it would work two fold, if they all broke off into couples or little groups, you had things to do so you wouldn't feel lonely.
Amazingly, none of them felt like coming to see the bats of Na Yang cave leave for hunting this evening. But according to Trip Adviser it was well worth seeing. Each night thousands of bats leave the cave and even though you don't like bats in the slightest, it sounds like quite the sight to behold.
You quickly change into shorts, t-shirt and sneakers, grab your camera that you knew would come in handy at some point and rush off to the main hotel building, where apparently a mini bus will pick you up to take you to the bats.
Just as you're settling into your seat, the mini bus being a lot more packed than you thought it would be, the driver stops.
“Sorry! Sorry! Thanks for waiting!"
"No problem,” the driver says kindly.
What the fuck is he doing here? You presumed he'd be heading out to find some bar or club later tonight. Does he want to upset you that much that he's willing to even ruin your excursion?
"There's one seat left, you're lucky!”
Well. That's where the driver is wrong. There's nothing lucky about the last seat available being next to you. You try not to look at his thighs as he sits down next to you. You try not to look at him at all. But his thighs touch yours on the crowded mini bus and you feel like you've been electrocuted.
"Do you like bats?” He says after about twenty minutes of silence.
"Not really.”
"Then why are you going?” He frowns.
“Because it's a once in a lifetime thing and you don't know if you'll ever come back here again."
He just nods and you go back to sitting in silence, though neither of you move your thighs away from each other.
“Just a few more minutes!”
Thank god for that. The almost 45 minute drive had felt like a decade of your life had been taken away from you.
“So is it like a couple of thousand bats?"
“You don't know?"
“No," he looks confused, “why should I know?"
“Well surely this is something you wanted to see. If not, why are you here? I doubt there's many suitors at a bat cave."
“Suitors," he grins, “damn you're right grandma, there probably isn't."
You fight off a smile. This is just him being his usual annoying self, he was bound to stumble on a funny comeback eventually.
“There's two million bats." You shew him off the bus now you've finally parked up.
“TWO MILLION?!" He spins round and bangs into you, he's so close to you that you can smell his minty breath. He brushed his teeth for the bats? "I-I mean I knew that. It's just when you actually hear it that it shocks you all over again.”
"Ok?” You say slowly.
Neither of you move. Has he always had such pretty eyes? You knew he had pretty lips, you'd thought about his pretty lips a lot. They usually came up as a suggestion after you'd searched for his big, strong, meaty……fuck you need to stop thinking about his arms. It's a gateway drug to fantasising about him like you used to before you knew he was a giant dickhead.
“Come on lover birds! The bats won't wait for romance!"
You both jump away from each other, both clearly embarrassed at what the driver has just said.
“The bats," you point and set off for the cave, following the other bat fanatics.
“Woah," Seungcheol says as he looks up at the mountain. "The caves at the top?”
"Yeah, they fly out each night. Why are you here if you don't know this?”
"I was talking to the girl at reception and she suggested it.”
"Oh.” Of course it's to do with a girl.
Seungcheol cringes to himself, he didn't mean that. He just panicked and needed a plausible reason for why he's suddenly turned up here. Truthfully he's only here because he heard you telling Woozi about it. He thought it'd be a way to start afresh, to show you he's not what you think he is. Or he doesn't want to be like that anymore at least. But he's already fucked it up.
“Not long now! It can look a bit daunting but it's such a sight to behold!"
You quickly get your camera ready with all the other tourists.
“Do you want me to take it?"
“Why?"
“Then you can see it with your own eyes?"
Why is he being so nice?
“O-ok. Thank you,” you take the camera strap off from over your head and hand him your camera, “it's just that button, I've already set it up before the mini bus came."
“Cool." He nods as his fingers graze yours.
“Yeah."
“Here they come everyone!!"
You both turn to face the cave just as the biggest swarm of something you've ever seen in your life leaves the cave. It's like a never ending line. You knew two million bats would be a lot but this is like something from another world. Like how the world looked before humans ruined it and animals could just do as they pleased.
"Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself as you watch the bats in awe.
Seungcheol isn't watching the bats. He doesn't give a fuck about the bats. He got the photo straight away and then a far better sight caught his eye. Your whole face lit up in wonder as you stared at the sky in astonishment. He doesn't even realise he's doing it, he just moves on autopilot and turns the camera to you. You're meant to savour the most beautiful views and in his opinion, the sight in front of him is one of the most stunning he's seen.
"So they'll hunt now until 6am tomorrow morning! Unless you've all brought your tents, I'll give you some time to explore the area and then we'll meet back at the bus? Say in twenty minutes?"
“Can I have that?"
“Oh!" Seungcheol hands you your camera, “sorry, didn't realise I still had it."
“Did you get the picture?"
He panics. He can't let you see the photo he's taken of you. Not whilst he's still here anyway.
“I did!"
“Great," you take his word for it and put the camera back down against your chest now the strap is back round your neck.
“What do we do now?"
“I was just going to grab a coffee from the stall and take in the view.” You start walking, presuming he'll want to do his own thing.
"Cool.” He follows you.
Why is he following you? Surely he doesn't want to spend time with you?
When he pays for your coffee before you can get your card out, you start to feel like something truly odd is going on. He hasn't said a bad word to you, other than the grandma comment, and he's being weirdly timid.
"They should have souvenirs." You grumble more to yourself than Seungcheol as you wait for everyone to get back to the minibus.
“Yeah you'd think they'd sell little bat toys."
“Are you making fun of me?" You'd been waiting for this, you knew he couldn't last this long without being an ass.
“No! My mom likes trinkets and shit, I like getting her something from everywhere we've been. It's normally just a magnet from the stadium or something. I don't really visit places when we have breaks.”
"I can imagine.” You know what he's implying. You know how he spends his time normally.
"I’m pleased we saw this. It's been cool.” You hate how your heart leaps when he says “we". He'd planned this because some girl told him to, he's probably only done it then he thinks he gets her as a reward. It's got nothing to do with you at all.
“Hey you could always have a copy of the picture if you'd like, get a frame or something from the market and put it in there. Like a homemade souvenir."
“I'd like that." His eyes find yours again and once again you can't look away. “She'd like it too." He smiles and you're certain your heart has fully stopped working.
He's never smiled at you. He's smirked, he's sent you his evil grin, but never the smile he normally reserves for everyone but you.
“No problem." You smile back, trying to look anywhere but at him then you don't start giggling.
You don't speak much on the way back to the hotel, he heads off to find Hoshi at the bar and you head back to your room.
Once you're washed and ready for bed, you make sure you transfer the photos from your camera. One trip to Greece where you didn't back it up once and lost everything, was enough to make sure you never made that mistake again.
Seungcheol only managed to take two photos but as long as there's one there, you can keep your promise to help him with the souvenir for his mom.
You check them both, the first one is amazing, exactly the right shot to show what an insane sight it was to witness. But the second one stops you in your tracks. He took this? He took this of you? The setting sun illuminates your face better than any highlighter ever has and the look on your face……well in the words of Keira Knightly, “I look quite pretty.".
Something about him taking that photo makes you almost giddy. But you shouldn't read into you, he's just taken it by mistake probably. You cannot let yourself think this means something. He's Seungcheol. He hates you. And you hate him.
"Does that pool have a massive floaty in it?”
“It's probably for kids." Woozi dismisses you.
“But do we know if it's for kids?"
“Why?" He smirks at you over his fruit.
It's just a few of you this morning. The two couples have gone on a day trip and you don't really have plans until the night market you want to check out later. And the huge inflatable assault course is looking more than appealing.
“I'm just asking." You shrug.
“They've got a climbing wall you know, that you can jump off into the pool." Seungcheol adds in.
“REALLY? I mean…….really?" You say a bit more quietly, your cheeks heating.
"We should go on them. Jeonghan booked out this whole resort so there's no kids here or anything.”
You didn't know that. That changes things a whole lot more. You won't have to swat children into the pool when they get in your way on the climbing wall.
"Do we really have to do that? It's meant to be relaxing?” Jeonghan sighs, fanning himself in the largest sunglasses you've ever seen.
"When else do you get a whole water bouncy castle for yourself?” Seungcheol adds in.
Fuck you wish he'd go and sit at another table.
It's not even because he's annoying for once.
You've never seen someone eat papaya the way he's doing. He's fucking devouring it and you've been trying your best to not just sit and watch. It's bordering on obscene as he licks and eats half a papaya in front of you all and you try your best to focus on the inflatables and not clenching your thighs together.
The rest of them don't seem to care but you can't help letting your mind wander. His tongue looks like it knows exactly what it's doing and the juice that trickles down his chin could only be improved if it was your juice dribbling down his chin.
"I thought you were coming to the spa with me?”
You drag your eyes away from Seungcheol eating out the papaya and will yourself to stop imagining how much you'd enjoy him eating you out.
“Jeonghan, we might not come here again. It's an empty resort with a fucking sick pool and shit. You go to the spa,"
Did he? He can't have just said that because that would insinuate that he actually listened to you when you said the bat cave was a once in a lifetime opportunity. That you should make the most of things whilst you're here.
“I'll come to the spa with you. They can act like children in the pool." Woozi pulls his newspaper down like a dad deciding his kids’ itineraries.
“Great!" Hoshi grins at you all.
“There's even this bubble pool apparently, I don't know what it does but there's a water slide with a trampoline in the pool." You excitedly tell Seungcheol, somehow not remembering he's your sworn mortal enemy.
Hoshi, Jeonghan and Woozi share knowing looks when Seungcheol says how cool it sounds and for the first time, they see you having a normal conversation.
“I'm going to go get changed," you finish your orange juice and rush from the table, “I'll be back! Don't bounce without me!!"
“It's going well then?"
“What is?" Seungcheol frowns as he finishes his breakfast.
“That was almost pleasant," Woozi chimes.
“She's just excited about the water trampoline thing. I've told you, I've lost any chance I had.”
"Where did you go last night?” Jeonghan changes the subject.
"Oh…….nowhere,” Seungcheol dismisses them.
"He followed _____ to the bats. Grinning like a mad man when he found me in the bar and didn't even stare at the woman behind the bar's ass.”
“Fuck me." Woozi puts down his paper looking shocked.
“Shut up. I'm going to change."
He struts off, mentally deciding which of his swim shorts might make you forget all of his past behaviour and jump into his waiting arms.
"I'm going to be the best man when they get married.”
"Soonyoung. You've said that about all three of them. You can't be the best man for all three. You'll all need to rotate it."
“Whatever."
Ten minutes later and you're rushing to the pool, nothing but a baggy t-shirt covering your bikini clad body, your sandals in your hands and your hair tied up in a high pony tail. You didn't even have time to question whether it'd be awkward to be around Seungcheol, you just wanted to have fun, to forget any worries you had before today and take advantage of the insane surroundings you find yourself in.
You don't think twice, just rush to the pool, leave your phone on the pool chair, take your t-shirt off and do a pretty impressive, olympic level dive bomb into the pool.
Sure you're having a great time. But did you have any concern for Seungcheol's poor nerves? He hadn't even had a chance to make it to the pool and let you know he's there, before you did some sort of Baywatch shit and whipped your clothes off. He doesn't know whether to be endeared by how excited you are at the prospect of inflatable assault courses or rush off to the bathroom before you spot him, to sort out the slight situation that’s stirring in his pants.
“I'd sort that out dude before you speak to her." Soonyoung pats his shoulder as he struts towards the pool.
“I think you've just done that creeping up on people. Don't be fucking weird." He catches Soonyoung up.
“_____! You could've waited!" Soonyoung jokes.
“Sorry! Get it in Hoshi! The water is literally so perfect!" You paddle backwards and beam at them both.
“I've told you, call me Soonyoung."
“You've literally never said that to me." You giggle, making Seungcheol's heart flutter and he suddenly gets the urge to headbutt Soonyoung.
“Well I am now. Once you've been on a trampoline in a pool together, you're friends for life."
“Fair enough," you turn away and start swimming whilst you wait for them.
“Sorry."
“What for?" Seungcheol asks as he gets in the pool, opting for the steps instead of your dive bomb method.
“You looked like you wanted to slap me when she giggled. I promise to only make her miserable from now on."
“I think I've made that my job," Seungcheol watches as you check out the inflatable as you swim past it, “and it was a headbutt."
You can't remember when you last laughed so much. You've done the assault course five times, climbed the climbing wall and thrown yourself into the pool more times than you can count and the trampoline was a revelation.
"This isn't what I thought a bubble pool would be.”
"What were you expecting?”
"Well not one big bubble. I thought it'd be lots of little bubbles.” You look around with your hands on your hips as you stare at the water spraying out of the top of the large mountain you find yourself atop of.
“That's a jacuzzi." Seungcheol dead pans.
“Oh yeah," you chuckle. “Do we just throw ourselves off it?"
“Well we've thrown ourselves off everything else."
"Come on then,”
"Hey _____?” He asks but you've just bent your legs to throw yourself down the huge bubble and sort of wobble onto your ass. "Be careful!”
He grabs you but any worry he had disappears when you fall on him in a fit of laughter at the way you've nearly bounced down the bubble.
"L-lucky this is bouncy,” you giggle as you sit up between his legs, his arms still around you. "Oh! Sorry!”
You try to move back but he keeps you there.
"Wait. I wanted to say something to you if that's ok?"
“Er…..sure?" You glance at his hands on your waist and he pulls them away instantly.
“Ok so I don't know how to say this." He scratches his neck, looking more than a little nervous, “can we start again?"
“We've not bounced off the bubble yet, we can't do it again if we've not done it."
“Not the bubble," he frowns, “us. I-I mean can we drop whatever we had going on and start again? I'm not normally a complete asshole to people, I know I can be arrogant and shit but I'm not normally like this with staff or anyone in general. And…..I've really enjoyed spending time with you, I'd like to spend more time with you I think."
You feel like someones just burst the fucking bubble you're so shocked.
"But you hate me.”
"I don't hate you. I know you hate me but…..”
"I don't hate you.” You interrupt.
You both sit still for a while just gazing at each other, the water fountain at the top of the bubble landing just past you and making it seem like you two are in your own little bubble on top of the actual bubble.
"Soooo you think we could start again?”
You wait an appropriate amount of time because you don't want to come off as desperate and say it straight away. But you'd be lying if you said you're not absolutely thrilled by this little development. This whole day has been insanely fun and you've spent the entire time with Seungcheol, joking and talking about water parks you'd been to as kids. It felt natural, you seemed to have so much in common that you didn't realise and you'd barely even had the chance to drool over his abs and back because everything was so exciting.
"I think so.” You nod, smiling from ear to ear but trying to keep it cool.
"I'm sorry for how I acted.”
"No I'm sorry, I was no better,”
"Yeah but….”
"Seungcheol,” you saying his name shuts him up straight away, "we said we'd start again. Let's just agree we're sorry and move on.”
"You're sure?"
“Mm-mm," you hum.
“Come on, Soonyoung will be wondering…..wait where is Soonyoung?"
“I haven't seen him since the third time we did the assault course," you look out onto the nearby pool that is adjacent to your huge bubble. “Wait," you snort, “he's asleep on that pool chair."
“Thank fuck we've not actually lost him, I didn't even realise he'd gone.”
"Me neither,"
You're drawn to his eyes again, both of you perched on the bubble, you still sitting between his legs and the warm afternoon sun shining down on you.
"Did you say at breakfast you were going to the night market?” Seungcheol asks when a bang in the distance breaks the moment yet amazingly doesn't wake Soonyoung.
He stands up and then helps you up. Although you'd very much like to stay between his legs for the rest of the day in all honesty.
"Yeah, they have all sorts of local food vendors and things apparently and all of the seafood you can imagine. Mingyu said they were going and he knew I wanted to go too, so we're all going together. You should come.”
Shit. Is that too forward? He said he wanted to start again, he didn't say he wanted to spend this whole break with you. Which so far is what's happened.
"I love seafood.”
"Is that a yes?” You squint at him, trying not to smile.
"Yeah, I'd like to go with you….I-I mean with you all,"
“Great," you smile, “now. Are we ready to bounce?"
“Well I'm not sure, do you bounce down it in little bounces or one big bounce?" You both stare down the huge bubbly lump as water lands on your heads.
“I don't really know bubble pool etiquette. Let's just jump and see what happens?" You hold your hand out for his.
He stares for a second and then takes your hand, your fingers intertwined and both of your hearts hammering in your throats.
“Ready?"
“Absolutely." He squeezes your hand.
“You look nice."
You glance behind you, presuming Seungcheol is talking to someone else.
“Me?" You point to yourself, you're just in a little sundress and Birkenstocks.
“Who else would I be talking to, I'm walking with you."
“You could've been talking to Mingyu," you shrug.
“I told him he looked nice before we left the resort."
“He always struck me as needy." You joke, enjoying that smile again you hadn't really seen before yesterday.
You're all walking to the night market, it isn't a particularly long walk and it seemed pointless to get a taxi. As you're with the two couples, you've ended up walking with Seungcheol at the back of the group.
"I’m sorry about what that girl said to you.”
Your body tenses as you stop walking.
"What?”
"I'm sorry about what she said to you. I should've said something in the elevator, it was cruel and entirely uncalled for. I think you looked really good, better than good, sex….. really great!”
"You don't have to apologise for your one night stands.” You start walking, not really wanting to talk about one of his many women.
"I didn't sleep with her!”
You all stop walking now, you're certain he didn't mean to say it that loud but to their credit, the others all keep walking and ignore what they just heard.
“You didn't?"
“No. I told her to leave before we got out of the elevator."
Something about that makes you hope a little more than you had been doing. You can't be certain he didn't sleep with her because of you but it certainly seems that way.
"Thanks for telling me? I guess,"
“I just wanted you to know, not that you should care if I think you look good. But you were upset and I wanted you to know,"
“Thank you," you walk a little closer, your arms occasionally brushing as you navigate the tiny streets to the night market.
The night market, when you get to it, is packed. Somehow you'd manage to forget you're with the world's biggest rock band but now every so often, people do a double take. To their credit they keep their distance and leave you all to enjoy yourselves but more than once you see women checking Seungcheol out. They're probably looking at the Dino and Mingyu too but you couldn't give a fuck about that.
Every one of these women is the enemy. Every one of them could end between the legs you were between a couple of hours ago. Fuck what the hell is wrong with you? He asked to start fresh and not take chunks out of each other, that's it, nothing more. You don't have a claim over him.
“What do you want to try first?"
“Oh well….."
“SHRIMP!" Mingyu marches off.
“What happened to democracy?" His girlfriend watches him disappear.
“I could eat shrimp."
“Me too!"
“Cheol you don't like…..”
"I love shrimp! Come on before he eats it all.”
You wander off after him, feeling a thrill when you note he's waited for you before he followed Mingyu. He didn't wait for the others, just you. Jesus get a grip woman!
"He's so embarrassing when he's down bad.” Dino laughs.
"What would you class as down bad Chan? Stealing hotel room service carts?” Mingyu's girlfriend snickers as she walks off.
"I didn't steal them!” He corrects her.
"They know you didn't baby,” his girlfriend soothes, "but you did pay someone so you could use it, so it is possibly worse.”
"It worked didn't it!”
"And sadly I think that makes me as weird as you.”
"Oh my god, that's insane,” you stare at the dish in front of you.
"It's good right! We had it last time we were in Thailand,”
You're sharing mango sticky rice with Seungcheol having stuffed your face with so much seafood you're surprised you could then fit in the massaman curry or the pad kra pao.
"I can't believe they're sold out of rice balls, they're like sweet they're so fucking good.”
You've had a drink and you're so full of food that all you've really focused on in that sentence are sweet and balls. Fuck what you wouldn't give to suck on…….
“______?" You snap your eyes to him, “did you want to try the mangosteen?"
"Oh! No, I think I'll stick with my sticky balls…..I-I mean your sticky balls…..I MEAN the mango sticky rice.”
You don't look at him, just stick your spoon in the rice and shove a load in your mouth, hoping he'll forget your little slip up.
"_____, there's some stalls over there and these boring fucks don't want to come with me. Will you?”
"Fucking rude,”
"Don't be brat Mingyu.” His girlfriend reprimands him.
His ears go pink but you're certain Mingyu likes being told off, he keeps going out of his way to piss her off like he's banking on something when they get back to the resort.
“I'll come with you!" You smile, you did want to check out the souvenirs and local crafts.
“I knew you wouldn't let me down."
You both walk through the stalls taking in all the handmade crafts and little sweet treats but there's one specific thing you're looking for. You talk each other into buying things that remind you of the trip and out of shit you'd never use. Giggle about little things the guys have done and joke that Chan’s girlfriend will be going insane stuck with the three of them. And that's when you spot it, what you've been looking for, whilst you're in a huge queue for a necklace for Mingyu.
“Hey I'll be back in a sec, I just want to buy something."
“Sure, it's not like I'm moving very fast,"
“How much for the photo frame?" You ask the old lady on the stall that caught your eye.
"2000.”
Shit. You know that's not really that much, they just use large numbers in baht but it is still a little more than you were expecting.
“1800?"
“2100." You frown at the woman. What a crafty business woman you've stumbled on.
“1900?"
“2000."
Well. You've got her down from 2100 you suppose.
“Deal."
She doesn't offer to wrap it, just shoves the simple bamboo frame in a plastic bag which you're certain has been used one hundred times already and launches it at you.
“Thanks then." You glare at her.
You stop in your tracks as you turn round to head back to the queue. That same feeling of wanting to scratch someone's eyes out rearing its ugly head because it's him. Seungcheol. With a woman in his arms just by the table you were all just sitting at.
Why did you think it meant something more than just not being awful to each other? Of course he doesn't like you, he just told you that you looked nice because he felt bad about the other night. He doesn't want you, he doesn't think about you that way, you can tell that much by the way his hands are on the woman's waist, much like they were on yours earlier.
Embarrassment floods you again, a feeling pretty similar to how you felt in the elevator but this time it's entirely your own fault. You're the idiot that got your hopes up. You're the idiot that had started to wonder if there was something there. You're the idiot who more or less told him you wanted to suck his balls. Christ you want the ground to swallow you up. He must be regretting ever offering to call a truce. He’ll probably have Woozi fire you for sexual harassment.
You can't face him. You won't.
“I'm going to head back," you rush once you're back at the queue.
“Why? Is everything ok?"
“Yeah, just feeling a bit sick. A few too many shrimp I think, or too much spicy food."
“I'll get one of the guys to walk you back! Just let me get this necklace."
“No, it's fine. Seriously, it's totally ok. I'm just going to get a taxi and head to bed."
“Are you sure?" She asks, nothing but concern in her voice.
“Yeah, probably shouldn't have done all that jumping off water bubbles before all that food!" You joke as you walk off, though it's entirely fake.
"Message me when you're back at the hotel!” She calls after you but you just give her a thumbs up and rush to find a taxi.
Maybe you could book a flight and be gone by the morning. Anything is better than dealing with the horrifying amount of feelings currently weighing you down.
Seungcheol is pissed. In every sense of the world.
You left. You just upped and left and didn't even bother saying goodbye. He believed the whole "she's not feeling well and she's just going to bed” bullshit when he was only six beers into the evening. But now he's considerably past that and he doesn't believe a single word of it. You'd come and tell everyone surely, you wouldn't just leave.
He wanted to woo you. He wanted to make sure you knew he was sorry. He wanted to tell you that he loved you more than anything and everything in this world.
Well.
Maybe not that last one but he definitely does like you. He was sure of that on the big bubble. The fact he only looked at your tits bouncing on the bubble once only proved that point further. He's down bad and you've just sauntered off into the sunset with his heart in your evil hold.
So he's decided he's going to tell you. Just as soon as he gets back to his room and throws up. He's going to put you in your place and tell you just what you're missing out on. He's Choi Seungcheol for fucks sake, women throw their panties at him at every concert. He won't be ignored by a woman who’s lured him in with her bouncing bubble and then dropped him like he was shit on her shoe.
He'd hammered on Woozi's door, demanding he give Seungcheol your number. Woozi didn't question it, he doesn't want to get involved in whatever the hell is happening and the sooner he could get back to bed, the better.
So Seungcheol lies on his bed, his phone to his ear and ready to give you a piece of his mind.
You don't answer though.
Who doesn't answer the phone at 4am?! He could be dying. He could be already dead. Fuck, you really don't care about him at all do you?
He hears the bleep ready to leave a message and suddenly he's lost all concept of what to say.
“Hello? ______ it's me. It's Cheol. I mean Seungcheol. It's me, Choi Seungcheol of the band Shadow," this isn't fucking MTV, he cringes to himself, “I want a word with you young lady!!" Well now he just sounds like his dad.
He hangs up. Starts anew on the beep.
“Hello ______, it's me Seungcheol. You've…….you've…….b-broken my heart,” he sobs.
And sobs. And sobs. Until eventually the phone falls from his hand and he somehow manages to hang up.
Twenty minutes later and he's pissed again.
He dials your number and waits for the beep.
“You've got some nerve, you know that _____. You lure men in and then break their hearts! It's wicked! You harlot! You floosy! You crone! You….you……I'm gonna be sick again.” He hangs up and runs to the bathroom.
Right, he stretches his neck and gears up to call again.
He hears the beep and it's like his world stops on its axis.
“I think I really liked you _____. Or like you. I don't know. You barged your way into my room that day and made a fool of me and ever since I've needed all of your attention," he burps down the phone, the beer still very much making itself known, “I know I'm a man whore. I know I'm arrogant. But I love my mom y’know? I love my parents. And I love my friends. And I give money to baby elephants, they need our help _____ and I'm doing my best for them I swear. I will save every last baby elephant if I can! They can all come stay at my place!"
He holds back another sob at the thought of the tiny baby elephants.
“But I can be better. That skirt looked so good on you and that elephant. What? No. Not the elephant, that woman had no right saying what she did. Such a fucking nice little leather skirt, I could really just……” his voice trails off as he thinks about how pretty the skirt would look around your waist with the added feature of his head between your thighs.
"But you don't like me. Not how I like you. I've been too mean. But in my defense,” he leans to the side, "argh! Sorry! Nearly fell off the bed. In my defense you were too. You called me disgusting and my tummy felt all weird. Feels weird now to be honest…..”
He hangs up again and rushes off to be sick.
Comes back and waits for the beep.
"It's me again. Seungcheol. You know how I know I like you? I don't even like shrimp," he burps again and grimaces at the idea of eating shrimp. “And some girl fell on me earlier and I didn't even want to fuck her. Just made sure she was ok and sent her on her way. I don't think she really fell," he whispers down the phone, like he's telling you a secret, “I think she wanted me. But I just want you. But I can't have you. And I respect that. So this is goodbye. Please try not to cry. But together we could fly?" He knits his brows together, is that a song or does he just rhyme when he's sad? “Bye then."
He's ready to call it a night but then why should he? If you're saying no he's going to make damn sure he's done everything he can. He pulls up his notes app and dials your number again.
"It's me.” He says sternly. "I did research, you know?! That's how desperate I've been this past few weeks. Now these are the best the internet has to offer, so if you still say no after all these, it's you that's the problem.”
He coughs to clear his throat, holding his phone like a Shakespearean actor about to make his debut at The Globe, and starts reading.
"Are you a parking ticket? Because you've got fine written allllll over you. Errrrr oh! Somebody calls the cops! Because it HAS GOT to be illegal to look that good," he's silent whilst he thinks about what he's just said. “That's what I should've said to her. Then you wouldn't have decided to hate me more than anyone in this world."
He hangs up the phone and sobs again, remembering how sad you looked as you left the elevator.
He dials and waits for the beep.
“I'm back, sorry I got a little sad because the girl I Iike left the elevator looking like a sad puppy. Back to my list," he gets himself comfortable with his notes app open, “have you ever been in a car accident? Because I'd like to rear end you!" He throws his head back laughing, “I like that one. It'd work on me I think. But you could read me the obituary and it would work on me," he stares at the wall before he remembers his mission, “ARE YOU A BIRD ENTHUSIAST? Because you look like you've seen a cock or two!”
He looks in horror at his phone before hangs up and throws it to the end of his bed.
"What have you done Seungcheol?!” He paces around the room with his head in his hands, "ring her back. Find a nice one and ring her back. She'll like that.”
He rushes for his phone and dials your number again. He knows just the thing to rectify this.
"_____?” He says softly. "I didn't mean that one. I've got one I do mean." He takes a deep breath, “they say you are what you eat and I’d like to be you?” He mumbles, "NO that isn't it. Wait! Just wait one second!” He thumbs the screen and finds the actual line he wanted, "Ok, I got it," he takes a deep breath, “I'm lost, can you give me directions to your heart?"
He sniffles, tears falling down his cheeks and silently hangs up the phone. He won't be able to sleep, he knows he won't. So he opts for a shower and makes himself a coffee to sober up a bit.
What a fucking mess. He just hopes you don't quit because of him. Everyone loves you, Woozi would be lost without you and, even if he can't have you, he can't not see you. That would ruin him.
You woke up a little before six, not that you'd really been asleep that long. When you got back to your room you tried your best but sleep just wouldn't come.
The sun was bright and the blue skies looked more than inviting as you reached over to check your phone. You didn't think much of the amount of messages. There was a time difference and you were always getting calls from different people for Woozi. Though he'd told you to leave getting back to them until after your little break, unless it was really urgent.
None of the messages you've ever had before in your life though have ever sent you on the emotional rollercoaster that the ones this morning did.
You listened to them all. Three times in fact. Your smile growing each time you listened now you knew how they ended.
What you saw last night wasn't what you thought was happening. You just presumed it was because it's him, flirting with women is what he does.
And the pickup lines, though cheesy, boarding on offensive at times, only made your smile wider.
You needed to fix this, you needed to find him and one, check he doesn't have alcohol poisoning and two, tell him that you feel exactly the same way he does.
The man at the reception desk wasn't thrilled when ran to the desk at 6:15 and demanded use of their printer. You're fairly certain he only agreed because you scared him a little bit. But he let you and you managed to print out the picture of the bats. It wasn't the best quality paper, you'd have preferred a proper photo paper option but it was the best you could do at short notice.
So with the photo in the frame and the frame in a much nicer bag you'd managed to “borrow" from the giftshop when the man at reception wasn't looking, you headed to his room.
Yes, it's early, but if you don't do this now, you never will.
This is like history repeating itself. You knocking on his door and him blatantly ignoring you. Thankfully there's no noise you'd rather not hear this time. But he's still ignoring you.
Why did you think he'd answer? He's clearly pissed at you and he's clearly not been asleep for very long judging by the time on those messages. If anything, you've probably fucked him off more by hammering on his door.
You take a deep breath and turn around. He isn't going to talk to you. You just need to deal with that.
Deciding you need fresh air, you head to the beach. You hadn't been down there yet and by all accounts it was one of the most pristine golden beaches in the country.
As you walk down the path to the beach, shoulders you recognise come into view. He's here? He's not going to throw himself in the ocean surely? You can't have driven him to that frame of mind. You'll never get over it and you probably won't have to. By the time Shadow fans hear about it, you'll be skinned alive.
“Seungcheol?" You say quietly as you come to stand by him.
His head whips up to you and the sight of him wiping tears from his eyes breaks your heart.
“What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Why are you awake?"
“I could say the same to you." You smile softly, “it's barely been two hours since your phone calls."
“I haven't been to bed yet," he sniffs and looks back at the ocean, “just showered and came here. I needed to clear my head."
You just hum and follow his eyes to the ocean.
“Can I sit with you?"
“I can't really stop you." He shrugs, still looking at the gentle waves.
"You can tell me not to.”
You wait for a moment but he doesn't say anything and so you take that as you sign to sit next to him.
“I lied."
“What?" He looks at you confused.
“I lied." You sigh. “I didn't feel ill. Well, I sort of did. I'd just bought you something from one of the little stalls and I looked up and you had that girl in your arms. I just saw red, every woman I've ever seen you with has made me see red. Though it's only these past few days I've admitted that to myself.”
"But why?”
"Because I like you. And I thought you liked me, I thought this truce was your way of starting something with me. And so when I looked up and saw what I did, I just felt so stupid. And I'd had a drink and said that about the balls, I couldn't face you. Or her.”
"She fell……..”
"I know, I listened to the messages.” you stop him.
"All of them?” He winces.
"All of them.” You smile.
“I’ve liked you for weeks." He draws absent mindedly in the sand but seeing no reason to not be honest, “I just didn't know I did. This back and forth we had going on that first day, it became routine. I wanted your attention, I wanted to be around you all the time. But I've never felt like that. I've never felt like this. And so I thought I don't need to figure out my feelings as long as I can still be near you and we could still argue. My head has been so messed up, I've never had these feelings before. I haven't even fucked anyone since that time we met."
“You still don't know her name," you narrow your eyes at him.
“I do!! It's….well it's……..I don't actually remember her name because the only woman I care about is you.”
"Nice save,” you grin even though your heart is doing somersaults.
"Thanks,” he smiles sadly. "And then I decide fuck it, nothing is ever going to happen, and I pounched on the first poor woman I saw.”
"The one in the elevator?”
"Hm-mm,” his eyes darken, "and then I let her do what she did and I hated myself. I knew I'd gone too far, I knew I finally had to do something. And so I do and then….”
"And then I ruin it.” You finish his sentence.
"Well I was going to say the girl who pretended to fall.”
"It was me. We both know it.”
Silence descends, the sound of waves rippling onto the shore being the only thing that breaks it. It isn't tense or filled with hatred, it's a weirdly content silence.
"I got you something.”
He just looks at you, obviously not really knowing what to say.
"Well it's more for your mom.” You hand him the bag.
"Can I open it then? Or should I wait?”
"No, open it, please. There's a note in there too, but that's for you not your mom.”
He frowns a little, not really sure why you've put a note in when you're talking to him, but he opens it anyway.
The frame is first, his eyes softening when he pulls it out of the bag and sees that you've kept your promise on helping him with a souvenir for his mom.
"She'll love it,” he beams at the photo.
"I really liked the photo you took. I really liked both of the photos you took."
His bright eyes find yours and you're relieved to see that the tears that fall now aren't quite as sad as the ones that fell when you arrived.
“I read you should always take photos of the beautiful things, to remember them. So that's what I did."
Your whole heart feels like it might explode. You're not worried about feeling like an idiot anymore. You've made big enough idiots of yourselves. All you feel now is thankful that you decided to get some air, that you found him here and now you hear words like that coming from his perfect lips.
"There's a note in there too,”
Seungcheol takes it out and as his cheeks turn pink, the most glorious laugh you've ever heard echoes around the empty beach.
Seungcheol,
I was wondering if you had an extra heart? Mine was just stolen.
“That," he laughs, wiping his cheeks, “is far cheesier than any of mine."
“Maybe," you giggle, “but at least it's not offensive." You try to speak very seriously.
"I really didn't mean the cock or two one,”
"Oh but you did mean the one about rear ending and that you are what you eat?” You challenge.
"I mean, that depends.”
"On what?”
"On whether you'll be my girlfriend?” He says awkwardly, "I've never done it before. A relationship I mean and I can't promise I'll be great at it. But all I know is I want to be near you, I want to be the one who makes you smile. If you'll let me.”
You search his eyes, they're different from the ones that looked back at you when he first opened his hotel room door. Just as beautiful but now there's something more in them, an honesty that tells you he's telling the truth. And that he does care and he does want to try this with you.
“I don't use my best pickup lines on just anyone you know," you say as loftily as you can, “I only keep those for the men I want to be my boyfriend."
His whole face brightens, any little worries he had that you'd still say no evaporating on the spot.
“Can I kiss you?" He edges closer, looking at your lips.
“That depends."
“On what?" he frowns.
“Please tell me you brushed your teeth after you showered. For one of those messages you hadn't actually put the phone down properly until after you'd been sick. The breath must've been….."
“Hey," he takes your cheek in his hand and shuts you up, “I'm not an animal,"
“I was just checking," you mumble, transfixed by his lips and the way your cheek seems to fit perfectly in his hand.
“You're so annoying." He whispers, so close to your lips that you can taste his minty breath.
His lips touch yours for the first time in the softest kiss you've ever received. It's barely there and yet the weight of the meaning behind it fills your heart.
It's like that first touch was a test, to check you wanted this and didn't run away from him. Because he pulls back for a second, stares down at your lips and closes the space between you again. One hand on your waist and the other still cupping your cheek but this time it’s frantic. Like he wants to make sure that this kiss makes up for those weeks of fighting and trying to hurt each other.
He pushes you back onto the sand and takes your gasp in shock as the perfect opportunity to let his tongue dance with yours. His hand that was on your cheek now rests just beside your head on the sand, the big arms you admired for so long caging you in. You've wanted to feel them for so long, so you don't think twice. Your hands grip his biceps as the kiss turns sloppy. Both of you wanting to show the other his serious you, how much you both want this.
It's only when you moan at the feel of his hardening dick through his shorts that Seungcheol seems to snap out of his need to swallow all of your gasps.
“We should stop." He says softly, though doesn't pull away.
“Why? There's nobody here."
“I don't want to, you know, have sex. I want to do this properly, not that I really know what properly is. But I want to take you out, make sure you know I'm serious."
“I know you're serious," you point out, gazing up at him and moving his hair off his face, “but I get it. I don't want to have sex yet either. But I don't see any reason we can't carry on the kissing."
"Is that right?”
"Hm-mm. But could we do it somewhere else? I'm sure a tiny crab just crawled up my shorts.”
"Oh shit!” He helps you to your feet as you stomp around trying to excavate the crab before it reaches your ass.
"Get out, get out, get out!” You flap until eventually you see a tiny crab fall from your shorts. "Oh thank fuck for that!”
“Better?"
“Much. Imagine having to tell the guys your girlfriend's got crabs."
“Oh god," he groans as he pulls a cackling you towards him and holds you close, “that's a fucking terrible joke."
“Well you need to laugh! It's what boyfriends do!"
“Why do I feel like that's going to be said a lot to make me do things I don't want to do."
“Because it is," you kiss him, “and I do have something I want you to do."
“Oh yeah?" He smirks.
“Not that? Although we do need to talk about the way you ate out that papaya, it was like something off pornhub."
“Why are you watching pornhub?" He grins.
“I’m not, I only consume ethical pornogrpahy."
“You read Game of Thrones smut."
“I do n…how do you know that?!”
"I read it over your shoulder once.”
"What a pervert!”
"I'm not the one reading Stark smut!”
"Well that's only because I don't sleep with people who I don't even know the name of!”
"Are you slut shaming me?”
"Yes!”
"Well,” he huffs, "my own girlfriend,” your heart flutters at the word, "betraying me. Lucky I've only got eyes for one woman now.”
"Is she hot?”
"The hottest.” He smirks. "Come on, let's get breakfast. You can watch me eat papaya and tell me all the dirty things you want me to do to it.” He grins as he pulls you along, not forgetting the bag with his mom's photo and the note he'll treasure forever.
"What did you want me to do then?”
"That bag,” you walk hand in hand off the beach and back towards the outside tables of the restaurant, "I technically stole it?”
He stops and looks at you in horror.
"It wasn't my fault! The old lady, who by the way is a terrifyingly good business woman, put it in a bag which I'm certain was first used in the eighties! And the shop wasn't technically open and I couldn’t not put it in a bag. So I stole it? Well, I borrowed it. If I give you the money, could you give it to them please?"
“It's one bag. It barely costs anything. Just leave it."
“No! Please! I'll do whatever you want.”
"Whatever I want?” He quirks his brow at you and you feel your heart and pussy tingle.
"Within reason.”
"I'll do it,” you both set off walking again, "so long as you wear that leather skirt again on our first date.”
"Deal.” You grin, kissing his cheek and happily gliding towards the hotel.
"I've got plans for that leather skirt.”
"I know you do. You didn't say it in your head about the added feature you'd like to make, you said it out loud. I heard it all. Lucky for you, I've thought a lot about where I'd like your head.”
He drops your hands and watches open mouthed as you keep walking towards the hotel, making an extra effort to sway your hips.
“Well come on then! I thought you'd promised me a show!"
“Fucking hell." He whispers, almost in awe.
“I think they're actually being more competitive now." Soonyoung complains as he looks over his sunglasses.
“You'd think they'd be nicer to each other, ______ just nearly took him out with that inflatable ball."
They're all watching in horror as you and Seungcheol take on the inflatable assault course again in the pool.
“I don't think you'll need to worry about being the best man at the wedding Soonyoung. They'll have killed each other before then," they all wince and sit back in their seats as they see you hit the deck and land on your ass because of Seungcheol.
"Please, can we all agree that we will never play board games or computer games with them.” Mingyu jumps as you dive into the pool with a shriek, "I think they'd both cause serious bodily harm if they lost monopoly.
“Imagine Mario Kart."
“Blood bath." Woozi and Jeonghan speak in unison, shaking their heads.
"OH FOR GOD'S SAKE! DO THEY HAVE TO KEEP DOING THAT?! MY EYES!”
"It's ok honey, I'll tell you when it's stopped,” Mingyu's girlfriend covers his eyes as she looks fondly at you and Seungcheol in the pool.
She's never wrong about these things, she told them all that.
And from the way you're currently so lost in each other, you're more or less dry humping in the pool as you steal each other's oxygen. She's still got that winning streak.
She knew one day someone would come along who would drag Seungcheol out of his predictable rock star ways. She just thanks the universe that it's you. Someone who's come to mean so much to all of them, but everything to Seungcheol.
Crossing without steps ||K.M.G (arranged marriage, classism) @nerdycheol
𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 - 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔 (Mingyu might not have been a big fan of pink before, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, everything changes, and it seems to make its way to his favorites.) @jakedustry
𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 - 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔 (aviator!mingyu x fem!reader) @jakedustry
no more hiding (you’ve been in love with him since you met, and you realize your feeling possibly aren’t one sided.) @straylightdream
Jeon Wonwoo
Back For More | J.WW (badboy!wonwoo x fem!reader) @kyeomofhearts
Felt Right | J.W.W (Wonwoo x long time gf!reader) @petersasteria
Caramel Pudding | part one (jeon wonwoo × medical intern!f!reader grey's anatomy!au) @cxffecoupx
recover. (jeon wonwoo x reader) (f1 driver!wonwoo x orthopedic surgeon!reader) @woncheolisms
someone stole my lunch?! 𑣲 j. wonwoo (attorney! wonwoo, reader is in pr team, strangers to lovers, food puns) @epelletart
You & I (j.ww) (Chauffeur! Wonwoo x Mafia!Reader) @sailorsoons
yours alone (a shopping trip at a home goods store turns tense when Wonwoo notices other men staring at you. his jealousy is quiet at first until someone actually approaches you. back home, possessiveness transforms into something deeper as you both prove exactly who you belong to.) @hanniejoo
my dearest, (arranged marriage, smut, romance, angst) @straylightdream
can i call you rose? || jeon wonwoo (fwb au, neighbors au, a lil angsty, smut, the reader is mentioned to be older than wonwoo) @belovedgyu
calm during the storm (cowboy!wonwoo x wife!reader) @junkissed
anaheim ❆ j.ww [m] (you and wonwoo are bound by the radio waves of wireless fidelity — and lose each other to the ether, until you're both on opposite ends of the same state, and on opposite sides of where you need to be to belong to one another...even when something tells you that it was never supposed to be you and him forever.) @haologram
Hong Jisoo
under the starlight | h.js (jazz singer!joshua x f!reader) @starlightkyeom
24H | NSFW (Stranger!Joshua Hong x Small Town Barista!Reader) @kiestrokes
Xu Minghao
the diamond life ◊ x.mh [m] (model!xu minghao x fem!pitcher!reader) @haologram
read me and weep - x.mh (best friends/coworkers to lovers, whole lot of yearning) @gentleisa
WHEN THE SUN RISES IN NEW YORK ✶ Xu Minghao (PART ONE) (
Artist!Minghao x F!Reader 1920s!au, non idol!au, strangers to (?), serendipity, fluff, angst, smut.) @vernonverse
Yoon Jeonghan
Date Night (hitman!jeonghan x hitman!fem!reader) @orbitondgtl
Amontillado (y.jh) ( Vampire!Jeonghan x human!Reader) @sailorsoons
Kwon Soonyoung
546 DAYS | k.sy (part one) (rookie!soonyoung x training officer!fem!reader) @livmarauder
Virago (k.sy) ( Ares!Soonyoung x Priestess!Reader) @sailorsoons
Kitty: Act I (fluff, angst, eventual smut (suggestive for sure), 1920s au, strangers to lovers au, slow burn) @aeristudios
Lee Seokmin
𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐂 - 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐌𝐈𝐍 (singer!seokmin x radio host!fem!reader) @jakedustry
Wen Junhui
Pendulum (There are many things your father never told you when he left you his flower shop; the ever creaky door hinges, the delivery man who can never seem to tell the orchids from the gardenias, and the headquarters of the biggest mafia in New York operating in the employee break room.) @gyuswhore
Deadlock (w.jh) (Hitman!Junhui x Spy!Reader) @sailorsoons
Chwe Hansol
fated season | hvc (viscount!vernon x f!reader) @luvrung
Last Call (angst, fluff, brother's best friend) @wqnwoos
summary: after 90 years of cryosleep, you wake to a world that has left you behind. the red room is eradicated. hydra is in hiding. you are the living remnant of a long-gone super soldier project that shaped you into the ultimate weapon. but now, the other side of the same coin has awakened, and you're the only one who can rein him in before its too late.
wc: 11.5k
cw/tags: winter soldier!seungcheol x black widow!reader, angst/comfort with fluff and a happy ending, reader's red room alias is an OC (basically the red room equivalent of a supersoldier) but no other description is given, implied fem!reader, cameos from 3mix and antman!dk and spiderman!hansol, dark content ahead, please read below warnings before reading
dark content warnings: graphic violence, descriptions of blood and death, discussions of handlers/shock therapy/mind control/bloodlust/assassins and other themes associated with marvel comics' winter soldier character, dangerously protective seungcheol, even more dangerously protective reader, alcohol/drinking, food/eating, the bad guys are slimy and gross and misogynists (it's ok we kill them), themes of codependency, please let me know if there are others I should add and consume media at your own discretion!
note: i spent wayyyy too long figuring out how to photoshop seungcheol's face onto sebastian stan as the winter soldier's body so do NOT say it is AI or i will feed you to kwon soonyoung. anyway hope you like this, i luv luv luv luv luv infinity saga mcu (don't ask me about current mcu...) so this was one of my favorite fics to write ever hehe. also shoutout @noniesgummysmile for feeding my winter soldier!scoups delulu...couldn't have done this without you eia lol. enjoy!
likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! <3
Casablanca, Morocco – 2025
The port has changed since you visited 90 years ago.
The weather remains relatively the same, the city bathed in constant humidity from the adjacent ocean and comfortably warm in stark contrast to the sweltering summer days. A mild breeze carries the smell of salt and tanker oil, the latter bringing more pungent scents than the steam ships you remember. Below you are rows upon rows of shipping containers in every color and size imaginable, outnumbering the wood-paneled warehouses you’d traversed in 1935. The soft lapping of waves is overshadowed by humming machinery, buzzing electric lines, and distant rattling of various machines. You find no quiet in the sky, dark and obscured by the lights illuminating the port. Even after two years of waking up in an entirely new millennium, you still aren’t used to the cacophony of sounds that comes with decades of technological advances.
It’s so loud. Everything is louder in this new age.
“Are we sure he’s coming?” Nayeon’s voice crackles through your earpiece and you startle, nearly falling backward off your perch on the catwalk of a massive crane. You hear her chuckle and she waves at you from her position on another crane. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Don’t be fooled. The more you get to know her, the more you get to know her tricks, too,” Jihyo adds, barely visible under the cranes from her spot between two containers.
“They’re both tricky. Let’s leave it at that,” Jeongyeon concludes, and your ears are overrun as the other two adamantly do not leave it at that. You let yourself smile, if only a little bit. The Red Room never allowed you to make friends, much less ones as close as the three ex-Widows that had helped you adjust to the new world. You were still hesitant to call them friends despite how easily they referred to you as one, even going so far as to volunteer themselves to help you capture Choi Seungcheol.
Shit.
You take a deep breath and refocus your energy on the task at hand. The watch on your hand–an analog one you chose when you politely declined a newfangled digital thing–reads nearly midnight.
“I’m not sure, honestly. He's…programmed,” you choke on the word like poison, “to return to Casablanca and be retrieved by Hydra handlers after every mission. Even if he's just as unnerved as I was by this new world, his brain will guide him to what it knows, and that's Casablanca.” You hesitate and remember how you were also programmed to do something similar, though your rendezvous point was Jakarta. “This is all a hunch, though, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared of getting put back under if this whole plan fails.”
“We’d never let that happen,” Jeongyeon promises you. “Plus, the world doesn’t work like that anymore.” You sigh.
“Two years out of a test tube and I still don’t know how the world works,” you frown.
“That’s okay. Just know that no one’s getting put on ice again as long as we’re around.” The sincerity in Jihyo’s voice makes your chest a little lighter.
“Except maybe Mina, just to see her reaction. I think it'd be funny,” muses Nayeon and you finally crack a smile. However, any smart remark that you could contribute dies in your throat as a flash of silver dashes between two containers a few yards away from Jihyo’s position. Your heart drops like a stone into your stomach.
He’s here.
“Jihyo, 4 o’clock. Eyes up,” you order, your voice lethally serious. The energy in the entire port seems to shift as you double check your descender secured to the rail of the crane. “Remember, he doesn’t know you and he’s not trained to find out.” He probably doesn’t even know me anymore. “He’ll eliminate adversaries on sight and we’re about to ambush him. Proceed with caution.”
“Copy,” Jihyo confirms, already slipping through the containers like a shadow.
“I’m in position,” Jeongyeon states and you catch the clinking of a tranquilizing tube being loaded into her rifle. “Get me eyes on him and I’ll wait for your signal.”
“Got it. Nayeon, on my mark.”
“Ready when you are, boss,” she murmurs, dangling off the catwalk like an impatient spider.
“Be careful, all three of you,” you warn. “And as a personal favor, try not to fuck him up too badly. Please?”
“We won’t kill your boyfriend, we promise,” Jeongyeon swears with a teasing lilt in her voice. You swallow thickly and ignore the rising warmth in your face but don't argue.
“Okay. Jihyo, you have permission to engage,” you state and Nayeon is already halfway down her rope by the time you start descending. Warm air rushes past your face as your controlled fall brings you to the ground within seconds. You unclip the descender from your belt and sprint in the direction of Jihyo and Seungcheol. Nayeon throws herself into the fight with a roundhouse that Seungcheol blocks easily with his metal arm, shoving her off and using the momentum to swing at Jihyo, but she’s too quick. Both her and Nayeon play their parts perfectly, keeping Seungcheol distracted enough for you to find an opening to hit him with a syringe of the same tranquilizer in Jeongyeon’s rifle. As the best sharpshooter of her generation in the Red Room, Jeongyeon was the last resort if you, Nayeon, and Jihyo were incapacitated.
You stalk through the shadows, circling the fight while sweat beads on your forehead and a feverish sensation chokes your body. The monster that the Red Room trained within you was baring its teeth, eager to kill and kill and kill the way you were built to. That carnal, animalistic part of you whispers to throw Jihyo and Nayeon aside and take down Seungcheol yourself, a side effect of the Red Room’s supersoldier serum that only you had survived experimentation with. You were itching to fight him, like some part of your brain recognized him as your true equal and wanted to consume him entirely. Your serum-infected psyche recognized him as your enemy, and you wanted to tear him to shreds. The urge nearly overwhelms you but you fight it down like bile, gripping the syringe tighter and waiting for the other Widows to do their jobs.
You have a handle on the bloodlust until Jihyo falls down and stays down, and your vision goes scarlet red.
It’s as if your mind takes a backseat to your body, lunging forward to grab Seungcheol’s metal arm by pure instinct and twisting as hard as you can, the jerking movement making the syringe fall from your other hand. Nayeon is quick to grab it and retreat backward, dragging an unconscious Jihyo away. Your arm trembles with effort, your super strength against his until your muscle gives way and you duck as he swings on you, your leg shooting out like lightning to throw him off-balance. You exchange bruising blows with him and find yourself panting from the effort it’s taking to restrain the side of you that wants to claw out his throat entirely. You’re barely thinking clearly, partially registering that the other Widows are saying something to you but not knowing what they’re trying to convey. Your mind is at war with itself, hellbent on the urge to kill and shaking with the restraint of keeping him alive enough to tranquilize. He’s in full tactical armor, including a dark mask covering the bottom half of his face, so your best bet in subduing him completely is to get the tranquilizer into his neck. You risk a glance over your shoulder and feel a sobering chill run down your back as Nayeon touches Jihyo’s head and gapes at the sticky blood coating her palm.
With a shudder and a cry that tears itself from your throat, you let the bloodlust take over and all but drag him onto the floor. It's the perfect opening to seize Seungcheol’s metal arm and force it in a direction you know it’s not supposed to go. He thrashes like an animal in a trap, clawing and slamming his fists against your leg that keeps him from escaping, but the pain is nothing but numbness in the face of your single goal of crippling his greatest weapon. He roars in rage but you keep your grip on the metal limb until it wrenches off of him entirely with a sickening crunch. He goes limp and you briefly panic that you killed him until you spot the shallow rise and fall of his chest. You don’t fare much better; your vision is spotty and you feel like you’re watching yourself from a third-person perspective as Nayeon tosses you the syringe. You catch it in one hand and sink it into the side of Seungcheol’s neck, keeping him in your hold until his eyes shut completely.
You lay there on the floor, heaving and half-dead until Jeongyeon arrives to secure Seungcheol’s restraints. You somehow manage to bring yourself upright as the extraction team arrives, squinting in the blinding headlights of the armored vehicles. Waving off the EMT trying to get you onto a gurney and mumbling something that resembled an apology to Seungcheol is the last thing you remember before you black out entirely.
—
Madripoor – 1939
You first meet the Winter Soldier two weeks after you’re given the serum.
A modified version of Hydra’s supersoldier formula is what you were told was injected, trading the parts that would give you muscles as large as a gorilla’s for enhanced vision and metabolism. You were meant to be the ultimate weapon of stealth, a knife in the dark slipped into the ribs of the Red Room’s enemies. The scientists succeeded, for the most part–you were the deadliest Widow in the program before the serum and only became more lethal after it. What the scientists didn’t account for were the sudden, overwhelming fevers of bloodlust that possessed you whenever you trained with other prospective serum recipients. The serum whispered to you like a demon, pushing you to use any means necessary to survive…even if it meant your hands were covered in blood by the end of an everyday spar. The Red Room had blurred the lines between creating a soldier and creating a monster, and you were the sole survivor of all consequent experimentations. They called it ‘Project: Arachne,’ but you later took on the moniker solely as your own after the others disappeared.
The monster you had become paled in comparison to the shell of a man that Hydra was puppetting.
“Where did you find such a creature? Such strength, such rage,” one of your handlers remarks, circling the Winter Soldier as he stands like a statue in the center of the room, a private chamber in the back of a dive bar that reeks of mildew. The air sticks to you like moldy glue, sweat running down your back and threatening to melt off the picture-perfect face of makeup you were required to wear. Once a pirate stronghold, the island nation was now a cesspool of criminal activity, brimming with drug kingpins and mercenary gangs that kept the streets in a constant state of warfare. Madripoor is a chaos you cannot control, a steaming shithole completely opposite of the pristine halls of the Red Room. If you had to choose, it would be the last place you would ever set foot in again. “What a beast you have created!”
“He was a soldier that had fallen off a freight train in the Alps; we found him and made him into something we could use,” the Winter Soldier’s primary handler explains with a smile that looks more like a sneer. “Of course, there were some fixes to account for,” he continues, gesturing to the bionic metal arm on the Soldier’s left side. “Except for this, however, he was a picture perfect specimen.” The sight before you makes your stomach turn. The serum and the Red Room’s experiments had left you with at least some semblance of your own mind, but it seemed like the man in front of you was nothing but a machine activated whenever Hydra needed someone disposed. But without that role? The Soldier was a puppet, his eyes empty and his face blank in a way that nauseated you.
“You’ve put us miles ahead of our enemies with this creation,” a deep-voiced stockholder that frequented the Red Room booms from behind you. The Soldier remains motionless, the bottom half of his face covered by a dark mask, but you catch his eyes flickering to the source of the voice and narrowing, ever so slightly. His face was blank, but his distrust of those who had brought you here was apparent.
“You are too kind, really,” a beady-eyed Hydra scientist declares with a humble hand over his heart. You suppress the urge to claw his insect-like eyes from his skull when his attention turns to you, looming over you as you sit perfectly poised on your seat, your legs crossed and back straight like a fucking doll. “But I would like to discuss this beauty. Does she speak?” A clammy hand moves in slow motion to caress your face and you catch his wrist in your fingers, sinking your nails into his flesh not enough to make him bleed, but enough to make him hesitate.
“This beauty can speak for herself, sir,” you correct with a saccharine smile. Your handlers chuckle at your antics and a firm hand on your shoulder makes you release the Hydra scientist. Your nausea increases tenfold at the touch and you fight the instinct to stiffen, knowing that reacting in such a way would only make your handlers upset. Instead, you turn to the handler behind you with a kind look that falters when you see him looking at the Soldier rather than at you, a sort of sick amusement flashing behind his eyes.
You turn back to what could be drawing his attention and see the Soldier’s hand resting on his gun. His face is expressionless, but you swear the muscle in his jaw has tightened. He’s staring past you at your handler and his hold on your shoulder, eyes dark as a storm. He makes no move to draw the firearm, yet the mere presence of his hand against it is enough to sour the jovial atmosphere in the room. If he wanted to, this Soldier could have all of you in a puddle of your own blood before you could blink, and the polite conversation tapers into tense silence as those in the room make the same realization. As if testing what the Soldier would do, your handler tightens his hold on your shoulder and you swallow. The Soldier’s, in turn, tightens around his weapon.
“I believe your soldier is threatening me,” the handler behind you observes lightly. The Soldier’s stare is molten, and if looks alone could kill, your handler would be halfway to Hell already. “It seems he does not appreciate my interactions with Arachne,” he continues, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that has you sinking your nails into your palms to keep from jerking away. The Soldier’s eyes dart to the imperceptible shake in your hands.
Before you finish blinking, everyone in the room is pointing a gun at each other, and the Soldier’s pistol is aimed straight between the eyes of your handler. You stand on instinct and draw your own gun from its holster on your thigh, leveling the barrel at the Soldier’s forehead. He doesn’t even blink, his gaze remaining past you and your weapon. Your handler’s grip remains and he seems unbothered when he speaks, though the sharp edge of his voice tells you otherwise.
“I thought he was completely erased of morality, doctor,” the handler grits.
“Perhaps one more round of shock therapy will do him some good, just to kill that last part of him that might remember his life before,” a Hydra scientist chuckles nervously, eyeing the Soldier with unease. A dozen guns or more are pointed at the Soldier like a morbid sort of halo, yet all you can see is the rage burning behind his eyes. Whether he was conscious of it or not, the Soldier was ready to kill your handler for touching you. It makes your heart unwillingly flip.
“‘Perhaps’ is right, doctor,” your handler agrees. “We wouldn’t want our stakeholders questioning the loyalty of their prized weapon.” The handler’s grip on your shoulder finally leaves, and the Soldier returns his gun to its holster. The rest of the room takes a breath, but you still feel air catching in your throat when the Soldier’s eyes meet yours and you recognize your own anger flaming in his dark irises. Your chest aches in a way more painful than any wound you experience during training. Two guards who the Soldier could probably snap in half like toothpicks grab him by the arms and escort him out of the room, leaving you with the Hydra handlers as well as your own.
Your mouth is moving before your mind can realize what you’re questioning, damning you to several days worth of harsh training as punishment for speaking out of turn.
“What is his name?” You ask, your voice low and guarded. You feel the irritation of your handlers stick into the back of your neck like needles, but you have to know. It feels wrong not to know.
“He is the Winter Soldier, Arachne,” someone answers patronizingly and you shake your head.
“Before. Who was he?” You turn to the scientist that wanted to caress your face and blink up at him through your eyelashes, putting on the mask of a stupid, innocent girl who asks the wrong questions at the wrong time. Your gamble works and the weak-brained one indulges you.
“‘Choi Seungcheol’ was the name on his dogtags when we found him, but he doesn’t answer to that anymore.” You nod, satisfied, and stare at the closed door where the Winter Soldier had been dragged away. “This won’t be the last time you see him, Arachne. You’ll be working together frequently on missions while Hydra and the Red Room sort out the kinks in the supersoldier serum formula.” I don’t want to work with him, you think to yourself. I don’t want him to have to be whatever it is they want him to be.
I don’t want him to live like this. Like me.
“Understood,” is all you reply with.
—
When Seungcheol dreams, moments pass in and out like sunlight refracting through water.
At first he’s stepping out of Mingyu’s Chrysler, helping a girl whose name he’d already forgotten hop out after him. It’s before the war, before the guns and the metal arm and you. Mingyu and his latest lady-friend are already hand-in-hand and skipping toward the entrance of the dance hall, leaving Seungcheol with this random girl who he thinks he might have seen at the soda fountain a few times before. Her hand is soft and clammy in his when she grabs it and drags him along too, talking airily about the importance of having a matching headscarf whenever one dons a dancing dress. Ever the gentleman, he nods along and pretends to be interested, even when he feels like a goldfish flopping around in the middle of Times Square.
When they finally push into the dance hall, Seungcheol finds himself looking for a face in the crowd that he’s not sure belongs in this memory, yet searches for anyway. The music of the big band roars and he’s on the dance floor in a blink, mechanically sorting through awkward movements while the girl in front of him slowly loses her patience. His limbs feel like gelatin and wooden logs at the same time, and his date soon becomes bored of him and latches onto the arm of another boy. Later in this memory, Seungcheol knows the boy will become too handsy with her. Mingyu will have to drag Seungcheol away from killing the guy after the latter slams his fist into the creep’s nose, and Seungcheol will remember it as the first time he felt vindicated in causing someone pain.
He enters a set of double doors at the back of the hall and finds himself in a different memory. If the thrill of the dance hall is distorted from noise and fluorescent lights, this one is soberingly clear. Same sticky air, same mildew stench, same dark shadows. He’s in Madripoor and his arm is extended, pointing the barrel of his pistol at a shithead Red Room agent that’s been keeping his hand on your shoulder for far too long. Whatever Hydra had done to him had made his body answer to his handlers rather than his own mind, so Seungcheol wasn’t completely sure how he was able to move independently in the first place. Maybe it was muscle memory, maybe it was the way the silent panic in your eyes made his vision go blood red. He didn’t know you, not yet, but his mind snarled around like a caged animal at the idea of someone laying a hand on you. The anger superseded any brainwashing Hydra had done to him, and only fortified itself after the subsequent rounds of shock therapy made in an attempt to rid him completely of his own sense of self. Call it Fate or divine connection, but something deep within Seungcheol’s soul outright rejected the idea of you being harmed. In this dream, he thrashes against the hands that drag him away, screaming for you. When he looks back at you, your handler’s hand returns to your shoulder and he’s slammed with so much white-hot rage that he nearly blacks out.
The memory shifts again, and Seungcheol is falling. Frigid air whips past his face, stinging like knife cuts, yet he’s flailing about in slow motion as the snowy canyons of the Alps envelop him like a casket. Mingyu’s hoarse cries are lost among the sounds of the chugging steam train and the splash of Seungcheol’s body as it collides with an icy river, the same river that keeps him cold enough to stay alive until he’s found by Hydra scouts. His vision blinks in and out of focus, the stark-white blizzard sky being replaced by the dingy hallways of Hydra’s medical facilities, where he’s all but blinded by a huge circle of light as the surgery to remove his left arm commences. He blinks again and he’s lying on cold concrete, having had his ass handed to him by another Winter Soldier candidate. His metal arm creaks as he pushes off the ground, spitting a glob of blood and saliva against the floor before rising to face his opponent again. He’s too slow to dodge the next swing and his head hits the ground hard, his body landing with a defeated thud.
The world lurches and he feels the sensation of wet earth between his fingertips. He’s tense, waiting for the next trauma-inducing event to begin, but there’s nothing but the setting sun and the endless rows of tulips surrounding him. Amsterdam. He blinks against the fading light and stands. You’re a few feet away in tattered tactical gear covered in blood that isn’t your own, looking out over the fields of flowers with a kind of sadness that makes panic flare in Seungcheol’s chest. Of all the memories Seungcheol was bombarded with when he slept, this was the one he hated the most.
“They’re gonna put me under soon,” you whisper, your voice raspy like you’d been crying. You watch the horizon like it’s your next adversary. Not only had you slipped away from the Red Room long enough to eradicate nearly every agent under the Winter Soldier program, you’d also brought Seungcheol’s mind back to himself. You had broken a dam in his mind that Hydra had so painstakingly built, allowing the flood of memories and emotions and all the things that made Seungcheol human to come rushing back to him. “They’ll know it was me, and they won’t like what I did to you.”
“You freed me,” Seungcheol says. He wants to reach out to hold your hand, or at least brush your fingers, but that’s not the way this memory works. He didn’t do it then, so he’s tortured by the inability to do it now. “You broke whatever words they put in my head.”
“I didn’t break the words, I killed the ones who used them,” you croak, frustrated. “Someone else could come along and find that God-forsaken book with the trigger words and take control of you again, and I won’t be there to stop them, and–” A sob tears itself from your throat and he sees the same rage that he adored so much burning in your eyes. You were the only one whose anger could ever come close to matching his own. “They could make you worse because of me, and it would be my fault that they did.”
“They would have to catch me first,” Seungcheol says with grave seriousness. He knows it’s foolish for him to say, knowing damn well Hydra does capture him and put him in the cryo-tube again until they figure out how to reprogram his mind to do what they wanted him to do. “I won’t let that happen.” He does let that happen, unfortunately, as he’s lured into an abandoned nuclear facility two weeks later under the pretense that you would be there.
“I wish I knew you under different circumstances,” you scoff bitterly. “Or I wish the Red Room ripped out my brain entirely so it could never learn how to care for you so deeply.” He knows you don’t mean it to cause him pain, but his heart winces all the same. Maybe in another life, you would be the one he’d take dancing. Before the war, before the fall off the train, before everything. It would just be you and him, laughing at Mingyu’s shenanigans and dreaming about a future you didn’t know how to want.
“Do you really mean that?” When he meets your eyes, the fire behind them has dulled into tired coals.
“I do. I hope that, in another universe, we’re together…and we’re happy,” you wish, and that’s where Seungcheol’s mind cruelly refuses to play any other memories. You and the tulips fade into darkness, and he succumbs to dreamless sleep.
—
Avengers Headquarters, Upstate New York – 2025
“That’s about to be the fourth one you break this week, and it’s only Wednesday,” notes a teasing voice from the doorway of the training gym. SLAM! Your wrapped fist completes its arc into the punching bag and, just as Jihyo had predicted, the rope it hangs from gives way, sending the bag flying across the room. You pause, catching cold, dry breaths of air conditioning, before retrieving the downed bag and tossing it into the growing pile in the corner. Only then do you turn to Jihyo, who’s watching you with a clever glint in her eye.
“You shouldn’t be so far from the med-bay,” you point out and she shrugs.
“I had a concussion, not a broken spine,” she reasons. “I’m fine.” She looks fine, in most senses of the word, but guilt still weighs on your shoulder for putting her in that situation. You look at her for a few moments, still skeptical, but relent and move to hang a new bag. “Hey, aren’t you gonna ask why I’m here?”
“It better not be to spar with me. You’re supposed to be on bedrest for another three days.”
“Which I think is overkill, but agree to disagree,” she grumbles and you shoot her a look. “It’s been nine days since we captured him and I got knocked around a little bit. If I’m being honest, I’d say you’re faring worse than me.”
“How so?”
“For one, you’ve been in this gym more often than your own room, which means your sleep schedule is fucked up.”
“Sometimes I hear Seungkwan’s TV through the walls and it bothers me,” you protest. “I come here because it’s quieter.” Jihyo raises an eyebrow.
“Nayeon caught you pacing outside the containment ward even though Jihoon said you’re allowed to go in.”
“There’s a laundry room across the hall from the entrance. I was waiting for a load to finish,” you protest. The ex-Widow’s frown deepens at your blatant half-lie and she gestures to the many broken punching bags you’d sent flying in the days since recovering from the capture mission.
“You can look me in the eyes and tell me that is normal?”
“Stress appears different on everyone, Jihyo,” you conclude too carefreely and something different blinks across her face. The light frustration shifts into a muted sort of sadness, like she was purposefully dialing down her emotions to avoid upsetting you.
“You haven’t been eating meals with us. Jeongyeon, Nayeon, the rest of the girls. We miss you,” she says quietly and your shoulders slump. You drag your hand down your face.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just,” you inhale, trying to find the words. “I don’t want to burden you all with my baggage. Seungcheol, he’s the last person I would expect to show up from my past, and it hurts. Seeing him like that…it hurt.” Jihyo nods.
“I get it. I felt the same seeing you in the cryotube on that last raid,” she sympathizes. You chew the inside of your cheek. “We’d heard stories about the Arachne project and how the last surviving participant had disappeared. We couldn’t have imagined we’d find you, but I’m so glad we did.” Jihyo approaches you now, taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay for you to open up to us about how you’re feeling. You don’t have to go it alone anymore.”
“Since when did the Red Room give empathy classes?” You ask wryly and she chuckles.
“Since we broke out of their mind-control and started leaning on each other more,” Jihyo replies, nudging you with her shoulder. “We’re the only ones who will get it, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Thank you,” you say. “I haven’t had the chance to properly–” She cuts you off with a wave of her hand.
“You don’t need to say all that. It’s just what friends do for each other,” she cuts in and you finally give her a tired smile. “Now, are you finally going to let me tell you why I came over here?”
“It wasn’t just for a motivational speech and to tell me to stop bulldozing the punching bags.” Her chuckle turns into a bark of laughter.
“That, yes, but I also came bearing news,” she shares with a sparkle in her eye. “Choi Seungcheol is awake.” Your heart stutters.
“He is?” Jihyo exhales.
“He’s awake, and he’s refusing to cooperate unless he sees you first.”
—
Casablanca – 1942
After three years of assignments in collaboration with the Winter Soldier, you’ve done something extraordinary–you’ve helped him recover some semblances of his memories.
Granted, it’s an ongoing process that brings more backtracking than it does progress. You’re not entirely sure how you did it, but somewhere during the downtime of missions, you began asking him questions just to see if he had the facilities to answer them. To your surprise, he was able to answer you almost immediately, though sometimes his expression twisted like he was trying to wrench the memory out of his brain with his bare hands. Over time, you learned small things like his hometown, his friends, and fractals of his life before becoming the Winter Soldier. Your single-sided questions gradually transformed into full conversations, and your talks helped ease the strain of being the Red Room’s most prized weapon. In another world, you could see yourself being friends with Choi Seungcheol, perhaps even something more.
Sometimes, he remembered too much.
That’s when Hydra wiped him and started from scratch.
“Are you real?” He rasps unexpectedly from beside you on the external catwalk of a shipping warehouse. Question number one. You watch him from the corner of your eye, your focus never wavering from the bustle of a ship making a stop for the night at the port. He asked the same question every time his mind returned to him, even if it was only temporarily, like it was a ritual. He had to make sure you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.
Seungcheol has been dead silent since you met with him in Budapest, the biggest indicator that Hydra had ‘wiped’ him–that is, they shocked his brain into oblivion until the only thing he could understand was his handlers’ commands. When Seungcheol didn’t talk, it meant that he couldn’t remember what he had to discuss with you, but it didn’t mean it was completely gone; it was just deeper in his psyche, and it was up to him to pull it back out.
Now it seemed, as you watched the dockworkers begin to unload the ship, he’d returned to you.
“I’m real,” you say without any noticeable emotion, as stable and neutral as you can manage.
“Are we in danger?” Question number two. On a few rare occasions, you would spend an entire mission with Winter Soldier-only, completely wiped Seungcheol, only for his true self to appear in a relatively inopportune moment (e.g. getting shot at). He described it to you as being in a dream; he knew what the mission was, where he was located, and the task he had to complete, but it was like watching it from an outside perspective. Only when he registered that you were you did he feel like he was back in control of his body.
“No, we’re not in danger,” you answer, shaking your head. Your eyes narrow on a large crate with a bright red ‘X’ painted on it. One side of the crate is the size of your entire armspan, yet the item inside was a vial no larger than your pointer finger. You didn’t know much about it beyond that, other than that the Red Room wanted it and you were tasked to grab it. “We will be soon, though. That’s our target.” You nod to the box and Seungcheol’s gaze follows it as it leaves the cargo hold and is moved in the direction of your position.
“Did–” Question number three. He swallows and you wait for him, finally turning to look as he steadies his breathing. “Did I hurt you?” You shake your head again.
“No, you did not hurt me.” Seungcheol breathes a visible sigh of relief.
“Okay.” You check your descender and practice the timing one last time in your head–you drop onto the package, Seungcheol covers you as you open the crate and retrieve the vial, then throw a smoke bomb and disappear.
“Ready?” His eyes darken over his face mask.
“Ready.”
The sensation of falling is familiar as the rope goes taut and you drop from the catwalk. The crate wobbles as you land on top of it, the dockworkers startling with a shout of alarm. As you jump down to open the package, you see their shadows reach for something to use as a weapon, but Seungcheol is already there. He’s the closest thing to a demon you’ll ever see, stalking through the darkness and downing enemies. As he takes down the last of the dockworkers near the crate, you grip the side of the wooden box, channel the strength given to you by the Red Room’s serum, and pull.
Nothing happens.
You give another strong tug, then another, then another until you realize that the side of the crate isn’t budging. You scowl. The serum had given you strength, but there were also other tradeoffs to increase your speed, agility, and enhance your senses for covert operations. For a moment, you toss around the idea of punching a hole in the crate, then realize that you risked damaging the vial inside. Before you can ask, Seungcheol is already at your side, staring at the unopened crate with you.
“It’s still closed,” he monotones and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.
“I see that,” you grumble. “Not all of us got the serum that gave us biceps the size of milk jugs.” He motions for you to back up. “Don’t you dare punch that shit.” Even under his mask, you can tell he’s staring at you incredulously.
“What do you take me for, an animal?” Yes. He thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “Don't answer that.” Seungcheol then grips the same spot that you had with his human arm and tugs. The side of the crate gives way as easily as ripping a sheet of paper, and you can’t tell whether to be mad that he got more super strength or mad that you can’t stop staring at his arm. He’d ripped off the side of a wooden crate, and he didn’t even need to use the metal arm. “There you go.”
“My knight in shining armor,” you say dryly, stepping up to observe how the vial was encased. Thankfully, it was only a few layers of anti-shock plexiglass that you remove easily, and soon the vial is safe and sound in your belt. Mission accomplished. “Let’s get out of here. You know the way?” Seungcheol nods.
“Keep close,” he says before ducking into the darkness.
You follow him through the dim-lit streets and alleys of Casablanca to the bar where you would be retrieved by your handlers. It isn’t too late in the night and there are still a generous amount of patrons around as Seungcheol opens the door to the bar, putting you in a state of unease while you slide onto a barstool. Seungcheol stands beside you in between your stool and the next, leaning against the bar with his metal arm hidden by a glove and his jacket sleeve. He’s removed his dark mask and, to any untrained eye, you look like a pair of unassuming shadows that happen to haunt the bar.
“You don’t want to sit?” You ask after Seungcheol quietly orders you an Old Fashioned, rye with extra bitters, without you needing to request a drink. He’s positioned himself between your barstool in the next, his back to the counter and his head tilted to look at you while also keeping tabs on the rest of the room. Your voice is soft, barely perceptible in the raucous noise of the bar, but Seungcheol doesn’t need to hear anything else right now.
“I’ll stand. Easier to be close to you,” he says and you hate the way it makes your heart flip. Affection and love were not something afforded to you, yet you loved to look over the edge of what it would be like to care for Seungcheol freely. “Need anything?”
“Not unless you have a Tiffany bracelet hiding in your pocket,” you say lightly and he does that same huff-laugh again. His eyes are dark but the shadow that typically hangs over them is softened in the yellowed light.
“Tiffany & Co. That’s in New York, right?”
“It is. Do you remember New York?”
“New York from before, or New York now?”
“I rarely ever ask how you remember things now, Seungcheol,” you point out and he nods, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “What do you remember about before?” He’s silent for a few moments and the space between his eyebrows pinches.
“Mingyu liked to pick up girls in the diners. Said paying for a girl’s meal was the way to get her heart,” he recalls slowly and you fight back a snort.
“He really believed that?”
“Mingyu believed a lot of things,” Seungcheol continues, “and most of them were about how to properly woo a woman.” The bartender returns with your Old Fashioned and Seungcheol only nods to him rather than paying him, a kind of silent agreement that your drink would be on the house. You don’t question it. The rye is cheap and there are a normal amount of bitters, but it’s smooth enough as it runs down your throat.
“And how do you believe you should properly woo a woman?” You posit, momentarily forgetting who you were and who he was. This was the fine line you walked, indulging that desire to be normal and flirt and want, all these things the Red Room had trained out of you.
“I don’t remember most of the things,” Seungcheol begins honestly, “but I do know that knowing how she takes her alcohol is a good start.”
“It’s an excellent start.” You smirk over the rim of your glass and fight the urge to shiver when his gloved hand brushes your lower back. The noise around you dims and you scan his face slowly, cataloging every detail of it. What draws your attention the most are his eyes, always his eyes. There was a rage that burned behind them, but it seemed to temper itself when you were near. You didn’t know what to make of it and didn’t have the words to describe it, only that you liked his rage. It matched your own, and it made you feel seen. “Want a sip?”
“Alcohol doesn’t affect us, Arachne,” Seungcheol reminds you quietly and you wave him off.
“It’s not about getting drunk. It’s about feeling normal,” you correct. He looks at you curiously.
“And alcohol, it makes you feel normal?”
“As much as I can, considering what we’ve been made into.” You shrug and he carefully takes the glass from your hand, rotating the cup so that his lips make contact at the exact spot where you had taken your sip. Your breath catches. He doesn’t break eye contact even as he takes one, long drink, swallowing like it was water and handing it back to you like he hadn’t just thrown your entire brain into a live volcano.
“Pretty good,” he murmurs. “Up to your standards?”
“I’ve had better,” you lie. You’ve never had alcohol outside of missions, and even then, you tended to fake drinking to blend in with the crowd. “Drinking with company tends to raise my mood, though.”
“Am I good company?” Your eyes sparkle.
“You’re the only company I want.” Before he can reply, movement in the darker shadows of the bar catch his attention. Half a dozen men in three-piece suits huddle together, murmuring, but their gazes remain on you for a duration that makes Seungcheol’s skin crawl. Their eyes rake hungrily over your body and his vision starts going red, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists. He imagines five different ways he could dispose of each of the men, starting with the one that just licked his lips and seemed to be preparing to approach you. “Why do you look like you’re about to kill everyone in this bar, Seungcheol?” You ask in a low tone, your voice coming much closer to his ear than previously. You’ve leaned even closer to him, the smell of your perfume intoxicating him worse than any alcohol.
“Assholes at your six,” he snarls. You gently but firmly take his cheek in your hand and pull his face to look at you.
“Why the fuck should I care about them?” His face is inches from yours, but his fiery eyes remain on the group behind you.
“You shouldn’t.” The muscle in his jaw is tense enough to cut diamonds.
“So why do you?” You inquire and Seungcheol’s face burns from something he can’t name as he finally meets your eyes.
“Because they’re looking at you like they own you. No one owns you,” he seethes, his anger boiling over. Your face remains unchanged except for the slight pinch between your eyebrows. You seem to think on his words for a moment and then nod to yourself, removing your hand from his face and downing the rest of your drink in one swallow.
“It’s stuffy here. Let’s leave,” you order suddenly and Seungcheol’s anger sobers. “We can wait for the rendezvous outside.”
“Did I say something to upset you?” You smile in a way that doesn’t reach your eyes and lace your fingers in his, tugging him toward the exit.
“No, you just say things that make me think a little too hard on things I’m not allowed to want.”
—
Avengers Headquarters, Upstate New York – 2025
You’re not sure what you’re expecting when you enter his area of the containment ward, but you’re caught off-guard all the same.
They’ve put him in a dark shirt and pants that stretches over the rippling cords of muscle you, once upon a time, could never stop staring at. Instead of a hospital bed, they’ve transferred him to a fortified metal chair with cuffs as thick as your arm holding his limbs in place. His breathing is ragged when you step into the room and he raises his head to look at you slowly, like he was moving through syrup. When his gaze falls on you, you see sparks of recognition try to come to life in his eyes.
“It’s you.” You wait just outside of the painted lines on the floor that put him in an imaginary box, remaining just out of reach. You’d been put into the cryotube before he had, so you had no idea what had happened to him in the time between you going under and him going under. What he had become in that time without you was a mystery, and there was a real chance that they had programmed him to kill you on sight. Staying out of his reach was not only for your physical safety, but also to keep you from breaking and succumbing to the urge to touch him for the first time in decades. “I know you.” You just keep staring at him, face blank and still as a statue. Your silence makes him hesitate. “Are you–are you real?” You nod stiffly.
“I’m real.” His muscles flex as he subtly tests the strength of his restraints. You pretend not to notice. “The chair’s just a safety precaution.”
“Are we in danger?”
“Not if you keep your mind,” you answer truthfully. Panic flashes across his face, like it was truly a possibility he might lose himself again. “I won’t let them take it from you again.” His eyes scan your body, narrowing on the bruises and scars left behind from the fight during his capture.
“I hurt you,” he croaks. Your heart twists. That’s not the question he’s supposed to ask.
“You were doing what you needed to survive,” you correct gently, stepping over the line on the floor and into his space. Seungcheol stills as you draw nearer until you’re on one knee in front of him, close enough to feel his ragged breath. One wrong move is all it takes for him to headbutt you into the afterlife, yet you feel no shred of fear as you shakily reach for his face. He seeks your touch almost immediately, leaning into your palm with a slump of his shoulders. “You’re with me again, and that’s what matters.” He shakes his head like he thinks you’re a hallucination and you pull away your hand.
“I don’t understand.”
“Widows infiltrated and took down the entire Red Room. They found me in the cryotube during a raid two years ago.” Your voice falters. “I’d been asleep since 1944.”
“You’ve been alone.” The ghost of a wry smile tugs at your mouth.
“For the most part, though I did have the ones who found me. Three of them helped me find you in Casablanca.” Realization hits Seungcheol like a bucket of cold water.
“The one who was bleeding, is she–”
“She’s alive. All three of them are, thanks to some well-timed bloodlust on my end that only you have the capabilities of matching,” you state dryly. It’s meant to be reassuring, but you can tell it only makes Seungcheol uneasier. “They hold no grudge against you, nor do I.”
“Maybe you should,” he murmurs. Your face hardens.
“Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare think I can hate the one person that understands what I am.”
“You’re not a what; you’re a person,” he grits and your chest pangs. “You have to believe that. If you don’t, how am I supposed to believe that I’m human too?”
“That’s not fair to either of us,” you whisper. “I can’t hold you together if I don’t know how to hold myself together first.”
“You’re pretty damn good at doing it without trying, Arachne,” Seungcheol says softly. “You make me human, even if you don’t see yourself as one.” He holds your gaze a moment longer and lets the tension hang like thick fog, before sighing and sitting up straight. “How long do you think until I can walk around freely?”
“Depends on how well you behave,” you reply, the corner of your mouth tugging upward. “You’ll be let go as soon as the doctors say you’re psychologically sound.”
“As in, I won’t rip out the throats of everyone who breathes in my vicinity,” he deadpans and you nod. “Got it.”
“I’ll come again in a few hours.” You stand to leave, your legs still slightly sore from the fight during his capture, but Seungcheol rasps your name with a strangled, panicked cry.
“Wait. Please don’t go. Not yet.” You still, staring down at a man you’ve stood beside–killed beside–as he’s begging you to stay for the sake of his own sanity. “Can you stay a little longer?”
“Seungcheol, you need rest,” you insist.
“Please. Just for a bit.” You exhale and nod. His shoulders drop in relief.
You snap after Hydra wipes Seungcheol’s mind for the eighth time.
It’d taken him three days for him to even show some semblance of recognizing you, and five more hours of reconnaissance for him to fully remember what you were, who you were. He’d broken out of his trance with a violent thrash, collapsing against the wall with such force that it cracked. You sat on the floor with him, his face in your hands as you forced him to look at you, for what seemed like forever until he finally won over whatever Hydra put in his mind this time. By the time it was over, you were both drenched in sweat and shaking like leaves in the wind. For the first time since you’d known him, the fire in Seungcheol’s eyes was nearly gone, replaced by something broken and tired.
It made you want to burn the world to the ground.
He knew what you planned to do, at least some semblance of it; part of you was grateful that he didn’t offer to help you, nor did he try to stop you. You understood each other’s rage, and the only way for you to channel it was to seek vengeance against the only person you cared about.
Logistically, there was always a period of up to twelve hours after you requested extraction from a mission, enough time for you to track the coordinates Seungcheol had given you and slip into the Winter Soldier Project’s base of operations. You beeline for the security room, dispose of the guards as easily as blinking, and lock every door in the facility before cutting the power completely. The base falls into complete darkness and you bypass turning on the emergency lights. Your eyes, enhanced by the Red Room’s serum that made your night vision akin to a cat’s, adjust immediately and you let the familiar silence of darkness wrap around you like a security blanket. A low siren indicating a security breach echoes against the concrete walls, and you stalk into the void with knives in your hands and your gun locked in its holster.
You don’t fire a single shot that night. Every soul that you send to the underworld dies by your hands or the blades in them as proof of your rage and to feed the carnal need for blood that roared every time you remember what they did to Seungcheol. The scientists and doctors are easy enough, as are the handlers. The other test subjects that received the serum prove to be a challenge, but they aren’t trained to fight in darkness as well as you are. Their serum also does not make their eyes as strong as yours, so they sacrifice power for accuracy that never lands. In less than an hour, every Hydra agent in the facility is on the floor and your boots are slick with blood. After the last body hits the ground, you breathe in the copper-tasting air. You don’t regret it, not a single kill, and soon enough you’ve nabbed a truck and started on the road for Amsterdam.
—
Seungcheol is wary of almost everything in this new age, but there are three things he knows for certain. One, that the food he eats for breakfast alone is miles better than whatever he was eating a century ago. Two, that cars of this era can go faster than he could even blink. Three, that you are just as much of an anchor as you were before you said goodbye in that goddamn tulip field.
“Earth to Seungcheol, hello? Are you reading?” You say with a tilt of your head, lightly tapping his temple with your finger. It’s been a few months since you’d found him in Casablanca and everyday feels more reassuring than the last. In the soft sunlight of the Avengers compound common area, you look almost at peace, a stark contrast to how Seungcheol normally saw you. You’re a completely different person now that the Red Room isn’t breathing down your neck, and it slowly encourages him to bring his guards down as well. His stiff, awkward interactions with the other former Widows has evolved into some interesting conversations that don’t require your patient mediation. It isn’t abnormal for people to see you together like this, you with a computer or a notebook scribbling down whatever your next mission is, and the former Winter Soldier just sitting beside you, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
“I don’t have a book with me, how could I be reading?” He frowns and you smile. The act alone makes his heart trip over itself.
“It’s just an expression. Instead of reading books, you’re reading signals, like how the space people did when humans went to the moon,” you explain and his confusion deepens.
“Space people as in aliens, or…?”
“The people controlling the spaceship,” you laugh. “The ones making sure it didn’t crash and burn on national television.”
“Right. Television. That’s a thing now.” He scrunches his eyes shut and drags his metal hand down his face, a new Vibranium-reinforced appendage that you’d called in a favor for after Seungcheol began complaining that his old one was creaking. “How’d you do this alone? Adjust to an entirely different world?” You pause, your pencil hovering over the page of your notebook.
“It was hard at first,” you admit. “But it got easier when I realized that nothing ever really changes, it just evolves. The bones of everything I knew are still there, but they just look different.” An idea lights up in Seungcheol’s mind.
“Are you able to find information about places on that thing?” He asks, nodding at your laptop. Your face pinches like you’re fighting a laugh and he gives you a pointed look.
“I didn’t say anything!” You protest with your hands raised in surrender.
“You didn’t need to. I could hear you laughing at my cluelessness in your head from over here,” he shoots back with no malice. “Can you just–can you look up a restaurant downtown? Darling Diner.” You shrug and your fingers clack against the keyboard. Your eyebrows draw together and you lean closer to the screen, clicking around for an amount of time that makes Seungcheol feel embarrassed that he even asked. “It’s probably dead now, sorry for making you–”
“It’s still open,” you interrupt, surprised. “‘The original Darling Diner, serving New York since 1928.’ Is that the one?” He leans over to you and you turn the screen to face him. The exterior color is changed and the neon sign is in a different font, but the building is the exact same as the one where he and Mingyu used to go after school.
“Holy shit. That’s the one,” Seungcheol mutters. “I can’t believe it’s still around.”
“Did you frequent it often?” Seungcheol chuckles.
“Often? Mingyu and I were there every day of the week. All the staff knew us by name, even tried to set us up with their daughters.” An amused glint shines in your eye.
“Oh? Do tell about all the girls you’ve romanced at this diner,” you tease and Seungcheol stutters, his face suddenly hot. He swallows and the silence makes you stifle a snort, another sound that he’s never heard before but would never tire of hearing. “I’m kidding, I promise. You’ve told me all about the times you’ve third-wheeled Mingyu’s dates.”
“Yeah, that jackass always made me take a walk up and down the street when he wanted to give the girls a kiss goodnight,” he reminisces.
“Jesus, how many girls was he kissing?”
“I lost track after the fifteenth.” He shrugs and you both burst out laughing until your stomachs hurt. When the giggles die down, Seungcheol takes a deep breath and steels his nerves. “Does it…does it say when the diner closes?” You blink and scroll around a bit before nodding.
“1:00 in the morning, every day,” you reply. “Why?”
“Do you have any dinner plans?” Seungcheol asks and you try not to look too excited.
“I do not.”
“Would you let me take you out to dinner then? I can tell you if the quality is as good as I remember it being.” Your smile is brighter than every star combined.
“I would love to.”
A few hours later, you’re tucked into a well-worn leather booth scarfing down a plate of food as large as your head. The sun is giving its final bows and the diner is humming with hushed conversation amidst the soft clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen. Seungcheol has regaled you with at least six new stories about his escapades with Mingyu before they enlisted, and for a minute you let yourself imagine that this was a normal life. You were on a normal date with a normal guy (with a totally normal arm) in a normal diner on a normal night. Normal. How odd.
“Where’d you go?” He asks as the waitress in a grease-stained apron clears your entree plates from the table. You blink back to the present and try to ignore the way Seungcheol’s arms are flexing under the sleeves of his henley shirt. You offer an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, I’m not sure. I guess I got too caught up in the moment.” You fidget with a crumpled straw wrapper, if only to not get flustered by Seungcheol’s unwavering attention. “I like this. Being with you.” He nods almost solemnly.
“I do too.”
“I’m half-expecting someone to barge in and try to recapture us,” you chuckle dryly, though you’re not entirely kidding.
“Is that why you keep glancing at the door like we’re still on the run?” Seungcheol gently questions.
“A habit I can’t shake, unfortunately,” you sigh. “Nayeon calls it ‘the white rabbit’ theory.”
“Like from that book about the girl who smokes with a caterpillar?”
“Among other things, yes,” you snort. “It’s essentially a fear that whenever something feels too good, something bad comes along to ruin it. The white rabbit gets you, is what she says. I guess I’m…I’m waiting for the rabbit to come through the door.” Seungcheol is quiet as he digests what you’ve shared with him. Then, slowly as to give you time to pull away, he reaches for your hand. You let him take your fingers in his and run his thumb over your bruised knuckles, an act so delicate that you forget to breathe. The rest of the diner falls away until it’s just you and him in the dingy yellow light, holding on to a moment that isn’t as fragile as you think it is.
“If the rabbit comes in, I’ll shoot him,” Seungcheol mumbles after a while. You choke on a surprised laugh that falters when you see the grave seriousness etched into his features. “I’m serious.” He thinks back to Amsterdam, to the suppressed panic you were trying to hide from him in that fucking tulip field, and how he let you go without so much as lifting a finger. He could have done more to protect you. He should have done more. “I’ll die before I ever let someone take you away again,” he promises and your eyes start watering unexpectedly. You swallow thickly and nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady.
The waitress arrives with a single strawberry milkshake like a car horn on a quiet street, making both you and Seungcheol startle and swear colorfully under your breaths. She tosses two more straws onto the table and leaves without another word. You both share a look as you stifle your laughter, the moment effectively ended but not broken.
“Damn, maybe the real rabbit was our waitress,” you joke and Seungcheol makes a noise from his throat that sounds vaguely like a chuckle. “A little cliché, isn’t it? Sharing a milkshake with two straws?” You unwrap both and stick them on either side of the glass.
“You say cliché, but I remember it as Mingyu’s special closer,” replies Seungcheol. You lean in and take a sip and he does the same, your noses nearly brushing. “Good?”
“Delicious,” you whisper. His eyes dart to the corner of your lips and his thumb wipes your mouth without thinking. You don’t stiffen, but he does halfway through the action, pulling away abruptly like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Sorry, you had a…something on your face.” Your eyes are too knowing and he flushes under your gaze.
“It’s okay, I didn’t mind.” Your voice lowers and you lean forward over the glass again so close that Seungcheol can count the different flecks of color in your eyes. “Though you could also just kiss me next time that happens,” you murmur with a clever smile. “Unless that was also part of the Mingyu Special, in which case I don’t really want to–”
“I get the point, sweetheart.” Your teasing is cut off by Seungcheol closing the distance and softly placing his lips on yours, like you would explode if he moved too suddenly. He feels you smile against the kiss, though it might’ve been because he was smiling first. You hum and pull away just enough to nudge his nose with yours, the milkshake between you forgotten. “You taste like strawberries,” he grins.
“Is that okay?”
“More than,” he confirms. “I like kissing you.” He hesitates before speaking again. “I…I like you.” Your joy falters.
“I’m not the easiest person to be with, Seungcheol,” you remind him uneasily.
“I don’t need you to be easy,” he murmurs. “I just need you.”
“And if I prove to be too much trouble?” Seungcheol shakes his head adamantly.
“You said it yourself. I’m the one who’s made to match you. I’m asking you to let me.” You search his face but find nothing but conviction and raw determination.
“You’re sure about this? About me?”
“If I wasn’t, you’d have never been able to break me from Hydra’s control,” he says and the tiniest part of you starts to believe him.
“As long as you don’t let the white rabbit get me,” you caution with a poorly-hidden smile. “Now c’mon, let’s finish this and get out of here. Jihoon’s car isn’t gonna speed itself.”
—
Casablanca – 2026
“We really should stop meeting like this,” jokes an all-too-familiar voice over your shoulder as you watch the waters of the port shine in the early afternoon sunlight. You push your sunglasses up onto the top of your head and turn to look at Seungcheol as he approaches, looking too good for someone who was just on a flight for over twelve hours. When he’s close enough, you loop your fingers until the belt loops of his pants and tug him to kiss you. You hum in contentment when his hands immediately position themselves on your hips. “Someone’s happy to see me.”
“Mmm, I know you like when I’m clingy,” you reply and he shrugs.
“I plead the fifth. Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re right on time,” you reassure him. “They’re about to engage.” Seungcheol’s stomach turns uneasily.
“You’re sure they’re okay to take this on their own?”
“They’ll be fine. They’ve been training together for months. It’s about time they did a mission on their own.” You grab the earpiece case from your pocket and pop one into Seungcheol’s, connecting him into the comms system as the two trainees take their places. “Ant-Man, Spiderman, confirm positions.”
“I am in a position,” replies Seokmin through crackled static. “Not sure if it’s the right one.” Seungcheol gives you a skeptical look and you wave him off. You’re starting to feel relieved that you didn’t assign them a night mission as their first job. “You don’t happen to know where my extra vial of Pym particles are, do you?”
“You won’t need any more than you usually use during training, so just be smart with how you shrink. It’s just like the training simulations,” you explain patiently. Seungcheol has begun pacing back and forth and checking the magazine of his guns.
“Am I allowed to use web-bombs on this mission?” Hansol inquires and you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Also I’m in position. I have no idea where Seokmin is.”
“You can use web-bombs sparingly. Be sure to call out when you’re going to use them, since you tend to get Seokmin caught in the crossfire as he’s shrinking and growing.”
“Wait! If I go gigantic, you’ll be able to find me!” Seokmin proposes with too much enthusiasm.
“Do not go gigantic, Ant-Man. I repeat, do not go gigantic,” Seungcheol commands.
“I didn’t know Seungcheol was supervising us too,” mumbles Hansol a little indignantly. “Pressure’s on, I guess.”
“Wow, scary!” Seokmin adds. “The most terrifying Avengers making sure we don’t mess up. I guess I can’t be funny today.”
“No, be funny,” Hansol frowns. “It makes this more fun.”
“Your mission is to identify the contents of a shipping container. Where the fun lies in that, I’m not sure,” Seungcheol states incredulously. He presses a button on the earpiece to mute his microphone and turns to you. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just handle this? We could be in and out in under five minutes.” You shake your head and squeeze his hand.
“The Winter Soldier and Arachne are here as backup. We don’t need to be scary on this job; we need to be mentors,” you remind him gently. “Trust me, I’m just as nervous for this mission as you are.”
“I doubt that,” Seungcheol laments and you chuckle. Your smile drops suddenly when five different shipping containers fall over with loud metallic crashes as Seokmin’s Ant-Man suit grows to become as tall as the cranes. Swinging on his arms and throwing web-bombs like no tomorrow is Hansol, and the dockworkers are running about in a state of panic. The targeted container is nowhere in sight, and half of Seokmin’s leg is now in the water. You and Seungcheol share a look and sigh. “Well, shit.”
“So much for subtlety,” you agree, unhurriedly pulling your batons from their sheaths on your thighs. Seungcheol dons his black mask and pulls the detachable sleeve away from his Vibranium arm. “I could use an Old Fashioned after this.”
“Rye, extra bitters,” he continues. The corner of your mouth turns down when you realize you’ve misplaced a knife on your belt, and Seungcheol is quick to hand you one of his. “Maybe I’ll give it a try today. Seems like a drinking kind of night, if we survive this.”
“This is easily survivable compared to what we’ve done in the past,” you scoff, adding the knife to your array and stretching your neck from side to side.
“Sorry, I mean the press conference that’s gonna come our way once the press hears that Ant-Man got half his foot stuck in a crane,” corrects Seungcheol and you shrug.
“Just another day, isn’t it?” You smile at him and he winks at you.
“Guess so.” He cracks his human knuckles.
“Got my six?”
“You know it.”
“Great,” you grin, pressing one more kiss to his cheek. “Let’s clean up their mess.”
in case you didn't know: reblogging is the best way to support your favorite authors! if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi!
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Years of almosts, lingering looks, unfinished conversations—everything between Iseul Kim and Mingyu had been building quietly, stubbornly, like something neither of them could fully control.
And the worst part?
Everyone else could see it too.
—
It started with rumors.
Small at first.
Fans noticed patterns—backgrounds in photos, the same studio corners, the same late-night city views. A glass of iced coffee on Mingyu’s post that matched one Iseul had uploaded hours earlier. A reflection in a window. A song credit that appeared a little too conveniently.
Then came the threads.
“Am I the only one seeing this?” “They’re in the same place again.” “This is not coincidence anymore.”
Even casual fans started connecting dots.
Staff? They were worse.
“They’re not even trying to hide it,” one manager muttered once, watching Mingyu scroll through his phone with a soft smile that only ever showed up when her name appeared.
Because Mingyu wasn’t subtle.
Not really.
He’d never confirm anything—but he didn’t deny it either.
If anything, he leaned into it.
A photo with a caption that mirrored her lyrics.
A location tag posted minutes after she left.
A hoodie that suspiciously looked like one she wore in a studio vlog.
And every time, the internet exploded.
—
Iseul hated it.
Not because she was ashamed.
But because she knew what it could cost him.
“You need to stop,” she told him one night, arms crossed, her voice low but firm.
They were in her studio—dim lights, unfinished tracks playing softly in the background.
Mingyu leaned against the table, watching her like she was the only thing in the room.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he said.
“You’re feeding it,” she snapped. “You’re an idol, Mingyu. You don’t get to act like this doesn’t affect you.”
His jaw tightened.
“And you don’t get to act like I don’t mean anything either.”
The room fell silent.
Because that was the real issue.
Not the rumors.
Not the fans.
Them.
—
She had tried to keep her distance.
Tried to stay professional. Careful. Controlled.
But Mingyu?
Mingyu had never been good at holding back when it came to her.
It showed in the way he looked at her—too long, too openly.
The way his mood shifted depending on her attention.
The way he got quiet when other people got too close to her.
Jealousy didn’t look loud on Mingyu.
It looked controlled.
Tense.
Like something he was constantly holding in.
—
“You smiled like that at him earlier.”
It was such a small comment.
But it wasn’t casual.
They were backstage at an event, tucked away in a corner where no one would easily see them.
Iseul sighed. “He’s a colleague.”
“And I’m what?”
She turned to him then—and for a moment, her composure slipped.
Because there it was again.
That look.
Not playful. Not flirty.
Something deeper.
Something that had been growing for years.
“…You know what you are,” she said quietly.
“Then say it.”
He stepped closer.
Not aggressively.
But with intention.
Like he wasn’t going to let her avoid it this time.
—
That was the problem.
She had been avoiding it.
For too long.
—
The breaking point didn’t come from one thing.
It came from everything.
Rumors getting louder.
Fans getting bolder.
Staff watching them like an open secret.
And Mingyu—
Getting harder to ignore.
Harder to push away.
Harder to pretend didn’t matter.
—
“I think we should stop.”
The words felt wrong the moment she said them.
They were in her apartment this time—no cameras, no staff, no noise. Just the two of them.
Mingyu didn’t react immediately.
Which was worse.
“…Stop what?” he asked quietly.
“This—whatever this is,” she said, her voice tightening. “Before it turns into something we can’t control.”
A pause.
Then—
“I’m already there.”
Her breath caught.
Mingyu stepped closer, slower this time.
Careful.
Deliberate.
“I’ve been there,” he continued, his voice lower now, steadier. “You think this is just rumors to me? Just some game?”
“No—”
“Then don’t ask me to walk away from it like it’s nothing.”
—
She should have held her ground.
She had every reason to.
His career.
Her reputation.
The pressure.
The risk.
—
But when he looked at her like that—
Like she was something he had chosen, fully, completely, without hesitation—
Her resolve started to crack.
—
“I’m tired,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Of hiding. Of thinking. Of pretending this doesn’t matter.”
Mingyu didn’t say anything.
He just watched her.
Waiting.
Like he always did.
—
And then—
“Then don’t hide,” he said softly.
“Stay.”
Not a demand.
Not a command.
But something stronger.
A choice.
—
That was the moment everything changed.
Not because it was dramatic.
But because it was honest.
Raw.
Unavoidable.
—
When she finally closed the distance between them, it wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t reckless.
It was something that had been held back for far too long finally being allowed to exist.
Mingyu’s hands were careful at first—like he was giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
And that was all it took.
—
From that night on, nothing was simple anymore.
They were still careful.
Still private.
Still hidden.
But no longer uncertain.
—
The rumors didn’t stop.
If anything, they got louder.
Because now—
Mingyu didn’t just look at her like he wanted her attention.
He looked at her like he already had it.
—
And Iseul?
For someone who had always been composed, controlled, untouchable—
She found herself struggling in a completely different way.
By 2016, the industry no longer whispered Iseul Kim’s name.
It carried it.
What used to be a quiet girl with a notebook had turned into something almost untouchable—her work echoing through charts, radio stations, and trainee practice rooms. Songs tied to BigHit Entertainment’s rising group BTS and even contributions circulating around TWICE had built her reputation into something larger than life.
So when Seventeen—now officially debuted under Pledis Entertainment—found themselves back in a broadcast station hallway, no one expected her to walk in.
The green room door slid open.
And there she was.
Iseul Kim didn’t look like the 18-year-old they once knew.
She felt different.
There was a quiet authority in the way she carried herself—effortless, composed, almost untouchable. Her presence didn’t demand attention.
It pulled it.
For a moment, no one moved.
Not Seungcheol, not Jeonghan, not even Hoshi.
And definitely not Mingyu.
Because the thought hit all of them at the same time:
What if she doesn’t remember us?
They had changed too. They weren’t trainees anymore. They had debuted. They had fans. A name.
But standing in front of her, it suddenly felt… small.
Then—
“I missed you guys.”
Just like that.
No hesitation. No distance.
Iseul smiled, walking straight past the stunned group—and pulled Seungkwan into a tight hug.
“You still talk too much?” she teased softly.
“Yah—noona!” Seungkwan laughed, already clinging to her like no time had passed.
Before anyone could process it, she turned and hugged Joshua just as warmly.
“You’ve gotten even gentler,” she said, her voice fond.
Joshua smiled—soft, familiar.
Like this wasn’t a reunion.
Like it was just another day.
—
And the rest of them?
They stood there.
Watching.
Something sharp twisted quietly in Mingyu’s chest.
It was unfamiliar.
Uncomfortable.
Because for the first time, he realized—
He wanted that.
Not just her attention.
That closeness.
That ease.
That way she looked at Seungkwan like he mattered.
Mingyu swallowed, jaw tightening slightly as his eyes followed every movement she made.
Wonwoo noticed.
Of course he did.
He didn’t say anything—but his gaze flickered between Mingyu and Iseul, already piecing things together.
Woozi crossed his arms, expression unreadable.
Hoshi shifted awkwardly.
Seungcheol just watched.
Always watching.
—
“I remember all of you,” Iseul added, finally turning back to the group.
And when her eyes landed on Mingyu—
She paused.
Just for a second.
“You got taller.”
Simple.
Casual.
But it hit harder than it should have.
Mingyu blinked, caught off guard.
“…You remember that?”
A small smile tugged at her lips.
“I remember everything.”
And somehow, that made it worse.
—
That day passed quickly.
Schedules. Greetings. Polite conversations.
But something had changed.
For all of them.
Especially Mingyu.
—
By 2019, everyone knew.
Not officially.
Not publicly.
But everyone knew.
Mingyu—the confident, charming, effortlessly flirty visual—became… different around Iseul.
Quieter.
More careful.
Almost shy.
It started small.
Lingering glances during award shows.
Subtle attempts to be in the same room.
Taking just a second longer to respond when she spoke.
Fans noticed first.
Staff noticed faster.
His members?
They had known for years.
“Just talk to her,” Hoshi muttered once, half-annoyed, half-amused.
“You’re literally friends with her friends.”
Seungkwan snorted. “You were there before us, remember?”
Mingyu didn’t answer.
Because they didn’t understand.
Or maybe they did—and that made it worse.
—
It wasn’t just a crush.
It hadn’t been for a long time.
Somewhere between 2013 and 2016…
Something in him had rooted itself too deeply.
He followed her work. Every credit. Every release.
He knew which songs were hers without checking.
He knew her patterns.
Her sound.
Her silence.
And the more he learned, the further away she seemed.
Not because she pushed him away.
But because she kept rising.
And he—
Stayed watching.
—
“Use your connections,” one staff member joked once.
“You’re close with Seungkwan. Joshua too.”
Even fans started encouraging it.
“Step up your game, Mingyu.” “You flirt with everyone else—why not her?”
They laughed.
Because they thought it was simple.
Because they thought it was him.
But Mingyu just smiled it off.
Because this wasn’t the kind of thing you approached casually.
Not when it felt like this.
Not when—
He was already too deep.
—
The truth?
He didn’t just want her attention anymore.
He wanted to be part of her world.
To be someone she looked for first.
To be someone she chose.
And that scared him more than anything.
Because for someone who was used to being wanted—
Wanting someone this much felt dangerously close to losing control.
—
Across the room, Iseul laughed at something Seungkwan said.
2013 felt like a blur of fluorescent practice rooms, shaky camera angles, and dreams that were still too fragile to say out loud.
When BigHit Entertainment quietly assigned Iseul Kim as a behind-the-scenes producer for a small collaborative project with trainees from Pledis Entertainment, no one thought much of it. She was just “staff”—an 18-year-old girl with a notebook always tucked under her arm and headphones hanging around her neck.
So when she appeared during early episodes of Seventeen TV, specifically the “Finding Musical Friends” segment, viewers didn’t even get a proper introduction. No name tag. No title.
Just… her.
At first, it was subtle.
A quick pan of the camera catching her laughing at something Seungkwan said. A few seconds of her quietly watching Hoshi lead choreography. A blurry frame where she handed a water bottle to Mingyu.
But fans noticed.
They always do.
“Who’s the girl in the back?” “Why is she always there?” “She looks important???”
Comments started flooding in. Viewer numbers ticked higher with every episode. The production team caught on quickly—every time Iseul appeared, engagement spiked.
So the PD made a quiet decision:
“Keep the camera on her.”
Not obvious. Never obvious. Just enough.
A second longer. A softer zoom. A casual pan.
And suddenly, she was everywhere—without ever trying to be.
—
The boys noticed too.
Not the cameras.
Her.
At first, it was curiosity.
Wonwoo was the first to realize it. He’d catch glimpses of her scribbling something in her notebook during rehearsals—always focused, always distant, like she was hearing music no one else could.
Woozi noticed next. As someone obsessed with songwriting, it bothered him—how someone so quiet carried herself like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Then came Seungcheol.
He didn’t say anything. But his eyes followed her every time she walked into the room.
And Hoshi?
Hoshi was obvious.
“Why is she always watching us?” he whispered once.
Mingyu just shrugged.
But his gaze lingered longer than it should.
—
Weeks passed.
And then came the turning point.
It was during a casual vocal session. Nothing official—just trainees messing around, trying to improve.
Someone dared her to sing.
At first, she refused.
Then she sighed, set her notebook down, and stood up.
No mic. No preparation.
Just her voice.
It wasn’t just good.
It was the kind of voice that made the room go still.
Clear. Controlled. Emotional in a way that didn’t feel practiced—it felt lived in.
Before anyone could process it, she switched.
Rap.
Sharp. Precise. Effortless.
Like she had been doing this far longer than any of them.
Silence followed.
And something shifted.
What was once curiosity turned into something deeper.
Respect.
Admiration.
And for some…
Something dangerously close to falling.
—
By Week 8, the boys had already lost.
They just didn’t say it out loud.
That day, they were scheduled to visit a studio as part of their debut preparation—songwriting practice, composition drills, the usual grind.
They expected empty equipment.
Quiet.
Focus.
Instead, they found her.
Sitting alone.
Electric guitar resting against her thigh. Fingers moving effortlessly along the fretboard. A half-built beat looped softly from the speakers.
She didn’t notice them at first.
Too immersed.
Humming under her breath as she scribbled lyrics into her notebook, pausing only to adjust the melody.
Woozi froze.
That wasn’t beginner work.
That wasn’t “staff.”
That was an artist.
A real one.
Mingyu leaned closer to Wonwoo, whispering, “She made that?”
Wonwoo didn’t answer.
He was too busy watching her like he’d just discovered something rare.
Hoshi, for once, didn’t move.
Seungcheol stepped forward slightly—but stopped.
Because in that moment, interrupting her felt wrong.
Like breaking a spell.
—
Then she looked up.
And everything shattered.
“Oh—” she blinked, surprised. “You’re here early.”
Like it was normal.
Like she wasn’t sitting in front of a fully self-produced track.
Like she hadn’t just rewritten everything they thought they knew about her.
Woozi spoke first.
“…You made that?”
She hesitated.
Then shrugged.
“Yeah. Just practicing.”
Just.
Practicing.
That word hit harder than anything.
—
From that day on, nothing was the same.
Because now they knew.
Iseul Kim wasn’t just the quiet girl in the background.
She was one of them.
No—she was someone they wanted to catch up to.
And maybe…
Someone they wanted to impress.
Mingyu started staying longer in practice rooms.
Wonwoo asked more questions about songwriting.
Woozi pushed himself harder—quietly, stubbornly.
Hoshi tried to make her laugh more.
Seungcheol?
He watched.
Always watching.
But now, there was intent behind it.
—
The cameras kept rolling.
The viewers kept asking.
“Who is she?”
But behind the scenes, the real story wasn’t just about a mysterious girl gaining attention.
It was about five boys—
slowly, helplessly—
falling for someone they hadn’t even fully understood yet.
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Iseul Kim wasn’t supposed to be part of that shoot.
Back in 2013, BigHit Entertainment was still finding its footing, and so was she—a trainee who spent more nights in the studio than in her own bed. Producing came naturally to her, melodies threading through her thoughts like second nature. Singing? That was just the bonus.
When the opportunity came to observe a collaborative project called Musical Friends, she thought she’d be standing quietly behind the cameras, notebook in hand, soaking everything in.
Instead, she got pulled in.
The set buzzed with chaotic energy—thirteen boys from a self-producing group called SEVENTEEN, all loud voices and overlapping jokes. Iseul stood awkwardly near the edge, clutching her notebook, until one of them spotted her.
“Are you part of the staff?” a boy with sharp eyes and an easy grin asked.
Before she could answer, another chimed in, “No way, she looks like an artist.”
That was how she met them.
She was officially added as a “special participant,” though it felt more like she had been adopted into the chaos.
Her team?
Seungkwan, Hoshi, Mingyu, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Woozi.
A mix of loud and quiet, chaos and control.
“Ah, we’re doomed,” Seungkwan groaned dramatically, looking at the lineup.
“Why? Because you have to carry the team?” Hoshi shot back.
“No, because I am the team!”
Iseul laughed softly, and that was the first moment they all noticed her properly.
Working with them wasn’t easy—but it wasn’t hard either.
Seungkwan quickly took on the role of her self-appointed best friend, constantly hyping her up.
“Did you hear her? Did you hear that note?!” he’d shout at anyone within range.
Hoshi treated her like a creative equal, dragging her into choreography discussions.
“Wait—what if the beat drops here instead?” she suggested once.
Hoshi froze. “Wait… that’s actually genius.”
Mingyu hovered somewhere between helpful and hopeless, always offering to carry things for her… even when she didn’t need it.
“I can hold your notebook.”
“I’m using it.”
“I can still hold it.”
But it was the others who made things… complicated.
Seungcheol watched her like he was trying to figure her out—always nearby, always attentive. If she looked even slightly tired, he was the first to notice.
“You should rest,” he said once, handing her a drink before she could even ask.
Wonwoo didn’t say much, but when he did, it was always to her.
“You write lyrics, right?” he asked quietly one afternoon.
She nodded.
“I’d like to read them… if that’s okay.”
And Woozi—
Woozi was the one who understood her without trying.
They ended up in the studio together more than once, sitting side by side in comfortable silence, building melodies from nothing.
“You think in layers,” he told her, eyes still on the screen. “Not a lot of people do that.”
Neither of them realized how close they’d leaned in until Seungkwan burst into the room yelling about snacks.
Somewhere along the way, things shifted.
Seungcheol started lingering longer than necessary.
Wonwoo started bringing her books—“just something you might like.”
Woozi started saving her a seat. Always the same one. Next to him.
Even Mingyu’s teasing softened, Hoshi’s energy sharpened around her, and Seungkwan—well, Seungkwan just got louder about how amazing she was.
“She’s ours now,” he declared one day, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Officially part of the team.”
“No one asked you,” Woozi muttered, but he didn’t disagree.
The final day of filming came too fast.
They wrapped up their performance, laughter echoing through the set, but there was a quiet understanding underneath it all.
This wasn’t permanent.
Iseul was going back to BigHit. They had their own path ahead.
Hoshi pointed at her. “Next time we meet, we’re making something big.”
Wonwoo just gave her a small nod.
Woozi hesitated before speaking. “If you ever need… a studio. Or someone to work with.”
Seungcheol didn’t say much.
He just pulled her into a brief, firm hug.
Years later, when Iseul Kim debuted—not just as a soloist, but as a producer whose sound people couldn’t ignore—there were familiar names cheering the loudest.
And every now and then, when their schedules aligned, when music brought them back into the same room—
It felt exactly like 2013 again.
Only this time, none of them were pretending not to fall just a little harder.
- milk-moonbunnies presents her Seventeen masterlist -
[WARNING!]
This is an 18+ blog to interact with - mdni
⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡
Nerd! Seventeen [au] mstrlst
°✩⋆｡ Seungcheol ｡⋆✩°
First Date - Seungcheol is nervous.
Feel Good - Seungcheol helps you understand that you should stand up for yourself.
Call, Call, Call - What if, as a call girl, you get a new job? What if you're you're favorite regular turns out to be your new boss?
Whipped - What happens when you drunkenly decide whipped cream sounds amazing, right now? What if Seungcheol wants some, too?
Wife - On your honeymoon, you take the opportunity to wake your husband with a little fun
Energy - After a concert, Scoups has a lot of energy he needs to let out - you help him
loser otaku!seungcheol - blurb
unresolved - ANGST: Seungcheol finally talks to you again, after some time has passed
It’s Not Enough - Part 2 - pwp. get double stuffed
pervy! Seungcheol add-on from this
Travel Buddy - Seungcheol helps you relax on a long flight
Eyes On Me - A shopping trip with your boyfriend leaves you happy and satisfied.
°✩⋆｡ Jeonghan ｡⋆✩°
Jeonghan manspreads
boyfriend! Jeonghan - only fluff
Cock Drunk
Tastes Like Mine - Jeonghan is the second hand in a crime syndicate. When you catch his eye, his interest quickly turns into an obsession. And when he wants something, he'll eventually have it.
soft cuddly! Jeonghan
WAP - Jeonghan loves your kitty kat
Jealous - Jeonghan gets jealous, and he makes it clear who you belong to.
college bf! Jeonghan x reader
°✩⋆｡ Joshua ｡⋆✩°
frat boy! Joshua
Rush Hour - When your fwb/co-worker lives in the same apartment building as you, you two commute together during the morning rush
°✩⋆｡ Jun ｡⋆✩°
Bound to You - [demon!dino & angel!jun x reader] What happens if you become an unwilling sacrifice for idiots wanting fame? What if they make a mistake and summon a demon? What if he’s not alone?
Restraint - A tied-up Jun, yes please
It Was Always You - [Jun x reader x Dino] childhood friends, you always find your way back to each other.
°✩⋆｡ Soonyoung/Hoshi ｡⋆✩°
Loser!Hoshi - Two
Missed You - When Hoshi comes back from basic training, he shows you how much he missed you
pervy! Hoshi add-on from this
°✩⋆｡ Wonwoo ｡⋆✩°
Stress Relief - Lawyer!Wonwoo's most recent case is getting on his nerves - you relieve that stress for him.
Slippery When Wet - Wonwoo plays with you like it's a game.
°✩⋆｡ Jihoon/Woozi ｡⋆✩°
Jihoon moans
Slippery - pwp
pervy! Woozi add-on from this
°✩⋆｡ Minghao ｡⋆✩°
Pre-tea (pretty.) - With the success of Minghao's video featuring ASMR with Vernon, he decides to do another one, and this time the guest is someone he's always watched videos of: a widely known YouTuber, you.
Muse - Art major! Minghao needs a new muse for his portfolio for the upcoming finals. He puts up an ad for a "nude model" and never expected his long-time crush to answer the call.
°✩⋆｡ Mingyu ｡⋆✩°
Needy - Kim Mingyu likes neediness.
mean alpha! mingyu x reader headcanons
Study Break - Mingyu gives you a study break
°✩⋆｡ Seokmin/DK ｡⋆✩°
loser!Dokyeom x reader - two (prequel)
shy! Dokyeom x reader
Playing House - Going raw for the first time? DK doesn't stand a chance.
°✩⋆｡ Seungkwanie ｡⋆✩°
Seungkwan moans
Say Thank You - Seungkwan is a school teacher, and sometimes, when you see him work so hard, you can't help but want to ease his stress.
°✩⋆｡ Vernon ｡⋆✩°
Noona - Vernon's got a Noona kink
Inexperienced Loser! Vernon x Plus size! Reader
°✩⋆｡ Dino ｡⋆✩°
Dino moans
Bound to You - [demon!dino & angel!jun x reader] What happens if you become an unwillingly sacrifice for idiots wanting fame? What if they make a mistake and summon a demon, what if he’s not alone?
After Hours - What if you accidentally wake up Dino? What if he wakes you up on purpose?
Kiss It Better - After a fight, Dino shows up at your door to have you care for him. Will you kiss him better?
dino x reader drabble - ask him to choke you
It Was Always You - [Jun x reader x Dino] childhood friends, you always find your way back to each other.
Thinkin’ Bout You - When your best friend’s younger brother invites you to his birthday party, you realize how much he’s grown. Causing you to see him in ways you probably shouldn’t.
Drunk Kisses - Friends kiss friends drunk.
misc.
blurb - blurb 2 - blurb 3 - blurb 4
OT13 reacts:
boobs - make-up sex - period - halloween costumes - caught - gym
spit - pervy! svt sleepover - spooning - how they sleep -
SYNOPSIS — murder, poison and corruption: all crimes that your family is rumored to have committed. when you and your relatives suddenly have to deal with the mysterious death of one of your own, choi seungcheol — a newly transferred detective — seizes the opportunity to find the truth behind your family’s notorious reputation. it’s only once he’s too far into the twisted rabbit hole that he realizes there might be no way back.
TAGS — religious themes, dark content (stepcest, death), explicit sexual content, dad is playing chess and his kids are the pawns, something about the apple being rotten right to the core, the poison drips through, angst! sex!! tragedy!!!
NOTE — heavily influenced by the borgias (2011). important to know is that mingyu and jeonghan are blood-related brothers in this, mc is their stepsister but they all consider and treat eachother as full siblings. don’t like don’t read.
♫ — dealer by lana del rey / apple by charli xcx / inbred by ethel cain / birthday theme (out of tune) by victor butzelaar / you and whose army? by radiohead
𝓞N A RAINY MONDAY MORNING IN SEPTEMBER, seungcheol walks into the tall building belonging to the department of public safety with a white umbrella above his head.
instead of scanning a keycard like everyone else, he walks up to the woman at the front desk. “hi, it’s my first day on the job. i was told to ask for a mr. chwe?”
“sure. can i have your name, please?”
“choi seungcheol.”
she types away at the computer in front of her, nodding once she’s confirmed it in the system. standing up, she allows him to pass through the electronic gates, gesturing to the elevators. “head up to the 13th floor, mr. chwe will meet you there.”
“thank you.” he says, pressing the button with the number thirteen on it.
as soon as he arrives on the highest floor in the building, he’s greeted by a surprisingly young man with clearly dyed ash-blond hair and a somewhat dead expression on his face.
“good to meet you, mr. choi. i’m hansol chwe. the chief of the department is out today so you’ll meet him later this week. for at least the next couple months, i’ll be your supervisor.”
“great.” cheol responds, and hansol gives him a tour of the floor, showing him around, eventually ending up in the office that apparently belongs to him.
as seungcheol shrugs off his raincoat to put it over his chair, hansol sits down in front of him. “your first assignment was changed last minute, and it’s scheduled for this afternoon.”
hansol hands him a dark blue folder, subtly checking if anyone’s within earshot outside the glass doors of cheol’s office, much to the latter’s surprise. “is it classified?”
“in a way.” hansol replies, and cheol opens the folder, met with a name he recognizes.
“the kim family?”
“you’ve heard of ‘em, right?”
“yeah. i’d be living under a rock if i didn’t. don’t know much about them individually, though.”
hansol begins his explanation, pointing at the photo of an older man. “their father, youngwoo, owns more than half of the top businesses of the country, not to mention his global enterprises. he’s intimidating, but not unapproachable. you watch one of his public interviews and it’s glaringly obvious he knows he’s always the smartest man in the room.”
“didn’t his wife die, like, years ago?” cheol asks, recalling how the nation mourned the woman as if the people lost a saint.
“in 2007, yeah.” he nods, switching to a photo of four considerably younger people. “their kids are a noteworthy case — one of them, joshua, was found dead in his apartment last week.”
“i saw it on the news. they haven’t disclosed a cause of death yet, right?”
“nope. the authorities don’t know if the guy was murdered, even though most of the signs point to it, but the family didn’t want an autopsy to be done.”
an interesting choice, considering a family member was possibly killed. why would they not choose to have an autopsy done?
more importantly, “but if it’s ordered by the medical examiner, they shouldn’t have a say in it.”
hansol clicks his tongue. “these people do.”
seungcheol takes a look at the remaining kids in the photo. one daughter, two sons. all in their twenties, each with their own set of empty, cold eyes.
“you haven’t told me what the assignment is yet.” he says, and hansol lowers his voice.
“an informant involved in another investigation claimed the kim family had something to do with a brutal murder just outside the country border. something about honor and revenge.” he explains. “me and a few colleagues, along with the chief, want to dismantle them by taking their crimes to the public. but to do that, we need solid evidence, and the only way to get it is if we can get closer to them somehow.”
“and how do we do that?”
“the one that died, joshua, is set to be buried today. you need to attend the funeral. offer your condolences on behalf of the department. see what the circumstances are and report back after.”
cheol frowns. “just out of curiosity, why me and not someone who’s worked here longer?”
it elicits a stressed sigh from his supervisor. “normally, the chief would handle things like these, but he insisted on someone else handling it this time around. why, i have no idea. regardless, the chief chose you, since there’s rumors of some people who work here being on the family’s payroll, and you’re new. and capable, i assume.”
there’s a bigger gravity to this situation than he thought. the family is known to every person in the country, and the majority of the public speaks of them as if they’re gods living amongst mortals, though there’s also a select group of people that believes them to have ties to the criminal underworld.
seungcheol is aware that the family has great influence in society, but hearing it is apparently this serious, he begins to wonder how deep it runs.
“okay. i’ll go to the funeral. am i supposed to be looking for something in particular?”
“no, just... be careful. don’t give them the idea anything’s wrong. whatever you do, do not upset them.” hansol says with urgency in his voice.
cheol nods hesitantly. “alright. when do i leave?”
about three hours later, he’s driving up to the front gate of the estate that belongs to the family. he’s met with several armed, tough-looking men staring him down as if they suspect him of something.
they ask him for his name and identification, only letting him pass once they’ve found and crossed his name off the list.
the doors to the massive house itself are guarded as well. the funeral takes place in an old chapel, which happens to be located on their property, overlooking the city from the top of the hill.
the ceremony feels ominously depressing. with only a few candles lit inside the chapel, the rain still pouring outside, the sizeable golden cross behind the open casket reflecting the only bits of light in the dark hall — it makes him uncomfortable.
it makes him feel like he shouldn’t be here.
once the ceremony is over and people are standing in the garden outside, chattering in small groups as if it were a regular business occasion, seungcheol squints while observing the people he’s heard so much about from afar. from a safe distance, they seem like your regular wealthy, stuck-up trust fund kids, but even he can tell there’s more to them than meets the eye.
a daughter and two sons, if he remembers hansol’s words correctly. he recognizes them from the photo in the folder — you, mingyu, and jeonghan. all of you barely ever speak to the press, but there’s plenty of paparazzi photos of you on the internet.
it’s hard to say if any of the rumors are true, though seungcheol is convinced some of them have to be. your family has a terrifying amount of influence over the country, he realizes, with at least one person installed in every branch of society.
the one they’re burying today, joshua, was a man high up in the catholic church. jeonghan is active in politics and has ties with the government. your father brings the most money to the table as a private equity investor, you’re a philanthropist and patron of sciences and technology, and mingyu is in education, art and culture.
seungcheol has to admit — it’s a smart strategy.
and he can’t help but wonder what goes on behind that tall front door when no one’s looking.
for some reason, his eyes settle on you. you’re wearing a black midi dress with long sleeves, a thin see-through mourning veil secured in your perfectly done hair, almost no emotion to be detected on your face.
only the tears silently rolling down your cheeks prove a different story. you’re standing between your two brothers, eventually choosing to lay your head on mingyu’s shoulder, who rubs at your back in an attempt to comfort you. jeonghan can only glance at you from the corner of his eye, wishing you would turn to him for comfort instead.
as always, it’s his father who ends up putting a hand on his shoulder.
out of the four of you, jeonghan is the oldest. the firstborn. calculating, distant, always carrying that attitude of being the smartest guy in the room. exceedingly manipulative, though to be fair, that’s a trait all of you share.
joshua was older than you but younger than jeonghan. you were close with him — he had the most humanity out of your brothers, and carried a more lighthearted attitude compared to the rest of the family.
you may not share blood with them, but you’ve been raised together from such a young age that you can’t remember what it’s like to be an only child. they were the sons from your stepmother’s previous marriage, but with their biological father out of the picture relatively quickly and your father stepping up, you became a true family in no-time.
it’s mingyu, the family’s youngest, who ended up being your favorite. always so capable, willing to help, not as emotionally closed off as jeonghan is.
a fatal flaw your brothers have shared since the day you met them is envy. your father put each of his children in a different branch of society to ensure the family would have maximum influence — without any of you having a say in the career path your father laid out for you.
jeonghan, as the eldest son of the family, has always gotten more of your father’s trust and respect than the rest of the siblings, leading to mingyu being openly jealous of his older brother. in turn, jeonghan desperately wants to be closer to you the way mingyu is, but he doesn’t know how, and it’s been causing a certain rift between them over the course of the past years that only seems to be getting bigger.
and now, with joshua gone, the massive house you all live in feels colder. lacking in something.
in the crowd of people having a drink after the funeral, mingyu’s dark gaze is fixed on you. as it often is.
he’s taking a sip of his drink when his brother walks up to him, a hand on his broad shoulder. “how you holding up?”
jeonghan may not be as tall as he is, but his personality is enough to outshine him — most of the time, anyway. “i’m fine. i wish all these people would leave.”
“i can ask dad to cut things short.”
mingyu snorts. “and miss out on all the sympathy points he’s gaining today? he’d never.”
it’s a fair point.
“joshua would’ve hated this. his funeral being attended by people he doesn’t know. people who didn’t know him. not really.” jeonghan sighs, subtly scanning the crowd around him.
“who even really knew him? aside from us three, and dad.”
“sounds fucking bleak when you say it like that.”
“it’s the truth.”
their eyes both find you looking out over the city, arms crossed over your chest. mingyu’s tone turns softer when he speaks of you, “she’s a wreck.”
jeonghan nods. “i tried to give her breakfast this morning. she would barely eat.”
“we should just… give her some time.” his younger brother shrugs, gesturing at someone else. “that guy’s been looking her up and down since he got here. i don’t like it.”
“never seen him before. if he got in, he was on the list.”
“i’ll go and talk to security, see if they remember his name.”
mingyu walks off, hoping to clear his mind, but jeonghan remains in his spot, observing his man of interest from where he’s standing.
seungcheol remembers what hansol advised him. don’t draw unnecessary attention. these people are our enemies, even if they don’t act like it.
he thinks striking up a conversation with you might cost him the job he’s only just gotten, but something tells him to do it anyway.
as you’re getting a glass of water, you’re approached by a man in a dark suit. he’s been eyeing you for quite some time, as you’ve noticed.
your voice is hoarse from crying earlier. “can i help you?”
“choi seungcheol. i’m a detective for public safety,” he introduces himself, extending his hand to you, “i came to give condolences on behalf of the department.”
you look him up and down with such judgement in your features that he retracts his hand, as you clearly don’t seem willing to introduce yourself. he’s good-looking, you’ll admit, but you can’t find it in you to care.
“did you? so first your chief fails to give our family the requested protection, and now that my brother is dead, he has the nerve to send one of his workers to save face?”
well, that’s new information.
he wants to convince you that whatever you’re thinking is not the case, but to be honest, he doesn’t even know if it is. all he knows about this case is what hansol told him this morning.
apologetically, he lowers his head. “i’m a recent transfer. any business you have with the chief is unknown to me.”
with a mocking nod of your head, you scoff. “i’m sure. you should leave and tell your boss we know what he did — then go on ahead and fuck off to whatever hole you crawled out of.”
jeonghan walks up to you from behind, his hands finding your waist. “what’s going on, sis?”
“nothing.” you shake your head as tears form on your waterline, anger rising in your features. “just make sure security escorts him out. he’s got no reason to be here.”
“no need. i’ll see myself out.” seungcheol says, feeling so unwanted that it irks him. the comment earns a glare from both you and your brother, and he instantly feels a sense of relief once he’s returned to the other side of the front gate, only to be left wondering if he screwed up his job on the first day within a single conversation.
frankly, he’s a little shocked. not just by your hostility — it certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone was lashing out at a funeral — but by the look you gave him.
holding your head high in mourning is a rare thing, and your entire family does it remarkably easily. but fuck, you looked at him as if he were beneath you. like some ant that should be thankful to be squashed under the weight of your boot. he’s never had someone look at him like that, let alone be so transparent about it.
seungcheol has yet to understand that attitude is something that’s been hammered into your skull.
you and your brothers were raised to be like this. spoiled from the moment you opened your eyes, bathed in wealth and influence, unaware that your paths in life were already determined for you.
how could anyone expect you to be any different?
hours later, when the sun has gone down and everyone has left, you’re the only one left in the chapel. it was built hundreds of years ago, slowly crumbling bit by bit as the stone ages.
with the veil discarded on the floor and some mascara under your eyes, you stare at the cross in front of you with nothing but emptiness.
“you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.” you hear your father approaching the bench you’re sitting on. “your brothers need you.”
you shrug. “i know. i just wanna be by myself right now.”
but you should know, after all these years, that your wishes are simply not as important as the family.
“my lovely daughter.” he says as he sits down next to you, and you raise a brow. “how have you been holding up?”
“what do you want from me?”
it elicits a scoff from him. “am i not allowed to ask how you’re feeling?”
“you’re using that tone that tells me you’re about to ask me something.”
“how observant of you.” with a sigh, he lets himself relax on the wooden bench. “you spoke to a detective at joshua’s funeral.”
that has you frowning at him. “how do you know that?”
“your brother told me.”
he doesn’t even need to say mingyu’s name for you to know it was him. always trying to please dad — even if it means ratting you out.
even your favorite brother has his flaws.
“yeah, i did.” you shrug. “he came to offer his condolences.”
“and what did you tell him?”
“i told him we don’t like it when outsiders try to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”
he sighs. “as much as i agree, you know we need the favor of the public.”
“yes, dad, but what good is that favor if it doesn’t give us anything back? we asked for their support and they weren’t willing to give it.”
“we need to give some people the time to trust us, or at the very least realize that siding with us is in their best interest. in very few cases, we meet someone who fails to realize that. and what do we do in such cases?”
knowing the phrase by heart, it rolls from your tongue like a robot repeating its singular line. “we replace them.”
your father has that hint of a smile on his face that he typically only wears during moments like these; moments in which he realizes he’s programmed his children to think like him. that his family is a united front.
“you’re right. the chief has failed us — he has for quite some time. so we should get a new one. luckily, there’s a candidate that seems to have almost all the requirements.”
handing you a document, you scan it briefly, noticing that it’s some intel a private investigator formed on the detective in question.
your father puts his hand on your shoulder. “he’s only a few years older than you. an impressive resumé, and he seemed charmed by you, despite the fact that you lashed out at him.”
“he started last week. everyone’s gonna think it’s strange if he gets this promotion. and how are you so sure this man will bend to our will?”
it’s quiet for a second.
“use that charm of yours, hm?”
with a blank stare, you look him in the eye. your eye twitches once you realize what he’s getting at. “no.”
“darling—” he tries, but you interrupt him.
“dad, we just… i just buried my brother. i’m grieving. the last thing i want is to spend my time being sweet on some guy i don’t even know.”
“i know. i know that.” he wipes away the tear rolling down your cheek. “but they are onto us. i’d never ask this of you under these circumstances if i didn’t think the situation was dire.”
i don’t want to do this. i don’t want to do this, you want to scream at him. nothing comes out.
your father is not cold. not mean. not without heart. it’d be much easier to hate him if he was. perhaps you could hate him if you didn’t find yourself and your brothers reflected in his eyes.
and your father is, above all else, ambitious. he doesn’t stop until he has what he wants.
so you swallow the lump in your throat, and you nod in agreement. “fine. i’ll do it.”
thank u for reading!
please note that this is still a work in progress and i have no fixed date when the full fic will be posted. leave a comment if you want to be tagged once the full thing comes out!
® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.
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In which you’re the assistent of nightmare model Xu Minghao before resigning and becoming the assistant of rookie actor Kim Mingyu, who happens to be Minghao’s co-presentor on a show they’re shooting together.
pairing model!minghao x f!assistant!reader x actor!mingyu current word count 29.2K tags famous!gyuhao, assistant!reader, mean!dom!minghao, soft!dom!mingyu, power play, angst?ish?, love triangle?, toxicity warnings dubcon, smut, depictions of a toxic relationship, cursing, alcohol
This is a seventeen smut blog (I know, I know, one of many). Most stories will revolve around Scoups but some might involve other members 🍒
NOTES & DISCLAIMERS
Everything here is FICTION and NOT based on real events.
This blog is NOT a space that minors should be on. If you are underaged, please, respectfully, GTFO.
I switch between first person (“I”) and second person (“you”) depending on the scene and which POV I think drives the story the best.
All images used on this blog are not mine unless stated otherwise. Full credit goes to the original owners, including official sources such as agencies, brands, and photographers.
Images are used for storytelling and aesthetic purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.
If you are the owner of any content and would like it removed, please contact me and I will take it down promptly.
MASTERLIST
Premise: You are one of Seventeen’s backup dancers. You have a dom-sub NSA arrangement with Scoups.
Thus far, all my stories are continuations of one another but can be read as standalone quickies:
Pre-concert orders : Scoups x reader
Leader #2 : Hoshi x reader
Post-concert consequence : Scoups x reader
Perks of being a dancer : Hoshi x reader (ft scoups)
Wicked Gifts 🎁 : Scoups x reader
Pretty Punishment: Scoups x reader
Another Type of Workout: Mingyu x reader x Wonwoo
Three’s a Crowd 🍒🐯👾: Scoups x reader x Hoshi | Wonwoo
Shades of Green: Scoups x reader
Good luck charm: Scoups x reader x Mingyu
Celebrating in style: Scoups x reader x Joshua | Hoshi | Mingyu | Wonwoo | Dino (please observe the tags and warning on this one)
Check in - sub city: Scoups x reader
Dancing Out of Frame: Hoshi x reader x Scoups
Twilight Whispers: Scoups x reader
Player One Goes First: Scoups x reader
Player Two Enters the Game: Scoups x reader x Wonwoo
Handled with Care: Scoups x reader
Insert Coin to Play: Scoups x reader
A Bet to Serve: Scoups x reader x Hoshi | Mingyu
___ on the Beach: Scoups x reader
Lights Out and Away We Go: Scoups x reader
Pay Up — and Shut up: Mingyu x reader (ft Scoups)
To-Do: No Exceptions: Woozi x reader x DK | Jun | Hoshi | ft Mingyu & Scoups
Debts Paid — The Final Forfeit: Mingyu x reader x Scoups | DK | Jun | Hoshi | Woozi | Joshua
Between Shadows and Daybreak : Scoups x reader x Mingyu | Joshua | Jun
Steering You Right: Scoups x reader
Update: this has somehow turned into a full series. It didn’t start out that way, but it’s funny how the story evolves and starts having a mind of its own.
