i’ll (try to) write for almost any idol you request
i don’t write smut, but i am willing to write suggestive content (never with minors)
almost any genre/au is okay with me~
most of my reader inserts probably read more fem-leaning, but i am trying to be more aware and inclusive!!! when i write, it's from my own perspective in a situation (somewhat) which causes the insert to have some of my traits/thoughts in certain situations.
s.coups
time (fluff)
lean on me (fluff, established relationship, unit song fic series)
all along (university!au, fake dating!au, friends-to-lovers, request)
perfect (fluff, part of the intimacy anthology project)
jeonghan
attraction (fluff, college!au, request)
falling for u (fluff, college!au, barista!au) 1 - 2 - 3
feel special (angst to fluff, non-idol!au, mafia!au, request)
pinwheel (angst, ex-lovers!au, unit song fic series)
royal admirer (prince!jeonghan x actress!reader, fluff, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers!au)
pretty baby (established relationship, non-idol!au, part of the intimacy anthology project)
joshua
drift away (angst, non idol!au, hanahaki!au)
well-played (fluff, college!au)
hear the sea (siren!au)
habit (angst, ex-lovers!au, unit song fic series)
dark honey (musician!joshua, barista!reader, nuisances-to-lovers?)
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wonpil x reader (river god!au, historical fantasy, strangers to lovers, drama, angst, slow burn)
wc: 7.4k
a/n: i want to thank everyone for being so patient with me! this took me a long time to writer, and an even longer time to edit. i hope you enjoy it!
tw: mentions of death
Slowly, your days in the palace begin to take on a structure and routine. Although you can’t say you’re used to it, you’ve started to let your guard down and rely on some of your new handmaidens — though Misun by herself is usually all the help you need. What doesn't change is your inability to sit idle, and so you spend hours walking the halls and grounds, familiarizing yourself with the pathways in an effort to keep yourself occupied and feel less lost.
While the palace's size was daunting at first, you've slowly become accustomed to it. Now that you have specific places you want to get to, it’s easy enough to navigate — and getting lost is nearly impossible, thanks to the ever-present staff. Even when left alone, you need only take a few steps to find someone around. Despite seemingly working around the clock, none of them ever seem to tire or become weary, and move as though their feet hardly touch the floor. All of them carry themselves with the poise and grace of the most noble, and for the life of you you still can’t understand why such divine beings seem to gladly be at your beck and call. Being a goddess just doesn’t feel like your reality still, and you wonder if it ever will.
You habitually wake early in the morning, before the sun rises (you can only assume, as the sky always brightens but you can never properly see the source of the light), and go to the door to greet Misun and whoever she's brought with her for the day. Once they help you to dress, something that still feels uncomfortable but they insist upon — and that, frankly, you're not sure you could do by yourself with some of the garments at your disposal — they trail you out to wherever you desire to go.
Although the palace complex isn't as big as you'd first thought, you still don't have it down perfectly. The space has a way of dazzling you so that you forget where you are, and you wonder if it's because you were so recently mortal that you find yourself so entranced by the shimmering atmosphere that nobody else seems to notice.
You reach the end of a hallway and stop for a moment, your attendants halting behind you, trying to remember which direction you're meant to go.
"Y/N-nim," Misun pipes up, but you hold up a hand and glance at her over your shoulder as you reply,
"Don't tell me. I need to learn."
"Yes, ma'am," she affirms, and you hear the faintest traces of laughter in her voice. Your normally placid gungnyeo has gradually been allowing her personality to show as you’ve settled in, and, still not used to having servants, you find yourself treating her more like a friend. The closest you have to one here, anyways.
For a moment your mind strays to Wonpil, your dragon-god-husband, whom you've hardly said a word to. He still has dinner with you pretty regularly, despite not having to eat himself, and although you can feel his sincerity you’re discomforted by the pity and guilt lingering in his gaze.
You understand, but you still wish he wouldn't look at you that way. Not only does it make you feel worse, you can't help but think it's a waste of such a handsome face to look so drawn and sad. Sometimes, when you sit across from him, or see him in passing in the palace, you wonder whether you can ever be friends with him — let alone more than that.
Misun gently clears her throat, and you snap out of it, feeling your face and neck warming in embarrassment. Hurriedly, you pick a direction and continue walking, faster now, sensing Misun's teasing gaze behind you.
Finally, you reach the garden. You breathe a sigh of relief at having picked the right path despite being so flustered. You've taken to spending much of your time here, mostly to learn about the divine plants that grow outside the palace. Although some are flowers also found in the mortal realm, there are plenty you don't recognize, and the kindly gardeners answer your abundant questions. The animals in the garden are unafraid, not running away when they see people, but not necessarily friendly. Really, they seem ambivalent towards your existence, which is unexpected. Some of the creatures are unfamiliar to you, either due to their rarity in the mortal realm or their strange, divine qualities. Crystalline fish swim alongside vividly colored birds in the sky, opalescent lizards dart past your feet, and even tigers (which had terrified you when you first saw them, considering their size and predatory nature in the human realm) with shimmering fur pass lithely in and out of the woods surrounding the palace.
Strolling down the now-familiar paths in an almost meditative manner, you’re interrupted by the rustling of a small bush’s leaves. You squat down to take a look, gently lifting the branches nearest the ground to reveal a small, almost perfectly round, translucent blob. As you take a closer look, you realize it’s moving — there’s something like a tail, a round puff of fur, facing you that twitches slightly at your presence. You reach out towards it, and are shocked when it turns its little face towards you.
The creature has three eyes, all of which are mostly closed, like a newborn puppy. Its little nose twitches, and it hops and turns in one quick motion so that it can sniff your hand, its long, floppy ears swaying. It almost looks like a rabbit, you think, except it’s shaped almost like a fat dumpling with no legs to be seen and emitting a faint blue glow. Its third eye, between and slightly above the two you would usually expect to see on a rabbit, flutters halfway open and meets your gaze. The eye is almost pure white, glassy, and closes almost as quickly as it had opened before the rabbit-creature nuzzles against your outstretched palm. Carefully, you scoop it up, surprised at its lack of weight. It feels like a ball of dough, warm and barely as fuzzy as a peach, save for its puffy rabbit tail. You cradle it in both palms and slowly rise to your feet, turning to show it to Misun.
“Misun, do you know what this is?” you ask, extending your hands towards her. She peers down at the sleeping animal and cocks her head.
“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Perhaps we should ask the river god?” You hesitate for a moment. Wonpil is someone you rarely see, and you assume he must have better things to do than answer your silly questions. However, seeing Misun’s genuine confusion, you realize there probably isn’t anyone else who can tell you about this creature.
“Alright,” you acquiesce, “can you lead me to his office, then, Misun?” With a nod, your attendant drifts just a step or two ahead of you and begins leading the way. You step gingerly, not wanting to disturb the little animal (can you even call it an animal, you wonder) nestled in your hands.
When you arrive at the office, Wonpil is seated behind a large desk piled with documents. You wonder what exactly running a divine domain entails — maybe you’ll ask another time.
“Y/N,” he greets, smiling at you. He rises from his seat and makes his way to you, more welcoming than you thought he would be, almost as if he’s eager to see you. “What brings you here?”
“Wonpil-nim,” you start, then hesitate. He doesn’t use honorifics with you, since you’re married, but you can’t bring yourself to refer to a god by just his name. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem bothered by your use of the honorific, understanding as always. You move closer to him and lift your hands up so he can see the creature better.
“I found this animal in the garden. Do you know what it is?” Wonpil leans down, the top of his head almost brushing against your forehead as he examines the rabbit-like lump. He reaches out his index finger, and the creature’s third eye opens once again. It sniffs Wonpil’s finger, meets his gaze momentarily, then lets out something like a sigh and nuzzles down into your palm again with its eyes closed. Wonpil gently brushes his finger between its floppy ears, and its tail twitches.
“Well, I’ve never seen a spirit like it before,” he replies.
“Spirit? So it isn’t an animal?” you ask. Then again, you think, what animal is glowing, translucent, and three-eyed?
“Mmhmm,” he hums, “Sometimes, when new divine beings are created, a new spirit is also born. The more you acclimate to the divine realm, the more this little one will grow. It’s connected to you and your divinity directly.” You gaze down at the little blob of a spirit in your hands and marvel at it. A symbol of your own divinity, glowing faintly in your palms.
“Do you also have a spirit, Wonpil-nim?” you ask, and he shakes his head.
“It’s different for deities that are born divine, like me. I’ve actually never seen a spirit like this before, I’ve only read records of their existence.” He peers down at the spirit and gently pets its head again, smiling softly. Your heart flutters, and you clear your throat to try and drive away the strange, fuzzy feeling welling up in your chest.
“So, how should I treat it? Is it like a pet? What do I do with it?” you ask, and Wonpil chuckles.
“First, you should give it a name. Spirits like that don’t need much, but since it’s linked to you, it will want to be near you.”
“A name…” you murmur, looking down at the spirit, your spirit, in your hands. As you consider what to name it, you glance back up at your husband, whose expression is surprisingly cute as he pets the little creature. Something about his dark eyes and sweet smile almost remind you of a rabbit, like your new companion.
“Pili,” you blurt out, and Wonpil startles slightly, looking at you with wide eyes. It takes you a moment, but you can feel the embarrassment washing over you as you realize what you’ve done.
“Ah, I just— I thought it sounded cute.” Your own response makes you feel more bashful, your cheeks burning.
“It is,” Wonpil replies, almost too fast. “It’s cute.”
The two of you are broken out of your awkward staring contest by movement from Pili. It raises its head and opens all three eyes, and you notice now that rather than being a solid white they have a smokiness and occasional pale clouds color drifting through them, like white jade. Pili turns its attention from you to Wonpil and then back before sitting up. Now you can clearly see it has no legs, but its body elongates as it stretches up its face towards you, tiny blue nose twitching.
“Hi, Pili,” you say softly, raising your hands closer to your face. “Do you like that name?” In response Pili leans forward and presses its nose to yours—
A jolt like a spark runs through you, suddenly, and by some unknown instinct you know this is Pili’s way of accepting its new name — and you. Laughter bubbles out of you, your joy too buoyant to contain as you look into your little spirit’s face, and out of the corner of your eyes you can see Wonpil grinning, too. Now, holding a manifestation of your own divinity, it all feels just a bit more real. As you continue to coo at Pili, watching its many expressions and getting mesmerized by its ever-changing eyes, you catch snippets of Wonpil’s conversation with the gardeners and your attendants about preparing an outdoor pen and supplies for your new spirit pet. You can’t help but smile; it feels like you really belong.
Pili’s arrival brings new, unexpected changes to your life. The first change frightens you early one morning, as you rise from your bed and then, suddenly, realize you’re continuing to rise up off the floor as you stretch your arms up over your head. You let out an embarrassing yelp and fall back, tumbling onto your bedding as Misun rushes in at your cry. As you explain to her what had just happened, the sudden weightless feeling, you notice that Pili has begun to float — calmly, moving towards you.
“How exciting!” Misun exclaims, clapping her hands together lightly. You stare at her, confused and heart still racing, until she explains, “Soon you’ll be able to float like the rest of us! You’re becoming a divine being!”
“So, it's normal?” you ask, still flustered. Pili comes to rest on your shoulder, nuzzling the top of its head against your cheek and making a low chirping sound. Absently, you reach up to pet between its ears, and the chirping sound grows louder. Perhaps both you and Pili are changing as you become more divine, you muse, as the creature now has little nubs that resemble stumpy legs despite having no visible paws or feet at the ends of them. Pili mostly floats and hops to get around, but occasionally uses its little legs to knead fabric and bedding like a cat.
“Yes,” Misun nods. “Eventually, most of your human traits will fade away. Like us, you won't have to eat food — but you can if you want to.” You nod, mind reeling. Looking down at your feet in a daze you ask,
“How long does it take?” Misun hums uncertainly as she begins arranging your attire for the day.
“I'm not sure. The river god may know. Would you like to go see him again?” Your heart flutters at the mention of Wonpil, your mind returning to yesterday's embarrassment, but you find yourself agreeing. Considering he is your husband, you think you should probably get more used to being around him and talking to him. Misun quickly helps you get ready before offering to lead you to his office; you accept because you can't quite remember where it is.
The guards at the door don't ask any questions when you arrive, opening the doors to the office so that Misun can announce your presence before stepping back out into the hallway. Wonpil looks up from a document on his desk, greeting you with a smile.
“Good morning, Y/N.” His gaze flits to your shoulder, and he laughs softly, “And good morning, Pili.”
“Good morning, Wonpil-nim,” you reply, bowing, and he gestures for you to come sit by him.
“Did something happen?” he asks. There's a small crease between his brows as he analyzes your face, his dark eyes gazing deep into yours.
“Well, I experienced weightlessness this morning,” you explain. Wonpil listens attentively as you describe what happened, nodding when you're finished.
“Pili seems to be speeding up the process,” he says. He extends a hand, and Pili hops down from your shoulder to land in his palm. “Nobody knows exactly how long it takes to reach a fully divine form, but the changes to Pili’s form probably indicate your divinity is increasing. You'll likely find yourself needing to sleep and eat less soon.”
“Do you sleep, Wonpil-nim?” you ask without thinking. He chuckles.
“Yes, but not much. It's not necessary, but it helps me maintain a routine. Naps are quite relaxing, too.” You nod. You can't imagine staying awake forever, your whole life being one continuous day… when you become divine, you decide, you'll definitely continue to sleep. As you ponder over the coming changes in your life, Wonpil plays with Pili, making bubbles appear in front of the spirit and watching it bounce around on his desk trying to pop them. Whenever Pili lands, it barely makes any sound, something you still aren’t quite used to. Watching them play with your chin propped in your hand, another question comes to mind.
“What do you do with your free time?”
Wonpil pauses for a moment, as if taken aback by your question, but does answer.
“A few things. My main pastime is playing the gayageum.”
“You play an instrument?!” you nearly yell, leaning so far forward that you almost come unseated. You seem more surprised by your outburst than Wonpil is, and you quickly sit back and cover your mouth in embarrassment,
“Sorry.”
Wonpil, however, merely laughs, his eyes sparkling in amusement.
“Is that so surprising?” You pause for a moment, mulling it over. Certainly, it wouldn't be strange for someone of nobility to have the leisure time to learn how to play an instrument or the money to acquire one — and Wonpil, being a god, definitely has the time.
“No, not really. I guess… I just hadn't considered there being instruments in the divine realm,” you reply, finally. “Or, at least, not ones I recognize.”
“Many things here mirror the human world,” he states. “But it still feels very different, I'm sure.” You nod, and Wonpil submits to Pili’s impatient chirping and continues with their bubble game as you lose yourself in thought once more. At times the realm of the river god feels to you like a typical palace — and then things like Pili appear, or you notice everyone around you floating, or the fish swim past your face in the garden, and you find yourself startled all over again. The differences at times are so subtle that you forget that you're not alive in the human realm anymore, instead transcending the life you knew to something altogether different, and at others so stark you wonder if you'll ever adjust.
Back in your life in the mortal realm, you would never have had the opportunity to learn an instrument. You didn't have the luxury for many hobbies, but were lucky that you enjoyed embroidery and your job. As you consider your new station in life and all the time left ahead of you, you find yourself curious and excited rather than anxious.
“Wonpil-nim,” you say seriously, waiting for his gaze to meet yours. “Would you teach me how to play?”
As you thought, learning an instrument is far from easy. You'd hoped that being good with your hands from years of embroidery would help — and maybe it would if you weren't so flustered by Wonpil being in such close proximity to you — but it's still slow going.
You're sitting on the floor in a room that seems to double as a music room and library, one end of the gayageum propped up on your lap and Wonpil sitting to your left where the instrument slopes down to the floor. He’s so close your shoulders are almost touching at all times, and as he gently places his hands over yours to show you the proper placements for the third time today you wonder if he can sense how flustered you are. Despite being his wife, you still aren't used to being close to him — but it isn't unpleasant, in fact, it's the opposite. You sneak a glance at his face, mesmerized by his handsome profile as he patiently explains the technique to you again. Your previous lessons (all two of them) have devolved into Wonpil performing for you after hours of you struggling through his tutoring. He's patient, kind, and gracious, which makes him infinitely more attractive to you than he already is.
Wonpil lifts his hands from yours, but keeps them hovering near the instrument as you redirect your focus to try again at smoothly playing a five-note scale. You've been struggling with coordinating the movements of your hands. Plucking with your right has been relatively easy, but remembering to move your left to press down on the correct strings is harder to do without looking over and losing focus.
This time, you manage to play the scale smoothly, albeit still slowly. You're far from being able to play a song, you know, but it's the most consistent rhythm you've ever managed. Your excitement bubbles over, and you turn to look at Wonpil, grinning widely.
“Wonpil-nim, I did it—!”
Any other words you may have wanted to say get caught in your throat, as you realize your nose and Wonpil’s are almost touching. You've never been so close to him before, and you can feel his breath on your face. It almost makes you shiver, but you can't seem to move, entirely transfixed by him.
Wonpil doesn't move either, and you notice his gaze flit down to your lips for a moment, one that feels far longer than you know it is. You can scarcely breathe. One of his hands finds one of yours, taking hold of it and squeezing gently. You squeeze back.
“Just Wonpil,” he murmurs, his voice low, his words for your ears only.
“Wonpil,” you respond, almost unconsciously, your heart trembling. He swallows roughly, pressing his lips together tightly for a moment before staring into your eyes with an expression you've never seen before — not on anyone.
“Y/N,” he says, slow and soft. “Can I kiss you?” Without thinking, you nod, closing your eyes as Wonpil closes the distance between you. His other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, and you follow his lead as he deepens the kiss. You've never kissed anyone before, and certainly not like this. He, too, is hesitant at first, but as you lean further into him, your free hand coming to rest on his chest, he seems emboldened. He lets go of your hand, now using both his hands to more fervently cradle your face, and his tongue swipes between your lips. You shudder involuntarily and part them, uncertain but exhilarated, both your hands now balling up the fabric on his chest as you become almost lightheaded, leaning even more heavily into him.
You almost forget where you are or what you're doing as his hands move towards your waist, twisting your body towards him—
The loud clanging thud of the gayageum sliding off your lap and hitting the floor startles you both. You involuntarily fling yourself somewhat into Wonpil’s arms at the loud noise, his arms encircling you instinctively, and immediately feel embarrassed when you realize the commotion was your own doing. You had forgotten entirely about the instrument on your lap. Your gaze meets Wonpil’s, and you're surprised at his flushed expression and the shimmering red of his lips, the way his large, dark eyes stare intensely down at you.
As your face heats up, flustered by what you've just done (despite being a married couple), you squeeze your eyes closed and rest your forehead against his chest.
“Don't look at me,” you mumble, sounding like a whiny child, voice muffled by his clothing. Wonpil’s shoulders relax, and his laughter rumbles all around you as he gently strokes your hair.
“Alright,” he replies, obviously amused. “I won't look if you don't want me to. I'll even keep my eyes closed if it makes you feel better.”
“You…” you want to scold him for teasing you, but the words die on your lips. Instead, you simply huff in protest and snuggle closer to him so he most definitely can't see your face, still embarrassed but not wanting to part with him for even a moment.
This must be how it feels to fall in love, you muse, and are startled by your own thoughts — and the certainty with which you suddenly know you're in love with Wonpil. You consider for a moment voicing your revelation aloud but, basking in the calmness of the room and warmth of his embrace, you decide against it. It's a conversation for another day. After all, you have all the time in the world.
Since that day, Wonpil joins you at almost every meal or tags along on your garden walks and teatimes, seemingly looking for any excuse to be near you — which you certainly don't mind. If you had more excuses to be around him, you'd certainly use them, but you can't seem to think of many more than your questions about becoming divine and learning gayageum. Though your music lessons are more frequently turning into kissing sessions like the one before, the privacy and your proximity proving to be an irresistible combination. You're sure the palace staff would all make themselves scarce if they thought you two needed a moment alone, but you're far too bashful to ever make that known to them, and Wonpil seems to understand your feelings. You wonder why you ever found him intimidating, with his cute expressions and endearingly boxy smile.
Across from you at the dinner table tonight, though, he seems a bit nervous. He's more fidgety, and only meets your gaze for brief instances. It's been that way for the whole meal, leaving you confused and uneasy. In the end, neither of you eat much, and you expect him to retire to his own room once you announce that you're finished eating. Instead, he makes his way to your side before you can even rise from your seat.
“Will you go for a walk with me?” he asks. Puzzled, you agree. Pili floats from the table back to his favorite spot on your shoulder as you take Wonpil’s hand, letting him guide you out into the garden. In the twilight everything is cast with a faint purple hue, even more breathtaking than usual. You stroll wordlessly for a while until you come nearly to the middle of the garden, where Wonpil comes to a halt and turns to you.
“Y/N,” he says, then licks his lips nervously. You nod for him to continue.
“I was thinking—” your heart sinks for a moment, and you find it hard to breathe—
“—would you marry me?”
Your confusion increases as the anxiety rushes out of you all at once, and you cock your head to the side.
“Aren't we already married? You said I was the goddess of the river.”
“Yes, we are,” he says, hastily, now taking your other hand as well. “What I mean is: would you like to have a proper wedding here in the divine realm?”
You pause. You had never considered having an actual wedding ceremony with Wonpil, but the longer you think about it the more excited you feel. The thought of him in all his finery, waiting for you, is enough to make you giddy.
“Yes,” you reply, squeezing his hands tightly. “I would love that!” Wonpil’s expression lights up, all traces of anxiety long gone. He pulls you into his arms and kisses you fervently, and you realize it's the first time you've kissed outside of the music room. For a moment you almost feel embarrassed before you, too, are swept up in emotion — and then up into Wonpil’s arms as he lifts you off the ground, twirling you in excitement. You both dissolve into laughter as the moon rises, Pili flitting around you and chirping as though it's excited, too. Under the silvery moonlight it feels as though the entire divine realm is celebrating your engagement (if that's the right word, considering you’re already married), a light breeze causing the flowers and trees to sway as if applauding, petals and leaves drifting down like confetti.
Since becoming re-engaged to Wonpil, you frequent his office daily. Part of that is to learn more about becoming a goddess and what you can do to help him run the realm (not much, surprisingly — things are quite peaceful right now), but it's mostly just to spend time with him. Wonpil is sitting at his desk, looking through reports about the villages along the river from his subordinates, while you sit off to the side, doting on Pili. Wonpil mutters something under his breath about a village, and you look over at him.
“Wonpil, have you ever been to the human realm?” you ask, and he looks up from what he’s doing for a moment to think.
“Yes,” he says, “in my spirit form.”
“Spirit form? What does that entail?” you parrot. You glance at Pili, who blinks at you with its three big eyes from its place on the floor, seemingly wondering why you stopped petting its belly. You resume petting it and look back at Wonpil. Surely his spirit form is different from a spirit like Pili…
“A spirit form is a projection of myself that can appear in the human realm,” he explains. “To humans, I appear as though I'm made of mist, and I can't touch or move anything.”
“Made of mist…” you repeat under your breath, trying to imagine it. “Do I have a spirit form?”
Wonpil pauses once again, glancing over at you. In the past weeks your transition into a divine being has accelerated again — you float rather than walk and eat more out of habit than hunger. That said, traces of your mortality still linger.
“Maybe. You certainly will once you're fully divine,” he explains, then glances at you, arching an eyebrow. “Do you want to visit the mortal realm?”
You look down at Pili again, though the little spirit provides no answers, now batting lightly at your fingers with its nubs as you try to rub its belly, fickle as a cat. You hadn't really considered it, but it might be nice, you think, to see your family again and tell them you're alright. Then, suddenly, a darker thought flits through your mind — could you appear before those who condemned you to death? The thought, though perhaps cruel, is exciting.
“Wonpil,” you say, waiting until you have his undivided attention. “What if I said I wanted to get revenge?” His eyebrows knit together slightly.
“I'm not opposed,” he replies, “but you didn't seem interested when you first arrived.”
“Because prolonging the drought would hurt everyone. But what if… what if I appeared in my spirit form to the people who made me a sacrifice? The yangban’s wife and that so-called paksu mudang…” you trail off, trying to assess his reaction, but Wonpil’s face remains unchanged as he ponders your words. Then, he laughs.
“So, you want to scare them as revenge?” he asks, looking slightly amused. You pout.
“I don't like hurting people,” you reply, though based on his explanation it doesn't seem like you could hurt them in a spirit form even if you wanted to. Wonpil sets his work aside and beckons you to come sit on his lap, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head once you’re settled.
“If that's what you want to do, I support you,” he says, a trace of laughter still lingering in his voice. You cuddle into his chest and consider your other plan again.
“What about… my family?”
“You could see them, too,” he reassures you, stroking your hair gently. You bite your lower lip, nervous, before asking,
“Would you come with me?”
Wonpil pulls away so he can meet your gaze, and you're surprised to find his cheeks and ears tinged pink.
“You want me to meet your family?” he asks. He seems so innocent and flustered that you can't help but laugh, reaching up to pinch his cheek.
“In a sense.” He pinches your nose in retaliation, causing you both to giggle.
“Well, when my beloved wife asks, how can I say no?” His use of the word wife makes your heart soar, and you quickly lean in to kiss him — and despite meaning for it to be only a peck, you should have known Wonpil wouldn't let it end there.
Two nights before your second wedding to Wonpil, you make your first visit to the mortal realm. When your attendants, especially Misun, heard of your plan to visit the yangban’s wife and fraudulent paksu mudang to scare them they immediately became excited. Days of careful planning result in you donning the hwarot you had been drowned in, water carefully drizzled over the sleeves and shoulders, your hair wetted and made to look calculatedly disheveled as it clings to your face and neck, and your headpiece dripping water and placed crooked. Misun and the others apply your makeup, only to smudge it dramatically with wet cloth. When you finally begin the process of projecting yourself, you look like the pitifully drowned woman they believed you to be, brimming with rage and regret.
You stand in the center of an emptied room, preparing to enter the meditative state Wonpil has taught you about and helped you to practice for weeks. Your first attempts to project yourself had been short-lived and only to uninhabited spaces, but you're confident you can hold out long enough to deliver your message now. He approaches and leans in to kiss you, but you stop him with your hand.
“Dont ruin everyone's hard work,” you chastise him, and he looks at you like a sad puppy as he settles for kissing your palm.
“I'll be waiting,” he says, and your confidence surges as you smile.
“I know.”
Entering the projection state is easier than you thought this time, perhaps because you know exactly where you want to go. You envision the chambers of the yangban’s wife, and are surprised to find both your targets for the night in the same place, sharing her bed. The yangban must be away again, you think, smirking. How perfect.
You take in a deep breath and then begin to wail, gradually escalating your volume until one of the couple stirs. Their sleep-addled gaze sweeps across the room and catches on you, looming over the end of their bed. Too startled to scream, the paksu mudang shakes the yangban’s wife awake.
At first, she also doesn't notice you, aggravated swatting at her affair partner’s arms — but the moment she sees you she turns paler than snow.
“You—!”
“My curse,” you interrupt, your voice deliberately low and gravelly, as though it hadn't been used in ages. A drop of water hangs off the top of your index finger as you point at them.
“You… and every child who carries your blood… until eternity… will be condemned… to hell…” You do your best not to laugh as the two begin to blame one another, begging you to understand that only the other is guilty. They try to shove one another towards you, as you stare with a flat expression, eyes wide and mouth slack. You tilt your head to one side unnaturally, then grin, lowering your hand. The two seem unnerved and agitated, just how you want them, and you summon all your lingering emotions before lunging at them with the loudest scream you can muster.
Their terrified screams echo in your ears as you return to your body in the divine realm. You can't help but smile in smug satisfaction as you imagine staff and guards loyal to the yangban rushing to the room of the yangban’s wife, where they'll surely find her in bed with the paksu mudang. Their affair will finally be revealed to her husband, who you're sure will be far less lenient than you in his revenge. You wonder if they’ll take your curse threat seriously, despite how ridiculous it is.
You open your eyes to find Wonpil and the attendants waiting for you. Misun suddenly begins to clap, saying something about your performance that you can't hear as Wonpil pulls you into his arms and the other staff begin cheering.
“How do you feel?” he asks, brushing your wet hair away from your face. You respond with a beaming grin,
“Much better.”
On the morning of your wedding, you wake up before any of your attendants have arrived and sit in front of your wedding attire for a long time. It's a new hwarot, lovingly embroidered by and other seamstresses in the palace of the river god. Unlike your first wedding hwarot, these threads are woven with laughter and happy memories, ones you cherish and will continue to look upon fondly as you continue your life as a goddess. You lightly trace the designs with your fingers, smiling as you imagine Wonpil waiting for you in his matching outfit out in the garden — though that's still hours away. You ponder how different you feel about this wedding day than your last, though that could hardly be called a wedding, really.
This time, your daenggi has beautiful, iridescent pearls, more beautiful than any you can imagine exist in the mortal realm. Despite having come to the palace in full attire, everyone (including Wonpil) had insisted on starting from scratch. Nobody wanted to reuse the garments you came in for such an auspicious occasion as their god and goddesses one and only proper wedding. The jokduri made just for you is stunning, glinting in the half-light of morning. Finally, your eyes land on the last piece of attire — not for you, but a small embroidered collar made for Pili to wear. You pick it up, laughing. You can hardly remember the pain and despair you felt when you first came here, all the fear and regret drowned out by a joy you never could have imagined. The only thing missing, of course, is your family — but that too will soon be rectified.
Eventually, Misun and your other attendants arrive, all chattering with excitement as they begin your preparations. You spend the first half of the day leisurely getting ready, nothing like the day of your sacrifice. Your every whim is catered to, every layer of clothing and speck of makeup placed with great care and attention by the women who have become your friends. Misun, in particular, has to stop herself from crying multiple times throughout the day, which you can't help but laugh at. You'd thought she (and all the beings in the divine realm, really) was so calm when you first met her. Looking back, you can't help but marvel at everything that's changed since you first arrived.
With your hair beautifully braided, daenggi and jokduri in place, and face made up with a pale peach blush and the red yeonji and gonji, you finally make your way to the garden. Pili, elated with its new embroidered collar that matches your hwarot, flies excitedly around your head, chirping all the while.
In the garden, Wonpil is waiting, standing on the eastern side of the table, all the palace staff watching with barely-contained glee as you finally make your way to him. Rather than a rooster there is a wooden goose wrapped in red and blue cloth on the table, though Wonpil’s mother-in-law isn't there to accept it. This time, there is someone to bow back to you when you arrive. Your attendants help to wash your hands as Wonpil’s do the same; Pili perches on your shoulder, watching with curiosity. You bow to each other in the proper sequences, exchanging grins in between. Though uncommon, in an echo of your previous wedding, Wonpil recites a vow of devotion — starkly different from the one you had been forced to recite as a dutiful sacrifice. He smiles as he eats his portion of dates and you eat the jujubee; his eyes sparkle as he drinks his portion of rice wine from the gourd.
Finally, you both bow to everyone in attendance, and you feel tears prick at your eyes. When you first arrived you never could have imagined this day would come. While everyone is swept up in the other festivities Wonpil planned for his staff to celebrate, he pulls you into his arms and steals a kiss — then another, and another, leaving you both giddy and breathless in a corner of the garden as the sun beams gloriously down.
That evening, in the deep twilight hours, you make your second visit to the human realm. Wonpil stands beside you, holding the wooden goose wrapped in red and blue fabric in his arms, as you project yourselves in front of your family home. Your village is quiet, most people already tucked away in their homes before dark falls. You stare at the door, wondering what sight awaits you. Will your family be horrified by your appearance in this form? Is this truly the right thing to do, visiting them like this?
Wonpil looks down at you, and all your anxieties melt away when you see his smile. You nod, and, as practiced, you both move closer to the door. He knocks on the wooden goose in his arms, unable to actually knock on the door, and you wait. Your mother opens the door, her mouth dropping open at the sight of you. She looks older than you remember, her face more drawn, and you swallow past the sudden lump in your throat.
“Y/N-ie,” she whispers, reaching out a hand. You and Wonpil bow, and she seems to notice your husband for the first time. She calls back into the house for your father, who comes to the door and stares at your figures in a daze. Slowly, you and Wonpil bow again — this time, kneeling on the ground, pressing your foreheads down in reverence. You feel tears welling up, but do your best to push them down. When you lift your heads again, your mother is crying. Wonpil slowly presents the wooden goose, setting it on the doorstep, and then you both stand.
When your mother reaches down to touch it, Wonpil works the only miracle the two of you could think of — he creates a form of the goose out of ice, so that your mother can bring it into the home as dictated by ceremony. She does so carefully, breaking into sobs as she and your father turn back to you both, the goose now in the house behind them.
“Appa, eomma,” you start, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way your throat feels constricted by tears. “This is Wonpil-ssi, my husband.”
“Janginoreun, jangmonim,” Wonpil greets, bowing to them both again in turn. “Your daughter is safe with me. I love her very much. Thank you for accepting me.” Your father nods wordlessly, seemingly in shock.
“Y/N-ie,” your mother says again, her voice trembling. She reaches out her hand, and you place yours in hers, though you know you can't really touch her. Regardless, she gingerly places her other hand over it and closes her eyes, letting out a shuddering sigh. Your father places his hand on hers, eyes turning red, and you feel a tear slide down your own cheek. Wonpil places one hand above your father's, and the other rests reassuringly on your back.
“Be well,” you say, though it sounds more like a plea. “I love you.” You meet both of your parents’ gaze, memorizing their faces. They look a bit older, more tired, but less thin than they had been when you left. You push down the rest of your tears.
“We love you,” your mother cries. Your father nods, tears finally slipping down his cheeks as well.
“Take care of each other,” your father finally says, his voice rough with emotion.
“We will,” Wonpil says. The moon rises slowly behind you both, and you can feel your hold on the projection starting to slip. Your concentration is fading, and Wonpil can sense it too.
You both pull your hands away from your parents and bow once more. A tear slides down your nose and drops to the ground by your feet, leaving a dark spot in the dirt.
Before you can say or do anything else, your concentration breaks, and you find yourself back in the empty room of the river palace. Wonpil immediately opens his arms, and you throw yourself into them, clutching him tightly as you cry. As the sun disappears completely for the day, you let the final traces of grief and regret go with it, your tears finally ceasing.
Wonpil gently kisses your forehead, your eyes, and your tear-stained cheeks before finally pressing his lips to yours. You hold him closely, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. He parts from you and presses his forehead to yours.
“My wife,” he murmurs. “My goddess.” You smile and give him another peck on the lips, at which point he sweeps you up into his arms. You fling your arms around his neck as he carries you towards his — yours, together — chambers, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. No matter what happened in the past, no matter how you came to be here, now you are sure — you no longer regret being born, or witnessing the affair, or any other decision you made.
Because all the happiness in the world is yours.
Index (a/n: new terms in this part! also some of the terms have been updated in part two as i did further research, so the indices are slightly different):
gayageum: a traditional zither-like Korean instrument dating back to the 6th century. (since a piano wouldn’t make sense, i decided to make Wonpil a gayageum player!)
-ie: diminutive suffix used to show affection. only works with names ending in consonants, technically.
janginoreun: father-in-law, very respectfully
jangmonim: mother-in-law, very respectfully
-nim: a respectful honorific that can be used for those older or in a position of authority.
eomma: mom, familiarly/warmly
paksu mudang: previously i referred to the shaman by mu, but it turns out that’s usually just for female shamans. paksu/baksu denotes the mudang (shaman) is male, so it’s amended here. -ssi: an honorific not to be used for those older than you, but when addressing peers or a group.
huening kai x fem!reader (fluff, royalty!au, historical fantasy!au)
wc: 6k
a/n: hi everyone! so a month or so ago i had a dream i was directing a movie that follows (generally) the plot of this fic. during the aftermath of hurricane helene i had no power or internet or cell service and ended up writing the whole thing in basically two sittings. the bigger projects i have been mentioning for years now are still in the works, including vampire!Bambam, vampire!DPR Ian, part two of dragon/river god!wonpil, etc... these are all monster-sized works that i really am just grinding slowly at amidst my day-to-day life. thanks for your patience and i hope you enjoy this extremely fluffy fic!
When you first meet Kai you think he's just a strange, sort of awkward kid. He wanders into the town square one day and finds where all the kids are kicking around a ball one of the other kids' moms made for all of you to play with, and just kind of… stands there. You can tell he wants in, and as the eldest of the group (by thirteen whole days!) you decide to let him join. Nobody questions your decision — Kai evens out the teams for boys against girls for your games.
Even if you weren't the eldest in your group, you're sure you could've pulled strings to let Kai in if you'd had to, but you probably wouldn't have had to anyways. With his ethereally good looks, the other kids were already captivated by him. It didn't matter that he was awkward, he was pretty. You knew how powerful that could be, given that your mom was the prettiest lady in town.
So, your friendship with Kai began like that. Teaching him how to properly kick a ball so that he didn't hurt his foot; showing him the berry patches that were safe to pick from on the outskirts of the farms and forests; scouring the creeks to find the perfect stones to skip. It was idyllic, sitting in the meadow in the shadow of the big, tall castle on the hill where you all pondered what might be going on so far out of your reach.
You never even imagined what it might become in the future — what fate you had started spinning as you kicked that homemade ball over to him and made the circle of kids part to make him a space.
It’s going to be a sweltering summer, your mother had told you that morning, as you carefully braided her hair. Your mother has beautiful hair, a strawberry blond that almost glows pink in the sunlight and fair skin without a blemish. How she manages to be so pretty, you’ll never know — you inherited her eyes but not much else, though you like to think you have some of her charisma, too.
Your mother had also told you to be careful, and to not be home late, planting kisses on both of your cheeks and your forehead before making her way to work. You once heard that she could've become some lord's lover in the past, but she came here with your father instead. She works as a seamstress for the palace, setting off early every morning before the sun rises to make her way up the hill. Your father works in the blacksmith's shop. You’re almost old enough to work, but, for now, do odd jobs with the other kids and help keep the little garden in your backyard alive.
Alongside Kai, of course. He had been completely clueless about plants before you showed him the garden, and then he became obsessed. You know it’s only a matter of time before he comes knocking at your door to go stare at the sprouts, wondering each day at any little change in them.
Just as you finish braiding your own hair, there comes a familiar, rhythmic knock at your door. You don't even have to look to know it's Kai, so you pull it open without a second thought.
"How are the potatoes?" he asks, cheeks flushed.
"The same as yesterday. Did you run here?"
"Of course," he replies, walking purposefully through your house and right out the back door. "I'm sure it had another sprout growing yesterday, so it probably has leaves today."
"Kai," you sigh, trailing behind him. No matter how often you tell him that plants don't grow quite that fast, he never stops being so excitable. You decide to just let him go look at them like you always do. It's kind of cute, anyways — a thought you try to push aside. Kai is your friend first and foremost, and the fact that his teenage years had only added to his incredible beauty shouldn't — wouldn’t — change that.
Also, you know next to nothing about him, really. He keeps where he lives a secret and never talks about his family outside of vague statements about their personalities. What you know about Kai is what he's willing to share, meanwhile he knows almost everything about you and your life in this village. You don’t take it personally; his friendship means too much to you for you to go breaking it by prying too much.
"It looks like the tomatoes are wilting," he laments, his voice breaking you out of your thoughts.
"Really?" You go squat beside him among the little rows and look at the leaves he's gently cradling in one hand. They still look green to you, just fine, but Kai’s brow is still creased with deep concern. You chuckle softly.
"I think they're okay, Kai," you reassure him, patting his shoulder. It strikes you just how broad his shoulders are, and you push the thought away.
"You worry about the plants like you're their overbearing mother," you tease, nudging him with your elbow. He sways, letting go of the tomato plant and using one hand to prop himself up so he doesn't fall. Something falls out of his pocket with a dull thud into the dirt, and you snatch it up before he can.
It's a rock, an almost perfectly round gray one with a little face drawn on it with charcoal from a fire. The face has been redrawn multiple times, but always the same little smile. You can't help but laugh,
"You still have this?" Kai's cheeks turn faintly pink as he reaches out to take the rock from you. You hand it back to him, although you don’t really get why he holds it so gingerly.
"It's special," he replies, a little sullen.
"It's a rock," you state. For the life of you, you can't understand why he's so sentimental over rocks and vegetables in the garden, but makes no fuss over the fancy fabric scraps or broken bits of jewelry your mom gets to bring home sometimes. You find those much more fascinating, especially the fabric, as your mother explains how much time each embroidered design takes.
"It's not just any rock," he retorts, now indignant as he cradles the rock in his palm. He holds it up to your face as though to prove a point. "We found this when you were teaching me how to skip stones!"
You blink in confusion, looking between him and the rock.
"Kai, that rock wouldn't skip even once. It's too heavy. You just liked how it looked!"
You still remember that day vividly yourself. The whole little group had gone down to the creek to practice skipping stones. Your grandmother had been very good at it before she passed away, and taught you how to do it on the days when she watched over you while your parents worked. Teaching other kids wasn't nearly as easy — Kai was the only one truly paying attention to what you said, his eyes earnestly fixed on you as you demonstrated how to find a good rock for skipping and how exactly to flick your wrist when throwing. That rock he now held was one you had picked up to demonstrate a bad skipping stone, but Kai had gone running into the water to retrieve it just after it landed.
"Look how perfect it is!" he had exclaimed, making his way back to the shore with the stone triumphantly held up in his hands. Some of the other kids had conceded his point, and even you could acknowledge that it was a surprisingly round, symmetrical rock — though hardly worth his pants getting soaking wet over.
Still, to keep it all these years and draw its face back on every time it rubbed off…
You almost say something about it being weird, but the fondness on his face as he looks at the rock reminds you of the ratty rabbit doll you repair every time she has a rip or tear. She barely looks like she did when your mom first made her from fabric scraps, but she's too sentimental for you to let fall apart. If Kai's rock is weird, then your bunny would be just the same.
"Didn't you name it?" you ask instead, a vague memory attempting to rise in your mind.
"Yeah, it's Huenin Lionel Mbappe!" he replies proudly. He starts to say something else, but the chiming of the bell at the town square interrupts him. He quickly shoves Huenin Lionel Mbappe back into his pocket and stands up, offering you a hand. You don't need it, but you take it, surprised as always at how smooth his hands are. There are some calluses, but not nearly as many as your father and some of the other working men and boys in the village. Once again you wonder what he does when he's not with you, but you don't dwell on it, pretending you don't notice that he's still holding your hand as you run to the square together to meet up with the others.
You're just glad he can't see how flustered you are as he squeezes your palm, pulling you along.
Working with the other teens in the village often entails doing small tasks the apprentices and owners of different businesses don't have time to. Running deliveries, cleaning up a mess — little jobs for meager amounts of money. Being the eldest, you're the closest to picking a trade, but you think you'll likely just be like your mom. You already know how to sew pretty well from being taught by her, and you do odd mending jobs for other villagers in a pinch. The other kids you run with have been trying to forge connections at the businesses you help, testing the waters for a potential apprenticeship.
Not Kai, though. While he seems interested in almost everything, he doesn't put himself forward as a hirable option for anyone. He also rarely takes a share of the earnings — you'd learned years earlier that he would secretly pass it all off in small bits to each of you, making different excuses each time until he had none left. You don't ask why and you don't tell him or the others you've caught on. Like your own potentially blossoming feelings, it feels like the mention of it could ruin what you and Kai have now, and you value that too much to jeopardize it.
"Y/N, your dad said a couple of us should get more water for the blacksmiths from the river," one of the boys says as you and Kai approach. You brush flyaway strands of hair away from your face, quickly slipping your hand out of Kai’s grasp before the others notice.
"Okay, I think some of the ladies in the market have errands for us too. Should we split up for now?" you ask, and everyone in the group agrees. You expect Kai to go with some of the boys who start making their way down to the river, buckets in hand, but he lingers by your side as the rest of you head towards the market square.
For some reason, Kai seems to be sticking especially close to you. He accompanies you on more of your errands, only taking on his own if someone calls him over specifically. Even then, he makes his way back to you as soon as he can, dutifully trailing behind you.
"You're like a duckling," you tell him as the two of you make your way back out onto the street. You count the coins in your palm and only shoot him a short sidelong glance when he drops his share into your pocket, trying to be stealthy.
"What do you mean?" he asks, sidling up beside you.
"The way you're trailing me," you explain, dropping the rest of your coins into your pocket where they clink against the ones he left. He cringes slightly, knowing he's been caught, but you don't say anything about it. "It's like I'm a mother duck and you're a duckling, following right behind me."
"Hm," he hums, hands clasped behind his back. "Does that also mean I'm cute like a duckling?"
He's smiling at you almost smugly, like he's expecting a compliment. Your heart flutters at the sight, and you wonder if you'll ever get used to just how handsome he is. Pushing the thought aside, you nudge him with your elbow, snorting,
"Helpless, more like." Kai laughs and knocks right back into you,
"You're right, I'm hopeless. What would I do without you?" His words catch you off guard, and you clear your throat to cover your embarrassment.
"Who taught you to talk like that?" you tease, and his grin widens.
"My dad told me I should be sweet to the girls in my life. Especially the really important ones. And the ones I really like."
Which of those am I? you wonder, but the words get stuck in your throat. You and Kai stare wordlessly at each other for a moment, and you feel as though you're getting pulled in by his sparkling eyes—
"Kai! Can you come help me with this?" You both startle at the voice of another vendor, and you poke his shoulder.
"You should go help them. I'm going to ask around for more errands." Kai nods, and you can't tell if you're imagining the disappointment in his eyes as he turns away.
The day ends the same place it started — Kai walks you back to your house to check on the garden again before you start dinner. You stay in the kitchen and tie on your apron, pulling out your paring knife so you can start peeling potatoes and carrots. While he looks to see if there's anything to be gathered, you light the fire under the large pot hanging in the fireplace and dump the bucket of well water you had brought with you in. Kai comes back through the door with a small basket tucked under his arm as you pull your chair up by the fire, settling down to start peeling.
"Can I help?" he asks. It's not an unusual request, but one you're not sure if you'll allow. Kai isn't always the best with a knife, prone to getting distracted as the two of you talk. The last thing you want is for him to slice his finger open, but you find yourself nodding anyway.
"Okay, but be careful. Can you start on the carrots?" You feel safer about him peeling carrots than potatoes, and he acquiesces, pulling another chair up beside you.
The crackling of the fire fills the room, the sound of peels hitting the bottom of the buckets barely audible. Eventually you start humming, a habit you picked up from your father, and Kai joins in on the tune. You glance at him to be sure he isn't distracted and are pleased to find him peeling the carrots successfully.
"Oh, wait, Y/N!" he exclaims a few moments later, almost making you slice off a large chunk of perfectly good potato. You look over to him as he sets his knife on his lap and picks up a carrot. He holds the tip in his left hand and raises it to about his shoulder, the bottom of the carrot pointing diagonally at his right hip, and raises his other hand.
"Doo dwang dee dwang~ Dow dow da dow-da-da-dow~"
You stare on in mute disbelief as he continues, tapping his fingers along the tip of the carrot, making a strumming motion with his other hand at its wide end. He eventually stops and beams at you, an expectant look in his eyes.
"So, what do you think? Did I sound like a lute?"
"That was a lute?" You almost feel bad for asking, but really, you wouldn't have ever guessed.
"Huh," he says, looking down at the carrot in his hand. "My mom liked my impression."
"Moms are like that," you reply. "My mom once told me I had a nice singing voice and then I embarrassed myself in front of half the village kids."
Kai seems a little puzzled by this, as though he hadn't considered his mom might just be saying that because he's her son. Regardless, he shrugs it off and picks his knife back up.
"I'll just have to practice more."
You don't say another word and just go back to peeling and humming. Kai leaves when the bell rings on the hour, and you continue cooking dinner as your parents make their way home in the twilight of the village.
You don't see Kai for the next few days — not that it worries you. Honestly, you don't know what he does or where he is most of the time, but it's fine. You go about your usual routine, until it's interrupted by an unusual tolling of the bell, the kind that signals for villagers to come to the main square for news. You set aside your sewing and rush out to meet your friends there, spotting your father on the edges of the crowd with his coworkers from the smithy. As you gather, you see some sort of palace official with the royal guard behind him preparing to speak. He unfurls his message and clears his throat loudly; the crowd instantly hushes. Your heart beats loudly in your ears, worrying over whether the news is good or bad and your mom working inside the palace.
"Hear ye, hear ye— to celebrate the joyous occasion of Prince Kai Kamal Huening's eighteenth birthday, all citizens are invited to attend a ball at the royal palace, Saturday fortnight! Be prepared to eat, drink, and be merry!"
A birthday banquet at the palace with everyone invited? you think. Then, Kai almost named his pet rock like a member of the royal family?
You wish he was there so you could get his reaction, but instead you turn to your other excited friends. All you can think of is what you could possibly wear to the palace of all places, and with only two weeks to prepare.
Not seeing Kai for a few days is normal, but not seeing him for two weeks is strange. He had shown up at your home out of breath the afternoon of the ball announcement, asking if you'd heard the news, only to run back home just as quickly after checking on the garden. Your mother had rushed home that evening with a roll of fabric in her arms, exclaiming that her coworkers knew she had a daughter around the prince's age and let her take the last of an old bolster home. It wouldn't make much, maybe sleeves or the bodice of a gown, but it was beautiful. It was leftover from some drapes in a far wing of the palace, a plush blue velvet with golden-threaded embroidery.
"You'll look splendid," your mother had said, positively beaming as she held the fabric up to your chest. You didn't bother telling her that there was next to no chance of you dancing with the prince no matter how pretty your dress was, but thought better of it. Besides, it's not like you weren't excited at the prospect of dancing — just not with some total stranger like the prince. The image of Kai smiling broadly when you said that you would be attending the ball rose to the forefront of your mind.
Pushing it aside, you and your mother had begun working on your gown. Now, with the ball only days away, you hadn't seen even a glimpse of Kai in all that time. You'd wanted to show him the fabric, but with it almost finished you want the final look to be a surprise to everyone but you and your mother. With each day you don't see him, worry weighs more heavily on your heart. Nobody in the village knows Kai better than you, so if something had happened then nobody would even know where to start looking for him. You (and your friends) tell yourself to calm down. He always turns up, so you just have to be patient.
You stare down at the potato plants in the garden forlornly, looking at how some of the leaves are beginning to turn just the slightest bit brown as autumn begins to descend. You imagine Kai's worried face and let out a sigh. You just hope he's alright, wherever he is.
On the morning of the ball, everyone in the village wakes up excited. There's no real work to be done that day, as the palace had ordered most businesses to halt operations unless absolutely necessary. Your father scrubs his hands and face (with your mother's help) until his skin doesn't have even the slightest speck of soot on it. You help your mother braid her beautiful hair into a pretty crown on her head, and she helps you into your brand new dress. Slowly, the villagers start making their way up the hill to the palace; you walk behind your parents, who walk arm-in-arm, chatting happily. You wonder how long it's been since they've been able to spend a day together like this, or seen each other all dressed up. The thought of seeing Kai in a fancy outfit makes your heart pound; he's so pretty even in the simplest work clothes, how much more attractive will he look in party attire?
You try not to dwell on it, not wanting to be even more nervous than you already are. Instead you focus on all the familiar faces around you, dressed in their absolute best and chattering excitedly. You aren't sure exactly where your friends are because you came with your parents, but you know you'll all find each other eventually. When you reach the palace gates, you're greeted by members of the royal knights and other official-looking personnel. Your mother points out the people she recognizes, whispering to you and your father who the chamberlain is, and the butler, and the marshal. You lose track of all the people as you're led into the ballroom and are astounded by its grandeur. You've never seen so many candles in one place, or so much food and wine.
"I'm going to find my friends," you announce, still half in a daze. You do try to find them but also end up wandering around the room, in awe of everything around you. Even the drapes in this room put the fabric your mom brought home to shame — is it because it's a big event, or had that fabric been for drapes in some unimportant room. You finally catch sight of a couple of your friends, but as you make your way to them you're interrupted by the sound of a bugle. The whole crowd turns their attention to the raised platform where the two large thrones sit alongside three smaller thrones that you assume are for the two princesses and the prince.
"Now announcing the arrival of the His and Her Majesties, the Sun and Moon of the kingdom!" Everyone drops into a bow or curtsy as the royal couple enters, and you glance up through your eyelashes to get a glimpse of them. You're surprised by just how stunning they appear, and how kind their smiles look. They stand in front of their thrones and look off to the side as their children’s entrances are announced,
"Princess Lea Navvab Huening!" She enters with a smile and a graceful wave, her dark brown hair pulled back neatly. She looks almost familiar, though you wonder if it's just because she's standing beside her parents.
"The Prince, Kai Kamal Huening!" The entire crowd goes even more quiet, excited to get a glimpse of the man of the hour. Your breath catches in your throat when you see him, and you have to rush to lower your head so you don't seem disrespectful.
That… that’s your Kai, isn't it? Up there on the platform? Your head is spinning, and you barely hear the announcement of the youngest royal sibling, Princess Bahiyyih Jaleh Huening. She's beautiful, too — the whole trio is stunning as they stand beside their parents, but you can scarcely think with the way your heart is racing. This whole time, your Kai was actually Prince Kai? You swear it can't be true, then look back at the royal family as the King and Queen descend for the first dance of the night and know you're right. It's him.
You barely see the first dance, but when the Prince and first Princess descend for the second dance you're hyper-focused. Once he's on the dance floor you truly can't deny it anymore.
You can't decide what to do. A part of you wants to run and hide, embarrassed and, frankly, scared that you had treated a member of the royal family like any other village child. How could you be so stupid? How could you not know? You try to slink away to the furthest edges of the crowd as Prince Kai has the third dance with the second princess, wondering if you can somehow get away without being noticed by him.
But then they announce that the ball has started in earnest. The King and Queen take their seats, as well as the princesses, and you watch Kai scan the crowd in search of a partner for his first dance with someone who isn't his sister. You step behind one of your father's coworkers, an exceedingly tall man, but you're shocked when the crowd suddenly starts parting in front of you almost immediately.
"Y/N?" a familiar voice calls, soft. You swear your heart stops in that moment. The man steps aside to reveal Kai, the light making the golden crown on his head seem like a halo.
"Can I have this dance?"
Everyone is staring at you and Kai with the same sense of disbelief that you're feeling. The same boy they'd had running errands a mere two weeks before was the prince of their kingdom, and now he was asking the girl he'd run around the village with for years to be his dance partner.
"I— um, are you sure about this?" you whisper, looking from his face to his outstretched hand and back. You know what this looks like, what this implies. After all, celebrating his birthday like this is also to remind everyone that he's an adult of marriageable age now — does he really want to imply that you're his first choice?
But Kai just continues to smile, albeit looking a little bit more confused.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
So, you take his hand.
You've never slow danced with anyone but your father at home, and even then it was just for fun; your dancing at festivals was never so regimented. Kai guides your hands to their proper placements and squeezes the one he holds, flashing you a reassuring grin.
"I've got you. Just follow my lead." It feels like your heart has leapt up into your throat, so you can only manage to nod and put your trust in him like he said.
And he guides you. You never would have guessed he was such a skilled dancer, but it's so easy to follow his lead that you're able to actually enjoy yourself more than worry about how you look. His hands are warm and his gaze is so fond, so tender, that you almost can't believe it's you he's looking at. As you fall into a comfortable rhythm, Kai leans in closer.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs, his lips almost brushing against your ear. A shiver runs down your spine, but you don't think anyone but him notices. It only makes him smile more when you stare at him in bashful disbelief. When he said his dad told him to say sweet things, that was the King, right? That realization just sends you reeling further.
You stare at him, not sure what to say to that aside from a barely audible,
"You too." Kai blushes, his cheeks turning a rosy pink that makes him look even more angelic.
"So am I an important girl or a girl that you like?" you ask, not really meaning to say anything at all and certainly not something so embarrassing. Kai looks taken aback, his eyes widening like a deer's. Somehow his cuteness makes you feel embarrassed, but you try not to show it.
"Both?" he says. "I think it can be both. So, both." He smiles, satisfied with his answer.
"You like me?" you squeak out, and Kai cocks his head to the side.
"Yeah? I thought that was obvious. Everyone else knew."
"Everyone else knew?" you parrot in disbelief, and Kai nods.
"I guess I'm the only one they teased about it…" You can't help but laugh a little at that; none of the other neighborhood kids ever gave you much shit since you were their unofficial leader. That said, you're definitely going to have to grill them about this later.
Kai pulls you slightly closer as the song comes to an end, before you part to bow and curtsy to each other.
"Can I have the next dance, too?" he asks, looking down at you with the most doe-like eyes he can manage. You press a hand to your chest, where your heart is still pounding.
"I think I need to sit down before I have a heart attack. This was a lot to take in." You take the hand Kai offers you, though, as he escorts you over to a chair.
"I'll get you something to drink," he says, and he's gone before you can even protest that a servant could probably just bring a tray around. He's still your Kai, after all, you think, and it makes you feel relieved.
As you're sitting waiting for him you notice how many eyes are on you. None are judgmental, thankfully — most are just in awe, both that Kai is actually the Prince and you suddenly seem in line to become a part of the royal family yourself. The mere thought makes your cheeks start to burn again, and you wave your hands by your face to try and cool down.
As you're doing so, you suddenly notice the crowd parting towards you again, this time to allow the two princesses to approach. You hurriedly stand up and drop into a curtsy,
"My humblest greetings to your highnesses, the first and second princess." Your hands are shaking but you hope they don't notice as you hold your skirts up.
"Is this her?" the second princess, Bahiyyih, whispers to her sister. You glance up just as the first princess elbows her before turning to you with a smile. She takes both your hands in hers.
"What she means is, we've heard a lot about you. And Kai has gotten in a lot of trouble for sneaking out all the time, but we get it now." You swear your face gets warmer with every word she says, made worse by the effervescent grin on Bahiyyih's face as she nods along to her sister's words. Just then, Kai reappears by your side, a drink in each hand. Lea lets go of your hands, which you're grateful for because you feel like your palms are getting sweaty.
"Lea…" He whines, shifting so he's standing behind you even though you don't hide him very well. You reach for your drink, hoping that having something to hold will ease your shakiness.
"It's true!" Bahiyyih chimes in. "It took us forever to figure out where he was going, and then we realized he was going to meet a girl! It's so cute!"
"Please don't call me cute," he groans.
"But you are cute," you blurt, and immediately want the ground to swallow you whole. A glance at Kai tells you his face is bright red, burning hot just like yours, and Lea squeezes your hands tighter as she and Bahiyyih practically squeal with delight.
“So you do think I'm cute?” Kai asks, leaning around to get a look at your face. Now both he and the princesses are looking at you expectantly, and you feel like your face is on fire.
“Well, yeah,” you mumble, quickly taking a sip of your drink. The princesses are almost vibrating with excitement, and Kai’s face turns bright red but his eyes are glimmering with excitement, his smile broad. His joy is almost blinding, and your heart is nearly beating out of your chest.
“I think you're cute, too, Y/N,” he says. Your knees feel weak, and you only manage to pull your gaze from his when you faintly hear the sound of Bahiyyih giggling. Lea takes hold of her little sister’s arm and smiles apologetically at you,
“We'll give you two some time alone now.” She starts tugging Bahiyyih away, but the youngest Huening sibling takes hold of your hand.
“I can't wait to get to know you better, sister-in-law!”
“Uh, y-yes, me too,” you reply, mind going blank. Sister-in-law?! In a daze, you sit back down in the chair Kai had led you to earlier, barely registering that he's sitting next to you until he sets his hand on top of yours.
“Are you okay?” You turn to him, mouth slightly agape.
“Did she call me sister-in-law?” you ask. Kai laughs bashfully and links his fingers with yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Yeah, she's… excitable.” You nod, still sort of dazed, and take another sip of your drink. Staring back out into the crowd, you notice the princesses making their way back up to their parents’ side. In the distance you can see Bahiyyih leaning in to whisper something to her mother, and the queen's gaze seems to find you in the sea of people.
“Oh my god,” you say, hurriedly turning back to Kai. “Does— do your parents know about me?” He nods.
“I got caught sneaking out and told them everything,” he explains. “This ball was part my idea and part theirs, so I could introduce you to them… Or let them see you, at least.” He must have seen the total anxiety in your expression at the prospect of meeting his parents one-on-one and immediately smooths it over, squeezing your hand again.
“There's no rush,” he reassures you, and looking into his earnest eyes does actually help to calm your nerves. From this close you hardly notice the crown on his head, he just looks like the same boy you've been running around the village with for years. Just Kai.
Your Kai. Just the thought makes your heart soar.
You down the rest of your drink and stand up, Kai’s hand still in yours.
“Do you want to step outside for a bit?” you ask, and Kai nods, setting his own drink aside too before standing up. The two of you make your way onto one of the balconies off the ballroom, and the cool night breeze puts your mind at ease. You feel like you can finally breathe again, standing by Kai’s side under the familiar light of the moon. He lightly swings your joined hands between you, staring up at the stars. Eventually, he turns his full attention back to you,
“Why did you want to come outside?” You take his other hand in yours and look down at the stones paving the bottom of the balcony. His shoes are so nice, you think, and almost want to laugh. All this time you wondered why he was only around some of the time and gave his money to the other kids — meanwhile he was sneaking in and out of the palace to come meet you. You take a deep breath, summoning all your courage,
“I just… thought it would be kind of embarrassing to have our first kiss in front of a crowd…” Kai squeezes your hands unintentionally, and you glance up at him, unable to meet his gaze fully. Even after saying it, you aren't sure where you got the confidence.
“So, can I?” he asks, his voice soft. “Kiss you, I mean.” You laugh, the tension breaking, and lean in.
“You really are hopeless, aren't you?” you tease, “Of course.”
You press your lips to his, the taste of wine still lingering, and you suddenly get the feeling that this is the beginning of the rest of your life. And you're going to live happily ever after.
mingyu x reader (fluff, hurt/comfort?, non-idol!au)
wc: 1.3k
a writing exercise i did with a friend using this prompt list and the prompts "when we first fell in love all of those years ago, your father would say i was too sweet for my own good. maybe he was right." and "i'm the one you've been looking for."
a/n: thanks everyone for being patient with me, i'm still working on some big projects (vampire!DPR Ian and also vampire!BamBam [same universe], vampire!Jun, part 2 of river god!Wonpil, a Wonwoo fic based loosely on Kiki's Delivery Service... send help) in the works but wanted to post a little something <3
As soon as you get into your apartment's living room, you flop onto the couch on your stomach, paying no mind to the makeup you're probably smudging onto the throw pillow. Now just isn't the time. Future you can worry about cleaning it.
Familiar footsteps follow you into the living room and a knee gently nudges the side of your stomach; you roll so your back is pressed against the back of the couch and Mingyu can lie down in the remaining space. He settles on his side, facing you with his hand propping up his head. His eyes glimmer slightly, and he gives you a wry smile,
"Well, happy anniversary," he says. You groan and look away from him, pressing your face into the couch cushions. He chuckles at your exaggerated reaction and gently reaches over to start undoing the elaborate updo you'd pinned your hair into.
"What a night," he continues, pulling the bobby pins out one by one. You still refuse to look up, embarrassed and frustrated.
It wasn't like it was anyone's fault, really, that all your evening plans had gone to total shit. First was the unexpected downpour that ruined your plans of a nice walk before dinner forcing you to frantically hail a cab while huddled under his expensive suit jacket. You'd already felt apologetic over that, and then your distracted cab driver missed a turn, which you thought was bad enough because you would be late for the reservation at this rate.
But then it had to get worse (because of course it had to get worse) when the cabbie rear-ended another car because they were too busy yelling at someone on the phone. The two of you had to spend another two hours huddled under a shop awning, answering questions for the police officers that came to assess the scene. Thankfully, nobody was seriously hurt, but you still cried so much that everyone kept asking if you needed them to call paramedics.
That was part of why you didn't want to look at Mingyu. No doubt your face was a mess, not to mention your hair, which he was now methodically freeing from the style you had spent so long on.
You'd just wanted it to be perfect. You only have one first wedding anniversary, after all. To avoid crying more, you keep your face pressed into the cushions, not responding to your husband. More gently, then, he asks,
"Hey, you're sure you're okay, right?" You sniffle. Goddamnit.
"Yeah," you croak. "I just… feel bad." Mingyu chuckles.
"I know, but it isn't your fault," he reassures you. It should make you feel better, but it doesn't. You know Mingyu isn't bothered — this sort of thing doesn't faze him quite like it does you — but you still feel anxious and upset. Is this some kind of warning of impending doom in your relationship? Just the thought makes you feel sick to your stomach.
You finally turn your face again so you can breathe more easily and find Mingyu smiling at you, concern still clear in his eyes. The couch cushion feels rough against your cheek, still a bit sensitive from all the crying and being out in the cold.
"I think we have ramen," Mingyu says. "Should I make some? Are you hungry?" Your lower lip trembles as tears start welling up again, and this time you press your forehead into Mingyu's shoulder to hide your face.
"How are you so calm?" you sputter. "How are you not— not upset?"
"What, upset at you? You didn't do anything. And the driver didn't get away with being reckless, so I don't need to worry about that, either," he says calmly. When you only continue to sniffle pathetically, he changes his approach a bit,
"Or maybe I'm just too nice. I still remember when we first fell in love all of those years ago, your father would say I was too sweet for my own good. Maybe he was right."
You let out an extremely undignified snort and lift your head to look at him.
"As if. My dad never said anything like that," you tease. "Plus, 'all those years ago?' It's not like we met as kids or something. We met in college." Mingyu pouts at you, but his eyes glimmer playfully.
"It sounds so much less romantic when you say that," he whines.
"Well, you've always been the romantic one," you retort, but Mingyu is quick to counter you,
"No, no— I still remember that letter you wrote me when the semester was ending, when you said I was the one you'd been looking for—"
"Shut up!" you cry, placing your hands over his mouth. On top of everything else tonight, you don't want to be reminded of your embarrassing confession via love letter from years ago. You'd been a lovestruck student afraid you would lose your chance forever when you wrote that letter, and certainly hadn't expected that Mingyu had also been harboring a secret crush on you that would lead to marriage. It had been corny and sappy all because you thought you wouldn't see him again! Oh, how your actions had come back to haunt you.
You can feel Mingyu smiling under your palms, and it only makes your face get hotter. Eventually, you remove your hands from his face and snuggle up closer to his chest, pressing your forehead into his shoulder again.
"You're so annoying," you murmur, and you can feel the laughter reverberate through Mingyu's chest as he winds an arm around you.
"But you still married me," he says. You smile. It still gives you butterflies, thinking of Mingyu as your husband, still so fresh a sensation. It's only been a year, after all.
"Yeah," you reply. "I did."
Mingyu holds you for a few minutes, gently combing his fingers through your hair as you calm down. Eventually, he broaches the subject of dinner again, now that it's been hours since you were supposed to have eaten.
"Do you want to shower while I make the ramen?" he asks, and you nod. Mingyu gets up off the couch as you sit up and stretch, noticing the lingering dampness in your hair and dress. A shower definitely sounds nice. You start making your way down the hallway, then turn back to face the living room.
You watch as Mingyu attempts to straighten out his crumpled, damp button-down shirt, and smile to yourself.
"Actually," you start, causing Mingyu to stop what he was doing and look up at you out of curiosity. "Do you… wanna join me? It's our anniversary, after all." You can feel your face warming up, but it's worth the slight embarrassment just to see the surprise on your husband's face. Sometimes he can seem so innocent.
It only takes him a moment to snap out of it though, and cross the living room to meet you in the hallway with a broad grin. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you without hesitation.
"That sounds perfect," he says, practically purring, and you let out a surprised yelp when he suddenly scoops you up bridal style. You throw your arms around his neck and lean against him, giggling. As you look up into his face, all your irritation and upset from earlier melts away. Why should it matter if you went to a fancy restaurant or just ate ramen at home? All you want is to be together — that's why you got married.
As Mingyu sets you down in the bathroom, you keep your arms looped around his neck and give him a kiss of your own.
"Happy first anniversary, Gyu." He smiles that big, toothy grin you love so much, the one that makes him look like a happy puppy.
"Happy anniversary, Y/N. The first of many."
It turns out to be a pretty good night, after all.
What? Like It's Hard? (f a) by @starsstuddedsky
✩♬ ₊˚. With the help of a little bit of bleach, Soonyoung is certified legally blonde–complete to last minute-dedication to scoring as high as Elle Woods on the LSAT. While he has no interest in law school, he’s notorious for never turning down a dare. So how does a frat bro in serious danger of failing his senior year get a 179? He asks the smartest person he knows.
The thing about love (a f) by @gyuswhore
✩♬ ₊˚. The slap you sent across Kwon Soonyoung’s face sent a reverberating sound across the dance studio. He looks up, eyes bloodshot and swimming with fury. There’s a hint of a smile on his face for some reason, which you realize may be out of disbelief. You don’t register anything else other than the rage that accelerates down your own veins. There’s a part of you that wants to do it again when he utters his next words.
“That was a bad fucking idea”
driving lessons for dummies (f s) by @shuaflix
✩♬ ₊˚. ❝ i can't parallel park, but i know all the lyrics to 'driver's license' by olivia rodrigo now. ❞
Main Thing (s) by @hannieehaee
✩♬ ₊˚. after years of insistence from soonyoung, he finally convinces resident social butterfly seungkwan to introduce him to his unrequited crush; a fellow idol at hybe who he has not been able to take his eyes off since moving to the company.
high-rise (s) by @sluttywonwoo
✩♬ ₊˚. walking around your apartment naked has never been a problem, since you live in a high-rise and no one can see in, at least that’s what you thought…
vowels and veracity (f s) by @hansolmates
✩♬ ₊˚. after a blind date that makes you feel like a giddy teenager all over again, you’re forced to grow up and take a chance when you realize that special someone is your daughter’s kindergarten teacher.
Bluff and Nonsense (a) by @thepixelelf
✩♬ ₊˚. “Soonyoung? Yeah I know him, you should too. He’s on the uni’s dance crew, and ever since he joined them, their popularity’s skyrocketed. I’ve met him a few times, great guy — got a tendency to run his mouth but hey, no one’s perfect. He’s smart anyways, probably knows how to deal with the consequences, right?”
sweatshirt season (s f) by @eoieopda
✩♬ ₊˚. your fuck buddy is good at a lot of things. taking hints isn’t one of them.
warm (s) by @cheolism
✩♬ ₊˚. you are so warm beneath the blankets and, like a moth drawn to a flame, soonyoung was helpless to resist your body.
charity f*ck (s) by @ncteez
✩♬ ₊˚. Have you ever taken anyone’s virginity before? Well, yeah, your first time was both losing your own and taking someone else’s but, that was a long time ago. Have you ever taken the virginity of a twenty-six-year-old man who probably should have gotten laid by now anyway? Nope. Are you about to? Yep.
crazy stupid love (s f) by @toruro
✩♬ ₊˚. your best friend, turned fuck buddy, seems a little too upset about your latest instagram post ...
good influence (s) by @cheolism
✩♬ ₊˚. slowly soonyoung begins to influence you into making some questionable decisions
Delicate (f) by @idyllic-ghost
✩♬ ₊˚. You've been friends since he could remember, and since that summer night last year it's been different - you can both feel it. So why is it so hard to just say it?
worth it (f) by @fallinnflower
best friend hoshi (s) by @97-liners
7PM (s) (ft. seokmin and seungkwan) by @onlymingyus
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young k x reader (kumiho!au, historical-fantasy!au, drama)
wc: 9k
tw: mentions of death and illness
a/n: hiiiii so it's been a while! i know i was talking about vampire bambam (and DPR Ian which lays the groundwork for that one and needs to be finished first... it's all still in the works i promise!) the original inspiration behind this sequel was "guard you," and now somehow this cute little part 2 has turned out to be longer than the first installment. thank you to everyone who still reads my work, it means so much to me. i hope you like this part 2 and if you're curious about my WIPs (i have so many. genuinely over 100 things in various states of incompletion.) feel free to ask!
"Younghyun-ah, Y/N-ah! Come in and eat now!" You both lift your heads at Eunji’s call, her voice ringing out over the valley that serves as your front lawn.
"Coming!" you call back, hurriedly uprooting the last herb you'd spotted before straightening your back to look for Younghyun.
You find him walking out of the woods, not disheveled in the slightest aside from the dirt on his hands. A wry smile curls across your lips as you swipe at your sweaty brow with the back of your hand, pushing stray hairs from your eyes.
"What did you find?" you ask, peering around Younghyun's shoulder to see into his basket as you fall into step with him. He chuckles and nudges you with his elbow.
"Focus on walking or you'll trip, Y/N-ah." You pout, pondering it for a moment before snatching the basket from his hands. In his surprise he doesn't manage to stop you, merely letting out a sigh as you rifle through it while walking. As you count the herbs under your breath, Younghyun's hand gently comes to rest on your elbow, guiding you around a hole in your path.
"Thanks," you say, shooting him a quick smile before continuing with your count. He nods, keeping his eyes ahead and his hand on your elbow as you near Eunji's residence. The heat rises up on your cheeks when he doesn't pull away, and you press your lips together tightly to keep your smile concealed even though neither he nor Eunji are looking your way.
Once you both get to the door, toeing your shoes off, Younghyun makes a beeline for where Eunji is hunched over the table. You watch fondly, looking up through your lashes while you bow your head and pretend to be counting herbs still, as he coaxes the utensils and dishes out of her hands, taking over for the old woman you both love dearly. It warms your heart to see the way Eunji fakes her exasperation with him but allows him to take over the task anyways.
When you first brought Younghyun home, you'd been afraid of what everyone's reaction would be — Eunji included. However, despite his sharp features and often strange mannerisms, he instantly charmed all the villagers as he helped to administer the new medicine to them at your side. Eunji herself had been the one to suggest he remain in the hut, inviting him into the small family the two of you constituted. He had quickly slotted himself into your lives as though he belonged there, eager to make himself useful and far more adaptable than anyone could have expected. From gardening to cleaning and cooking, Younghyun managed to be good at everything and consistently in good spirits about even the most menial tasks. Eunji, recognizing his eagerness and potential, had begun teaching him how to make certain medicines and prepare materials for the two of you.
"Did you find enough?" Eunji asks, as the two of you make your way inside.
"Yes, plenty," you reply, smiling. You set your basket aside and head towards where your mentor is busy cooking, inhaling deeply as you approach. Setting a hand on Eunji’s shoulder, you lean even closer to the cookware. "Ah, it smells so good!"
"Get away from there, you’ll get burned!" Eunji scolds you, gently pushing you back. With an exaggerated pout, you start to whine, but are interrupted by a light tug at your sleeve.
"She’s right," Younghyun says. "You should be more careful." His expression, when you turn to look at him, is almost painfully earnest, his eyes filled with genuine concern as he looks at you. You can’t help but find it endearing.
"I know, I know. I’m sorry," you reply. "But even if I did get hurt, the two of you would nurse me back to health, wouldn’t you?"
"Nurse you? I’m too old for that sort of thing, child," Eunji scoffs. "You should be the one nursing me, after all these years." You look to Younghyun, and he only offers your a half-hearted smile,
"I won’t be much help on my own." You let out an exaggerated sigh.
"I guess I have no choice then," you say. "I promise I’ll be more careful. Maybe."
Eunji swats at your shoulder once again, but you pay little mind to her scolding as you dissolve into laughter. Younghyun looks between the two of you, uncertain of whose side to take, and you bask in the warmth of the home you’ve made.
It may be unconventional, but you don’t care. Everything feels just right.
Most evenings (when the weather is mild) find you and Younghyun outside and wandering — giving Eunji some much-needed solitude before the winter shuts you all in together. The late autumn chill is more brisk than biting, and so you find yourself (with Younghyun following your lead, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world) headed through the woods towards the crest of a hill where the view of the sunset is best. You stretch your arms up to the sky, loosening the tension in your spine before you take a seat on the grass. Younghyun carefully takes his place beside you, hands almost touching at your sides.
"We’ll head back once the sun starts setting," you say, well aware of your companion’s tendency to worry for your safety. You turn to him with a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth,
"That should give Eunji a long enough break, I think." Younghyun chuckles and leans back on his hands, and you silently admire his profile for a moment. Despite the spirit leaving him, he still looks very fox-like — his sharp features give him an otherworldly handsomeness that would intimidate you if you didn’t know how soft he really was.
"You know her well," he muses. It feels more as though he’s thinking out loud than anything else, but you choose to reply, turning away before your stare becomes too obvious.
"Well, I’ve known her most of my life."
"You’ve been with her a long time," Younghyun agrees, thinking back to what he already knows about your relationship. "She’s almost like your mother."
"Hm, in a way…" You trail off, gaze on the horizon. "She raised me, but Eunji is… more than family," you say resolutely, gaze trained on the almost-setting sun. You can feel Younghyun's eyes on you, but you don't mind it — you just don’t feel the need to return his gaze. Not when the sky is so lovely.
"What's your family like?" he asks, softly. You let out a short, awkward laugh, reaching up to twist the end of your braid around your nervous fingers.
"Oh," you start. "Well, I don't really know them that well. Not that we don't get along!" You turn to Younghyun to emphasize your point,
"I still make time to see them whenever I'm in their village, but, you know, Eunji raised me. My family and I are more like friends."
"I always wondered how you ended up with Eunji," he says, words slow and thoughtful. "But I worried that it might be a painful story, because of your family."
"Oh, no, nothing like that," you reply with a wave of your hand. You draw your knees up to your chest and cross your arms atop them, resting your cheek there as your gaze becomes unfocused in the haze of memory.
"When I was very young, it became clear to everyone that I was different from the other children. My parents were so worried that they brought me to Eunji, and she was the one who discovered I had magical abilities, just like her." A fond smile makes its way across your face, and Younghyun feels his chest tighten for just a moment.
"Did Eunji take you on as an apprentice then?"
"No," you chuckle. "Eunji is an independent person, as I'm sure you've noticed. She encourages that in other people, so she didn't even offer to take me. Later, when my powers were manifesting even more strongly, my parents brought me to her again. Even then, Eunji wouldn’t teach me any magic unless I asked her — and it just happened that I admired her so much that I asked all the time for her to teach me things." You pause and turn your face back to Younghyun, smiling wistfully.
"If I had told her I didn't want to learn any magic, she would have accepted that. She would have shown me how to keep it under control and then sent me right back to my parents. But I wanted this life, I chose it.
"So, Eunji is… she’s more than my mentor, too. She’s like a mother, and an aunt, and a sister, and a best friend. She’s been my protector and provider, and, more than anyone else in the world, she's made me who I am. Somehow, I think she knows everything about me, even more than I do."
Younghyun watches as you turn your gaze back to the setting sun, your skin awash in golden-red light. The tender expression in your face is warmer than any sunlight, he thinks. Ever since your first meeting, he had felt you were something of a mystery — a force of nature in and of yourself — but as he came to know Eunji he felt he was coming to know you, as well. He often found himself searching for the answers to his questions about you in her, his inexperience leaving him unsure of how to ask you those questions outright.
As he loses himself in the sight of you, he feels a surge of emotion run through him: first, his fondness for you, an ever-growing affection that both thrills and alarms him; and second, the cold, unsettling chill of his own inadequacy. Even sat as you are, looking so small and delicate, you seem as grounded and certain as a mountain, strong-willed and clear-minded.
Sometimes, he thinks that he was only made a gumiho so that he could wait for you to come to him.
As the twilight begins to settle in, he notices bemusedly that you've fallen asleep sitting beside him. He can't help but marvel at you, a girl unafraid to sleep in the open valley, the same girl who ascended the dangerous mountain peak alone to find him — and succeeded.
Slowly, he stands and removes the shawl from his back, draping it across your shoulders before gently lifting you into his arms. You curl comfortably against his chest, cheek against his shoulder, and for a moment time seems to stand still as you take his breath away without even opening your eyes. You look so vulnerable, lightly clutching at the shawl in your sleep, and Younghyun feels (not for the first time) the sudden and overwhelming urge to protect you from any and all harm. It frightens him, almost, that he instinctively knows he would follow you to the ends of the earth, go any distance at all to ensure you never had to face any dangers or pains that you may have before he came into your life. It’s more than gratitude that keeps him close to you, when he could go anywhere in the world. It's the fledgling, stirring sensation in his chest when he looks your way that frightens and enthralls him that compels him to stay.
Younghyun takes a deep breath of the evening air, forcing himself back to his senses before he turns away from the horizon in the direction of home, holding you gingerly, preciously, as he goes.
A knock at the door interrupts the rhythmic grinding of herbs against stone, breaking you out of your almost meditative state. You glance out the window, seeing that the sun has not moved very high into the sky, and wonder who it could be so early. After all, your home is rather remote, so they must have set off while the sun was still lingering by the horizon. Before you can even set aside your work, Younghyun, who had once again been tending the fire (he does it often to keep Eunji from getting up and down so much — despite what she insists, you both hear the way her knees and back tend to crack at her slow movements), hurries to the door. Your hands remain still as you strain to listen to their conversation.
"Are the healers here?" You hear, faintly, and you gently set aside your task and go around the corner to stand behind Younghyun. Over his shoulder you can see a man with a slight hunch, looking winded and drawn. You can’t help the concern that squeezes your heart as you look at the worried lines of his face.
"Yes," you reply, stepping around so that he has a clearer view of you. "Would you like to come in? It’s quite cold outside." The man nods, releasing some of the tension from his shoulders as he bows his head. It only takes a brief look from you for Younghyun to agree and spring into action.
"Follow me," Younghyun says, "I’ll brew some tea." As he guides your new guest into the central room, you head into the back where Eunji is preparing medicinal sachets. You gently tap your knuckles along the doorframe, causing the old woman to look over her shoulder at you.
"A visitor?" she asks. You nod,
"Younghyun is making him tea. He seemed like he was in a rush to get here." Eunji hums in acknowledgement, and as she slowly begins to rise from her seat you take half a step towards her, arms outstretched — she dismisses your offer of help before it even passes your lips.
"I’m not some helpless old woman. Go see to our guest while I get my shawl." You can’t help but smile. You have no choice but to do what she says.
You find Younghyun and the man engaging in quiet conversation over cups of tea, and Younghyun hurries to pour a cup for you. No matter how often you told him not to, as he was technically a guest, he refused to allow you or Eunji to pour for yourselves, worried you might burn your hands somehow. You find it funny, and a bit endearing, considering the conditions he’s already seen you in — burnt fingertips are the least of your worries, most of the time.
"My mentor will be joining us soon," you say, taking your seat at the small table. The man’s worried expression gives way to a relieved smile, though you can still see the concern darkening his eyes.
"Thank you," he says. He opens his mouth to say something else, gaze directed at you, but is interrupted as Eunji enters the room. He stands, fully prepared to bow to him, and Eunji doesn’t hesitate to tell him to sit back down as she approaches the table. Despite being obviously surprised, he does as she says, and Younghyun pours the final cup of tea. Eunji takes a prolonged moment to sit whilst you and Younghyun watch on with thinly veiled concern, adjusting her shawl around her shoulders. Finally, she looks across the table at the weary man,
"You seem to have come a long way." The man once again seems taken aback by Eunji’s brusqueness, but nods.
"Yes. Many of the children in our village have fallen ill, and we are worried about leaving them untreated with the winter weather approaching…"
"It’s a perilous time," Eunji agrees, dipping her chin. "How far is your village?" His eyes brighten at Eunji’s question.
"Just over an hour’s walk, so long as the weather holds." Eunji glances over at you, and you nod resolutely. The man had arrived before the noon hour — plenty of time to visit the village, assess the situation, and return to prepare treatments. Of course, it might take until the next day to finish the medicines and bring them, but you can’t help that. A small smile curves along Eunji’s lips.
"These children will accompany you," she says, still smiling. You want to retort that you aren’t a child any longer, just as Eunji proclaims she isn’t an old woman, but hold your tongue. The man scrambles onto his knees, bowing deeply,
"Thank you, thank you!" You rise from your seat, Younghyun doing the same.
"Please, sit up!" you implore, cheeks burning. "It’s our job to help, there’s no need for this!" Younghyun places a hand on your shoulder, leaning around you to speak to the man himself,
"Finish your tea. We’ll prepare our things and leave once you're done." He lifts his head, eyes wide, and his gaze flicks back to the teacup on the table as though he had forgotten it.
"Ah, yes. Thank you." He returns to his seat, somewhat sheepish but clearly relieved, and you turn to Younghyun with a grateful smile. Such fervent displays of gratitude have always made you embarrassed, especially since your skills are still so lacking. Younghyun returns your smile with one of his own, gently squeezing your shoulder before dismissing himself to start packing. You cast one last glance at Eunji and the man, now conversing more casually, before going to get your own supplies. Uncertain of what exactly you’ll encounter, you pack the most common medicinal herbs — remedies for coughs and fevers, always necessary as the winter looms. Soon, the three of you have begun your trek across the valley and into the edges of the woods, walking carefully alongside a stream, conversation kept light and minimal.
You brace yourself as you near the village, hoping beyond hope that what ails the inhabitants will reveal itself to you. The thought of last winter tightens your throat, making it hard to breathe. Younghyun, noticing the change in your pace and pinched expression, reaches out to touch your arm. The warmth of his hand lifts the invisible weight off your chest.
"Are you alright?" he asks. You feel bad, for a moment, that you always seem to be making him worry. You offer him a reassuring smile.
"Yes," you reply. "Just... worried. I hope treating them will be straightforward." Younghyun’s lips press into a thin smile, almost like a grimace, no doubt thinking back to that cold, unforgiving mountain. Both of you try to shake the thoughts off as you press on.
As you pass the first traces of the village, you begin to feel a heaviness in the air. Even if the guide were to leave you, you would easily be able to find where they had gathered the sick — the energy is hard to ignore. It wafts towards and beckons you past curious and hopeful residents looking out into the street as you pass. Through a dark, gossamer veil of mist only your eyes can see, the building is revealed. As you near it you can hear coughs, but also a low buzzing hum, unnatural and uncomfortable.
You think back to your childhood, when you had asked your mother about that same sound when your older brother was sick, and she had only looked at you — confused, exasperated, concerned — and told you there was no such noise that she could hear. Eunji later told you that it was nature’s way of alerting you to imbalance when it couldn’t be readily seen. As you approach the building you pass off your pack to Younghyun, who remains just outside the entrance, watching you as you perform your preliminary analysis. Most of the patients are, as your guide had mentioned, children. Many of them are sleeping, huddled near one another for extra warmth, faces flushed with fever. You make your way to one corner of the room and kneel near a young teenager, half-awake, whose eyes flutter closed as your cold hand brushes their hair aside and makes contact with their forehead. You close your own eyes as well, willing the darkness behind your eyelids to reveal the answers.
Many times since you first discovered your ability, you had tried (in vain) to describe the way in which these answers were conveyed to you. Eunji, likewise, had difficulty. Something inside of you, something which resonated so deeply with the world around you, was simply able to identify the unnatural imbalance that was the illness and then lead you toward what was needed to restore the balance. It was a feeling more than a vision, though sometimes a faint image may come into your mind. One of the first things Eunji had ever taught you was to meditate and empty your mind as an invitation to the spirits that guided you to enter. Curious, you had asked if it was like possession, which Eunji had pondered before telling you that you were both right and wrong. As with most questions you had about your abilities, there were no straight or definitive answers, only a half-blind trust in the earth.
You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until it passes from your lips in a relieved sigh. Last winter is not repeating itself. You make your way to a few other patients throughout the room, verifying that the same illness reveals itself each time, and by the time you circle back around to the entryway you are able to smile genuinely at both Younghyun and the parents and guardians now gathered outside.
"It appears to be a widespread cold," you report. You beckon Younghyun over with your pack, and after rooting around you find what you’re looking for.
"Doraji?" someone nearby asks as you unwrap the bundle, and you nod.
"This is dried doraji, so you need to soak it in water. Just give them all a small piece. Tomorrow I’ll bring a stronger medicinal tea, but this should help to relieve the coughing for now. It’s bitter, so the children might only eat it cooked…" You find that you’re mostly speaking to yourself as people pass the small bundle of dried roots around, discussing who should be in charge of the process. Most of the villagers have encountered the bellflower before, but don’t have as many of its roots on hand as you and Eunji do, carefully cultivated and dried in batches. When you get home, you’ll have to check and see if there are any fresh roots left — the fall harvest isn’t so far behind you that it’s impossible.
As you make mental notes of what ingredients you’ll need to prepare for the tea, you methodically arrange everything back in your pack and affix it to your back once more. You and Younghyun bid the villagers goodbye, reiterating your instructions once more before heading towards home.
"Do we need to look for anything on our way?" Younghyun asks, and you take a moment to run through a mental inventory before you reply. You shake your head.
"Not unless you see late-season doraji blooming. We don’t need to go out of our way, we found plenty this fall."
"And prepared it," Younghyun replies, a slight grimace on his face. You can’t help but to laugh when you remember how much he struggled to peel the roots, and the envy with which he watched Eunji’s hands easily working away. Eventually, she had sent him to work on something else, leaving him sulky for most of the afternoon. Somehow, he was even handsome when he pouted.
"You’ve gotten better at drying ingredients," you tease, and although he grumbles in irritation the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrays him. You feel remarkably lighter the longer you and Younghyun walk together, playfully bantering about his (lacking) medicinal skills and wondering what meal Eunji will be preparing when you return. There’s a warmth in your heart you can only attribute to Younghyun being in your life, and although you’ve never said it aloud you hope he knows just how much he does for you just being by your side.
You rise purposefully alongside the sun, wasting no time in getting ready for your journey. While the trip to the village isn't long, the skies have looked troublesome since the evening before — the first storm of winter is approaching, and you can feel nature all around you settling in preparation. Normally, such reactions as these from the animals would keep you home, but you simply can't stay. Remembering the miserable faces of the sick you had visited with yesterday is enough to have you strapping your pack to your back with haste, moving for the door just as the sun has fully risen over the horizon.
"You're still going?" You whip around, startled. You hadn't realized anyone else was awake, let alone out in the main room. Younghyun meets your gaze, his expression marred with concern.
"Of course," you say resolutely. "I have to." Your response only makes his brow furrow more deeply.
"But the storm looks like it will start earlier than we thought…"
"I can't leave those people to suffer," you reply, voice more sharp than you had attended. Younghyun's winces, just slightly, and you avert your eyes in shame, softening your voice,
"I have to help them. I know that I can help them, so I have to go."
You hear Younghyun sigh, but he doesn't say anything. The creaking of the floor lets you know that he's retreated from the room, and your stomach twists at the thought of leaving him mad at you — but your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of him approaching you once more. Before you can say anything, your vision is obscured by a shawl that he drapes around your shoulders despite the pack on your back.
"At least bundle yourself up," he chides, his tone gentle. He carefully makes sure the shawl is wrapped securely around your shoulders, protecting your throat from the chill, and you can't help the laugh that escapes you.
"I'm already wearing fur-lined clothes," you chuckle. "Look!" You hold one wrist out and peel back the edge of your arm warmer to reveal the plush white fur beneath.
"Even the jeogori is lined," you add, patting the puffy sides of your skirt to prove that the fabric is puffy from the fur and not simply billowing around you. Younghyun's frown melts into a fond, if still concerned, smile at your antics. He reaches up and brushes a few strands of hair he had inadvertently pushed loose when draping the shawl over you back out of your face, the warmth of his hand lingering on your cheeks.
He takes a step back and looks over your outfit once more, as if to assure himself that you truly are dressed for the impending weather, and you once again hold back a laugh.
"You worry too much," you playfully scold, patting him on the shoulder. "The sooner I leave, the sooner I can come back. You'll take good care while I'm gone, right?" He presses his lips into a tight line, looking as though he wants to dissuade you from leaving — but his resigned sigh tells you he's realized those efforts will be futile.
"Of course," he says. "So hurry back." You pull your hand off of him and move to the door before he can change his mind.
"I will!" you chime, before stepping out into the morning chill.
Even as the breeze carries the scent of snow to you, the clouds hanging low and heavy, you push onward. It will be easy enough to distribute the medicine once you arrive, and so long as you’re home before nightfall everything should be fine. Nonetheless, your pace quickens without you even noticing, pulling your pack flat to your back.
The villagers greet you with nervous gratitude, all the adults looking considerably exhausted, and are quick to usher you into warm buildings when they notice your windswept cheeks. As some of them bustle around, preparing tea and refreshments for you despite your protests, others help you to unload your pack.
“This is the tea. I tried to make it less bitter, since most of the children are affected,” you explain, laying the sachets of medicine out on a table. You remove a wooden spoon, the bowl narrower but deeper than one used for dining. “Use this to measure the dose. One scoop will suffice for small children, but adults should use two.” The adults around you murmur, and one eventually speaks up.
“Would you mind helping us with the first dose, Y/N-nim?” The use of the honorific momentarily stuns you, but nobody else seems bothered. Despite your many years under Eunji’s tutelage, you still feel yourself far too much of a novice to be deserving of such respect — but to these people, who rely on you more as Eunji gets older, you imagine the lines are more blurred.
Younghyun’s warnings about the weather echo in your head, but you find yourself agreeing. How could you leave these people in their time of need? What if the children are stubborn and need more coaxing, some gentle pressure from the ‘all-knowing witch’?
Thankfully, most of the patients cooperate since their family matriarchs are present, though some are more stubborn. As the sun hangs in the afternoon sky you are ushered into someone’s residence for a light meal. Many of the village women gather around the room with you, taking a moment to relax after the prolonged brewing and portioning of medicinal tea. After eating a small portion, you pull out your extra herbs to measure more of the tea for the village, just in case. One of the women leans towards you as you do, a light smile playing at her lips.
"Y/N-nim, we’ve all been wondering — who is that man that came with you last time?" All eyes turn to you, the other conversations in the room halting. Their curiosity is far from unusual or unwarranted — every village Younghyun has accompanied you to has at least one person who raises the question, and plenty more who don’t ask but are clearly wondering too. After all, for so many years it's been only you and Eunji visiting these people unassisted. You barely glance up from your work at her question, a smile curving your lips.
"I found him injured on the mountain," you say. Everyone knows the one, and the story of your journey, at this point. "He's been staying with us while he recuperates. He can't remember where he came from, or how he got on the mountain."
"Ah," the woman hums. She goes back to her own business as you continue tending to yours, almost laughing at the well-rehearsed story. At least it isn’t a complete lie, you muse, just a half-truth.
But the longer you sit, continuing your work, the more you start to think. Younghyun was living with the two of you as a means of getting used to human life again — it was never intended to be a permanent situation. Neither you nor Eunji had any intention of keeping Younghyun in your little shack in the valley if it wasn't where he wanted to be. Your hands falter for a moment before resuming their task purely from muscle memory, your heart sinking. If Younghyun were to tell you he wanted to leave…
You shake your head slightly. If Younghyun wants to leave, you should let him. You would let him — though the very thought makes your throat feel tight. You repeat it to yourself, a reprimand for your foolishness and selfishness. Younghyun deserves to do whatever he wants, even if it means leaving you.
Eventually you decide you’ve made enough extra doses and should brew and distribute medicine to the remaining, most stubborn patients. Most of them are willful children who still have enough energy to argue despite their illness and were put off by the tea’s bitter smell, despite your best efforts to sweeten the mixture. Part of the reason for the afternoon break was so some of the village women could pull together something small and sweet for the children to eat after taking the medicine. With bits of dried fruit from various villagers’ homes now being presented alongside the tea, most of the children took the medicine (though still scrunching their noses at the bitterness) without much argument.
Some, however, required much more coaxing. In the end, it took you sitting amongst them and feeding into their misconception of you as a powerful, all-knowing witch alongside some bargaining with dried fruit to convince them. By the time you leave the village, you feel mentally exhausted and ready to collapse at home with Eunji and Younghyun. The clouds have sunk down over the mountaintops, heavy with snow — you smell the ice in the air and feel the stillness around you as all the other animals burrow away from the impending storm.
The snow begins to fall lightly, at first, but it sticks quickly to the frozen ground. You quicken your pace as the wind picks up. You know it’s no use; you can’t outrun the storm, so you’ll just have to push on. The tingling sensation in your hands, tucked deep into your fur-lined sleeves, warns you that conditions are going to get worse before they get better.
Damn, you think, pulling your outermost shawl up over your nose as the storm howls. You really should have left the village sooner, but the children were so stubborn about taking their first doses of medicine. Thinking about it, you know you couldn’t have left without having assured yourself that all of them had taken it. You’re thankful it wasn’t the same plague as last winter, when you ventured up the mountain and made a deal with Younghyun but still couldn’t save everyone. The familiar shroud of guilt threatens to encompass your heart, the bitter wind blowing hard. Shaking your head, you burrow your chin and cheeks down into the shawl, trying to hide from the cold. Wisps of hair are pulled from behind your ears into view by the violent winds, and you squint through the snowflakes that cling to your lashes to be sure you're headed in the right direction before casting your gaze downward once more. As you continue plodding on, the crunching of your footsteps scarcely audible above the wails of the windswept winter trees, a voice suddenly cuts through the storm,
"Y/N!"
You lift your head and, for a moment, the wind stills. The snow is still falling, but through it you can see him approaching, and a smile creeps across your face. Seeing him like this, surrounded by snowflakes, reminds you of last winter — the first time you met Younghyun, up on the lonely mountain. Even the concern written in the creases of his brow look the same as they did the night he chose to reveal his true nature to you, to save you from the deathly chill.
You lift your head and continue striding towards him with renewed vigor. The snow is just about at your ankles now, the frozen ground hard beneath your feet with each step.
"Y/N!" he cries once you come more clearly into his line of sight. He looks relieved for a moment before running towards you, "Are you crazy?!"
In a flurry he reaches out to pull your shawl further up your head, eyes flitting worriedly over your wind-whipped cheeks and frosty lashes.
"I shouldn't have let you go alone," he grumbles, pulling the pack from your shoulders and slinging it over one of his own before you can protest. You hurry to follow him back to the hut, walking in his larger footsteps.
"Then who would've helped Eunji prepare the house?" you ask, gently reminding him of your earlier conversation. You watch as his shoulders tense as though he's about to argue with you, but he lets out a sigh and ushers you into the house before him. Although you feel bad for worrying him, it does warm your heart to know that he stayed to help Eunji when you couldn't.
Eunji, however, seems about as pleased with you and your decision as Younghyun — maybe even less.
“That was foolish,” is all she says when you walk in the door. She barely casts a glance in your direction before turning back to the food still warm above the fire. You can tell she and Younghyun have already eaten just by the amount left, and the guilt resurges.
"Sorry, Eunji…" you mutter, lowering your head like a scolded child. She only takes your food off the fire for you to eat, before rising slowly to her feet and shuffling off into her room.
You eat accompanied only by the fire's crackle and glow, your own shadow cast long across the table from you as a stark reminder of your foolish decision.
For hours after dinner you lie awake, unable to sleep. You listen to the howling wind outside and occasionally rise to your feet, walking to the far end of the room to be sure you can feel the ondol beneath the floor still warming it sufficiently.
It's long into the night when you hear a faint melody, and you creep to your doorway to hear it better.
It isn't Eunji, nor is it a song you recognize, yet the words fall easily from Younghyun's lips in a hushed tone, accompanied by the gentle scrape of him stoking the small fire in the agungi. No wonder the ondol seemed warmer than usual, you think to yourself, slowly creeping towards the source of the song.
You watch from the shadowy corner as Younghyun tosses another piece of wood into the fire, dusting his hands off as he continues to sing. He glows golden in the firelight, and it's hard to believe that all traces of his former magic have left him — anyone seeing him would surely believe he had descended from the heavens that very day.
As you listen to his voice, you try desperately to think of what song he may be singing, but none come to mind. Although it somehow sounds familiar, you know you've never heard it before.
Eventually, Younghyun stops singing, letting out a soft sigh as he holds his hands out towards the fire. Quietly, you step forward, but the slight creak of a board beneath your feet makes him turn. He doesn't look particularly surprised to see you, merely turning back to the flames as you go to take a seat beside him.
"You have a wonderful voice," you say, finally. "What song was that?" He shakes his head.
"I don't know the name. It's something my mother used to sing." His throat seems tight as he speaks, his words clipped and his expression stony. You stare at the side of his face, but he doesn't budge. Your nervous fingers pick at a loose thread you find on your clothes, and your eyes follow the pattern of the woodgrain until the shadows swallow them up. With great effort, you summon up the courage to speak,
"I'm sorry for upsetting you today. I didn't mean to make you mad."
The smallness of your own voice makes you wince, and you're relieved that Younghyun doesn't look at you, as you couldn't possibly bring yourself to meet his eyes.
"I'm not angry at you," he sighs, leaning back on his palms. "You just… you do things for other people without thinking of the consequences for yourself. It's like you think that nobody cares what will happen to you."
You open your mouth to retort, but find no words to do so. After all, he isn't wrong — you've always thought of being a healer as your sole purpose in life. Regardless of how much you adored Eunji, you can still remember how it felt to be given away by your family, and how alien they seem to you at times. There's a part of you that's always believed you could never be part of a normal world, live a normal life, and as Younghyun's words sink in you realize that, maybe, you've been throwing yourself into being a selfless healer so wholeheartedly and recklessly to avoid the pain of facing what you perceive as a lonely future.
Aside from Eunji and your family, you wonder sometimes if anyone else has ever cared about you for any reason other than you being a healer. And to avoid the thought you simply propelled yourself full-force into your sworn duty. Like anyone else, you wanted to matter, and healing was the only way you knew how to.
Before you know it, your teardrops have begun to stain the floor by your knees. Younghyun notices and hurriedly pulls his sleeves down over his knuckles, gently pressing the backs of his fingers against your cheeks.
"Don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry," he pleads, and you shake your head.
"It isn't your fault," you reply, swallowing hard. "It's mine." Younghyun sighs, still gingerly drying your tear-stained cheeks. Even though you feel ashamed of your own childishness, you can’t bring yourself to stop him — or stop yourself from crying.
"You’re a good person," he intones, his voice as warm as the fire in the agungi, his eyes catching all the embers’ glow. "You care about other people, and there isn’t anything wrong with that. But you can’t help anyone if you don’t take care of yourself. You don’t ever make yourself a priority, even when you should, so of course Eunji and I worry about you. Especially when you do reckless things, like go out alone in a snowstorm…" The hint of a smile curls at one corner of his mouth, and you let out a short, wet laugh.
"Yeah," you sniff. "I deserve that." You leave your hands in Younghyun’s, watching as he gently runs his thumbs across the ridges of your knuckles. Somehow, he had managed to halt your tears without you even noticing, and though you still feel ashamed of having disappointed Eunji you feel more apologetic than anything else now.
"Does that mean you forgive me, then?" you ask, looking up to meet his gaze. Younghyun’s eyes hold all the golden light and warmth in the world as they meet yours, a full smile curving his lips now. He reaches out to brush loose strands from your braid behind your ear, a pleasant shudder running through you as his fingertips ghost along the shell of your ear.
"Yes," he says.
Then, unexpectedly, he gives the lobe of your ear a swift tug. You yelp and reach up to cover your ear, but it’s too late. Younghyun only continues to smile at you, though you can see the mischievous glint in his foxish eyes as you pout across from him.
"But only if you promise to be more careful from now on." You huff, but lower your hand from your ear and extend a pinky out to him.
"Okay, I promise."
Your lovely, wonderful Younghyun links his pinky with yours securely, lifting them up to press the back of your pinky to his lips. You’re grateful for the warmth and glow of the agungi, blaming the flush in your cheeks on it as the two of you unlink your pinkies and bid each other goodnight.
Eunji doesn’t stay mad at you for long, as is her way, but it probably helps that you try to actively stay in her good graces. The snow has finally stopped after falling for two nights, and Younghyun wasup since dawn clearing small paths around the hut for you and Eunji.
“Go get him,” Eunji says sharply. “He’s been out there too long. It’s too cold.” You can’t help but smile to yourself, setting aside your task as Eunji shuffles, muttering, to make tea for you all. Draping a shawl over your shoulders, you poke your head out the door. Your eyes find him immediately, the only figure amidst the snowdrifts and gray skies.
“Younghyun-ah,” you call, and he turns to face you. He raises a hand to wave, and you beckon him with your hand. “Eunji says it’s time to come in.” Without hesitation he starts walking towards you, the shovel he had been using resting on one shoulder. As he gets closer you see how red his nose and cheeks are and can’t help but pout; you take the shovel from him and push him into the hut, chiding him,
“Why didn’t you cover your face? Your nose must be frozen.” You shut the door behind you and immediately reach up to feel his nose and cheeks, cradling his face in your hands. He smiles at you, eyes sparkling, and you feel your face getting hot — you pinch his nose, hard, and before he can begin whining at you about it you take him by the shoulder and start pushing him towards the table where Eunji has set out the teacups. The old woman looks over her shoulder at the two of you, tutting when she sees Younghyun’s red face.
“You young people, you never take care of yourselves,” she scolds.
“That’s why we have you, Eunji!” you chirp, taking the shawl off your own shoulders to drape it over hers. She rolls her eyes at you but tugs the shawl a little tighter around her and can’t keep the smile off her face as she waves you off. Younghyun obediently takes a seat at the table, and you follow suit with Eunji right behind you. It had taken you a considerable amount of time as a child to get used to Eunji’s lack of adherence to tradition. She didn’t care who served who, or the order in which things were done — she had lived alone and away from society for so long that she simply did what was most efficient. As Eunji got older, she let you do more for her, but never everything. She let Younghyun do more, and though you know she’ll never admit it, it was clearly her attempt to make him feel more comfortable.
Sitting around the table, you can’t help but bask in the warmth of your home. You have never felt so happy, you think, as you do with these two people, whom you love most in the world.
With the snow still thick on the ground, there’s little to do other than stay inside and prepare ingredients for the impending ailments the season brings. Neither you nor Eunji have been summoned, and until more of the snow melts you can’t venture very far from your hut.
Most of the day has passed with all of you inside, working away at various chores and tasks. You’ve turned to mending clothing, having finished grinding herbs, and after hours hunched over by the table you set aside your task and stand, needing to stretch. It’s sometime in the afternoon,
“Y/N-ah,” Eunji says, beckoning you into her room. You make your way over, curious as to why she’s calling you into her bedroom instead of coming to the central room to speak to you.
“Yes, Eunji?” She tugs at your sleeve, then pushes your shoulder down so your ear is level with her mouth,
“I’m going to make Younghyun a treat since he’s been here a whole year. Take him outside and stay out until our evening meal.” You barely hear her request, stuck on the fact that Younghyun has been here, with you, off the mountain for a year. Does that mean he’s adjusted enough to human life? Is he going to want to leave soon? Eunji releases your shoulder, and you bring yourself back to reality.
“I can do that,” you say, though your head is still spinning slightly. Eunji smiles at you and pats your shoulder.
“I knew I could count on you.” Her statement lightens your heart just slightly, enough for you to make your way into the common room and tap Younghyun’s shoulder. He lifts his gaze from his work, a slow attempt to perfectly peel some roots, and you smile,
“Eunji wants us to get out of the house so she can clean.”
“Shouldn’t we help?” he asks, but he’s already setting aside his work and standing up. You shake your head.
“She’s very particular sometimes, you know that. She said we’d only get in her way.” Younghyun thankfully accepts your excuse and pulls on his extra winter layers alongside you as Eunji makes her way into the common room to shoo you both out.
It’s cold outside, but not unpleasant. The sun reflects almost blindingly off the snow in the valley, so you and Younghyun both begin walking towards the woods in search of some shade.
“It snowed so much this year,” you remark.
“It’s still nothing like last year,” he replies, and when you turn to look at him you find his gaze on the familiar mountain peak in the distance. One whole year…
“You’re right,” you say. “That storm was particularly bad. The beginning of that winter… before you, it was awful. Everything felt so hopeless.” Younghyun laughs softly,
“That’s how every winter felt,” he says, “until you.”
You don’t know what to say, a lump forming in your throat as thoughts continue to swirl in your mind about Younghyun leaving. It’s foolish, you think (you know) to be so concerned with something that may not even come to pass, or not soon at least, but you can’t help it. After only a year Younghyun has become such an integral part of your life that you can’t imagine not seeing him every day.
But it’s his choice, you remind yourself. Just like you had never wanted anyone to stand in the way of your decisions, you knew you could never stand in the way of his.
The two of you walk in comfortable silence through the woods. Despite the snow, you both know your way through the trees almost by instinct, having walked all these paths through the other three seasons. The trees become sparser as you near the river that lies in the bowl of the valley. Once again you’ve found yourselves at the hilltop where you have the best view of the sunset, the late afternoon sun casting long stripes of shadow and golden light across the ground. The river runs shimmering down in the valley, thawed from the day’s sunshine. You stand beside Younghyun in your usual spot, the warmth of his body radiating onto you, and the lump forms in your throat again. Enough, you think, biting the inside of your cheek. I should just get it over with.
“Younghyun-ah, have you ever…” you press your lips together, taking a deep breath before trying again. “Is there somewhere you want to go, Younghyun-ah? You know Eunji and I — we would help you do anything. You’ve adjusted well to life off the mountain, so…” Again, you can’t seem to finish, and so you simply let the statement hang in the air, hoping that he’s able to understand your babbling. You can feel his gaze on you, but can’t bring yourself to lift your face. If you look at him, you might just lose your resolve and end up taking it all back, begging him not to go. You can see when he turns to you completely, his feet pointing towards yours and not the setting sun.
“Do you remember,” he starts, taking your hands in both of his. He runs his thumbs across your knuckles gently, sending shivers down your spine. “How you said you saw me grow old in your vision?” The statement catches you off guard enough that you look up, but he’s smiling down at your hands in his, his expression soft.
“Yes,” you reply, voice barely a breath, but you know he hears you. He lifts his face, resolve painted into his sharp features, and you gaze into his eyes, dark as the new moon sky.
“I want to see you grow old too, Y/N-ah.”
The tenderness in his voice renders you speechless, and though you know your feet are on the ground you feel as though your body has risen into the clouds, face warming as his stare continues to pierce you.
“What…?” What does that mean? What do you mean by that?
“I'm asking you to let me stay by your side,” he explains, squeezing your fingers gently. “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I don't mind — I just ask that it isn't without me.”
You could swear your heart stops beating, that the world altogether stops for a moment. Younghyun’s eyes never waver, earnest and sure, and the longer you hold his gaze the further you feel yourself falling into the depths of your devotion to him. As you hurtle towards the conclusion you had been fearful to voice for so long, you remind yourself to breathe, the air trembling in and out of your lungs.
“Why?” Is all you manage to ask, your heart aching, pounding desperately in anticipation of whatever confession awaits you.
Younghyun chuckles kindly, and the sight of his smile causes your own lips to curl, a salve to your anxiety. He runs his thumbs soothingly along the ridges of your knuckles.
“Because,” he says, then lifts your hands to his mouth. He presses a soft kiss on each of them, sending butterflies soaring in your stomach, and looks up at you through his lashes with that smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re my destiny. I’ll do anything to stay by your side until the end.”
How could you ever say no to him? All you can manage is to nod, tears stinging your eyes, and Younghyun reaches up to wipe them away — just like before. His hands gently cup your cheeks, and you look into his eyes, the eyes that you love more than any others.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks. You laugh, placing your hands on his shoulders,
“I thought you’d never ask.”
When the two of you return to the hut hand in hand, Eunji simply raises her eyebrows.
“Finally,” she says, before ushering you both inside from the cold evening air. “It only took a year. Congratulations, Younghyun.” She reaches up to ruffle his hair, and he bends down just slightly to oblige her, laughing all the while.
As you all sit around the table filled with Eunji’s treats for Younghyun, you wonder what the future holds. Whatever comes, you think, you’re ready and willing to face it — with determination, and love, and magic — with Younghyun.
a/n: another dialogue prompt i did a little while back. one of my bigger projects is almost finished and ready for posting. thank you everyone for your continued support and patience~ mwah~!
You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping backward with the force of your reaction. Seokmin remains seated, unperturbed by your intensity. His relaxed posture is far different from yours, with your hands balled into trembling fists at your sides and muscles tensed in preparation for a thus undetermined fight or flight. He looks down his sharp nose at you, brows raised just slightly and lips pressed into a thin, flat line. It's as you're staring him down, his aloof expression fueling the fire of rage in your stomach, that you finally find your voice, fight overtaking flight.
"I will find out who killed my husband, with or without your help," you say, each word leaving your mouth sharply and determinedly, in a way that you hope is forceful enough to get a reaction out of him.
So you stare Seokmin down, keeping your expression steely as he meets your gaze. Finally, he narrows his eyes, leaning back in his chair with an indiscernible expression that makes your heart skip a nervous beat. You maintain your cold, tough veneer as best you can, jaw clenched so tightly shut that it's beginning to hurt.
However, as the silence continues to hang in the air, you find your resolve faltering, brows slowly drawing closer together in response to his silence. A muscle in your jaw ticks, and you immediately break character. Your shoulders slump from the tension, and you lean your head back to stretch your stiff neck with a sigh.
"Seokmin," you whine, glancing down at your script, "pausing for dramatic effect is nice and all, but did you really have to wait that long?" You skim over the text again, reassuring yourself that you did indeed say the correct line. Your co-star doesn't reply immediately, once again, and you look up with the full intention of scolding him — only to find him gazing at you already, cheeks and ears tinged a pleasant pink.
"Seokmin?" you ask, and he shakes his head, eyes darting away from you. Nervously, he clears his throat, eyes still cast to the side, and you find yourself even more perplexed than before.
"You feeling okay?" you ask, setting down the script and reaching a hand out to feel his forehead. He flinches at the sudden contact but then goes completely still as you try to gauge his temperature.
"Sorry," he blurts, lightly grabbing your hand as you begin to pull it away.
"What's wrong? Did you forget your line?" you ask, gently rubbing circles on the back of his hand with your thumb. Seokmin looks down at your joined hands and purses his lips nervously,
"Not exactly…" His reticence and reluctance to look you in the eyes leave you both confused and a bit irritated at his antics now, especially since this scene had been going so well this read-through. It had taken you so long to figure out just how to deliver this scene properly, only for Seokmin to freeze up on you during your best run yet.
You heave a sigh, ready to tell him it's time to call it a day, but he tightens his grasp on your hand ever so slightly, as though sensing your intentions.
"It's just… I'm embarrassed to admit it."
"Admit what?" Seokmin's shyness suddenly makes you anxious — what could possibly have made him so silent? After taking a moment to compose himself, he finally lifts his chin and meets your gaze, still looking rather sheepish.
"You, um — you know how sometimes people say someone is hot when they're angry?" he asks, voice small. You nod, and Seokmin glances away again before continuing.
"Yeah, you're— I—"
"Seokmin," you interrupt, reaching out with your free hand to card your fingers through his hair, giggling under your breath as you watch him struggle to find the words. "Are you trying to say I'm hot when I'm acting angry?"
"You just looked so pretty I got distracted!" he whines, finally breaking out of whatever anxious funk he'd been in, now grasping your hand in both of his. "I couldn't remember my lines, but I didn't want to make you feel awkward." His exaggerated pout immediately has you laughing at his cuteness, and you sit down on the arm of the chair he's in and shake your head fondly.
"Ah, and everyone was saying you're the professional," you tease, and he whines again.
"Hey, I'm good at my job! It isn't my fault you're so pretty," he retorts, though his voice trails off at the end, seemingly because he notices the sudden lack of space between the two of you.
"Well, how do we work past this in time for filming, then?" you ask, and at that Seokmin smiles blindingly.
"I have a few ideas," he says, eyes sparkling, and although you find yourself taken aback at his sudden boldness, you soon regain your composure enough to respond in kind. You lean in even closer, breath mingling as you reply,
dialogue prompts: “have you come to laugh at me?” / “today isn’t your day, is it?”
wc: 2.5k
a/n: hello!!! it’s been a while, huh? i’m still working on those bigger projects (like vampire!bambam and vampire!ian), but here’s a little writing exercise i did recently. i don’t have nearly enough woozi content out here, right? thank you all for being patient with me and supporting the blog, love you all, uwu
The forecast did not call for rain, you think, grimacing. You know it didn’t because you had checked over and over again before getting dressed this morning, but here you were, walking through the icy cold, pelting rain, without anything more than your usual lightweight jacket.
You’re shivering by the time you finally make it back into your apartment, having tracked water into the elevator and down the hall. Your hair is dripping wet, and you trudge to the bathroom, barely peeling your soaked jacket off before you hear your door buzzer going off. Taking a glance in your bathroom mirror at your miserable appearance, you frown and snatch a towel before heading to the door, wrapping it around your shoulders as though that’s going to help.
It may be a bad idea, given your current state, but you open the door without looking to find none other than Lee Jihoon, your neighbor-turned-best-friend of the past year, standing at an awkward diagonal from your door to avoid the puddles you’d left while unlocking your apartment. You huff and pull the towel tighter around you.
“Have you come to laugh at me?” you grumble, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s no doubt in your mind that Jihoon had heard you coming home, considering he lives right next door, and that he might just be here to say ‘I told you so’ after you had ignored his nagging about keeping an umbrella on you. You still stand by your statement that always carrying an umbrella is impractical and annoying, but you have to concede that he has a point. Not that you want to.
“No,” he replies, looking you up and down. “But I might now that I’m here. Why didn’t you stop and buy an umbrella?” As he speaks, you step aside to let him in, wondering how long it will take until you regret that decision.
“I have one, so it seemed like a waste of money,” you reply, keeping your voice low as though Jihoon won’t be able to hear you. He lets out a sigh and gives you a witheringly ‘disappointed but not surprised’ look that rivals your mother’s in how badly it makes you want to melt into the floor.
“Have you eaten? Go shower and I’ll make you something,” he says, not even waiting for your reply. You had not, in fact, eaten anything since breakfast that morning — when you had noticed the rainclouds, you’d chosen to skip lunch in hopes that leaving a little early would let you avoid the storm. Ha.
Jihoon pushes you towards your bathroom, and you pout exaggeratedly at him before the door closes, trying to look extra pitiful.
“Thanks, Jihoonie,” you simper, and he cringes.
“Shower,” is all he says before he shuts the door in your face. You can’t help but laugh.
Your shower may as well be a miracle, with how rejuvenated you feel afterward. You carefully lift your soaked clothing and the towel you had set them on into your arms, now wrapped in your comfy, fluffy robe, and carry them out to the dryer. After stopping in your room to apply lotions and serums to your skin and throw pajamas on under your robe, you make your way into the kitchen to see what Jihoon is making. Still slowly towel-drying your hair, you pause in the entryway of your kitchen, observing Jihoon.
It would be a lie to say you weren’t attracted to your neighbor, despite his bouts of grumpiness, so you take the rare moment to admire his figure before he notices. His workout regimen must be working, you think, biting the inside of your cheek. His waist is enviously tiny now, in contrast with his broadening shoulders, and you struggle to tamp down the urge to wrap your arms around that waist as he stands in front of your stove. It’s all cloyingly sweet and domestic, and you let yourself imagine that he feels the same way you do, just for a moment, savoring the fantasy.
“What's for dinner?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder at you. You slip around him to your fridge and pull out a can of Coke Zero for him, filling a glass with water for yourself as you watch him out of the corner of your eye.
“You'd better not be putting ice in that,” he nags, without even looking. You frown and close your freezer.
“How'd you know,” you whine, though it isn't much of a question. You and Jihoon practically lived together during quarantine, only socializing with each other, so he knows all your habits — and is exactly the type to tell you not to drink an iced drink when you just came in soaked from the rain. He doesn't even respond to that, skipping over it completely.
“Anyways, I used the leftovers I found in your fridge for bibimbap. It’s almost ready; go sit down.” You watch as he cracks two eggs into your pan to poach them, glad for your tiny apartment’s relatively open floor plan. Jihoon used to gripe about you using your coffee table in the living room as a dinner table, but gave up after realizing you weren't going to buy a new table any time soon. Instead of sitting, like he asked, you start moving everything off of said table to make room for the food and drinks.
True to his word, just as you're finishing, Jihoon walks out with a bowl in each hand. He's barely at the bowls down before he's frowning at you again.
“Yah,” he gripes, dropping down onto your couch. “You just came in from the rain, and you’re leaving your hair wet again? Seriously. Come here.” You acquiesce, sitting beside him on the couch but with your back to him, handing him the towel you'd been using. You’ll never admit that you had hoped he would do this, though you never imagined he actually would. How totally unfair, you think, pouting, melting into his warm touch as he gently dries your hair. How could you ever resist falling for him, when he’s like this? The universe had truly set you up to be at the butt end of a cruel joke.
But you’ll laugh along, if it’s for him. For your Jihoon, whom nobody but you knows is yours. Maybe he's oblivious, or maybe he's ignoring it on purpose, the (sometimes hungry, always fond) way you look at him, your little flirtations, the devotion you can't hold back. Maybe he knows and chooses not to know. You don't know which would hurt most, so you shove the thoughts aside when they arise, contenting yourself with the closeness he allows already.
If Jihoon minds that you're leaning into him just a bit more, like a cat asking for more pets, he doesn't say anything about it. He merely continues to carefully dry your hair, his touch light, as though he's afraid he'll hurt you. Frankly, you wouldn't mind even if he did.
You don't know how long it's been that you've been sitting, eyes closed, turning blissfully to putty in Jihoon’s hands. From an outside perspective, the level of whipped you are for him is pathetic — but you don't feel like chastising yourself over it right now. You can't understand anyone not being whipped for your brilliant, talented, often cat-like neighbor – your Jihoon.
“There,” he says, resting the towel around your shoulders atop your robe. “Eat before it gets cold.”
“Thanks, Jihoonie,” you croon again, wrapping your arms around his bicep and leaning into him, pressing the top of your head into the junction between his neck and shoulder. He shivers from the cold of your still-damp hair, shrugging you off half-heartedly.
“You always take such good care of me.” Your overly cutesy voice and act helps you mask the truth behind your words, because as much as you would like to scream from the rooftops that Lee Jihoon is your ideal man and should be everyone else's, too, you're too terrified of losing him to make the first move. So all your flirtations occur behind the thinly veiled excuse of ‘play,’ never crossing the invisible line you'd drawn yourself.
Jihoon chuckles, shaking his head. You finally lift your head from his shoulder, letting your hands linger just a moment longer than they should on his bicep.
“Someone has to,” he teases, and you pout while he ignores you in favor of eating his dinner. Overeager, and a bit flustered by your own actions, you move to scarf down some yourself—
And immediately burn your tongue, becoming an irritated mess in seconds. Jihoon tries his best not to laugh as you guzzle down water.
“You should've let me have ice,” you whine.
“That wouldn't have prevented anything,” he says. You frown because you know he's right, but you don't like admitting that to him, even though his smug grin is unfairly attractive. Your heart can only take so much at a time.
You're glaring down at your food, as if it's the vegetables’s fault you forgot to slow down and blow on it first, when Jihoon’s hand suddenly rests gently between your shoulder blades. He rubs small circles there with the palm of his hand, the warmth radiating through your chest.
“Today isn't your day, is it?” he asks, teasingly but not unkindly. His gaze is gentle when you turn your face to look at him.
“No,” you sigh, letting out a defeated laugh. “I guess it isn't.”
“I'm sorry.” It's such a genuine apology, despite there being no reason for him to be sorry, that you do truly feel better hearing it. You smile.
“It's okay,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. You close your eyes, content once again, warm and fluttery in the way only Jihoon can make you. “You make all my days better. It's not so bad.”
All is quiet and warm and pleasant. You think you could fall into a perfect sleep right then, into a dream where this moment never ends, but then Jihoon quietly pipes up,
“Me too.” You blink your eyes open, wondering if you had just hallucinated.
“What?” you ask. You sit up. Jihoon’s gaze is fixed on your table, ears the faintest bit pink — you feel your own face warming up because of it.
“Me too,” he repeats, more loudly. He turns to look at you and notice his cheeks are pink, too. “You make my days better too.”
“Jihoon…” Your heart is beating so loudly you can’t think of anything else to say but his name, your entire focus on him, everything behind the two of you a mere blur. Neither of you speak for what feels like too long, and maybe you don't need to, but it somehow feels like it's now or never as your heart is racing and racing and racing,
“I like you.” You want the floor to swallow you up, you want to disappear, because you're scared and it's all happening so fast all of a sudden. Jihoon’s eyes widen and his face flares redder and he stiffens, for a moment that feels like eternity but also a blink and then he's reaching for you very slowly. His hand gently brushes some of your hair behind your ear, feather light and spine-tingling as his fingertips brush against the shell of your ear, and you hold your breath. His hand comes to rest along your jaw, fingers at the nape of your neck, and he stares so intently into your eyes that you think he can see right past them into your thoughts.
“Can I kiss you?” His voice is a little rough. Your chest is about to explode, and it's a wonder you can speak at all, though your reply is barely more than a sigh,
“Yes, please.”
You taste the spices on his lips, and his gentle kiss burns hotter than the dinner he'd cooked for you, and you're certain that this moment and whatever comes after will scar you forever, no matter how many years pass and skin supposedly replaces itself – you think you will always feel the searing, sweet crush of his lips against yours, and the white-hot trace of his tongue as he parts your lips. He tastes like bibimbap and Coke Zero, sweet and savory, and he feels like home as you wrap your arms around his neck and lean into him, his body heat melting and molding you against him. You want to devour him, you think, eat him whole.
You sigh when he chooses to part from you, hands still lingering on each other. His lips are bitten red, his face flushed. You reach a hand up to smooth out the disheveled hair — hair you had disheveled, you think, with almost devilish glee — and somehow gather up the courage to speak.
“So, what now?” you ask. You hope he doesn't notice the trembling in your voice as you meet his eyes with faux confidence. Jihoon smiles.
“Can we call this a date?”
You're stunned. All you do is blink at him a few times trying to confirm this is real.
“You want this to be our first date?” you ask, incredulous and more than anything else embarrassed because of all the ways you could have imagined having a first date with Jihoon, him seeing you soaked as a drowned rat from the rain was absolutely not on the list. Jihoon, likely seeing the way you're getting more flustered by the minute, only laughs and gently pinches your cheek, snapping you out of your spiral.
“Cute,” he says. You drop your face into your hands and lean your head against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you like it's the most natural thing in the world. His laugh reverberates from his chest and into you.
“Unfair,” you whine. “You are so unfair, Lee Jihoon, seriously.”
“Then I'll make it up to you,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice. “However long it takes.” You slowly lift your head, and he readjusts, still keeping you in his arms. You rest your hands against his shoulders, and, too nervous to look at him directly, look up at him through your lashes.
“What if I say it'll take forever?”
Jihoon replies without missing a beat, still smiling,
“Then forever it is.”
“I'll hold you to that,” you threaten, tightening your grip on his shoulders. He pulls you closer,
“I'm a man of my word.”
He kisses you again, or maybe you kiss him — does it matter? Your mind is spinning but in his arms you feel more grounded than ever before, like all is right in the world. You never want it to end.
“This can be our first date if you'll be my boyfriend,” you negotiate, later, eating your (now very cooled) dinner with Jihoon’s arm looped around your shoulders.
“Deal,” he replies, using his other hand to push some of your wayward hair out of your face once again. Your heart wants to burst—
“I'm gonna remind you to take an umbrella on every anniversary.”
“Jihoon!”
But just like the rain, your anger at him quickly evaporates under the warmth of his kiss, and you think maybe you were both wrong before – no day has ever been so much yours as this, and nobody more yours than Jihoon.
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a/n: bigger projects are in the pipeline, but my friend sent me a dialogue prompt list and i think this turned out cute. also in korea it’s already jun day!
There are a few things you’ve come to understand about Wen Junhui over the years. First and foremost, that behind his calm facade with strangers lies an exuberant and excitable inner child whose wonder has yet to ebb away; and second, that the better you get to know him, the more energetic he becomes. It isn’t to say the two of you can’t be comfortable and still in one another’s presences like other couples — just that Jun doesn’t feel comfortable being silly in front of strangers, and so you see that side of him more often than not.
It can be a lot, sometimes, for a somewhat grumpy introvert such as yourself. But he wouldn’t be your Junhui without all his goofy antics.
For the first few days of his two-week post-schedule quarantine, he slept almost nonstop. On the bed, on the couch, on the extra chair in your home office when he came to whine about you not being available to cuddle him – he took numerous naps and slept soundly through the night. However, on the fourth day, a Saturday, he rises unexpectedly early. And he rises hyper.
“Y/N,” he whispers, poking your cheek. You feign sleep in an effort to actually make it a reality, but your boyfriend is relentless. “Y/N. I’m bored, wake up.” In response, you scrunch your nose and drag the blankets up over your eyes. He whines your name once more, louder, before flopping his body down onto yours. All your breath leaves your body in an audible oof, and Jun’s childish tactic finally succeeds. You wriggle your arms out from under him and begin trying to lift him.
“Okay. Off. Heavy,” you grumble with your eyes still closed.
“Are you awake now?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows and inspecting your face. You crack your eyes open enough to glare at him, huffing.
“Yes. Now get off.”
Satisfied, Jun breaks into a wide smile and presses a quick kiss to your forehead before acquiescing, taking the blankets with him. You dig the heels of your palms into your tired eyes and sit up. Jun wastes no time, busying himself with worsening your bedhead and giggling at your expense as you tiredly grumble and try to swat his hands away, to no avail. He’s much too agile on mornings like this, and you’re much too tired to really try to stop him. Eventually, you drag yourself out of bed to the bathroom and emerge to find Jun waiting for you on the bed still, doing something on his phone.
“Alright, I’m up,” you say, stretching your back. “Now what?”
“I ordered us breakfast,” he replies, proudly turning his phone screen towards you. True to his word, the delivery app on his phone shows an order in progress from your favorite cafe. The thought of not having to cook or brew your own coffee is enough to bring a smile to your face.
“Thanks, baobei.” Jun flashes a playful grin at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. He taps a finger against his cheek and leans closer to you. Admittedly, you find it endearing, but you hide that behind a sigh as you lean over the side of the bed to give him the kiss he wants as a reward. His ego is big enough without you always telling him outright how cute he is — especially because he already knows that you adore him, considering what you let him get away with. Jun beams proudly, having gotten you to bend to his (adorable) will once more, and you can’t help but smile yourself.
“So, you woke me up early to order breakfast?” you ask, raising one eyebrow. Jun pouts.
“No, I woke you up early because I missed you.” You laugh,
“We slept in the same bed last night, Jun.”
“That doesn’t count,” he counters.
“Then what does count?”
You regret asking the moment you see the expression on Jun’s face, but it’s already too late—
“This,” he shouts, launching forward and pulling you back onto the bed before you can react. You let out an embarrassing sound, something like a squeak, which you can barely recover from before Jun is taking advantage of your position to engage in a tickle fight. It’s more one-sided than an actual fight, since Jun has the high ground and the element of surprise and all you can do is squirm and try to fend him off, none of which helps at all. Eventually, he relents, leaving both of you breathless. You pull yourself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard and purposefully ignoring your clingy boyfriend as he follows you.
“So cute,” he simpers, and you fix him with a half-hearted glare that doesn’t faze him at all. Instead he only laughs and flops down with his head in your lap, staring up at you. He reaches up to brush some of your hair out of your face fondly, looking unusually angelic as he does so. Your traitorous heart skips a beat.
“You love me, don't you?” Jun asks, feigning innocence while unable to keep the playful smile off his face. You hold your stony expression as long as you can in the face of his sparkling gaze before relenting with a sigh, gently carding your fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes in contentment, leaning into your touch like a pleased cat, and you let out a short laugh.
“Too much to function,” you finally reply, ruffling his hair a little more roughly. Jun, your lovely, lovely Jun, laughs and turns onto his side, his nose bumping against your abdomen, one arm reaching around your waist to keep you close.
“Me too,” he murmurs, finally. “I’m so happy I can barely think.”
“Oh, that’s why you’ve got all these hare-brained schemes?” you tease, and he hums.
“Yup, all your fault.” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see, and resume playing with his hair.
“I guess I should take responsibility, then.”
“You should,” he agrees, turning his head just enough that he can meet your eyes comfortably. His beaming grin belies the seriousness of his words, “Forever.”
“Okay,” you say, smiling softly. “Forever.”
And although you can’t stay in that comfortable, warm position forever, you do remain there until your breakfast delivery arrives, when you waddle towards the door with Jun clinging to your waist from behind all the way.
a/n: based on a random prompt generator with the following prompts: magical realism; struggling musician; popcorn; mc loved by everyone; "it's your fault." also i know this is a very small offering considering how long i’ve been gone but rest assured i have a lot of stories in the works!!!
"Goodnight, Y/N! See you tomorrow!"
"Goodnight! You guys be safe, okay?" you holler back, waving the last of the smiling regulars out from your place behind the bar. Younghyun, who had been smiling pleasantly at all of them and keeping up with their tipsy chatter for hours after playing his session, finally releases the tension in his shoulders and leans his back against the bar. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back in clear exhaustion. You glance at him, the hazy late night lights framing his sharp profile in an ethereal glow, his pale hair disheveled and haloed in faded gold. Even though his facial expression is somewhat tortured, brows furrowed and lips downturned, you can't help but find him beautiful.
Eventually, you turn away from him to begin your nightly duties. Although spells and enchantments for objects exist that could cleanse the place in minutes, your magic skills are still too fledgling to confidently — or reasonably — pull them off. You settle for enchanting a mop in the corner to begin moving slowly across the floor, and levitating glasses as they're polished by an enchanted rag to check for their cleanliness.
Younghyun eventually begins to munch on the remnants of a snack mix you had made for him for after his gig, picking out the popcorn pieces one by one and tossing them into his mouth. He doesn't say a word, the only sounds in the bar his crunching, the swishing sound of the mop on the floor, and the occasional squeak of the rag against glass.
After a few moments, however, a heavy sigh sounds from your right, and you can't hold back the smile that teases at the corner of your lips. You shake your head, but don't take your eyes off the glass and rag levitating before you, focusing on making sure it's spotless before replacing it.
"It's your fault, you know." You hear the slight creak of the barstool as your lone companion shifts his weight to look at you instead of the empty tables.
"What do you mean?" His tone is accusatory, but you lift your gaze calmly to meet his. You shrug lightly as you levitate another glass.
"You only ever perform here. It's no wonder you're struggling to advance your musical career when you limit yourself like this."
"Hey—" he starts, but you lift a hand to stop him before he can begin his lecture. You set the glass and rag aside so you can focus solely on him, leaning against the bar and bringing your face closer to his. Younghyun freezes at your movements, but you pay it no mind.
"Look, you know I love this place. I've poured my heart and soul into it. I love my customers, too, but this crowd isn't going to help you get a shot at the big time — and you know it too, whether you want to admit it or not." When you're sure he's sufficiently absorbed your words, you turn back to your polishing spell.
"I don't know why you're not looking for other gigs, but you should."
"Well, it's—" Younghyun cuts himself off abruptly, and you turn your attention back to him in confusion.
"It's what?" He shakes his head, and you roll your eyes, disabling your polishing spell once again.
"Kang Younghyun," you say sternly, and he looks up at you in embarrassment. You plant your hands on your hips and straighten yourself into an assertive stance. After holding your gaze for a moment, he lets out another sigh in defeat and casts his eyes downward.
"I'm not performing here to try and get famous," he says, finally. Your brows furrow and your posture deflates slightly.
"But that's—"
"I know," he interjects, raking his hands through his hair. "I know, I told you that was my dream when I asked to perform here, but... I don't know, it's embarrassing. I don't really care if I get famous right now, I just found myself wanting to be around you constantly..."
You stare blankly at the slouched form of your bar's main performer for the last year and try to decipher his words. The Younghyun who came to you for an opportunity was passionate, burning brightly with his desire for a chance at stardom, and before you even realized it his conviction had dimmed.
Or, no, you think as his eyes dart towards yours and catch. It hadn't dimmed, but been redirected. Regardless, you had been blinded to the changes within him.
"Younghyun... I'm sorry..." He looks up, and it seems both of you are startled to find that you're teary-eyed. As you hurriedly swipe at your eyes, Younghyun shoots out of his seat, the stool scraping across the floor in his hurry. He reaches for your face, cradling your cheeks in his palms and hurriedly trying to wipe your sudden tears.
"No, no, I'm sorry. Please don't cry, just forget I said anything—"
"I can't believe I didn't notice," you manage to say between hiccups and gasps for air. "All this time— I'm the worst!" Younghyun's movements falter slightly, and he tilts your face up so your eyes meet.
"Wait, you don't— why are you crying, actually?"
"Because!" you wail. "You've had these feelings and I— I didn't even notice! That's so unfair for you!" Through your blurred vision you can't make out Younghyun's expression, just the slight trembling of his hands where they press against your cheeks. After a moment of floundering for words, he finally opens his mouth again,
"So... are you not rejecting me, then?"
His words stun you out of your sobbing, leaving you hiccuping as the tears subside. You gaze at him, blinking in bewilderment as you try to process his question. Younghyun's gaze holds yours, his eyes shaking with uncertainty as he waits for your reply.
"Rejecting you?" you parrot. "Younghyun, why would I reject you?"
"I mean— well, I—"
"Younghyun," you interrupt as his face begins to flush. You reach up and place one of your hands over his, smiling gently.
"We've both been oblivious, I guess," you laugh. "I wouldn't ever reject you. I just didn't want to hold you back when you had such big dreams." His expression visibly softens, and he lets out a sigh of relief, lightly running his thumbs across your cheeks.
"That's a relief," he breathes.
"So, what now?" you ask, a bit startled by your own courage so soon after your sobbing session. Younghyun can't help but smile at your question,
"Well, honestly, I'd really like to kiss you." Your nervous yet playful smile mirrors his own as you lift your arms and loop them loosely around his neck.
"Now that you mention it..."
Just as the two of you begin to close the distance, Younghyun suddenly lets out a surprised shriek, startling you both. You both direct your gazes to the mop as it suddenly clatters to the floor at Younghyun's feet.
"Oh my god," he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. "It was the mop." You glance down at his shoes and can't help but laugh when you find them to be wet. He glares playfully at you, almost pouting, and so you lean across the bar and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
"Since you kicked the mop, why don't you finish cleaning the floors, hm?"
"On one condition," he says, turning his face so his nose brushes yours, pout long gone. "I get to take you on a date when we're done cleaning." You can't stop the smile that breaks across your face as your lips finally brush against his,
Ahh everytime there's a notification from you I go !!!!! what golden nugget doth thou shareth at long last with us this time ?
oh!!! dear anon, thank you!!! this truly made my week, i promise i'm working on things to post even though i'm not super active on here. having a 9-5 is stressful, y'all...
but i love you anon!!! thank you for hanging in there with me and you can expect a little fic to be posted this weekend 😘
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