she/they | 98 Liner (27) | INFJ | Scorpio Sun
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Biases (The Dans): Joshua (The Reigning King Dan), Jongho, I.M., Bang Chan, Changbin, Yuta
Bias Wreckers: Mingi, Hongjoong, Yeosang, Kihyun, Lee Know, Taeyong, Johnny, Jaehyun (...I have a serious problem)
Not a Dan or Bias Wrecker but has plagued my brain so much that I can’t not include him somewhere: Jung Wooyoung
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After losing her job, her boyfriend, and her best friend in one go, Y/N walks through a strange ivory door and wakes in a cursed forest. San has been hunting the lord responsible for vanished brides, including his own sister. When he finds Y/N at the edge of the well that swallows women whole, he believes she belongs to the enemy.
She thinks she has nothing left to live for. He has nothing left but vengeance. And somewhere between suspicion and survival, they begin to choose each other.
Pairing: Choi San x Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Dark Fairytale Retelling, Angst, Slow Burn, Mystery, Fantasy
Tropes: Door to another world, Knife-to-throat first meeting, Cursed forest,Morally grey hunter, Cynical depressed heroine, He falls first, Found family
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | San Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
This is Part 2
Y/N woke to pain.
Not dramatic pain. Not the kind that came with shadow hands and cursed wells.
Just a pounding headache behind her eyes and a dull, throbbing protest from the soles of her feet.
She groaned softly and rolled onto her side, pressing her face into something coarse and unfamiliar.
Fabric.
Not her pillow. Not her bed.
The air smelled like woodsmoke and earth.
Her eyes snapped open.
For a moment, confusion hung thick and heavy in her mind. A half-second where she expected her apartment ceiling, pale and cracked near the corner.
Instead she saw wooden beams above her. Rough. Dark.
The events of yesterday crept back in fragments.
Her stomach dropped.
“Oh no,” she whispered into the quiet hut.
The knives. The broad-shouldered, handsome man with dark eyes and steady hands. The fact that her first coherent comment while being held at knifepoint had been that it was the most intimate thing she had experienced in months.
She pressed her palm over her face. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Absolutely unbelievable.”
Heat crept up her neck despite the cool air.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling again, willing it to transform into drywall and water stains.
It did not.
Her headache throbbed in rhythm with her pulse. Her feet protested as she flexed them beneath the blanket. When she pushed herself up slightly, she noticed faint abrasions along her soles, dried dirt still clinging faintly to her skin.
This was not a dream. Dreams did not give you hangovers.
She inhaled slowly.
Outside the hut, male voices drifted through the wooden walls.
Her stomach twisted.
Right.
She shut her eyes briefly in mortification.
She had cried and absolutely lost it. In front of strangers.
In front of extremely attractive strangers, apparently.
She groaned softly again and dropped her face into her hands.
“Fantastic,” she whispered. “New world. Immediate emotional breakdown.”
The voices outside shifted. A faint laugh. The crackle of firewood.
Her mind sharpened further.
She remembered him clearly now.
The man who had pulled her from the fire. The one who had carried her through the forest.
Broad shoulders. Strong arms. A voice low and controlled even when angry.
She remembered the heat of his chest when she had been thrown over his shoulder. She remembered teasing him. She remembered him blushing.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I need to disappear,” she muttered.
Not dramatically this time. Just quietly.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed carefully and stood.
The hut was simple. Packed earth walls reinforced with wood. Furs stacked neatly along one side. A single narrow door.
The entrance was not ideal. The male voices were directly outside.
If she stepped out, she would walk straight into them.
Her headache pulsed again.
She glanced around.
There had to be another exit.
No one built a secret forest shelter with only one way out.
She stepped carefully along the interior wall, wincing as her bare feet met rough floor. She moved slowly, testing weight before committing fully.
Near the back corner of the hut, partially obscured by stacked crates and hanging cloth, she spotted something.
A small opening. Not a door.
More like a ventilation gap widened over time.
It was narrow. But possibly wide enough.
She crouched beside it and peered through.
Outside, she could see tree trunks and morning light filtering through leaves.
No immediate bodies.
She glanced back toward the main entrance.
The voices continued. Distracted.
She bit her lip. “All right,” she whispered to herself. “Dignified retreat.”
She lowered herself carefully to the ground and wriggled head first toward the opening.
It was tighter than she anticipated.
Wood scraped faintly against her shoulders.
She exhaled slowly and pushed forward.
Halfway through, she paused.
The air outside felt cooler. Free.
She wiggled again, inching forward.
Her head emerged first.
Sunlight hit her face. She blinked against it. Then she froze.
Directly in front of her stood a naked man. Grinning.
Water streamed down his chest and shoulders from a crude wooden shower structure rigged between two trees. A bucket system hung above him, dripping steadily.
He looked down at her with unmistakable amusement.
For one horrifying second, her brain refused to process what she was seeing.
Then it did.
She screamed. Not a delicate gasp. A full, startled shriek.
The man blinked once, then laughed.
“You could have just asked if you wanted to join,” he said teasingly.
She clapped her hands over her eyes instantly.
“I am so sorry,” she blurted. “I was not— I did not— this is not—”
She tried to reverse back into the hole. Unfortunately, she was wedged halfway out and couldn't move.
Her legs were still inside the hut.
She flailed awkwardly.
Water splashed.
He was still laughing.
“This is not improving my morning,” she muttered from behind her hands.
Suddenly, two strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
She yelped again as she was pulled fully out of the hole in one firm motion.
Her feet left the ground briefly before she was set upright.
She stumbled slightly and lowered her hands from her eyes.
She knew that voice before she saw his face.
“What do you think you are doing,” he asked evenly.
Broad shoulders. Dark eyes. Chiseled face. Great. Of course.
She swallowed. “Attempting a graceful exit,” she said faintly.
He stared at her.
The grinning naked man behind him was still chuckling as he reached for a towel.
She pointed vaguely over her shoulder.
“I was trying to avoid… all of this.”
The broad-shouldered man looked unimpressed.
“Through a hole in the wall.”
“It seemed efficient.”
He sighed. Not angry. Just tired.
She shifted awkwardly, heat flooding her face.
“I may have overshared yesterday,” she admitted quietly. “Cried. Made inappropriate comments while being threatened with knives. I thought perhaps it would be less humiliating to wander off into the forest and pretend this never happened.”
The naked man snorted behind them. “You were very entertaining,” he offered helpfully.
She glared blindly at the sound. “This is the worst possible outcome.”
The broad-shouldered man’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
“You are not wandering anywhere,” he said.
She blinked.
“I’m not?”
“No.”
She deflated slightly.
“Understandable.”
He studied her face more closely now.
The bravado from yesterday was thinner this morning.
Hangover and exhaustion had stripped her down to something softer.
“You will eat,” he continued calmly. “Then you will answer questions.”
She hesitated.
“And then?”
“Then we decide what to do with you.”
She winced.
“Reassuring.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“You were ready to throw yourself into a cursed well yesterday. Yet breakfast intimidates you.”
She stared at him for a second.
“That was low.”
“And accurate.”
She sighed.
“Fine. Food. Questions. Potential execution. Productive morning.”
Behind them, the formerly naked man finished drying off and stepped around them, still grinning.
“For the record,” he said cheerfully, “you should try the shower intentionally next time.”
She groaned and covered her face again.
“I cannot recover from this.”
The broad-shouldered man watched her for a moment longer.
“You will survive it,” he said quietly.
She lowered her hands slowly and met his gaze.
There was no mockery there.
Just steadiness.
For reasons she did not fully understand, that steadiness made something in her chest feel less chaotic.
Her headache still throbbed.
Her feet still hurt.
She was still stranded in a forest with men who hunted lords and spoke of cursed wells.
But she was not alone.
And apparently, she was not allowed to escape through ventilation gaps.
“Lead the way,” she muttered.
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the clearing.
As she walked past him, she could feel the heat creeping back into her cheeks.
She leaned closer just enough to murmur, “For what it’s worth, the knife thing was still objectively intense.”
He went rigid.
She caught the faintest hint of red rising along his neck again.
Small victories.
Even in strange forests.
Especially in strange forests.
Y/N followed him into the clearing like someone walking toward a tribunal.
The morning had sharpened fully now. Sunlight filtered through the trees in long, slanted beams, catching in the thin smoke that rose from the fire at the center of their camp. The air smelled of roasted meat and herbs, warm and earthy and grounding in a way she hadn’t expected.
Seven men sat or stood around the fire.
They looked up as she approached.
For a brief, disorienting moment, she felt like an animal stepping into a ring of wolves.
But none of them bared teeth.
A pot hung over the flames, something thick and slow bubbling inside. Strips of meat rested on a flat stone near the coals. Simple wooden bowls were arranged in a rough circle.
The broad-shouldered one stopped a few paces from the fire and gestured faintly for her to sit.
She did, carefully lowering herself onto a flat rock opposite them.
Every pair of eyes assessed her.
The tall one with gentle features and quiet strength gave her a small nod. The one with sharp eyes and a calm, almost calculating aura watched her like he was mapping her reactions. The one who had been showering earlier was openly amused. Another, larger and broad-chested, leaned back against a tree, studying her with cautious curiosity. One sat with arms crossed, steady and silent. Another with soft but observant eyes tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand a puzzle. And then there was the shorter one.
He looked unimpressed.
Sharp gaze. Compact build. Something feisty and alert about him.
He was the only one who did not soften at all.
Y/N cleared her throat.
“This feels like an interview,” she muttered.
A few of them almost smiled.
The broad-shouldered one spoke first.
"I am San."
“This is Hongjoong.”
The short one inclined his head slightly without warmth.
“Yunho,” he continued, gesturing to the tall, broad-framed man who had nodded earlier.
“Wooyoung,” he added, with a pointed glance toward the shower enthusiast.
Wooyoung grinned at her shamelessly.
“Mingi,” he indicated the larger one leaning against the tree.
“Jongho,” the quiet one with folded arms.
“Yeosang,” the observant one.
“And Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa stepped forward at that, carrying a wooden bowl.
She recognized him immediately. The one who had caught her when she swayed. The one who had brought her inside.
He knelt slightly and handed her the bowl.
“It is simple,” he said gently. “But warm.”
She accepted it, startled by the softness in his expression.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He offered a reassuring smile before returning to his place.
Y/N stared down at the stew in her hands.
It smelled… good.
Her stomach betrayed her with a faint growl.
Wooyoung’s grin widened.
She closed her eyes briefly.
“Before I eat,” she said, voice steadier than yesterday, “I should apologize.”
That caught their attention.
She lowered her head slightly.
“For yesterday. For making trouble. For…the dramatics.”
No one interrupted.
“I didn’t know where I was. I still don’t. I thought maybe I’d finally snapped.”
She inhaled slowly.
“I drank too much. I was at a party. I’d just found out my ex was with my best friend. I’d lost my job a few weeks ago. I overheard people talking about me like I was some case study in failure.”
Her voice didn’t shake this time.
It was clear.
Measured.
“I went outside for air. There was a door in an alley. Ivory. Carved with vines and small stones. I touched it. It opened.”
Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“And you walked through it,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Just like that.”
She shrugged faintly.
“I didn’t have much left to go back to.”
A small silence settled between them.
Yunho leaned forward slightly.
“You understand how that sounds.”
“Completely,” she replied. “If I were you, I’d assume I was lying or insane.”
Mingi huffed faintly.
“So which is it.”
“Undetermined.”
A few faint smiles flickered.
She looked down at the stew, then back up at them.
“I don’t know anything about your lord. Or your missing brides. Or your well. I didn’t even know cursed wells were a thing twenty-four hours ago.”
Hongjoong crossed his arms.
“Convenient.”
“Probably,” she agreed calmly. “But true.”
There was still doubt in their faces.
She understood it.
Then something sparked in her mind.
Her phone.
Her heart skipped.
Please still be there.
Without thinking too long, she shifted slightly and reached into her bra.
Eight men froze.
Wooyoung blinked rapidly.
San’s eyes widened faintly.
“Wait,” he began.
She pulled the device free and held it up triumphantly.
“Relax. Technology.”
They stared.
It was smudged slightly but intact.
Her phone.
A piece of her world.
She pressed the side button.
The screen lit up.
The faint glow looked almost unnatural in the forest light.
The men recoiled subtly.
Wooyoung leaned forward in fascination.
“What is that.”
“It’s called a phone.”
She turned it toward them, swiping the screen open.
The background photo appeared. A city skyline at night.
Tiny glowing windows.
Buildings of glass and steel.
None of which belonged in this forest.
“It connects to… well. Everything,” she said. “Information. Communication. My world.”
Hongjoong stood slowly.
“Is it sorcery.”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“Not exactly.”
She scrolled to her gallery and opened a photo from a few weeks ago. Herself in her apartment. Modern furniture. Electric lights. Windows reflecting skyscrapers.
They leaned in.
The image shifted slightly as she tilted the device.
Mingi muttered something under his breath.
“That place,” Yeosang said quietly, “is not from here.”
“No,” she said softly. “It’s not.”
San hadn’t spoken yet.
He was watching her face more than the device.
“You said you came through a door,” he said carefully.
“Yes.”
“And this came with you.”
“Yes.”
Hongjoong exhaled slowly.
“This is either the most elaborate deception I have ever seen… or she is telling the truth.”
Wooyoung reached out hesitantly.
“May I.”
She handed it to him.
He flinched slightly when the screen responded to his touch.
“It moves,” he murmured.
“It responds to touch,” she explained.
He looked genuinely delighted.
San’s expression remained guarded.
“But if you are not from here,” he said, “why did the well react to you.”
That question settled heavily.
She swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Hongjoong looked toward the others.
“If she is not connected to the lord… then why would it reach for her.”
Silence.
Finally, Yunho spoke.
“Perhaps we should explain.”
They shifted slightly, forming a looser circle.
San remained standing, arms folded.
Yeosang’s voice was calm as he began.
“For years, our lord has taken brides.”
“Promised marriages,” Jongho added.
“Celebrated publicly,” Mingi continued.
“But none of the women remain,” Seonghwa finished softly.
Y/N’s stomach tightened.
“What do you mean remain.”
“They vanish,” Yunho said.
“At first,” Hongjoong added, “there were excuses. Illness. Travel. Family visits.”
“But no letters returned,” San said quietly.
The weight in his voice drew her gaze.
“We searched,” Wooyoung said. “Quietly.”
“And then,” Mingi continued, “we found one.”
Her throat went dry.
“Found,” she repeated.
“A body,” Yeosang clarified.
“Near the well,” Jongho said.
Her eyes flicked instinctively toward the direction she had come from.
“The well,” she whispered.
“The lord’s men disposed of them there,” Hongjoong said bluntly. “Thrown into ist depths.”
She felt sick.
“The well is old,” Seonghwa added. “Older than the lord. But blood changes places.”
San’s jaw tightened.
“It no longer holds water alone.”
Y/N swallowed hard.
“And now,” Yunho said quietly, “it reacts.”
“To women,” Wooyoung finished.
She felt cold despite the fire’s warmth.
“Some woman who wanders too near,” Jongho said, “is pulled toward it. Especially if they are connected to the Lord.”
“And it tries to take them,” Mingi added.
She thought of the hands.
The blackened fingers reaching.
“Why me,” she whispered.
No one answered.
San’s gaze did not leave her face.
“We do not know,” he said finally.
The clearing was quiet except for the stew’s soft bubbling.
Y/N looked down at the bowl in her hands.
Lost brides.
Bodies thrown into darkness.
A well that now hunted women.
Her world had been cruel in small, mundane ways.
This one was cruel in spectacle.
She let out a slow breath.
“So you’re hunting him.”
“Yes,” Hongjoong said.
“And perhaps,” San said quietly, “whatever else has begun to stir.”
Y/N looked up at him.
His eyes were not cold.
Just resolute.
For the first time since stepping through the door, her problems felt… smaller.
Still painful.
Still raw.
But smaller in comparison to a man who threw women into a well and called it marriage.
She picked up the spoon finally.
“Well,” she said faintly, “I suppose breakfast makes sense.”
Wooyoung grinned.
“See. We are hospitable cultists.”
She huffed softly.
San did not smile.
But something in his posture eased just a fraction.
And as she took her first bite of stew in a world that was not hers, surrounded by eight men hunting a monster, Y/N realized something strange.
For the first time in weeks, she did not feel entirely invisible.
The stew was simple but grounding. Warm broth. Herbs. Meat cooked until tender. It settled into her stomach like something solid anchoring her to this place.
Conversation resumed cautiously around her. Not fully relaxed. Not entirely distrustful either. A strange middle ground.
Her phone was still in Wooyoung’s hands.
He had not stopped examining it.
He tapped the screen again experimentally.
The device responded instantly.
He flinched slightly.
“It listens,” he muttered.
“It doesn’t,” she said. “Well. Not intentionally.”
He squinted at the glowing icons.
“What is this symbol?” he asked, tapping a green circle with curved lines inside.
She inhaled sharply.
“Wait—”
Too late.
Music burst into the clearing.
Loud.
Clear.
Bright.
A full, modern song she downloaded, exploded from the small speaker at the bottom of her phone, layered with bass and synthetic beats utterly alien to the forest’s quiet morning.
Every single one of them jolted.
Jongho half-rose to his feet.
Mingi nearly knocked over the stew pot.
Hongjoong’s hand went immediately to the dagger at his belt.
Wooyoung yelped and almost dropped the device.
The sound echoed between the trees, wildly out of place against birdsong and crackling fire.
Y/N lunged forward.
“It’s just music!” she insisted, scrambling to lower the volume.
But it kept playing.
Lyrics spilled into the clearing in a voice from her world. Confident. Polished. Intimate.
The contrast was absurd.
Seven men dressed in forest-worn leather and wool staring at a glowing device singing heartbreak pop at full volume.
San did not move.
He simply stared at her.
“What is that,” Hongjoong demanded sharply.
“It’s called Spotify,” she said quickly. “It plays songs. Recorded songs.”
“Recorded,” Yeosang repeated softly.
“Like a traveling bard,” she tried to explain, fumbling with the screen. “But… tiny. And trapped.”
Wooyoung leaned closer again despite the earlier shock.
“It carries a singer inside.”
“It does not,” she said, finally managing to lower the volume. “It stores sound.”
The music softened but continued faintly.
San’s eyes shifted to her face.
The lyrics drifted through the air.
A song about betrayal. About loving someone who chose someone else. About realizing you were never the first choice.
Of course. Of all the songs in her playlist.
She let out a small, embarrassed breath.
“That’s… unfortunate timing.”
Wooyoung’s grin returned slowly.
“So your world sings about heartbreak too.”
“Constantly,” she said dryly.
Hongjoong’s posture remained tense, but the immediate threat had dissolved.
“It is powerful,” Yunho admitted quietly. “The sound.”
“It’s normal where I’m from,” she said softly.
San studied the device more carefully now.
“And it works without flame,” he observed.
“Yes.”
“Without strings.”
“Yes.”
“Without a person present.”
“Yes.”
The realization settled across their faces in different shades of disbelief.
Mingi shook his head slowly. “Your world is strange.”
She let out a quiet laugh. “You have cursed wells that grow arms.”
“That is fair,” Wooyoung conceded.
The song reached ist chorus again.
San’s gaze flicked briefly toward her.
“You listened to this often.”
It wasn’t a question.
She hesitated.
“Lately,” she admitted.
He didn’t press further.
But something in his expression softened almost imperceptibly.
Wooyoung finally handed the phone back to her with exaggerated care.
“It is loud,” he said. “But impressive.”
She turned the music off completely this time.
The clearing fell quiet again.
The forest reclaimed ist sounds.
Birds. Wind. Fire.
But something had shifted.
Y/N slipped the phone back into her bra, safer there than anywhere else.
Wooyoung’s eyes followed the movement with theatrical curiosity.
San shot him a look.
Wooyoung raised both hands innocently.
She caught the exchange and couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her mouth.
Strange.
Unbelievable.
Dangerous.
But not entirely hostile.
And as the last echoes of her world faded into the trees, she realized something else.
She had crossed into a place of curses and blood.
But somehow, absurdly, her heartbreak still fit here.
Perhaps that was why the well had reached for her.
Or perhaps this forest simply recognized broken things.
Either way, the hunt had gained something new.
And so had she.
San had faced down armed men without blinking.
He had stood at the edge of the well while shadows tried to drag the living into ist depths.
He had buried friends.
He had sharpened blades with steady hands.
And yet watching her inside the hut unsettled him in ways violence never had.
He stood just outside the entrance, close enough to see but far enough to pretend he was not looking.
Seonghwa moved quietly inside, sorting through spare garments they kept for emergencies. Simple tunics. Trousers. Linen shirts that could be belted at the waist.
Y/N stood near the back wall, her pale blue dress still clinging awkwardly to her frame. It did not belong here. It made her look even more out of place against the earthen walls.
She turned slightly as Seonghwa handed her a folded bundle.
“Try these,” Seonghwa said gently. “They are not tailored, but they will hold.”
She nodded, softer than she had been earlier. “Thank you.”
There was no sarcasm now. No defensive humor. Just quiet acceptance.
San watched her fingers brush the fabric, testing it. The way she hesitated before slipping behind a hanging cloth partition.
He did not understand her.
A door in an alley. A world of glass towers and music trapped in metal.
But when she had held up that device and shown them a city that touched the sky, he had felt something shift.
And the pain in her voice yesterday had not been performance.
It had been raw.
He found himself believing her ridiculous story. Which was perhaps the most ridiculous part of all.
“San.”
He did not respond.
“San.”
A pebble struck his boot.
He blinked and looked up.
Hongjoong stood a few paces away, arms folded. “We asked you something.”
San straightened slightly. “What.”
“I said,” Wooyoung chimed in from where he sat cross-legged by the fire, Y/N’s strange glowing device still in his hands, “if you plan on standing there staring at the hut all day.”
San frowned. “I was not staring.”
“You were absolutely staring,” Mingi said.
Wooyoung tapped the screen again. The device flickered to life obediently. “It makes light whenever I touch it,” he muttered, distracted and delighted. “And sometimes it sings. I love it.”
San ignored him. “What did you ask,” he repeated.
Hongjoong’s mouth twitched faintly. “We asked if you intend to tell her our plan.”
“Not everything,” San replied. “Enough.”
Yeosang, who had been quiet until now, lifted his gaze from the ground.
“She is pretty,” he said simply.
The statement dropped into the clearing without warning.
San froze.
Yeosang rarely offered opinions unprompted. “I can understand why you pulled her from the well,” Yeosang continued calmly.
San felt heat surge up his neck.
“That was not—” he began.
Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “Look at his ears.”
Mingi leaned sideways to get a better view. “They’re red.”
“They are not,” San said sharply.
“They are,” Jongho confirmed dryly.
Hongjoong tilted his head. “Interesting.”
San crossed his arms defensively. “I pulled her from the well because she would have died.”
“Of course,” Wooyoung said innocently. “Entirely selfless. No admiration involved.”
“There was no admiration,” San insisted.
Yeosang’s lips curved faintly. “But she is beautiful.”
San’s throat tightened unexpectedly. The memory flickered again. The sun filtering through trees. Her pale dress catching light. Tears clinging to her lashes.
Painfully beautiful.
He cleared his throat. “Tha-that is irrelevant.”
Wooyoung grinned. “You stuttered.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Mingi chuckled low in his chest. “He did.”
San resisted the urge to throw something at them.
Hongjoong watched him with measured amusement. “You are distracted.”
“I am not distracted.”
Wooyoung waved the glowing device slightly. “You are. And you believe her.”
San did not answer.
Because he did.
And that unsettled him more than their teasing.
Movement from the hut drew all their attention.
The cloth partition shifted.
Y/N stepped out. She wore a simple linen shirt now, slightly oversized, sleeves rolled up clumsily at her wrists. Dark trousers tied at the waist. Her strange pale dress was gone.
Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, still slightly tangled from sleep.
She looked…different.
Less otherworldly. More grounded.
Still beautiful.
But in a way that felt closer. Real. Tangible.
San swallowed.
Wooyoung elbowed Mingi lightly. “There,” he whispered loudly. “Watch.”
Y/N blinked against the sunlight and adjusted the shirt self-consciously.
“Well,” she said lightly, “this is significantly less dramatic.”
Seonghwa stepped out behind her. “It suits you.”
She smiled at him gratefully.
San tried to school his expression into something neutral.
He failed when she looked at him.
Her eyes flicked over his face and then paused.
“Why are your ears red,” she asked bluntly.
The clearing erupted in laughter.
San felt his entire face heat.
“We were discussing you,” Wooyoung offered helpfully.
“I was not,” San snapped.
“Oh?” Hongjoong raised a brow. “Should we clarify.”
Y/N looked between them curiously.
“Clarify what.”
Wooyoung leaned forward conspiratorially. “In our village, he was the hopeless romantic.”
San closed his eyes briefly.
“Wooyoung.”
“Very quick to fall in love,” Mingi added, grinning.
“And very unlucky with women,” Jongho finished calmly.
Y/N’s brows lifted.
“Really.”
San felt as if the ground might open beneath him.
“That is exaggerated,” he muttered.
Wooyoung tilted his head. “You wrote poems.”
“Once.”
“Several times.”
“Stop.”
Y/N stepped closer to him.
Too close.
He could see faint freckles across her nose in the daylight.
She leaned in slightly and lowered her voice just enough to make it feel private.
“I would have never guessed,” she said lightly. “for someone so intimidating and handsome to write poems.”
His mind blanked.
Handsome.
Intimidating.
He opened his mouth to respond with something measured. Something composed.
Instead, he stepped backward. Directly onto a root.
His heel caught.
He lost balance. Not catastrophically. But enough.
He stumbled awkwardly and barely managed to regain footing before fully falling.
Wooyoung burst into laughter.
Mingi doubled over.
Hongjoong actually covered his mouth.
Y/N stared at him for half a second.
Then she giggled. Just genuinely amused.
San straightened quickly, clearing his throat as if the earth itself had betrayed him.
“I am not intimidated,” she added helpfully.
“That is apparent,” he muttered.
Her smile lingered a moment longer before she stepped back. The teasing subsided gradually.
Hongjoong’s expression shifted back to seriousness.
“Enough,” he said. “We have more pressing matters.”
The mood sobered. San was grateful.
Y/N folded her arms lightly. “About your murderer lord.”
“Yes,” Hongjoong replied.
“We cannot approach the estate directly,” Yunho said. “Not without proof.”
“We have proof,” Yeosang interjected quietly.
“Rumor is not proof,” Jongho corrected.
San nodded. “We need something undeniable.”
Yeosang’s gaze flicked toward Y/N.
“The well reacted to her.”
Silence.
Hongjoong considered that carefully.
“If the well responds to her presence,” he said slowly, “perhaps it will reveal something more.”
San’s stomach tightened.
“No.”
All eyes shifted to him.
“She will not go near it again,” he said firmly.
Wooyoung tilted his head. “You look protective.”
San shot him a glare.
Hongjoong held up a hand. “Not alone. Not unguarded.”
Y/N looked between them.
“So the plan is… what. Use me as cursed well bait.”
“No,” San said sharply again.
She looked at him, surprised by the force in his tone.
He forced himself to breathe. “We gather information first,” he said more evenly. “The lord’s next promise. His next bride.”
Mingi’s jaw tightened. “There is always a next.”
Y/N swallowed faintly.
The fire crackled between them.
San glanced at Y/N again.
She stood steadier now. Grounded in borrowed clothes. Less fragile than she had been yesterday.
But still new to this world. Still breakable.
And dangerously capable of making him trip over roots.
He exhaled slowly.
The hunt had grown more complicated.
Not because of her weakness.
But because of his.
And as they began outlining their next steps against the lord and his men, San realized something he did not want to admit aloud.
He was no longer only fighting for vengeance. He was fighting for the chance that she would not step willingly toward another well again.
San listened. He truly did.
Hongjoong was outlining the lord’s travel patterns. Yunho was recalling the last time one of the promises had been publicly announced. Jongho was mapping possible entry points to the estate grounds in the dirt with a stick. Yeosang spoke quietly about servants who might be bribed. Mingi suggested intercepting messengers. Wooyoung proposed something reckless and was immediately vetoed.
San heard all of it.
But his awareness kept circling back to the warmth at his side.
Y/N sat beside him on the fallen log near the fire, knees drawn up to her chest, arms loosely wrapped around them. Her chin rested against the ridge of her kneecaps as she listened with surprising focus.
No jokes. No interruptions.
Her hair fell forward slightly, catching the sunlight in soft strands. The oversized linen shirt made her look smaller than she had the day before.
She asked questions occasionally, but not to derail them. To understand.
“So he announces engagements publicly?” she asked at one point.
“Yes,” Hongjoong replied. “He is admired.”
“And no one questions why none of the women are ever seen again.”
“They are told they live comfortably at his estate,” Yunho said flatly.
Y/N’s jaw tightened faintly.
San noticed.
He also noticed the way her shoulder brushed his every time she shifted. Distracting.
Hongjoong scratched another line into the dirt. “We need his attention,” he said. “Without appearing hostile.”
“He must believe he has found something valuable,” Yeosang added.
Mingi leaned forward. “A reason to invite.”
There was a pause.
Then Y/N spoke. “What if I go.”
The clearing stilled.
San’s head turned toward her instantly.
“Go where,” Hongjoong asked cautiously.
“To him,” she said calmly. “As a bride.”
Silence expanded outward.
San’s pulse spiked. “No.”
It came out sharper than he intended. All eyes shifted to him.
Y/N tilted her head slightly. “I wasn’t asking for your permission.”
“You are not going near him,” San said firmly.
Hongjoong’s gaze flicked between them, interested.
Y/N straightened slightly, lowering her legs.
“Listen,” she said, voice steady. “He targets women he can present publicly. Women who look… appealing.”
Wooyoung coughed lightly.
She ignored him.
“I’m new. I don’t belong to any known family here. No one would question where I came from if the story is crafted well.”
San felt something tighten dangerously in his chest.
“That is precisely why it is too dangerous,” he replied.
She looked at him directly.
“I told you yesterday I’m not particularly clinging to my life.”
The words struck harder in daylight.
His expression hardened immediately.
“You should,” he said.
Her brows lifted slightly.
“You should,” he repeated, more quietly but more intensely. “And I will not let someone who is innocent of this be placed in his path.”
“Innocent,” she echoed faintly.
“You are not part of this war.”
“Neither were the other women,” she countered gently.
That shut him up for half a heartbeat.
She continued, ticking points off on her fingers.
“I’m not known here. I’m not connected to any village. I have no visible ties. I look different enough to intrigue him. I can talk. I can observe. I can stall.”
Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“She is not wrong,” Yeosang murmured.
Mingi nodded slowly. “He would notice her.”
Wooyoung tilted his head. “He definitely would.”
San shot him a look.
Y/N pressed on.
“You want access,” she said. “I can give you access.”
“And if he isolates you,” San snapped.
“Then you’ll be nearby.”
“We cannot guarantee that.”
“No,” she admitted. “But you can’t guarantee safety any other way either.”
The clearing hummed with tension.
Hongjoong folded his arms, thinking.
“If she is presented carefully,” he began slowly, “and if we position ourselves strategically…”
San stood abruptly.
“I said no.”
The others fell silent.
Y/N looked up at him, surprised by the force in his voice.
He was aware he was overreacting.
He did not care.
“We are not sacrificing you,” he said.
“I’m not a sacrifice,” she replied calmly. “I’m volunteering.”
“That does not make it acceptable.”
Hongjoong’s voice cut in gently. “San.”
He did not look at him.
“We cannot dismiss this outright.”
San’s jaw clenched.
They continued discussing logistics despite his resistance. Clothing appropriate for a noble introduction. A plausible backstory. Timing.
Mingi suggested they would need to visit the village discreetly to acquire better garments.
“And she should bathe,” Wooyoung added bluntly.
Y/N glanced down at herself. “Fair.”
San felt increasingly boxed in.
He stepped away from the circle abruptly.
“I will gather more wood,” he muttered.
No one stopped him.
He walked to the edge of the clearing and began picking up fallen branches with unnecessary force.
He told himself it was about strategy.
About risk.
About protecting the mission.
It was not.
He heard light footsteps behind him.
Y/N stopped a few paces away.
“You’re mad,” she observed gently.
“I am cautious.”
“You’re mad.”
He did not respond.
She hesitated before speaking again.
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
The words were soft.
Unarmed.
He stilled.
The branch in his hands creaked faintly under pressure.
“It is not your fault,” he said automatically.
“I know,” she replied. “But I’m still sorry.”
He glanced at her then.
She was not teasing.
Not dramatic.
Just sincere.
He looked away first.
Silence stretched between them.
“You should let me do this,” she said quietly.
He exhaled slowly.
“You think you have nothing to lose.”
“I think I have less than most.”
“That is not the same.”
She stepped closer.
“You pulled me away yesterday,” she said. “You told me I should value my life.”
“Yes.”
“So let me try to do something with it.”
Her logic was infuriatingly clear.
He searched her face for hesitation.
There was none.
Only resolve.
He considered.
He hated that he was considering.
“If you do this,” he said finally, voice low and controlled, “you will promise me something.”
She tilted her head slightly. “What.”
“You will not be reckless.”
She almost smiled.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You will not provoke him unnecessarily. You will not attempt heroics.”
She studied him.
“And.”
He swallowed once.
“You will not treat your life as expendable.”
Her expression softened slightly.
“And how exactly do I do that.”
“You stay alive,” he said bluntly. “You remember that you matter. Even if you struggle to believe it.”
The words surprised even him.
She held his gaze.
Then she nodded slowly.
“Fine.”
“Promise.”
“I promise,” she said quietly.
He searched her face.
Satisfied enough.
She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice.
“You’re surprisingly soft,” she said lightly. “For someone who looks like he could scare off wolves.”
His ears warmed again.
“I am not soft.”
She smiled faintly.
“You trip over roots when flustered.”
“That happened once.”
She tilted her head playfully.
“It was memorable.”
He shook his head faintly, though something in his chest felt lighter.
“We will prepare carefully,” he said, regaining composure. “You will not act alone.”
“Agreed.”
“And if at any moment I say withdraw, you withdraw.”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Agreed.”
They stood there for a moment longer, the tension between them less sharp now.
Not gone.
But reshaped.
Behind them, Hongjoong’s voice carried.
“We will need to visit the village by nightfall.”
Y/N stepped back slightly.
“Looks like I’m getting a wardrobe upgrade.”
San glanced at her once more.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You are.”
And for the first time since she suggested placing herself in danger, he allowed himself to admit something he had been resisting.
He trusted her.
Which might prove more dangerous than any plan they could devise.
Five days.
It had been five days since she stumbled into their clearing half-drunk and half-broken.
Five days since she mocked danger and then nearly surrendered to it.
Five days since her device sang heartbreak into a forest that had only ever known birds and wind.
San had expected the strangeness to fade.
It had not.
But it had shifted.
The first day, she had felt like something fragile and misplaced. A bright shard of another world that did not belong in theirs.
Now she sat cross-legged by the fire in the mornings, arguing with Wooyoung about the proper way to season stew. She asked Yeosang thoughtful questions about tracking. She listened when Jongho explained blade balance. She thanked Seonghwa every time he handed her something, no matter how small. She made Mingi laugh without meaning to. Even Hongjoong, sharp and guarded, had begun to include her in strategy discussions instead of observing her like a problem.
She was still strange.
She still spoke of cities that touched the sky and music stored inside metal.
But she was also...kind.
Annoyingly funny.
And far more empathetic than he had expected from someone who claimed she had nothing left.
He had caught her once sitting quietly beside Mingi after a conversation about a missing bride had gone poorly. She hadn’t offered comfort in words. She had simply stayed.
That mattered.
And he liked her.
He tried not to examine that too closely.
The plan had begun to take shape.
They needed the lord to hear of her.
To see her.
So rumors were necessary.
A woman found wandering the forest. A traveler from a distant land. No known family ties.
Intriguing.
Vulnerable.
Perfect.
Which was why they had come to the village.
San had not returned openly in months. Not since his sister vanished. The villagers had learned not to ask questions when he passed through quickly.
But today, he walked beside Y/N through familiar streets with measured calm.
She wore simple borrowed clothes still. Hair loose. Expression curious but restrained.
The others had split off to speak casually to different corners of the village, letting the story spread organically.
San led her toward the house at the edge of the main path.
His parents house.
The wood beams looked smaller than he remembered.
The garden less tended.
He paused only a second before knocking.
The door opened almost immediately.
His mother stood there.
For a heartbeat, she stared at him.
Then her eyes widened.
“San.”
She pulled him into a fierce embrace before he could brace himself.
He stiffened automatically and then relaxed just enough to return it briefly.
“You look thinner,” she said, cupping his face.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Her gaze shifted past him.
And landed on Y/N.
Her expression transformed instantly.
“Oh,” she breathed.
San closed his eyes for half a second.
“Mother—”
“You brought someone home,” she said, delighted.
Y/N blinked in surprise.
“I— hello,” she offered politely.
His mother stepped forward and took both of Y/N’s hands warmly.
“You are welcome here,” she said brightly. “He never brings women home.”
San felt heat crawl up his neck.
“That is not—”
His mother ignored him entirely.
“You must come in. You must be tired. Oh, she is lovely.”
Y/N glanced sideways at him with an amused sparkle.
“This is not what it looks like,” he muttered.
“It looks exactly like what it looks like,” she whispered back.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of dried herbs and wood polish. Familiar. Safe.
His father emerged from the back room slowly.
He was quieter than his mother. More contained.
His gaze assessed Y/N calmly.
“So,” his father said mildly. “You found someone worth bringing home.”
San resisted the urge to walk back outside.
“She needs a dress,” he said quickly. “A better one.”
His mother paused only a fraction.
“A dress?”
“Yes.”
“For what occasion,” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.
San hesitated.
“Formal.”
Her gaze flickered briefly.
Then softened again.
He cleared his throat.
“Perhaps… one of my sister’s old ones.”
Silence settled gently in the room.
His mother’s smile faltered.
Only slightly.
Y/N noticed.
She squeezed his mother’s hands gently.
“I would be honored,” she said softly.
His mother’s expression shifted from grief to something warmer.
“I kept them,” she admitted quietly. “I could not bring myself to give them away.”
San swallowed.
“I know.”
His mother nodded once and straightened.
“Then we will make something fitting.”
She turned brisk again, clapping her hands lightly.
“And you,” she said to Y/N. “You need a bath first.”
Y/N blinked. “That sounds… fair.”
San remained where he stood as his mother ushered Y/N further inside.
He caught a glimpse of Y/N glancing back at him once before disappearing into the washroom.
He exhaled slowly.
His father stepped beside him.
“She is different,” his father observed.
“Yes.”
“Pretty.”
San stared ahead.
“Yes.”
His father hummed softly.
“You have good taste.”
“It is not like that.”
His father’s mouth curved faintly.
“It could be.”
San finally looked at him.
“She is not here for that.”
His father chuckled low in his chest.
San frowned.
His father clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Consider it,” he said lightly. “Before someone else does.”
San did not respond.
From the washroom, faint sounds of water splashing echoed.
His mother’s voice drifted outward, warm and animated.
Y/N’s laughter followed.
He had not heard her laugh like that before.
Not strained.
Not teasing.
Just… light.
He did not mean to listen.
But he did.
“I didn’t really have parents growing up,” Y/N said softly from behind the thin wall. “It was mostly just me.”
His mother’s voice gentled.
“You were alone?”
“Most of the time.”
There was no bitterness in the tone.
Just fact.
San stared at the wooden floor.
Something tightened in his chest unexpectedly.
He had been surrounded by family his entire life.
Even in grief, he had not been alone.
The idea of her growing up without that steadiness unsettled him deeply.
He stepped outside before the feeling rooted too deeply.
He sat on the low bench near the front of the house, hands clasped loosely.
His father joined him.
“You are troubled,” his father said quietly.
“She wants to go to the estate.”
His father’s gaze sharpened.
“As bait.”
A pause.
“That is dangerous.”
“I know.”
“And you will let her.”
San hesitated.
His father studied him carefully.
“You care.”
San did not deny it.
His father nodded slowly.
“Then protect her properly.”
He left it at that.
Time passed.
Eventually, the door opened.
San turned instinctively.
And forgot how to breathe.
She stepped out slowly.
The dress was pale pink, soft and flowing. The fabric caught the afternoon light and shimmered faintly. It fitted her properly, tailored at the waist and falling elegantly to her ankles.
Her hair had been combed thoroughly, falling long and smooth down her back.
His mother had applied the faintest touch of color to her cheeks.
She looked like something out of a story.
Like someone meant to stand in candlelight in a great hall.
His chest tightened painfully.
She searched for his reaction.
“Well?” she asked lightly.
He swallowed.
“You look… presentable.”
She burst into laughter.
“Presentable?”
She stepped forward and reached up, squishing his cheeks between her fingers gently.
“You are terrible at compliments.”
His ears burned again.
“I was being accurate.”
“You look cute when you’re shy,” she teased.
“I am not shy.”
She smiled knowingly.
Behind her, his mother and father exchanged a glance.
Subtle.
Smug.
San ignored it firmly.
But as Y/N stepped back, twirling slightly in the pale pink fabric, he could not deny the truth settling quietly inside him.
Sending her to the estate still felt like a mistake.
A dangerous one.
But if she was going to walk into that place, she would not walk in broken.
She would walk in radiant.
And he would make sure she walked back out again.
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Sans Masterlist
◟ .✦ ݁˖ genre : historical au, fluff
◟ ⋆⟢ # word count : 280
⬩➤ 「 warning 」 ᝰ. not proofread
➺ the background story for those interested
Once again, the night has come, which means are you coming back here, to the residence of the eldest although unfortunately hidden prince. You welcomed yourself in after undoing the lock. After closing the doors behind you, as always, the first thing you do is to go look for Hyunjin. But upon looking for him, you stopped calling his name midway to find him soundly asleep in his bed. Unwilling to disturb his peace, you left him alone to head to the kitchen.
There you folded your long sleeves as they were getting in the way, so you can start tossing the ingredients you brought with you into a wooden bowl. One by one, portions of the ingredients are mixed together skillfully as you have done this one too many times. While you were focused on making sure you don’t miss a single step, you suddenly jumped as a pair of arms wrapped around you.
He lets out a yawn before resting his tired, sleepy head onto your shoulder, “Good morning.”
“Hyunjin, it’s night.”
“Hmph, I don’t like being called Hyunjin.”
“I have misspoken, Your Highness.” You playfully spoke.
“I hate that even more. Stop it. Please?”
“As you wish, Jinnie.”
“That’s much better.”
You could hear the smile in his voice.
“Anyways, what are you making?”
“A new dessert for you to try.”
“Really? What’s it called?”
“I can’t you yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure if it’s going to taste good.”
“Are you kidding?” He asks as he snuggles into your neck. “Anything you make is delicious.”
Helloo! Hope you had a great weekend! I had a skz x s/o where maybe she tries to cook a Korean dish for the first time and maybe it goes wrong but they still find it endearing.
Also want to say hope you’re doing well! Spring is soo busy but remember to drink water and get some good rest! <3
pairing: Stray Kids x reader
warnings: reader being a bad cook, some fluff, established relationship, slice of live, this is literally me and my boyfriend
Funfact about me, I absolutely HATE Spring and Summer. I got allergies, pale skin, red hair and sweat like a BITCH so yea....I need my Autumn and Winter back...
The scent of toasted sesame oil filled the apartment, a comforting wave of warmth that you hoped would instantly wash away the exhaustion of Chan’s twelve-hour studio session. You stood by the stove, admiring your masterpiece. The japchae looked picture-perfect—glass noodles glistening, vibrant bell peppers and spinach tossed throughout, and tender strips of beef. You had spent the last two hours meticulously prepping every ingredient. You were absolutely bursting with pride.
When the digital lock on the front door beeped, your heart did a happy little flip.
"I'm home," Chan called out, his voice heavy with fatigue as he kicked off his shoes. He trudged into the kitchen, his shoulders slouched beneath his oversized hoodie, but the moment his eyes landed on you—and the beautifully set table—his entire face lit up.
"Tadaaa!" you beamed, hands clasped behind your back. "I made dinner."
Chan’s jaw dropped slightly, a soft, dimpled smile spreading across his face. "Wha—you did this for me? Sweetheart, you shouldn't have." He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. "It smells incredible. I'm actually starving."
"Sit, sit!" you urged, gently pushing him into a chair. You scooped a generous portion of the noodles into his bowl and handed him a pair of chopsticks, watching him with wide, expectant eyes.
Touched by your sweetness, Chan’s eyes softened. "Thank you, love. Let's eat."
He lifted a large tangle of noodles, blew on them slightly, and popped them into his mouth.
As he chewed, his internal gears ground to a screeching halt. The expected balance of sweet and savory never came. Instead, an absolute tidal wave of pure, unadulterated sodium hit his tastebuds. You had somehow managed to use a catastrophic amount of soy sauce. It tasted like a block of salt dissolved in the ocean.
Chan froze. His jaw locked mid-chew as his brain frantically calculated how to swallow the culinary weapon without gagging.
"How is it?" you asked, leaning forward on your elbows, practically vibrating with excitement. "Is it good? It's my first time making it!"
Chan looked up. He saw the pure joy radiating from your face, the hopeful sparkle in your eyes, and the sheer pride in your smile. His heart melted entirely. There is absolutely no way I can ruin this for her, he thought.
Forcing his throat to work, he swallowed the bite with superhuman effort. He didn't even wince. Instead, he forced a bright, breathtaking smile to his face and reached out to squeeze your hand.
"Oh Wow" Chan said, his voice entirely sincere despite the dehydration rapidly setting in. "This is amazing. Seriously, it's so good. I could eat this every day."
Your smile widened, a joyful flush creeping up your cheeks. "Really?thank god. Well luckily I made enough."
As you turned to grab a glass of water, Chan took a deep breath, steeling himself for round two. His kidneys were going to hate him tomorrow, but looking at your happy face, he decided it was worth every single bite.
Leeknow
Minho knew exactly what your kitchen track record looked like. He had seen you accidentally set off the smoke detector while making toast and fully understood that "cooking skills" was a phrase that didn't belong anywhere near your resume.
So, as he stood by the front door adjusting his jacket, ready to head out for a long day of schedules, he didn't expect any culinary send-offs. But just as his hand touched the doorknob, you called out his name, hurried down the hallway, and thrust a small, wrapped bento box into his hands.
"I made you lunch," you announced, a tiny, nervous flush creeping up your neck. "For your break later."
Minho stared down at the box, his eyebrows raising in genuine surprise. A slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He looked up at your expectant face and felt a sudden rush of affection. "You did?" he asked softly. He stepped closer, wrapping one hand around your waist to pull you in. "Thank you. I'll make sure to eat every bite." He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips before heading out into the morning chill.
Hours later, the dance studio fell quiet as the group finally took a lunch break. While the other members ordered takeout, Minho sat on the floor, leaning his back against the mirrors, and pulled your bento box out of his bag. He unclipped the lid, highly intrigued by what you had managed to create.
When the lid came off, a quiet chuckle escaped his throat.
It was a beautiful, chaotic mess. You had clearly attempted to make a classic gimbap and a side omelette, but the execution had gone slightly rogue. The omelette was completely torn apart, looking more like a jagged jigsaw puzzle than a side dish. The gimbap rolls hadn't survived the journey either; they had broken apart completely, causing the seasoned rice, colorful vegetables, and seaweed to spill out and mingle into a disorganized heap at the bottom of the container.
Minho smirked in sheer amusement, shaking his head. He could practically see you in the kitchen, frantically trying to roll the seaweed and losing the battle against the sticky rice.
Picking up his chopsticks, he scooped up a chaotic mouthful of the deconstructed lunch. It wasn't exactly a culinary masterpiece—the rice was a bit too mushy and the seasoning was entirely uneven—but as he chewed, his smirk softened into something incredibly fond. It tasted like your effort, and to him, that was the best part. He ate every single bite, enjoying the mess thoroughly.
Once the container was completely spotless, Minho snapped a quick photo of the empty box. He opened his chat with you, attached the picture, and typed out a message: Completely cleared it. Literally the best lunch I’ve ever had, jagiya. Thank you.
Changbin
You knew the absolute fastest way to Changbin’s heart was through a plate of fried chicken. It was his ultimate comfort food, so you had spent hours scrolling through recipes, determined to master the perfect crispy, golden crunch all on your own. It turned out to be a lot harder than the internet videos made it look. After a chaotic battle with popping oil and flour splatters, you finally managed to salvage two chicken drumsticks, presenting them proudly on a plate the moment he walked through the door.
"Ta-da!" you announced, holding the dish out to him. "I made your favorite."
Changbin blinked, his eyes dropping to the plate. He took a mental step back. Instead of the beautiful, honey-gold crust he usually drooled over, the two drumsticks were a deep, unmistakable shade of charcoal. The outer skin was completely burned to a crisp, looking more like campfire embers than dinner.
He looked back up at you. The initial pride in your expression was already crumbling, replaced by a tense, nervous twitch of your lips. You bit your lower lip, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the plate as you watched him, practically holding your breath.
Changbin’s heart completely melted. He knew how terrifying hot oil could be, and the fact that you had braved the kitchen just to make him his favorite food meant everything to him. There was no way he was going to let your hard work go to waste.
"Wow, you made this for me?" Changbin beamed, his loud, bright voice instantly filling the room to cut through the tension. He grabbed one of the drumsticks without a second thought. "I'm so lucky."
He took a large, brave bite. It was exactly what he expected—a heavy, bitter wave of burnt carbon, followed by a slightly dry interior. It was definitely burned. But as he looked at your wide, anxious eyes, he forced his throat to swallow and immediately let out a loud, theatrical hum of pure delight.
"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed, widening his eyes and nodding vigorously as he chewed. "Babe, this is so good! The crunch on this is incredible. It’s got that deep, smoky flavor, you know? I love it!"
The sheer relief that washed over your face was instantaneous. Your shoulders dropped, and a massive, radiant smile broke across your lips. "Really? You don't think it's too dark?"
"Are you kidding? It's perfect," he lied smoothly, taking another huge bite to prove his point, completely ignoring the bitter aftertaste.
Unable to contain your happiness, you threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. "Thank you! I was so scared I ruined it." You pulled back just enough to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek, and then another right on his lips.
Changbin grinned into the kiss, happily holding you close. His tastebuds were suffering a little, but seeing you this happy made it the best fried chicken he had ever had.
Hyunjin
The front door clicked open, and Hyunjin stepped into the apartment, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension from his workout. He was wiping a stray bead of sweat from his forehead with his towel when a sweet, powdery scent caught his attention. Intrigued, he followed the aroma into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks, a surprised smile immediately gracing his lips.
There you were, standing at the counter, completely covered from hands to apron in white cornstarch.
"What's all this?" Hyunjin asked, leaning against the doorframe with an amused glint in his eyes.
You looked up, a smudge of flour on your cheek, and beamed. "I'm making strawberry mochi! I've always wanted to try it, and the video looked so easy. It didn't seem like it would be that hard."
Hyunjin let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms as he watched you attempt to handle the sweet rice dough. It was clearly putting up a fight. The dough stretched wildly, sticking to your fingers and refusing to cooperate as you frantically tried to dust more starch over the sticky mass. You let out a frustrated huff, blowing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes.
"Well," Hyunjin said smoothly, stepping closer to the counter. He tilted his head, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "If you happen to need a professional taste tester for your creations, you know I'm always available."
Your eyes lit up at his offer. "Really? Perfect timing, because the first one is actually done!"
With an excited flourish, you carefully scooped up your first masterpiece and held it out to him on a small plate. Hyunjin looked down at it, and one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows cocked upward. It didn't exactly look like the plump, round mochis from a cafe. It was remarkably flat, spreading out sideways on the plate, and it looked so intensely sticky that he wondered if it might permanently glue his jaws together.
He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, looking from the sad little blob of dough back to your eager, hopeful face. He couldn't possibly say no to you.
"Alright" Hyunjin murmured, picking up the flat confection. It stretched precariously between his fingers as he lifted it to his mouth and took a brave bite.
The texture was an immediate challenge—it stuck to the roof of his mouth instantly—but the real shock was the flavor. You had clearly gone completely overboard with the sugar. It was an overwhelming, blinding wave of pure sweetness that made his teeth ache. It tasted like straight syrup.
Hyunjin froze for a brief moment, his throat working hard as he forced himself to swallow the sugary bomb. He managed to keep his expression perfectly neutral, smoothing out his features before looking back down at you.
"How is it?" you asked, leaning in close, practically vibrating with anticipation.
"It's really good," Hyunjin lied flawlessly, offering you a warm, brilliant smile that reached his eyes. "Very sweet. You did a great job for your first try."
A huge, triumphant smile broke across your face. "Yes! I knew I could do it!" Entirely reassured, you turned back to the counter, instantly re-energized and humming a little tune as you began tackling the next stubborn piece of dough.
Hyunjin quietly reached for a glass of water, watching you with an incredibly fond smile. His teeth were still ringing from the sugar rush, but seeing you so happy made it entirely worth it.
Han
Jisung had been practically living at the studio lately, burying himself under an endless mountain of tracks and lyrics. Yet, no matter how exhausted he was, he always made sure to come home and give you his undivided attention, never letting his grueling schedule get in the way of your relationship. Deeply grateful for his constant effort, you decided to surprise him with his absolute favorite comfort food: dwaeji galbi. You spent the entire afternoon marinating the pork ribs, making sure the kitchen smelled like a high-end Korean BBQ restaurant by the time his key turned in the lock.
"Babe, I'm home," Jisung murmured, dropping his backpack onto the floor with a tired sigh. But the moment he walked into the dining room and saw the spread, his eyes went wide. The grilled ribs looked absolutely picture-perfect—perfectly caramelized, glistening under the warm light, and garnished neatly with sesame seeds.
"Surprise!" you smiled, pulling out a chair for him. "You’ve been working so hard lately, so I wanted to make you something special."
Jisung’s chest tightened with pure affection. He was so deeply touched by the gesture that for a second, he just stared at you, a soft, vulnerable smile breaking across his face. "You did all this for me? Wow... thank you, jagiya. It looks incredible." He eagerly sat down, picked up a succulent piece of meat with his chopsticks, and popped it into his mouth.
He chewed once, and his entire world stopped.
Something had gone horribly, catastrophically wrong with the marinade. Instead of the sweet, savory harmony of garlic, soy sauce, and pear puree, a bizarre, jarring taste exploded across his tongue. It was like a confusing mixture of straight baking soda and an accidental overdose of vinegar. It was practically inedible.
Jisung froze mid-chew, his eyes widening in subtle panic. He glanced across the table at you, expecting a warning, but you were completely oblivious. You happily picked up a rib, took a bite, and chewed with a content, relaxed smile. Apparently, your tastebuds were entirely forgiving today, or you were just caught up in the joy of the moment.
Suddenly, you caught him staring. You paused, leaning forward on your elbows with an expectant, bright grin. "How is it? Is the marinade okay?"
Jisung’s internal survival instincts kicked into high gear. He couldn't possibly break your heart or ruin this beautiful moment after you had spent hours cooking for him. Forcing his jaw to move, he swallowed the disastrous bite with a heroic effort.
Instantly, a bright, dimpled smile plastered across his face. He quickly reached for another piece of meat, stuffing it into his mouth to prove his enthusiasm. "Mmm! It's delicious!" he mumbled around the food, nodding his head vigorously. He gave you a thumbs-up, continuing to chew through the awful flavor while making enthusiastic noises. "Seriously, babe... so good. You're the best."
Your smile widened into a radiant, happy beam, completely satisfied with his reaction. As you turned to grab a side dish, Jisung took a quick, desperate gulp of his drink, bracing himself for the rest of the meal. It was a culinary disaster, but seeing the pure happiness on your face made every terrible bite worth it.
Felix
You usually ruled the kitchen with absolute confidence, so when you announced that you were stepping out of your culinary comfort zone to surprise Felix, he was absolutely thrilled. He knew you were a fantastic cook, but you had never attempted a Korean dish before. The moment he walked through the door and smelled the rich, simmered sauce, his eyes lit up with pure excitement.
"I made tteokbokki!" you announced proudly, placing a steaming bowl of bright red rice cakes right in the center of the table. "I wanted to make something traditional for you."
Felix beamed, his beautiful smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he sat down. "Wow, honey! It looks so good," he praised, genuinely touched by the effort you had put into learning a dish from his culture. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, picked up his spoon, and scooped up a generous rice cake drowned in the thick, crimson sauce. "Let's taste it!"
He popped the rice cake into his mouth.
The reaction was instantaneous. The moment the sauce hit his tongue, Felix’s eyes widened in sheer shock. It wasn't just spicy; it felt like a literal solar flare had ignited inside his mouth. The heat tore through his throat, making his eyes water immediately. You hadn't just made it spicy—you had created a biological hazard.
"I wanted to make sure it had a nice kick," you explained proudly, leaning forward with a bright, satisfied grin. "So I used a whole lot of gochujang and an extra heavy handful of gochugaru to give it that rich color!"
Felix’s throat locked up. He let out a sharp, choked cough, his hand flying to his mouth as he desperately tried to process the volcanic heat. He swallowed heavily, the spicy paste burning a painful trail all the way down to his stomach. His chest heaved slightly as he tried to regain his composure, his ears rapidly turning a bright shade of pink.
He managed a tight, strained nod, his voice a full octave lower than usual. "Yeah... cough... I can definitely tell, love."
You blinked, tilting your head as you noticed the tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh, wait. Is it okay? Do you like it?"
Felix coughed again, a soft, breathless sound as he frantically grabbed his water glass. But looking at your hopeful, eager face, he couldn't bear to let you think you had failed. He took a quick sip, forced the burning sensation down, and flashed you a dazzling, reassuring smile despite the sweat breaking out along his hairline.
"I love it," he wheezed out, pointing at the bowl with his spoon to emphasize his praise. "It's great, sweetie. Really... really flavorful. Best tteokbokki ever."
Your face instantly illuminated with joy, entirely missing his internal battle. "Yay! Go ahead, eat as much as you want!"
As you happily reached for your own plate, Felix took a deep, silent breath, preparing his burning tongue for round two. He was going to need an entire carton of milk after this, but seeing the sheer happiness on your face made the fiery sacrifice worth every single bite.
Seungmin
The rich, bubbling sound of a stew drew Seungmin away from his book and toward the kitchen. As he stepped over the threshold, a highly unusual aroma hit his nose. It was unmistakably kimchi jjigae, but there was a strange, unidentifiable undertone to it that made his internal alarms go off.
"What are you up to?" Seungmin asked, leaning his shoulder against the counter as he watched you diligently stir the pot.
You looked up, your face flushed from the heat of the stove, and gave him a bright, triumphant smile. "I'm making dinner! I found this recipe on tiktok that made it look so easy, so I decided to finally give it a try."
Seungmin hummed softly, stepping closer to peer into the pot. The color looked right, but the scent wafting up was definitely peculiar—almost sweet in a way that traditional kimchi jjigae should never be. Seungmin opened his mouth to say something, but seeing the pure excitement in your eyes, he quietly closed it. He didn't want to rain on your parade before you even finished.
A few minutes later, you turned off the burner and proudly ladled a generous portion of the steaming stew into a bowl, setting it right in front of him with a flourish. "All done! Try it, try it!" you urged, folding your hands beneath your chin as you watched him with absolute anticipation.
Up close, Seungmin instantly noticed that something had gone terribly wrong. The broth lacked its characteristic depth, and a strange sheen floated on top. He picked up his spoon, dipped it into the soup, and took a cautious sip.
His face remained completely blank, a testament to his incredible self-control. It was awful. It tasted like someone had tried to make stew using ketchup and a random assortment of spices instead of proper ingredients. It was sweet, sour in the wrong way, and entirely lacking flavor.
"Well?" you asked, leaning in closer, practically vibrating with hope. "How is it?"
Seungmin hesitated for a brief second, his mind scrambling for the right words. Instead of answering right away, he set his spoon down and offered a calm smile. "Hey, can you show me that recipe you found? I'm just curious about the ingredients they used."
"Sure!" You unlocked your phone and handed it over, pointing at the screen. "See? It has thousands of views."
Seungmin scanned the page, and it took everything in him not to scoff out loud. The recipe was absolute bullshit. It called for regular cabbage, apple cider vinegar for "acidity," and a massive spoonful of sugar. It wasn't a traditional recipe at all; it was a culinary crime.
You tilted your head, noticing his quiet focus. "You don't like it."
Looking up from the screen, Seungmin saw the sudden touch of worry in your eyes. His heart softened instantly. He deleted any sarcastic comments from his brain, smiled bravely, and reached out to gently squeeze your hand.
"No, I really do like it," he lied smoothly, his voice warm and entirely reassuring. "The effort you put into this is amazing, jagiya. But hey... how about we cook it together next time? I can show you the recipe I always use, and we can make it the traditional way."
Your worry instantly evaporated, replaced by a happy nod. "I'd love that!"
As you happily reached for the bowls, Seungmin secretly breathed a sigh of relief. His tastebuds were going to suffer through this meal, but the prospect of teaching you the right way next time made it completely worth it.
Jeongin
Jeongin was entirely accustomed to the fact that your presence in the kitchen usually resulted in a disaster. He never minded it, of course; he was always perfectly content to pull out his phone and order takeout, or simply beg Minho to whip up a meal for the two of them. But lately, you had started to feel a lingering sense of guilt about it, so you decided it was finally time to take matters into your own hands.
When Jeongin unlocked the front door and walked in, the first thing he noticed was you standing by the stove. A playful, dimpled grin instantly broke across his face.
"Hey, did you get lost in there?" he called out, leaning against the kitchen counter with an amused sparkle in his eyes.
You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head as you stirred a frying pan. "No, I didn't get lost. I actually want to start cooking from now on. I can't rely on delivery apps forever."
Jeongin blinked, genuinely surprised by your sudden determination, but a warm wave of affection rushed through him. "Really? Wow, okay. I’m impressed."
"I decided to start with something simple," you proudly announced, gesturing to the stove. "Egg fried rice. Look, I even plated some for you!"
With a flourish, you handed him a small plate. Jeongin leaned down and took a breath. He had to honestly admit to himself that it smelled pretty good—savory, warm, and comforting. Genuinely excited, he scooped up a large spoonful and popped it into his mouth while you turned your back to him to grab a fork from the drawer.
He started to chew, but his teeth instantly hit something incredibly hard and sharp. A loud, distinct crunch echoed in his mind.
Jeongin froze. Moving his tongue with practiced stealth, he managed to maneuver the foreign object to the front of his mouth and subtly pulled it out with his fingers. He looked down. It was a jagged, unmistakable piece of eggshell. His eyebrows furrowed in a brief frown, but the moment he heard your footsteps returning, he quickly flicked the shell into the trash can.
"So, how did I do?" you asked, handing him the fork, your eyes wide and shining with hopeful anticipation.
Jeongin quickly plastered a bright, reassuring smile on his face. He didn't want to crush your new culinary confidence on day one. Instead of speaking, he held up a enthusiastic thumbs-up. He carefully kept his jaw completely still, strictly avoiding any actual chewing so you wouldn't hear the ominous grinding of the remaining eggshells still hidden in the rice.
"Oh, awesome!" you beamed, visibly relieved. You grabbed your own spoon, eyeing the frying pan. "Let me try some too—"
"Wait!" Jeongin jumped forward, his voice a little muffled as he gently grabbed your wrist to stop you. He swallowed the crunchy bite with an intense effort. "You know what? The guys at the dorm are absolutely starving today. I should really give the rest of this to them as a gift. How about I cook something special just for you tonight?"
You blinked, a bit confused but incredibly touched by his thoughtfulness. "Oh... wow, really? That's so sweet of you, Jeongin."
"Of course, honey," Jeongin smiled, mentally apologizing to his members while feeling incredibly relieved that he had just saved your teeth from your own creation.
After losing her job, her boyfriend, and her best friend in one go, Y/N walks through a strange ivory door and wakes in a cursed forest. San has been hunting the lord responsible for vanished brides, including his own sister. When he finds Y/N at the edge of the well that swallows women whole, he believes she belongs to the enemy.
She thinks she has nothing left to live for. He has nothing left but vengeance. And somewhere between suspicion and survival, they begin to choose each other.
Pairing: Choi San x Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Dark Fairytale Retelling, Angst, Slow Burn, Mystery, Fantasy
Tropes: Door to another world, Knife-to-throat first meeting, Cursed forest,Morally grey hunter, Cynical depressed heroine, He falls first, Found family
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | San Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
This is Part 1
The fifth woman encountered her door at the edge of celebration.
Inside the rented hall, music swelled against painted walls in a cheerful insistence that bordered on aggressiveness. Laughter rose and fell in waves, glasses clinked, someone shouted for another round, and gold streamers drooped from the ceiling as if even they were tired of pretending.
Y/N stood near the back, a half-empty champagne flute balanced between her fingers, watching the room the way one watches a play they already know the ending to.
Clara’s thirtieth birthday.
Thirty and thriving, according to the banner stretched across the far wall. Thirty and promoted. Thirty and engaged. Thirty and surrounded.
Y/N took another sip.
The bubbles burned pleasantly down her throat. The alcohol had softened the edges of the evening but not dulled them entirely. She was aware of everything. The way conversations quieted a fraction when she approached. The way people’s smiles shifted, not unkind, just cautious.
She had not seen most of them since the company meeting where the layoffs were announced. Since her name had been read in that careful HR voice that carried the illusion of sympathy.
“Due to restructuring…”
“Nothing personal…”
“Opportunities elsewhere…”
She leaned her shoulder against the wall and let her gaze drift.
Near the buffet table stood her ex.
He laughed at something her former best friend said, his hand resting casually at the small of her back.
It was an intimate placement. Familiar.
Not new.
Y/N watched them for a long moment, not with shock. That had passed weeks ago. Not with fury. That had burned through quickly and left only ash.
Now she watched them with something quieter.
Recognition.
Of course.
She had always been the one who tried harder. The one who adjusted herself to fit someone else’s comfort. The one who apologized first, who forgave too easily, who filled silence with reassurance.
Her best friend had filled silence too.
Long phone calls after the breakup. Long sighs about how unfair men were. Long promises of loyalty.
Now she stood wrapped in the very arms she had claimed to condemn.
Y/N lifted her glass slightly in their direction in a mock toast they did not see.
“Well played,” she murmured.
The music shifted into something louder. Clara squealed as candles were lit. People gathered closer, drawn to the spectacle of celebration.
Y/N turned away.
As she crossed the room toward the bar for something stronger than champagne, she passed a small cluster of colleagues she once considered friends.
“…honestly, it wasn’t surprising.”
“She never seemed fully committed.”
“I heard she didn’t even try to negotiate.”
A short laugh.
“Some people just don’t have that drive.”
“She’ll land somewhere eventually. Hopefully.”
Eventually.
The word felt elastic.
She slowed but did not stop.
Another voice chimed in, softer.
“It’s hard, though. Losing your job and then your boyfriend. That’s a lot.”
A pause.
“Well… sometimes there’s a reason things fall apart.”
The implication hung there, sticky and unspoken.
Y/N kept walking.
The bar’s surface reflected her faintly. Mascara intact. Hair in place. Expression neutral.
“Whiskey,” she told the bartender.
“Neat?”
“Sure.”
The glass was pressed into her hand. She did not hesitate before swallowing half of it.
The burn grounded her more than the champagne had.
She turned slightly and let her gaze drift across the room once more.
Her ex caught sight of her then. For a fraction of a second their eyes met. His expression flickered through something like discomfort before smoothing into polite distance.
Her former best friend followed his gaze.
Their eyes met too.
This time, there was something unmistakable there.
Relief.
Relief that the secret was no longer a secret. Relief that the narrative had settled.
Y/N lifted her glass again, a silent acknowledgment.
She did not look away first this time.
Instead she finished the whiskey, set the glass down, and walked toward the exit.
No one tried to stop her.
No one noticed her leaving.
Outside, the night air pressed cool against her skin.
The alley behind the hall glittered faintly under a streetlamp. Confetti had drifted out with guests earlier, scattered across damp pavement like metallic remnants of forced joy.
The door behind her thudded shut, muting the music to a distant vibration.
She exhaled slowly.
It did not hurt the way she had expected.
There was no dramatic collapse, no surge of sobs.
Just a steady, dull awareness that she had miscalculated her place in the world.
Lost job.
Lost boyfriend.
Lost best friend.
She had spent the past month telling herself it was coincidence. Bad timing. Misfortune.
Standing alone in the alley, she let the truth settle.
It was not misfortune.
It was misjudgment.
She had believed herself more central than she was.
She had believed she mattered more than she did.
The confetti shifted slightly as a breeze curled down the narrow passage.
It carried a scent that did not belong there.
Earth.
Damp soil.
Something green and alive.
She frowned faintly.
The alley smelled of stale beer and trash bins, not forests.
The breeze strengthened.
At the far end of the alley, where brick walls narrowed into deeper shadow, stood a door.
Ivory.
Narrow.
Carved with twisting vines that curled and tangled across ist surface. Tiny jewel-like stones glimmered between the leaves, catching the streetlamp’s glow like watchful eyes.
Y/N blinked once.
She did not step back.
“Well,” she said quietly. “That’s new.”
The door had not been there when she stepped outside.
She was certain of that.
She studied it from where she stood, head tilted slightly.
The carvings were intricate. Beautiful, almost delicate. The jewels winked faintly, their light not entirely dependent on the lamp above.
The air around it hummed.
Not loudly.
Just enough to feel slightly out of alignment with the rest of the world.
She walked toward it.
Her heels clicked softly against the pavement, crunching through scattered confetti.
If this was a hallucination, it was remarkably detailed.
If this was a dream, it had impressive production value.
If this was some elaborate prank, she did not have the energy to care.
She stopped a few feet away.
Up close, the vines seemed almost alive, their curves too organic to be entirely carved. The jewels were not glass. They held depth, like droplets of something luminous caught mid-fall.
She reached out and rested her palm against the wood.
It was cool.
Solid.
Real.
The surface vibrated faintly under her skin, like a pulse.
From somewhere deep within came the echo of a song that faltered midway, as if joy itself had forgotten the melody.
She exhaled slowly.
“This tracks,” she murmured.
A voice brushed against her ears then, soft but clear.
“Garlands pale and vows spoken sweet,
May guide your steps to peril’s seat.
Look not away from what you see,
For love is not what it may be.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“Of course,” she said. “A riddle. That feels on brand for my life.”
Her hand remained on the door.
Nothing in the alley called her back.
Inside the hall, laughter continued without her.
She imagined reentering.
Explaining she had stepped outside for air.
Smiling at people who had already decided who she was.
Watching her ex lean closer to someone else.
Returning to an apartment that felt like a waiting room she had overstayed in.
There was nothing waiting for her that she wanted.
The lock clicked.
A wind smelling faintly of earth and secrets curled around her ankles.
She did not hesitate.
She turned the handle.
The world folded inward.
And swallowed her whole.
She landed hard.
Not on pavement.
On grass.
Dampness soaked through the thin fabric of her dress instantly. The ground was uneven, cool against her palms.
She rolled onto her back and stared upward.
Branches arched overhead, woven tightly against a sky that bled from indigo into pale gold. Dawn.
Birdsong trembled faintly somewhere beyond sight.
She lay there for a moment, breathing.
Her mind searched for panic and did not find it.
Instead, there was a strange, detached clarity.
“So,” she said softly to the canopy above, “this is what too much whiskey does.”
She pushed herself upright slowly.
The door was gone.
In ist place stretched forest in every direction.
Tall trees stood close together, their trunks dark and straight, bark rough and ancient. Mist clung low to the ground, coiling between roots and fallen leaves.
The air smelled clean.
She stood, brushing grass from her hands.
Her heels sank slightly into damp soil. She bent down and slipped them off without ceremony, tossing them aside. Bare feet felt more stable.
“This is impressively vivid,” she muttered. “Full sensory immersion.”
She turned slowly in a circle.
No alley.
No hall.
No distant hum of traffic.
Just trees.
The sun edged higher, sending thin spears of light through gaps in the branches.
She tested the ground with one cautious step.
Solid.
Another step.
Still solid.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Forest. Fine.”
Her tone was not frightened.
It was tired.
If this was a hallucination, she would walk through it.
If this was a dream, she would wake eventually.
If this was something else entirely, she lacked the emotional energy to be outraged by it.
She began walking.
The forest floor was uneven, roots twisting across her path like veins beneath skin. Dew clung to her ankles. Her dress caught on low branches.
Birdsong faded as she moved deeper.
The silence that replaced it was not empty.
It felt observant.
Her thoughts drifted unbidden.
She had not always been this cynical.
There had been a time when she believed hard work guaranteed stability.
When she believed loyalty guaranteed reciprocity.
When she believed love, once chosen, remained steady.
Now she recognized patterns more easily.
People pursued what benefited them.
Companies protected themselves.
Friends aligned with proximity and convenience.
It was not cruelty.
It was gravity.
And she had simply misjudged her own weight.
She stumbled over a root and steadied herself against a tree.
“Brilliant,” she murmured. “Even in imaginary forests I trip.”
The bark was rough beneath her palm.
The scent of pine and damp earth deepened as she moved forward.
Time felt stretched thin here. The light shifted slowly, yet she could not measure how long she had walked.
Her mind remained oddly calm.
If she was going to vanish, at least it would be somewhere quiet.
The thought did not terrify her.
It settled into her bones with an uncomfortable familiarity.
She had already been vanishing, in small increments.
At work.
In relationships.
In rooms where conversations shifted when she approached.
In everything that was herself.
The forest simply made it literal.
A faint metallic sound carried through the trees.
Once.
Then silence.
She paused.
Her head tilted slightly.
“Well,” she said softly, “either this dream is developing a plot, or I’m not alone.”
She did not call out.
If something was here, it likely knew already.
She resumed walking.
The ground sloped gently upward. The trees thinned slightly, allowing more light to spill through.
Ahead, she glimpsed a clearing.
Open space felt like direction.
She stepped into it just as the sun crested fully over the horizon.
Light spilled across a small meadow encircled by towering trunks. The grass shimmered silver with dew.
At ist center stood a stone well.
Old.
Cracked.
Ist edges worn smooth by time.
Y/N approached it slowly.
The air felt heavier here.
As she drew closer, she noticed something pale near the edge of the clearing.
Fabric.
White.
She crouched beside it.
The cloth was fine, delicate. Torn unevenly. One corner stained dark brown.
She traced the edge lightly with her fingertip.
“Wedding season,” she murmured without humor.
The metallic scent from earlier lingered faintly beneath the clean morning air.
Not fresh.
Old.
She stood again and stepped back.
The forest around the clearing felt closer than before.
Not hostile.
Just attentive.
Her depression, which had weighed on her like a constant fog for weeks, felt different here.
Sharper.
Stripped of ist usual background noise.
She could not hide inside distractions.
There were no emails to refresh.
No notifications to check.
No conversations to replay.
Only trees.
Only silence.
Only the undeniable fact that she had walked through a door because nothing on the other side had been worth staying for.
She folded her arms loosely around herself.
“I guess,” she said to the well, “if I’m going to end it, this is dramatic enough.”
While she looked hypnotized down the well, wondern how long she would fall if she let herself slip. Considering.
A breeze stirred the grass.
The well’s dark opening seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it.
Water glimmered far below, still and black.
For a moment, her reflection wavered in ist surface.
Then rippled.
She blinked.
The ripples did not settle.
They spread outward, distorting her face.
Behind her reflection, something pale flickered past.
She straightened slowly.
“Of course,” she said under her breath. “Why not add haunted well to the list.”
She stepped back from the edge.
The metallic sound came again.
Closer this time.
Stone against metal.
Measured.
Deliberate.
She turned her head slightly toward the sound.
Somewhere beyond the tree line, something moved.
Not crashing.
Not clumsy.
Controlled.
She did not feel fear.
Not yet.
Her life had already fractured.
The idea of further danger felt abstract.
She inhaled slowly.
“If this is where the horror element escalates,” she murmured, “I hope it’s efficient and gets me out of this misery fast.”
The sun climbed higher, but the clearing retained a chill.
The scrap of white fabric lay still at her feet.
The well waited.
The forest listened.
And somewhere beyond her sight, something watched.
Y/N lifted her chin slightly.
“All right,” she said quietly to the trees. “If you’re going to ruin me too, at least introduce yourself properly.”
The breeze shifted again.
This time it carried the faintest trace of smoke.
Not fresh.
Old.
Lingering.
She stepped back toward the tree line, eyes scanning the shadows.
She was not afraid.
Not because she was brave.
But because she had already lost the things she had feared losing.
When there was nothing left to protect, fear dulled into indifference.
And indifference, she was beginning to understand, was ist own kind of armor.
Behind her, the well’s water stilled.
Ahead, a branch snapped softly beneath careful weight.
The forest exhaled.
And the fifth woman, barefoot in a stranger’s dawn, didn't even know what she got herself into.
San had risen before the sun.
He preferred the forest at that hour. When the air still held the quiet of night and the world had not yet remembered its noise. When breath showed faintly in the cold and the ground was damp with dew that preserved tracks clearly.
He crouched now near the base of a pine, fingers brushing lightly over disturbed soil.
Not deer.
Too narrow.
Not rabbit.
Too deep.
He exhaled through his nose slowly.
Human.
Recent.
The imprint pressed into the earth was incomplete, but the edges were still sharp. Whoever had passed here had done so after the last rainfall.
He straightened slightly, gaze scanning the tree line.
The forest stretched endless and patient around him, trunks rising tall and close together, their bark dark with moisture. Mist clung low, drifting between roots and stones like something reluctant to disperse.
Behind him, a twig snapped softly.
He did not turn.
“I see it,” he said quietly.
Hongjoong stepped forward into his peripheral vision, bow slung over his shoulder. His gaze followed San’s to the ground.
“Not ours,” Hongjoong murmured.
“No.”
The others were scattered further back, moving in deliberate arcs through the undergrowth. They had learned not to cluster too tightly. The forest favored those who moved with awareness.
They had come out at first light for two purposes.
Food.
And answers.
The first was simple. The second had consumed them for months.
San’s jaw tightened faintly.
He had replayed the last time he saw his sister so often that the memory felt polished smooth. The white of her dress. The ribbon in her hair. The way she had laughed at something small and trivial before mounting the carriage that would take her to the lord’s estate.
Promised.
The word still scraped.
The lord had been generous. Kind. Respected.
The match had been celebrated.
She had never returned.
At first, there had been letters.
Then silence.
The estate had claimed illness. Then travel. Then confusion.
San had ridden there himself.
He had been turned away politely.
Hongjoong had gone weeks later with a different approach.
He had been met with empty smiles.
Since then, brides had vanished. Not only from their village. From others too.
Always after being promised to the same lord or men within his circle.
Always quietly. Always without bodies.
Until one.
Yunho had found the scrap of white cloth near the well three weeks ago.
Stained.
San swallowed slowly.
The cursed well lay deeper in the forest, in a clearing most avoided.
The villagers whispered that it was older than the trees. That something beneath it fed on sorrow.
San did not believe in curses. He believed in men.
Men who hid their crimes behind wealth and influence. Men who thought the forest would swallow evidence for them.
He crouched again, examining the track more closely.
Barefoot.
He frowned.
“Barefoot?” Hongjoong echoed softly, noticing the same detail.
San nodded once.
Who walked this forest barefoot?
Not villagers. Not hunters. Not travelers with sense.
The imprint angled toward the clearing.
Toward the well.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
He rose fluidly to his feet.
“Stay wide,” he said quietly. “If this is bait, they will not expect us from all sides.”
Hongjoong nodded once and melted back into the trees.
San moved forward alone.
The forest thinned gradually, allowing pale morning light to filter through more freely. The air shifted subtly as he approached the clearing, heavier, charged in a way that pressed faintly against his skin.
He slowed.
Voices carried faintly. Not multiple. One.
A woman’s voice.
Talking. Not in fear. Not shouting.
Talking as if to herself.
He stilled completely, blending into shadow behind a thick trunk.
He angled his head slightly.
“…if I’m going to ruin me too, at least introduce yourself properly.”
The tone was dry. Resigned.
Slightly slurred, as if drunk.
He frowned faintly. He edged closer, moving without sound, each step placed deliberately between fallen leaves and brittle twigs.
The clearing opened before him.
And there she stood. Near the well. Barefoot.
Wearing a dress unlike any he had seen.
It was pale blue, the fabric thinner and shaped differently than village garments. It fell strangely against her frame, unfamiliar stitching and cut. It did not belong to this place.
Her hair caught the early light, strands illuminated gold where the sun pierced through branches.
She stood with her back partially turned, arms loosely folded as if warding off chill.
Talking to herself.
San’s gaze sharpened.
The lord’s men were known for their disguises.
For planting stories. For using women.
If she was one of them, her presence here was deliberate.
He scanned the perimeter quickly.
No movement. No obvious guards.
That meant nothing.
He stepped forward silently, circling behind her.
She did not hear him.
Not until he was already there.
He moved fast.
One arm hooked around her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest. His left hand brought a knife to her throat, the blade resting just beneath her jaw. His right hand pressed the second knife flat against her abdomen.
Her body stiffened in his grip. Her breath caught.
“Do not move,” he said low against her ear.
The scent of her hit him faintly.
Not forest. Not village smoke.
Something unfamiliar.
Clean. Sharp.
He tightened his hold slightly.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “Where do they keep the brides?”
She did not thrash. Did not scream.
Instead, for a heartbeat, she went utterly still.
Then she laughed.
It was not hysterical. It was not defiant. It was tired.
The sound vibrated lightly against his chest.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she said evenly.
His grip tightened. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not.” Her voice did not waver.
“If this is about brides, cults, forest gangs, whatever you’re imagining, I’m afraid I missed the orientation.”
He pressed the blade slightly closer to her throat.
A thin line of red appeared.
“Where is my sister?” he asked, the word rougher than he intended. “Which house do they hold her in?”
She tilted her head faintly against the knife, as if considering the question seriously.
“I don’t know your sister,” she said. “I don’t know you. I don’t know where I am.”
Her voice shifted slightly then, not fearful.
Empty.
“And frankly, I don’t care if you kill me.”
San’s fingers faltered for a fraction of a second.
“What?”
“I said,” she repeated calmly, “I don’t care.”
He studied her profile from behind.
Her pulse beat steadily beneath the blade.
No frantic flutter. No attempt to break free.
“I was actually considering jumping into that well,” she added conversationally. “So you’re saving me the trouble.”
His brows drew together sharply.
“Do not speak nonsense.”
“I’m not.”
She exhaled slowly.
“My life is a disaster. I lost my job. My boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend. I am standing barefoot in a forest that may or may not be real. So if you’re here to finish the job, go ahead.”
The words came with such blunt honesty that it disrupted the narrative he had prepared.
He had expected pleading.
Or lies. Or anger.
Not this.
He frowned. “You expect me to believe you wandered into this forest by accident?”
She gave a small, humorless huff.
“I walked through a door in an alley after too much whiskey. So yes. Accident seems appropriate.”
He stared at the side of her face.
Mad. She must be mad.
Or very good at pretending.
“Killing yourself is not the answer,” he said sharply.
He did not know why he said it.
The words left him before he examined them.
To his surprise, her body trembled.
And then she began to cry.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Tears slid down her cheeks silently at first.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know it isn’t.”
Her voice cracked.
“I just… I don’t know how to fix anything anymore.”
He felt something unfamiliar tighten in his chest.
She was either the most skilled liar he had ever encountered.
Or she was telling the truth.
Words spilled from her in uneven fragments.
About interviews that led nowhere.
About sitting in her apartment in the dark because turning on lights felt like admitting she was still there.
About watching people she trusted rearrange themselves around someone else as if she had never been essential.
She spoke not as someone crafting a performance.
But as someone exhausted from holding it in.
San’s grip loosened gradually without him realizing.
He lowered the blade at her throat slightly.
She did not attempt to flee.
He stepped back, though he kept one knife raised.
She turned slowly to face him.
And he saw her fully for the first time.
For a moment, his mind refused to process it.
The rising sun broke through the branches above, light cascading across her features in pale gold. It illuminated the dampness on her lashes, the faint flush across her cheeks.
Her dress, that strange pale blue fabric, caught the light softly.
She looked…painfully real.
And yet there was something about her that felt almost mythic.
Like a siren emerging from mist.
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
Clear.
Direct.
Unafraid.
He forgot, briefly, to breathe.
She blinked at him through tears and then, incredibly, a crooked smile tugged at her mouth.
“You know,” she said, voice still thick, “this knife thing is the most intimate contact I’ve had in months.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
She shrugged faintly.
“Not my best statistic.”
Heat rushed unexpectedly up his neck.
He lowered the second blade a fraction more.
“You are insane,” he said.
She laughed softly, wiping at her cheeks.
“Probably.”
Her gaze traveled over him then, assessing.
“And you are surprisingly handsome for a man who ambushes random women in forests.”
He stiffened.
The moment snapped.
He stepped back fully now, both knives lowered but still in hand.
“I am not the one talking to herself near a cursed well,” he shot back.
Her brows lifted.
“Cursed?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head, eyes sliding toward the stone structure behind her.
“And you just accept that?”
“It has swallowed more than one who approached too close.”
She snorted lightly.
“Right. Because wells are notoriously vindictive.”
She stepped toward it deliberately.
San’s stomach dropped.
“Do not,” he warned.
She leaned over the edge.
“Hello?” she called down into the darkness. “Any curses home?”
The earth trembled.
Light within the clearing shifted violently.
San’s eyes widened.
“Move!”
Too late.
The well’s surface erupted.
Blackened hands shot upward from within, long and skeletal, slick with something that shimmered like oil. They clawed at the air, reaching for her.
She gasped and stumbled back, barely avoiding the first grasping fingers with shock on her face .
The ground cracked around the well’s base.
More arms burst forth, writhing, searching.
Her eyes went wide.
“This is the most vivid dream I have ever had,” she breathed. “I am never drinking again.”
San lunged forward, grabbing her wrist.
“This is no dream,” he snapped. “Run.”
She did not argue.
They bolted.
The forest seemed to recoil as the darkness spilled outward from the well, slithering across the grass like living shadow.
Branches whipped past them.
The air grew colder.
He heard the others shouting somewhere distant, alarm rising.
The ground behind them blackened as the shadow advanced.
She stumbled once.
He glanced down.
Her feet were bare.
Of course.
He had forgotten that.
He cursed under his breath.
Without slowing, he swept her up into his arms.
She let out a startled sound but wrapped her arms instinctively around his neck.
“You could have led with this instead of knives,” she panted.
He ignored that.
He ran.
Branches lashed against his shoulders.
The shadow followed, stretching unnaturally long between trees.
He adjusted his grip, holding her securely against his chest.
She was lighter than he expected.
Warm and real.
He could feel her heartbeat against his collarbone, fast but steady.
Not the pulse of someone resigned to death.
The forest sloped downward sharply ahead.
He leaped over a fallen log.
Behind them, the darkness shrieked, a sound like stone grinding against bone.
He did not look back.
He did not slow.
Not until the air shifted again.
Until the shadow hesitated at the edge of a certain boundary, recoiling as if striking something unseen.
San crossed that invisible line and felt the tension in the forest release slightly.
The darkness writhed at the edge but did not follow further.
He slowed gradually, breath controlled but deep.
Only when the sounds of pursuit faded did he finally stop.
He set her down carefully.
She swayed once before steadying herself.
Her eyes searched his face.
“That,” she said faintly, “was new.”
He studied her in silence.
The sunlight filtered through leaves above them, illuminating her again in pale gold.
She looked shaken now.
But not broken.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly.
She let out a slow breath.
“I wish I knew, that is a question I have been asking myself for months.”
And for the first time since he had begun this hunt months ago, San felt something shift inside him.
San did not let her linger near the boundary where the darkness had stopped.
He caught her wrist again, firmer this time, and began pulling her deeper into the forest.
“Hey,” she protested lightly, stumbling after him. “You could at least ask before abducting me a second time.”
“You will come with me,” he said without looking back.
“I gathered that.”
Her tone was not frightened.
It was curious.
He moved quickly but not recklessly, choosing paths that twisted through dense undergrowth and around fallen trunks. The forest here was older, quieter. Few traveled this stretch except those who knew where to step.
She stumbled again and then steadied herself.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “for a handsome forest enthusiast slash criminal, you run very efficiently.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
“I am not handsome or criminal.”
“Debatable. You did hold knives to me.”
“You were near the well.”
She was silent for a moment.
Then she craned her neck slightly to peer past him at the trees.
“This place is incredible,” she murmured, almost to herself. “The light is different. Everything smells so clean. It’s like someone turned up the saturation on reality.”
He glanced at her briefly.
She should have been shaken. The well had revealed what it was capable of.
Instead, her eyes moved over everything with open fascination.
A crow lifted from a branch above them and flapped away with a harsh cry.
She looked up, following it.
“I mean, aside from the shadow arms trying to drag me into the earth. That was rude.”
He stopped abruptly and turned toward her.
“You find this amusing?”
“I find it… surreal,” she corrected. “If this is a dream, it is disturbingly detailed. If it is not a dream, then I’ve already accepted that my life has derailed in spectacular fashion.”
He studied her face.
There was no tremor in her jaw. No wildness in her eyes.
Just exhaustion layered beneath curiosity.
“You were not afraid,” he said quietly.
“Of the well?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged faintly.
“I’ve been more afraid in my apartment.”
He did not understand that.
She continued walking beside him, though he had not resumed pulling her.
Her hands flexed at her sides as if testing the reality of movement.
“You said it swallowed people,” she added. “Who?”
“Women,” he answered. “Brides promised to a lord who does not keep his vows.”
She tilted her head.
“That sounds ominous. Do you specialize in ominous?”
words slightly slurred.
He did not answer.
They moved again, weaving through a denser patch of trees. The sun rose higher but struggled to pierce the canopy fully. The forest floor darkened in places where shadow lingered stubbornly.
She brushed her fingertips lightly over the bark of a tree as she passed.
“It’s all so vivid,” she said softly. “I can feel everything. The texture, the dampness.”
She glanced at her bare feet.
“Though I would have preferred shoes.”
He noticed then the faint abrasions along her soles. Thin lines of red where small stones had cut her skin.
“You should not have walked barefoot,” he said.
“I didn’t exactly pack for a woodland excursion.”
He slowed slightly, adjusting his pace to hers.
He had meant to bring down a deer this morning. To return with meat. To search for tracks that might lead to answers about his sister.
Instead he was escorting a strange woman in an unfamiliar dress who spoke of doors in alleys and whiskey-fueled transitions between worlds.
He considered his options.
He could leave her.
The forest would deal with her eventually.
But the image of the well’s hands reaching for her flickered in his mind.
And the way she had said she did not care if he killed her.
That unsettled him more than the darkness.
“You cannot wander alone,” he said finally.
“I wasn’t planning to start a hiking club.”
He ignored that.
“There are others with me.”
“Ah,” she said lightly. “A whole knife collective.”
“They are not criminals.”
“Good to know.”
He hesitated.
Bringing her to their lodging meant risk.
Their location had remained hidden carefully. They did not trust easily.
But leaving her here was not an option.
He sighed, he was too soft hearted too just leave her here.
And he could not guard her alone indefinitely.
He stopped walking again.
She nearly collided with him.
“Now what?” she asked.
“You will come to our lodging,” he said. “But you will not know where it is.”
She blinked.
“That sounds dramatic.”
He stepped closer to her.
“If you are part of the lord’s men, you will not betray us.”
Her brows lifted slightly.
“You still think I’m secretly affiliated with some forest aristocrat?”
“I think nothing yet.”
“Fair.”
He pulled a strip of cloth from inside his belt.
Her gaze flicked to it and then back to him.
“You’re going to blindfold me.”
“Yes.”
“And tie my hands.”
“Yes.”
A slow grin spread across her face.
“Normally I prefer knowing someone a little longer before we escalate to this level of intimacy.”
The words were soft.
Suggestive.
He froze for half a second.
Heat climbed rapidly up his neck into his cheeks.
She noticed.
“Oh,” she said with mock surprise. “He blushes.”
“I do not,” he snapped automatically.
“You absolutely do.”
He stepped forward and turned her roughly so her back faced him.
She did not resist.
He caught her wrists and drew them behind her back.
Her breath hitched faintly at the contact.
“Careful,” she murmured. “Buy me dinner first next time.”
He tied her wrists with efficient knots, tighter than necessary.
She flexed her fingers.
“Functional,” she assessed.
He lifted the cloth and wrapped it around her eyes, securing it firmly.
Dark lashes fluttered once before disappearing beneath the fabric.
“There,” he said.
She tilted her head slightly.
“You are still very handsome, by the way.”
He tightened the knot unnecessarily.
She laughed softly.
“Violence as a coping mechanism. Classic.”
He exhaled slowly and bent down.
In one fluid motion, he lifted her and slung her over his shoulder.
She let out a startled sound and then adjusted, her bound hands pressing lightly against his back.
“This is either the worst kidnapping ever or the most elaborate hallucination,” she said.
“Silence would be appreciated,” he replied.
“Unlikely.”
He began walking.
Her weight settled against him more naturally than he expected. She was not heavy, but she was solid. Real. The heat of her body seeped faintly through his tunic.
The forest shifted around them as he took a more convoluted path, doubling back in places, stepping deliberately over streams and through shallow patches to obscure tracks.
She talked.
Not constantly.
But steadily.
“You know,” she began after a few minutes, “three months ago I thought my biggest problem was deciding what to cook for dinner.”
He said nothing.
“Then I lost my job. Budget cuts. I didn’t even argue. I was so tired. I signed the papers and walked out with a cardboard box like in every cliché movie.”
Her voice held no tears now.
Just narration.
But he didn't even understand half of the things she said. She was either pretty drunk or really mad.
“Then my boyfriend decided he ‘needed space.’ Which apparently meant space with my best friend.”
San’s jaw tightened faintly.
She shifted slightly on his shoulder.
“I found out at a party tonight. Well, technically I found out weeks ago. But seeing them together makes it… concrete.”
He adjusted his grip as he stepped over a fallen log.
“And then,” she continued, “I overheard my former colleagues discussing my failure like it was a case study.”
Her laugh was quiet and brittle.
“Apparently I lack drive.”
He glanced down slightly though he could not see her face beneath the blindfold.
“You do not lack words,” he muttered.
“Talking is free.”
She was quiet for a few steps.
“I drank too much whiskey,” she added. “Went outside for air. There was a door. Ivory. Vines. Jewels. Very aesthetic.”
He nearly stumbled.
“A door.”
“Yes. In an alley.”
“You expect me to believe that.”
“I expect nothing at this point.”
He considered the possibility that she had struck her head.
But the well had reacted to her.
The darkness had reached for her.
She continued.
“I didn’t have anything left to lose,” she said softly. “That’s the honest part. Walking through it felt easier than going back inside.”
The words lingered.
He thought of the moment she had said she did not care if he killed her.
He had assumed manipulation.
Now he was less certain.
“Do you truly not value your life?” he asked quietly.
She was silent long enough that he wondered if she would answer.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I think I valued what my life was supposed to be. And when that fell apart, I didn’t know what remained.”
He did not respond.
They moved through thicker brush now, the path narrowing.
Birds scattered as he passed.
She spoke again.
“You said your sister vanished.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“Yes.”
“Promised to some lord.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re hunting him.”
“Yes.”
She hummed thoughtfully.
“See, that I understand.”
He frowned faintly.
“You understand vengeance.”
“I understand wanting answers.”
He did not correct her.
She shifted again on his shoulder, her cheek brushing briefly against the fabric of his tunic.
“You know what’s funny,” she said. “If this is real, I walked into a medieval murder investigation while emotionally unstable. If it’s a dream, my subconscious is very dramatic.”
“You are dramatic,” he said dryly.
“Accurate.”
They walked for a long stretch in relative quiet.
San’s thoughts turned inward.
She could be lying.
She could be sent.
She could be a distraction.
But her story held no obvious manipulation.
It was too strange to be believable.
He thought of his sister laughing in the sunlight before stepping into a carriage.
Of believing in something promised.
Of waiting for letters that never came.
He thought of this woman near the well, speaking of ending herself as if it were an administrative decision.
Lonely.
That was the word that pressed against him.
She sounded unbearably lonely.
He wondered when he had last allowed himself to acknowledge his own.
They approached the final stretch.
The trees grew denser, then abruptly opened into a hidden clearing masked by low branches.
Their lodging was not a house.
Not fully.
It was an old hunter’s shelter built partially into the earth, reinforced over time with timber and stone. From a distance it blended with the forest floor.
He paused at the edge and listened.
Voices.
Alert.
He stepped forward into view.
Immediately, movement erupted.
Yunho emerged from behind a tree, bow raised.
Wooyoung stepped out from the opposite side, blade already in hand.
Hongjoong appeared near the shelter entrance.
“San,” Hongjoong called sharply. “Did you see what happened at the well?”
“Yes,” San replied evenly.
Their gazes shifted downward.
To the woman slung over his shoulder.
She chose that moment to speak.
“For the record,” she said brightly, “I would like it noted that I was not informed this was a group activity.”
Silence fell.
Wooyoung blinked.
“…Why are you carrying a woman,” he asked slowly, “and why is she joking.”
San lowered her carefully to the ground but kept hold of her arm.
“She was at the well.”
All of them stilled.
“At the well,” Mingi echoed from near the shelter.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The well reacted.”
A collective tension rippled through them.
Yunho stepped closer, eyes scanning her bound wrists and blindfold.
She tilted her head toward the sound of his approach.
“If this is a trial,” she said lightly, “I’d like legal representation.”
Wooyoung stared at San.
“You found her near the cursed well. And decided to bring her home.”
“She could be one of his,” Jongho said quietly from behind.
“She claims she does not know this place,” San replied.
“And you believe her?” Hongjoong asked.
San hesitated.
“I do not know yet.”
The woman shifted slightly.
“For clarity,” she interjected, “I am equally confused.”
Wooyoung let out a short disbelieving laugh.
“She talks a lot.”
“Yes,” San said flatly.
Hongjoong studied her in silence for a moment.
“Remove the blindfold.”
San reached forward and untied the cloth.
It fell away.
Her eyes blinked against the light.
She took in the group slowly.
One by one. Assessing.
Then she smiled faintly. “Well,” she said, “this is either a very attractive cult or I have finally lost my mind.”
Wooyoung choked on a laugh.
San felt heat rise in his cheeks again and ignored it.
The forest around them seemed to hold its breath.
And for the first time since his sister vanished, something other than vengeance stood in the center of their hidden clearing.
San expected another joke.
Another crooked grin. Another careless comment meant to disarm them.
Instead, after she called them an attractive cult, the woman went utterly quiet.
The shift unsettled him more than her teasing had.
Her gaze moved slowly from face to face, measuring each of them as if trying to understand what kind of story she had stumbled into. Hongjoong’s calculating calm. Yunho’s quiet watchfulness. Wooyoung’s restless intensity. Mingi’s guarded stance. Jongho’s unreadable stillness. Yeosang’s sharp silence. Seonghwa’s composed, almost gentle attention.
No smile. No sarcasm.
Just stillness.
Wooyoung broke it first. “San. Who is she?”
San kept his eyes on her. “She was alone at the well.”
Every one of them stiffened.
“At the well?” Yunho asked.
“Yes.”
“And?” Hongjoong’s tone sharpened. “What happened?”
“She spoke to it.”
A pause.
“And it answered.”
That drew a reaction.
“How?” Mingi asked quietly.
“The ground split. Hands came out.”
Silence fell heavy in the clearing.
“That has not happened in months,” Yeosang murmured.
San nodded once. “It reached for her.”
Wooyoung blinked. “And you brought her here.”
“She would have died,” San replied.
The words were factual. But something under them felt less detached than he intended.
Hongjoong studied him carefully. “Or she was bait.”
“Then we will discover that,” San said evenly.
He did not take his eyes off her.
She had drifted toward the fire without anyone noticing.
The small flames flickered softly against stacked wood, casting warm light against her pale dress. She stood too close. Her face unreadable.
Then she extended her hand into the fire.
San moved before thought caught up.
He seized her shoulders and pulled her back sharply.
“What are you doing?”
Her skin had only brushed flame briefly. Not enough to truly harm her.
But tears were already spilling down her face.
Not the dry tears from before. Not controlled.
This was different.
“You should have let me jump,” she said hoarsely.
The clearing went still.
“Or killed me,” she added, voice breaking.
San’s grip slackened. “This is not—”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, louder now, but not hysterical. Just cracked open. “I can’t keep pretending I can fix it.”
Her hands trembled at her sides.
“I lost my job. I lost the only person I thought loved me. My best friend chose him. And everyone else just… talks about me like I failed something.”
The humor was gone. Completely gone.
“No one wants me,” she whispered. “No one needs me. There isn’t a single person who would care if I disappeared.”
The words landed like a blow.
San felt something tighten sharply in his chest.
She looked at him directly. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what group you’re hunting or what sister you lost.”
Her voice thinned. “I just wanted the noise to stop.”
Wooyoung stepped forward slowly and crouched in front of her.
His voice was softer than San had ever heard it.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” Wooyoung said gently.
She shook her head faintly. “You’ll either kill me because you think I’m lying… or I’ll take care of it myself. Because this obviously isn’t a dream.”
That sentence silenced all of them.
San felt it in his spine.
She believed that. Entirely.
No madness in her eyes. Just dawning realization.
“What is your name?” Wooyoung asked again.
A long pause. Then she said it quietly.
Y/N.
The name felt fragile in the open air.
She swayed suddenly.
Seonghwa moved at once, catching her elbow before she collapsed.
“You are exhausted,” he said calmly.
She didn’t argue.
San noticed how light she felt in Seonghwa’s hold. How her balance seemed delayed, as if her body and mind were no longer aligned.
“She tried to burn herself,” Mingi muttered under his breath.
Seonghwa gently untied the rope still loosely looped around her wrists. She did not resist. Did not even react.
“Inside,” Seonghwa said quietly.
San almost objected.
But when she blinked slowly and her knees dipped again, the protest died in his throat.
Seonghwa guided her toward the shelter.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t look back.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the clearing felt colder.
The others looked to San.
“Well?” Hongjoong asked.
“She says she came through a door,” San replied. “From another place. Another world.”
“And you believe that?” Jongho asked.
“I believe she believes it.”
“She knew nothing about the lord?” Yunho pressed.
“She swore she didn’t.”
Wooyoung stood slowly. “She didn’t look like someone pretending.”
No one argued.
Inside the shelter, faint movement sounded. Then quiet.
San stepped closer to the entrance and looked in.
She was already lying down.
Seonghwa had placed a blanket over her. Her strange pale blue dress contrasted sharply with the rough wooden walls and woven furs.
Her eyes were closed. She had fallen asleep almost immediately. Tears still streaked faintly along her temple.
“She collapsed the moment she lay down,” Seonghwa said quietly from beside the doorway. “Body gave out.”
San nodded.
He watched her breathing.
Steady. Unaware.
She looked younger asleep. The sharpness stripped away. The sarcasm gone. Just a woman who had reached the end of her strength.
He stepped back outside. The forest rustled softly around them.
Mingi crossed his arms. “So. Who is she really?”
San inhaled slowly. “She says she lost everything in her world. Work. Lover. Friend.”
Wooyoung’s jaw tightened faintly.
“She said there was no one who would miss her,” San added.
The admission felt heavier spoken aloud.
Hongjoong studied him carefully. “And the well reacted to her.”
“Yes.”
“That matters,” Yeosang said softly.
San knew it did.
The well did not awaken for ordinary wanderers.
Which meant one of two things.
She was connected to something older than they understood.
Or she was meant to be here.
San looked toward the shelter again.
For months, his purpose had been clean and brutal.
Find the lord. Find the missing brides. Find his sister.
Now there was a sleeping stranger under their roof.
A woman who had nearly stepped into darkness not because she was brave, but because she believed she had nothing left to protect.
“She stays,” San said finally.
Hongjoong’s brow lifted slightly.
“For now,” San clarified.
Wooyoung leaned against a tree trunk.
“You don’t sound like you think she’s dangerous.”
San considered that.
He thought of her near the well.
Of her hands in the fire. Of the way her voice broke when she said no one wanted her.
Dangerous? No.
Broken. And painfully alone.
“She is not the threat,” San said quietly.
The fire crackled between them.
Inside the shelter, she shifted faintly in her sleep, as if chasing something she could not quite outrun.
San looked out toward the forest line.
The hunt had not changed. The lord still needed to fall. His sister still needed to be found.
But something else had entered their war now.
Not vengeance. Not suspicion.
Something softer. Something fragile.
An ember in the ash.
And for reasons he did not yet understand, San found himself hoping it would not go out.
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Imagine: Bang Chan taking care of his clumsy girlfriend
This one is for all the clumsy queens out there!
Chan walks into your livingroom to find you holding an icepack to your wrist and one of your legs propped up on a pillow. He wipes his hand across his face and exhales loudly. "Honey, do i want to know what happened this time?"
Within a second he's next to you, wrapping one arm around your shoulder and slowly lifting the ice pack with his free hand. You give him an apologetic smile as he inspects your body for further injuries.
His eyes scan over the bruises already forming on your knees, mingeling with the previous ones that hadn't fully healed yet. The small scars testamony of earlier clumsy moments, as you like to call them.
"I tripped, it's not that bad." You lie, you didn't want to worry him. His hand moved to your wrist and you pull it away, wincing. " o yeah it's bad." He places a soft kiss on your hair and walks into the kitchen. You curse yourself for trying to hide the truth for him and for tripping over your unpacked suitcase in the first place. When he walks back in, new ice pack in one hand and some painkillers in the other he gives you the most endearing smile. "You know what i think? I think we should cover you in bubble wrap, that way you can't hurt yourself anymore." Both of you laugh as he sits down and hands you the painkillers.
--‐-----------------------
I couldn't deny you guys a small imagine, not after Chan thirst trapping us all day🤣
Anyways back to dealing with the aftermath of my own clumsyness now and get my wrist some rest
can’t sleep so i’m going to post hyunjin fluff from my archives (: this was originally s.coup fluff lol.
you were drained and beyond exhausted, work took everything out of you and all you wanted to do right now was curl into a ball and cry because the night was so hard. you walked into your apartment and immediately kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag on the floor near the door.
as you walked further into your apartment the sound of the the tv filled your ears and the figure on your sofa grabbed your attention, it was hyunjin, you were unaware that he’d be there but after the day you’ve had, you weren’t complaining.
“hi” you spoke, a small smile spreading across your tired features, just barely reaching your eyes “what are you doing here?” you asked as you leaned over the back of the sofa, he gently placed a hand to your cheek and you leaned into his touch “you look exhausted, come lay with me” he said as he patted his chest. he let his hand fall from your face before you walked around, climbing onto the sofa into his lap, you laid your head on his chest and he rubbed soothing circles on your back, kissing the top of your head “long day?” he asked softly but all you could do was nod your head as you listened to the sound of his soft breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as you rested your head.
you loved him gentle like this, between these four walls he didn’t have to be hyunjin of stray kids, here he could be hwang hyunjin, your love, your boyfriend and your safe space and that’s exactly what you needed tonight. he held you there, gently rubbing your back and arms, leaving kisses in your hair as you drifted off to sleep.
i hope you guys like it (: thank you for reading!!
Aside from the gentle rustle of pages from Y/N's book and the faint pitter-patter of raindrops rolling down the large bedroom window, the only other sound was the rhythmic breathing from the man laying in bed beside her. Chris's cheek was cushioned by his pillow, his eyes shut, the dim lighting from the bedside lamp creating tiny dancing shadows along his cheekbones from where his eyelashes fluttered softly in his sleep. His body was entirely relaxed, his fingers loose against the duvet and his forehead smooth, yet he was angled towards Y/N in a way that was beyond devastating. Even though he was fast asleep, he still sought her out, his unconscious body language gravitating towards his wife.
Quietly shutting her book after sliding one of her favourite bookmarks into it - something Chris had gifted to her a while ago - Y/N set it down on her nightstand. She was sitting up against the headboard; she turned so that her front was facing her husband instead. Her eyes softened as she took in the peaceful outline of him. It was one of those rare nights where he was still in clothes; the wide neckline of his dark t-shirt had slipped to one side and revealed the long like of his collarbone, a warm amber in the lamplight. His tiny moles were like paint splatters across his smooth skin, and they travelled up his neck, kissing the curves of the cheek that wasn't pressed up against the pillow.
Y/N found herself tracing the marks for the millionth time. She knew their placements like the back of her hand, and she found comfort in the familiarity of them beneath her fingers. The act of automatically counting each one as her fingertips danced along his limbs was soothing to her nervous system. She exhaled through her nose as her fingers reached the sharpness of his jaw, her thumb caressing it delicately before sweeping across his cheekbone.
The longer she watched him sleep, the more her eyes filled with slow tears. He looked so innocent and vulnerable while fast asleep that Y/N's mind suddenly began to remind her of all the things he had endured with his quiet strength. He had spent such a large chunk of his life surrounded by dozens of people, yet still utterly alone. There were so many experiences he had held close to his heart from when he was a child, all the way into adulthood. Things he had kept to himself and had pushed through with silence, refusing to lean on people around him, yet being the pillar for others to rely upon instead.
He had always been that sort of person. Quietly holding onto all the people who needed him, while his own pain piled on top of him like a tall, rickety tower, swaying fast or slow depending on the weather. Yet he would never push away anyone who came to him in need. The bridge might collapse, but he would always get them to safety before thinking of himself.
And if he was to fall?
Then so be it.
Y/N's wet cheeks glistened in the shadows as he kept up the tender caresses over her husband's face. It was late, the early morning hours filled with a haze of blackened indigo, thicker from the rainclouds covering the stars. Her heart always expanded to triple its size at such a time; emotion flooded over her until there was nowhere left for it to go, except for the exit through her eyes in the form of burning tears.
Her fingers gently stroked Chris's dark curls away from his temples. He shifted then, eyebrows twitching momentarily as he moved in his sleep, his stomach pressing up against the mattress, his head turned towards her, and one of his arms slipping below his pillow. His other hand reached out and sleepily curled around Y/N's wrist, his head pressing up against her thigh.
“Stay … “ Chris mumbled in his sleep, his words thick and slurred. “I … “
“Shh … “ Y/N breathed, cupping his jaw in her hand again. “I'm right here.”
“‘M … sorry … “
Y/N's heart sounded in her chest, another tear spilling over her lashes.
“I'll be better … “ Chris continued quietly, fingers tightening just a touch around her wrist. “I'll … I can take it. I don't … get hurt … “
Breath catching in her throat, Y/N leaned down and gently brushed her lips over his cheek in a tender kiss. “Shh. I love you, Channie. I'm right here. You're safe.”
Chris's heavy breathing halted for a moment, and his mumbled words stopped. His grip on Y/N's wrist loosened, and he hummed sleepily as his eyes began to open.
His gaze immediately landed on his wife, the rich brown of his eyes turned onyx in the shadows, tiny stars dancing about the centres. They were hooded, and he breathed slowly, the broad expanse of his back rising and falling as he continued to look at her. The corners of his plump lips lifted minimally at the corners, and his thumb started to smooth back and forth over the soft skin of her inner wrist.
She didn't say anything. Just watched the way he was touching her so gently, his eyelids fluttering shut again. A split second later his arms hooked around her waist, and she was pulled down until she was laying face to face with him. He exhaled heavily, his breath hot and sweet on her lips as he leaned closer, the sheer emotion in his dilated eyes making Y/N's breath catch.
“Why did you wait so long … ?” Chris suddenly asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Y/N blinked in surprise. “Wait?”
A tear spilled down Chris's cheek, and her eyes widened.
“To find me,” he breathed, eyes locked on hers. “All those years before we met … I felt so alone. Why didn't you come to me earlier?”
It felt like someone had punctured Y/N's lungs with a hundred blunt needles all at once. All she could do was stare at her husband, completely dumbfounded with an aching chest.
Because what was she supposed to say?
“It wasn't time,” Y/N whispered shakily, pressing her hand up against his cheek. “We … weren't supposed to meet before we did.”
“But why?” He gasped brokenly as more tears rushed out of his eyes, spilling across his nose bridge and into his hairline. “I needed you. I … “
His words broke off, and he dropped his face into a hand, shoulders heaving.
“Baby … “ Y/N's lips trembled as she pulled her husband into her arms, his head falling against her shoulder as his entire body shook in his embrace. “I'm here now. I'm not leaving … you're not alone anymore, Christopher.”
He sobbed into her skin, the sounds quiet but no less painful to Y/N's ears. Her own eyes clenched shut as she held him tightly, her fingers sinking into his hair as she cupped the back of his head. His shoulders caved into her body, the width of them shaking with each silent cry that left his body.
It took him a while to settle down again, his breathing slowing yet punctuated with tiny hiccupy sounds that each made Y/N's heart twinge with sympathy. She was holding him as secure as she could under the duvet, their limbs completely tangled when Chris finally lifted his head so he could look at her.
“‘M sorry,” he sniffled. His ears were pink now, and he looked embarrassed. “I … I don't know what just happened.”
Y/N pressed a kiss onto his warm forehead. “Did you have a bad dream?”
He nodded once. “Yeah,” he swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple jutting outwards with the movement. “It was … more like a memory?”
“A memory?”
“From over two decades ago,” Chris laughed awkwardly. “It sounds so stupid. I'm sorry.”
Y/N cupped his wet face in her hands. “Tell me.”
He sighed and turned his face to kiss the inside of her palm. “It just felt like I was … back there. Going through all the pain and … and … loneliness all over again. I haven't felt like that in a long time, but … “
He broke off and dropped his forehead against his wife's plush chest. “I know there's nothing either of us could have done. I wouldn't want to change anything either, not really. But sometimes … sometimes I wish I'd known you way before.”
Y/N's smile was soft as she kissed the top of his head. “I wish I'd known you back then too. But … “
“But … ?”
“But there's no point thinking about the past now,” Y/N whispered. “We met when we did for a reason. We can't change that, but ... we can somewhat control being together in the future?”
At that, Chris started to smile. He hummed in agreement against her skin. “I want to stay with you forever. Even when we die. And afterwards too. Me and you in every lifetime, no matter what.”
“I'm going to hold you to that, Bahng,” Y/N whispered. She pressed her forehead against his, their eyes finding home in each other across the short distance. “I'm so proud of you, you know that?”
Chris's lips parted in surprise. “All of a sudden?”
Her fingers found their way to his hairline where they gently swept the silky strands away in a soothing, repetitive motion. Her eyes flowed over his face with reference, taking in each one of his features that she so loved.
She didn't give him her reasoning. Just smiled and pressed another kiss to his nose and his cheeks. “I love you. So much. I … I'm so grateful that you exist. And that I get to spend my days with you. I feel like the luckiest woman alive.”
Y/N heard the way her husband's breath got stuck in his throat at her words. She also felt the soft puff against her lips when he exhaled, his eyes shining all over again in the darkness below the sheets.
His arms tightened around her waist like a vice as he pulled her closer, trying to completely merge their bodies together into one. Chris's face was steaming when he buried it deeply into the crook of Y/N's neck. His fingers too had wandered beneath the hem of her pajama top, and they curled into her skin like he needed it to anchor himself.
He didn't verbally respond to her words. Instead, his lips drew shapes over her skin in the form of reverent kisses, each one followed by a fresh tear.
Things take a sudden turn when you faint during your performance. You wake up to Seungmin glued to your side being protective as ever, while everyone else can’t help but tease him about it.
❛ ━━━━━━･❪🐶❫･━━━━━━ ❜
Kim Seungmin sat poised under the harsh glow of stage lights, dressed in sharp black that made him look every bit the polished idol the industry adored. His posture was straight, hands folded neatly in his lap—but his eyes?
They weren’t on the stage monitors.
They weren’t on the hosts.
They were on you.
Your group had just been announced.
The cheers surged through the venue, deafening, but Seungmin barely reacted. His lips pressed into a thin line, something soft flickering in his gaze as you took your position under the spotlight. You looked unreal—glittering outfit, hair perfectly styled, that confident smile you always wore before a performance.
He knew that smile. He knew what it hid sometimes.
The music started.
And just like that, you were gone—lost in the choreography, the rhythm, the precision that made your group one of the best. Seungmin leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees now, eyes following you like a tether.
You hit every move.
Every turn.
Every note.
But then, something faltered.
It was subtle. So subtle no one else seemed to catch it. A split-second delay. A blink too long. Your hand barely missed its mark before correcting.
Seungmin noticed. Of course he did. His brows furrowed, body tensing.
“Hyung—” he murmured under his breath, not even sure who he was addressing.
Onstage, you pushed through.
You always did.
But your steps grew heavier. Your movements—just a fraction slower. The lights seemed brighter, harsher, swallowing you whole as the chorus built again.
Seungmin’s jaw tightened.
Something’s wrong.
Then it happened.
Mid-spin, your body swayed—too far.
Too much.
And before anyone could process it, you collapsed.
The music kept going for half a second too long. Gasps rippled through the audience. Your members froze, breaking formation as one of them dropped to your side.
Seungmin was already on his feet.
His chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing attention—but he didn’t care. Didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
He was moving before anyone could stop him.
“Seungmin!” someone called after him, maybe one of the members, but it barely registered.
His heart was pounding so loud it drowned everything else out.
Security had already rushed onto the stage, lifting you carefully, quickly. Your head lolled slightly, completely unresponsive, and something inside Seungmin snapped.
“Move—!”
His voice came out sharper than intended as he pushed past staff, past cameras, past anyone in his way.
He didn’t wait for permission.
Didn’t care about protocols or appearances.
All that mattered was you.
By the time he reached backstage, they were already carrying you down the hallway.
“Careful—careful—” a medic was saying, but Seungmin barely heard it.
He rushed forward, slipping past them until he was right there, right beside you.
“Hey,” His voice broke, hands hovering uselessly for a second before gently cradling the side of your face. “I’m here. I’m here.”
No response.
Your skin felt too warm.
“Why is she so warm?” he snapped, panic bleeding through every word as he looked up at the medics. “Did she eat? Did she—what happened?!”
“Sir, please—give us space—”
“No.” It came out immediate. Firm. Unyielding.
He didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
Even as they laid you down on a stretcher, even as they started checking your pulse, your breathing—Seungmin stayed right there, hovering, eyes locked on you like if he looked away, something worse might happen.
“Her pulse is weak—get the oxygen—” One of the medics shouted.
Seungmin’s hands clenched.
“Baby,” he called softly now, voice trembling despite his effort to steady it. His thumb brushed against your cheek, grounding himself more than you. “Hey… this isn’t funny. Open your eyes.”
Nothing.
His chest tightened painfully.
You always answered him.
Always.
“Come on…” he whispered, leaning closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “You said you’d watch the rest of the show with me after this, remember? Don’t—don’t do this.”
The medics moved around him, efficient but urgent, placing an oxygen mask over your face.
“Sir, we need to take her to the medical room—”
“I’m coming.”
It wasn’t a question.
They didn’t argue.
Seungmin stayed by your side as they wheeled you down the hallway, his hand never leaving yours now, gripping tightly like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.
His mind was racing—every possible scenario crashing into him all at once.
You hadn’t been sleeping enough.
You skipped meals when schedules got tight.
You always said you were fine.
And he should’ve noticed sooner.
His grip tightened.
“Just stay with me,” he murmured, barely audible over the noise. “Just… stay.”
For the first time that night, Kim Seungmin didn’t care about the cameras.
Didn’t care about the show.
Didn’t care about anything except the girl lying in front of him and the terrifying silence where your voice should’ve been.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The chaos faded away slowly, dragging out in agonizing seconds that felt like hours.
The frantic footsteps turned into hushed murmurs. The blinding stage lights were replaced by the soft, sterile glow of a medical room. The noise of the award show became distant, muffled behind closed doors.
And you finally stabilized.
Seungmin hadn’t moved.
Not when the doctors came in.
Not when they checked your vitals again and again.
Not when they gently tried to usher him aside.
He stayed right beside you.
“The IV’s working well,” the doctor finally said after what felt like hours, glancing at the monitor before looking at him. “She was severely dehydrated. There’s also a mild fever, likely from exhaustion and stress.”
Seungmin swallowed hard, eyes flickering back to your face.
“She’ll be okay?” he asked, voice quieter now—but still tight.
“Yes,” the doctor reassured. “She just needs proper rest. Fluids, sleep, and no strenuous activity for a while. Her body basically forced her to stop.”
When the room finally cleared, silence settled in.
Real silence this time.
Just the faint beeping of the monitor. The soft drip of the IV. The steady rise and fall of your chest.
Seungmin exhaled shakily, finally allowing himself to sit properly beside your bed. His hand found yours again instinctively, fingers wrapping around it like second nature.
You were still warm but not burning anymore.
“Unbelievable…” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real bite to it. Just worry. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles.
“You really had to scare me like that, huh?”
No answer.
But that didn’t stop him.
“You skipped meals again, didn’t you?” he continued softly, eyes never leaving you. “And let me guess—you said you were fine when you weren’t.”
His grip tightened just a little bit, as if he were trying to pull some of your exhaustion into himself.
“I told you so many times… you don’t always have to push through everything alone.”
The words came out quieter and rougher than he intended, sounding much more vulnerable in the empty room.
Time started to pass—minutes stretched into maybe hours, but he didn’t bother to check his phone or the clock on the wall.
He didn’t care about the time.
At some point, he shifted even closer to you, resting his head lightly against the side of the bed near your arm while still holding onto your hand. His other hand absentmindedly brushed stray strands of hair away from your forehead, his touch careful and gentle, as if he were afraid you might break if he pressed too hard.
“I’m right here,” he murmured, almost unconsciously. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And he meant it.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
When you finally woke up, the process was painfully slow and heavy.
Your body felt… wrong. Weak. Like even breathing took effort.
Your fingers twitched first.
And Seungmin noticed immediately.
His head snapped up, his eyes wide and alert, all traces of his own exhaustion vanishing in an instant.
“Hey—hey—” he leaned forward quickly, grip tightening around your hand. “YN?”
Your lashes fluttered. Vision blurry.
“…Seungmin…?”
The sound of your voice, however weak, made relief hit him so hard it almost physically hurt.
“Yeah, yeah—I’m here,” he said quickly, voice softer now but still laced with urgency. His free hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently under your eye.
“Don’t try to move too much, okay? Just—just stay like this.”
You blinked slowly, trying to process everything.
“…what… happened…?”
“You fainted,” he answered immediately, the words slipping out before he could soften them. Then his expression shifted, concern overtaking everything again. “On stage. You scared everyone—especially me.”
Your brows knitted faintly, guilt creeping in—but before you could even speak, he cut you off.
“Don’t.”
His tone wasn’t harsh. Just firm.
Protective.
“You’re not apologizing,” he said, leaning closer, his forehead almost touching yours. “Not when you pushed yourself to this point.”
You went quiet.
His thumb continued to trace slow, soothing patterns against your skin.
“You’re dehydrated. Fever. Stress,” he listed softly, eyes scanning your face like he needed constant reassurance you were really awake. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
“…I’m okay now,” you whispered weakly, trying to offer him a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.
His expression tightened.
“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing your hair back again. “Because your body literally gave up on you.”
There was no anger.
Just quiet frustration and overwhelming relief.
Then, his hand slid more securely around yours, fingers intertwining.
“Do you have any idea what that felt like?” he asked, voice dropping, barely above a whisper. “Watching you fall and not being able to get to you fast enough?”
Your chest tightened.
“I’m sorry—”
“I said no apologizing.” Softer this time but still firm.
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second before opening them again—this time gentler.
“You just…” his voice wavered slightly, and he huffed out a quiet breath, almost like he was steadying himself. “You have to stay. Okay?”
Your heart skipped a beat at the desperation in his request. His forehead finally came to rest against yours now, his touch careful not to disturb the IV line.
“Stay with me,” he repeated, softer. “That’s all I’m asking.”
You squeezed his hand weakly in response.
“I will…”
That was enough for him. It was more than enough.
Seungmin let out a long, quiet breath, and you could feel his shoulders finally relaxing for the first time since you'd collapsed. His thumb brushed your cheek again, slower now—tender, affectionate, and grounding.
“Good,” he murmured.
Then, after a beat, his tone shifted just slightly, becoming a bit warmer and more like the Seungmin you knew.
“By the way, you’re officially banned from performing until you’re fully okay.”
You blinked.
“Seungmin—”
“I’m serious.”
But there was no real bite to it.
Just care. Overflowing, unmistakable care.
He adjusted your blanket gently, making sure you were comfortable before settling back into his seat—but still close, still within reach.
Still holding your hand.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The quiet didn’t last long; it never really did when your groups were involved.
The door burst open with barely a warning, a mix of familiar voices spilling into the room all at once.
“YN—!”
“Are you okay?!”
“Oh my god, you scared us—!”
Your members rushed in first, followed closely by the rest of Stray Kids, all of them crowding toward your bed with wide eyes and relieved smiles. The energy shifted instantly—warm, loud, overwhelming in the best way.
You barely had time to react before the first hug came.
“Hey—careful—”
Seungmin’s hand was already there, gently but firmly catching your member by the arm after a couple of seconds, easing her back.
“She just woke up,” he said, tone calm but unmistakably protective. “Not too tight.”
“I wasn’t even squeezing—!”
“You were about to.”
Another member leaned in, hugging you from the other side.
“Missed you,” she murmured softly.
Seungmin gave it exactly three seconds. Then, he moved again.
“Okay, that’s enough.”
He lightly pulled her back too, positioning himself just slightly closer to you, one hand still holding yours like a constant anchor.
The room erupted in protests.
“Kim Seungmin—!”
“Let her breathe, at least!”
“We’re not going to break her!”
“I know,” he replied simply, unfazed. “But you will tire her out.”
And just like that, he adjusted your blanket again, subtly putting himself between you and the crowd without even realizing it.
He was hovering, guarding you with a quiet, clinging intensity that he didn't even seem to realize he was projecting. You couldn’t help the small, tired smile that tugged at your lips despite the lingering weakness in your limbs.
“I’m okay,” you murmured, voice still soft but clearer now. “Really… I like that they’re here.”
Seungmin’s grip tightened slightly.
“You do?” he asked, glancing at you like he needed confirmation.
You nodded faintly.
“Yeah.”
There was a brief beat of silence. Then the room exploded all over again.
“SEE?” Jisung pointed dramatically. “Even YN wants us here!”
“Blink twice if he’s holding you hostage,” Minho added, crouching slightly to your level with a grin.
You let out a weak laugh, actually blinking twice just to play along.
“Wow,” Changbin snorted. “That’s crazy.”
Seungmin sighed, long-suffering, but his hand didn’t leave yours.
“Very funny,” he muttered. “She’s still on medication. Don’t encourage her.”
“Listen to him,” Hyunjin teased. “He thinks he’s her bodyguard now.”
“I am right now,” he shot back without missing a beat.
That only made it worse.
“Possessive much?”
“Relax Seungmin, we’ll give her back.” One of your members teased.
“Give her—” he frowned, visibly offended now. “She’s not an object.”
“Okay but you’re acting like she’s a limited edition collectible” someone laughed.
Even you couldn’t hold back your smile now.
Through all the teasing, all the noise, Seungmin stayed exactly where he was—right beside you, shoulder brushing the bed, fingers intertwined with yours like he needed that constant reassurance.
Every now and then, he’d gently remind someone,
“Not too loud.”
“Give her space.”
“Don’t lean over her like that.”
It was constant and unwavering. Underneath the banter, everyone in the room could see it that he was just profoundly relieved. They all were. The frantic energy slowly softened after a while, the laughter settling into something quieter and more comfortable.
“You really scared us,” one of your members said softly, brushing your arm.
“Don’t do that again,” another added.
You nodded faintly.
“I’ll try not to.”
“Try harder,” Seungmin muttered under his breath.
That earned him another round of teasing, but it was lighter this time.
Eventually, reality began to creep back in. One by one, they had to start leaving—schedules were calling, and the staff were hovering in the hallway.
“Rest, okay?”
“Message us when you wake up again.”
“We’ll visit tomorrow.”
“Don’t let him stress you out,” someone added with a grin, pointing at Seungmin.
“I’m not the problem here,” he replied flatly.
“You are the problem.”
The door finally closed behind them, leaving a trail of soft laughter echoing in the hallway. And just like that—it was quiet again.
Seungmin exhaled a long, slow breath, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as the room settled back into a peaceful calm. His thumb started brushing over the back of your hand absentmindedly again, a rhythmic motion that seemed to ground him.
Then he looked at you, his eyes soft and searching.
“You’re smiling,” he noted quietly.
“I’m glad they came.”
“I know”
Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a whisper that was meant only for you.
His fingers tightened gently around yours.
“But don’t get used to that,” he added under his breath, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Next time, I’m locking the door.”
You huffed out a weak laugh.
“Seungmin…”
“I’m serious,” he murmured, though the corner of his lips twitched just slightly. His forehead rested lightly against yours again, careful, protective.
“You scared me enough already.”
His thumb brushed your knuckles again, slower this time.
“I like you here,” he said simply. “Like this. Awake. Safe. With me.”
Your chest tightened a little at the words.
Seungmin let out a small breath, almost like he was letting go of all the fear he’d been holding in since earlier.
Then, softer—almost teasing, but still warm,
“So don’t faint again, okay? I’m not built for that kind of stress.”
A faint smile tugged at your lips.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s not good enough,” he replied immediately, but there was no real bite to it. His hand squeezed yours gently. “Promise me properly.”
You looked at him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“I promise.”
That seemed to settle something in him.
Seungmin’s shoulders relaxed just a little more, and he leaned in, pressing the lightest kiss to your forehead—careful, lingering just long enough to mean everything he wasn’t saying out loud.
“Good,” he murmured against your skin. Then, pulling back slightly, his usual tone slipped back in just a bit.
“Now sleep. Before I start writing a complaint to your company.”
You let out a quiet laugh, eyes already heavy again.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would,” he said without hesitation, still holding your hand. “And I’d win.”
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Imagine: Bang Chan taking care of you when you're sick
Chris opened the door to the appartment only to be met with utter silence. He looked for you in the kitchen, the livingroom, but there was no trace of you. That is when he saw the light in the bathroom was on, the door was slightly open and he caught a glimps of you sitting on the floor clutching your belly.
Your breathing was deep and uneven, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. In a heartbeat he was kneeling next to you:"Babe what's wrong? Do you want me to call a doctor?" All you could do was shake your head and lean your head against his shoulder. The pain almost becoming too much to handle. Your boyfriend's face full of wory:"Ok, talk to me, what can i do?"
He walks over to the sink and gets a wet towel to put against your forehead, you were burning up. Then he joins you on the floor, placing you between his legs so you can lean against his upper body. "Kidneystone" you breath out as you try and relax into the heat of his torso. The sharp pain coursing through your abdomen almost make you throw up. Chan's hand caressinf your arms in a soothing motion. You knew you have to try and relax, cramping up only makes it worse, but that is easier said than done.
Chris remembered you told him about the fact that you had them once in a while, but he was never with you when it happened. So he did the best he could. Strong arms embracing you, not squeezing too hard, Just there to help you stay still. One of his hands wiping the towel across your face, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, his voice calming you down a bit.
And then just like that the pain dissapears, you exhale deeply, dropping your head against his shoulder, looking up at him. "It's gone." A look of confusion slides across his face:"Just like that?" You nod.
"Ok, let's get you cleaned up." Chan stands up and turns on the shower, carefully adjusting the temperature so that it's not too warm. His strong arms lift you off the ground and onto the counter of the sink, where he slowly starts to undress both of you. "Honey, i can stand and take a shower by myself." But you have to admit that he is being damn sweet and part of you wants him to take care of you. He scoops you up in his arms and carries you into the walk in shower, his eyes filled with a look of pure love: "sssst, can you stop being an independent woman for once and let me take care of you?" You relax as his soft lips capture yours and the warm water carresses your tired body.
--------------------------
I hope none of you ever have to experience kidneystones, because it is the most painfull thing in ever felt🙈
『 ↳✧･ﾟ A/N: I wasn't too sure about posting this because of the topic. But I do believe this is nothing new in the KPOP scene. It should be talked about, and it should NOT be normalized. With that said, I'm not trying to assume, promote hate, or victimize anyone. This is purely fiction, any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental (JYPE don't sue me).
(pictures are not mine. Credits to their respective owners!)
Chan had spoken openly on Bubble today. More openly than he ever had before. Not song recommendations sent at 3 a.m., not the soft reassurances he always shared around updates of his day, his life. This was different.
He talked about being a trainee. About the things no one ever really says out loud. The things usually prohibited for an idol to talk about. The way he was scolded over things that didn’t make sense. The way he was hit, like it was something normal. Things you were never supposed to know. Things you found out the same way everyone else did: through a notification on your phone, despite Chan being your boyfriend of years.
You stared at the screen longer than you should have, like reading it again would somehow change the words displayed. But you read it once, and twice, and again. Each time slower than the last, like maybe you had misunderstood. Like maybe your brain was filling in gaps that weren’t really there. But nothing changed.
And what made it worse was the way he said it like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter.
He tried playing it off, like always. Adding laugh after laugh at each confession, saying he 'endured it well,' like it was something to be proud of. Like it was just part of it. The idol experience.
He should have expected you to find him right away. To call him, maybe. Send a text. But, instead, he was surprised when he found you in his apartment. He hadn’t noticed you at first; too busy toeing off his shoes, exhaling like he’d been holding it together all day.
Then he looked up. He froze in surprise, before a small, tired smile pulled at his lips as he set his bag down near the door. “Hey… baby.” he says, voice a little rough. “What are you doing here?”
“I wasn’t… sure I’d overstep.” You mutter. You're being careful, trying to respect his space and understand how to go about this situation. This revelation.
His smile fades, replaced by a soft sigh. He knew you knew; and it was only natural for you to be concerned. He moves further into the room, his steps measured. He stops a few feet away from you, his expression thoughtful. "You’re not overstepping," he says gently, almost immediately. "I get why you're here. I just…" He trails off, searching for the right words.
“Chris, why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper in pain.
His breath hitches. He can't look at you now; he stares at the floor with guilt and confusion. "I… I didn't want to burden you," he whispered back. "I didn't want to worry you. Or anyone. I-I… it happened so long ago.”
You don’t move from where you sit on the sofa. He’s still standing there, a few steps away, like there’s something stopping him from getting closer. From truly letting you see.
"It breaks my heart," you say.
He exhales shakily, closing the distance this time. But instead of sitting beside you, he lowers himself in front of you, knees hitting the floor softly. Your hands are in your lap when he reaches for them, hesitant. "I'm—I know," he admits quietly. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your knuckles. Once. Then again. “But I’m… trying now,” he adds. “I’m talking about it. I’m...” he clears his throat, hand nervously playing with yours,“...seeing someone.”
“Someone who can help?” you ask gently. Your eyes are soft on him, but he still can't look at you.
“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “She’s... seen other idols too.”
“Is it helping?” You ask even quieter.
He hesitates. You feel it in the way his fingers pause against yours. “A little,” he admits. Honest. Careful. “Some days are… better than others.”
You watch him for a moment. Really see him. Not the version of him everyone else sees. Not the one who laughs things off, who reassures, who carries everything like it weighs nothing.
Just him. Chan.
You bring a hand to cradle his face with love, and for once his strong facade flickers. Your thumb brushes lightly under his eye. “You didn't deserve that." You say softly. "A-and... it hurts me to think you felt… embarrassed, or-or even guilty.” Your brows crease softly; expression alike pain. "None of it was your fault."
He goes still. He knows that. He has heard it a few times in his therapy sessions. But it didn't make it any easier to accept. "I'm... still trying to make my peace with it." He admits. "I had a dream... I did what I thought was necessary, I did good, I—" He chokes out.
That's the first time you've heard his voice break like this. Product of the careful constructed defense in his head. A mere sacrifice that had paid off.
“It doesn’t mean you had to.” You murmur quietly, wiping away stray tears.
He swallows hard, his jaw clenching momentarily as he processes your gentle reassurance. "It... It..." he leans into you, threatening to break.
"It’s okay.” You say softly. So softly. “I’m here for you no matter what. If you want to talk, or if you want us to just forget it.” You pet the back of his head.
And for once, you’re soothing him the way he always comforts you.
note — all i crave in life is a lego date with this man
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
It's Saturday, and you and Hwa decided to have an indoor date since it's still cold outside.
You were the one in charge of planning this date, so you decided to go buy a Lego set for both of you to build together—it's one of your favorite activities to do as a couple. You also picked up some food and various snacks. And because you wanted to make it extra special, you got two bouquets of flowers. One for each of you.
You set everything up—the Legos in the middle of the coffee table, the snacks arranged in little bowls. The living room looks cozy, warm, perfect.
Then you hear the doorbell ring.
You open the door, and there he is—your beautiful boyfriend, standing there dressed in comfortable clothes, looking like he just rolled out of bed and still managed to be the most handsome person you've ever seen.
"Hey, lovie," he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek.
"Hey, baby." You step aside to let him in.
He takes his shoes off and pads into the living room. When he sees the setup—the Legos, the flowers, the snacks—he stops.
"Baby, oh my god. You got Legos. The flower ones."
"Yeah, love." You smile, watching his face light up. "Each of us can do one."
He grabs your face in his hands and kisses you, soft and sweet. "Thank you, baby. This is the perfect date."
◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆
You both sit on the floor in front of the coffee table, cross-legged, knees almost touching. The instructions are spread out between you, plastic bags of colorful bricks scattered around like confetti.
You build and snack, steal glances and giggles, share kisses in between steps.
At some point, just to mess with him, you start hiding pieces of his Lego set. Small ones. Ones he won't notice immediately.
"Hey, love?" He holds up the instruction booklet, pointing at a specific block. "Have you seen this piece?"
You widen your eyes, all innocence. "Hmm, no, I haven't, baby. Don't tell me you already lost it."
"No, no, I didn't." He frowns, scanning the floor around him. "It's just… I can't see it right now. Probably. It's here somewhere."
You watch him search for a moment, then giggle and hand him the missing pieces.
"Oh, you brat." He pokes your side. "You were taking them."
You shrug, grinning. "Just wanted to mess with you a little."
"Oh, yeah?" He lunges, fingers finding your ribs, and you shriek.
"Ahhh, stop, stop! I give up! I won't steal anymore!"
He stops tickling you but doesn't let go. Instead, he pulls you closer, looks into your eyes while you're still catching your breath, still giggling.
"I love you," he says.
You smile, soft and warm. "I love you too, Hwa."
You lean in and peck his lips.
◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆
You both finish your Legos—two beautiful flower bouquets that will never wilt, sitting side by side on the coffee table. The night ends with movies, snacks, and his arm around your shoulders, your head on his chest, the world outside cold and forgotten.
Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship, Slice of Life
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~650
“Earth to Doll!” Someone snaps fingers in front of your face.
“Huh?” Your eyes slowly raise looking for the person disturbing your spacing out session.
“Are you okay?” Woo asks patting your head.
“Yeah” you yawn, “I am just tired and sleepy. And I don’t want to be here”
Wooyoung gasps, “Rude!” And turns his head somewhere towards Jongho’s room, “Dude! Come out right now! Your girlfriend hates me!”
You roll your eyes and just go back to spacing out. Of course you don’t hate Wooyoung. But you are not very happy about going out with boys and their partners AND some of the managers wanted to tag along and bring their partners as well. After a sleepless night the only thing you want to do is cuddle your big soft warm boyfriend and take a nap.
Wooyoung plops on the sofa beside you trying to shake you up a little, but it doesn’t work, you just put your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. Wooyo sighs but pats your head waiting for others.
Johgho comes out 5 minutes later and looks equally as tired and grumpy as you do.
“What’s wrong with you both?” Woo asks before Jongho opens his mouth to greet you.
“I didn’t get to sleep much” Jong lays on the sofa placing his head on your lap.
Your hands automatically start threading through your boyfriend’s hair and he lets out a happy sigh.
“And why is that?” Wooyoung keeps his questions coming like it’s some kind of interrogation.
“Not that it’s your business but we were watching this new drama on Netflix until 5 am” Jongho replies with his eyes closed.
“You as… you two? Together?”
“Woo, you are so nosy” you yawn, “yes, we watched it on discord”.
“Awww you guys are so in love” Wooyoung coos in mock, “I want to kick you both out of my house”
“It’s my house too, hyung. Don’t test me” Jongho raises his hand to pat you, but Wooyoung flinches.
“Wooyoung?” you laugh very confused.
“I thought he was going to hit me” Woo replies making you even more confused.
You look at the boys looking for answers, “Jongho, do you hit your brothers at home? What’s with that violent behavior?”
“Love, you know I don’t” Jongho replies lazily turning on his side to wrap his hands around your waist. “Also, I was thinking we should bail on them today. What do you think?” he mumbles warming your stomach with his breath.
“But what are we going to tell them?” you reply looking down at your boyfriend.
“I don’t know we can lie that we are sick and need to stay home or we can…”
“Guys! I am actually here and I can hear you. Just FYI” Wooyoung interrupts.
“Right”, Jong sits up pulling you closer, “Hyung, we decided to stay in today. Sorry. My Love had a long week, so I need to help her rest instead of making her go out. Have fun”
Jong jumps off the couch and offers his hand to help you get up. You extend yours and your boyfriend grabs your wrist, pulling you up and scoops your body heading to his room with you in his hands.
“Yeah, we are staying in. Have a good day hyung!” Jongho says before closing the door to his room and putting you carefully on his bed.
Wooyoung says something about both of you being brats or something, but you don’t care too deep in your own comforting world.
“The only thing I want to do now is to cuddle you and sleep until tomorrow with you in my hands” your boyfriend whispers pulling his blanket over your bodies. And you just cuddle into him closer drifting off to sleep almost instantly surrounded by Jongho’s warmth and sounds of his steady heartbeat.
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pairing: idol!yunho (platonic) x f!reader; idol!mingi (platonic) x f!reader
genre: comedy, chaos, slice of life
warning: swearing
words: 1.1k
summary: just mingi and yunho, being mingi and yunho. there's birthday cake involved.
a/n: every time i go on pinterest in search for pictures, i genuinely lose myself 😭 i had this in my drafts for so long, i almost forgot about it 😅 also it's my birthday month, let me celebrate it in advance 😂
i pause the movie as i hear movement outside my bedroom door. i try my hardest to hear what’s been said, but it sounds muffled.
“that’s weird…” i mumble as I get up from my bed and slide my feet into my slippers.
i glance at my phone and it reads two-thirty-seven at night. zero notifications from my roommate – she’s not supposed to be home for another three hours, so why is she home?
i put on my robe and wrap it tightly around me as i try to open my door as quietly as i can. the hallway is dark, but some light shines from the kitchen.
the hushed voices get louder as I carefully get closer.
“be careful – or you’ll wake her!” someone whispers.
“we’re fine! she sleeps like a log!”
i stop in my tracks. i know these voices.
my phone vibrates in my hand. a message from my roommate.
got sent home earlier. will be home soon-ish.
riiiight.
so, who the fuck is in my kitchen then?
i go back to the hall closet and grab the wooden bat.
as i tip toe closer back to the kitcken, i can hear them talking more clearly.
"use a smaller plate."
"why?"
"the bigger plate makes it look like we took more."
"we are taking more."
"yeah, but it looks suspicious."
i close my eyes and take a deep breath as i recognise the voices.
still clutching the bat in my hand, i round around the corner and stand in front of the kitchen entrance.
and there they are.
yunho and mingi.
annoying neighbours from across the hall.
even more annoying friends from across the hall.
they said they weren’t coming back.
so why are they standing in my kitchen at 2 a.m., like they never left.
i cross my arms across my chest. tongue poking at my inner cheek.
the two idiot giants i call friends, were standing in front of my fridge with the door wide open. mingi holding a dessert plate while yunho holds the leftover birthday cake from the party they threw for me hours earlier.
both far too focused on the task at hand. slicing my cake as if it were a science.
"what are you doing?" my voice was low.
they still jumped like frightened pandas.
"fucking hell!!" yunho yelped, nearly dropping the cake.
mingi struggled to balance the plate in his hand, almost dropping it as well.
"what are you doing?" mingi shot back.
i stared at him.
then at the plate in his hand.
then at yunho.
who was still holding my birthday cake.
"you broke into my apartment."
"we didn't break in," yunho argued immediately.
"you are literally inside my apartment at almost three in the morning."
"we used a key."
"that is still breaking in! and the key is for emergencies!"
they look at each other. then at me.
"this is an emergency"
i deadpan at them. can't even believe these two and their idiotic logic.
"cake is not an emergency"
they both gasp, ofended.
"you take that back!"
i drop my head onto my hand as they clutch the plates to their chest to the best of their abilities.
i sometimes wonder how im friends with them. truly.
"you ate cake three hours ago," i reminded them. "before you all left after the party was over."
"exactly."
i frowned.
yunho frowned back.
"as in recently."
"no," he said. "as in three hours ago."
"...that's recent."
"not in cake time."
i stared at him.
"what does that even mean?"
"it means," mingi cut in seriously, "that three hours is a long time to go without cake."
i looked between them.
neither laughed.
neither even smiled.
the idiots were completely serious.
"oh my god."
"we were suffering," Yunho said.
"you were asleep."
"and hungry."
"you have food."
"we wanted cake."
"i sent you home with cake"
both of them paused.
then mingi pointed at the slice sitting on the plate in his hands.
"this is cake."
"yes... so is the one at your apartment"
"the cake at our apartment is gone."
"because you ate it."
"exactly."
i blinked. slowly. painfully.
the logic somehow made less sense every time they spoke.
i looked toward the ceiling as if some higher power might explain why these two had been allowed to reach adulthood.
no answer came.
"do the others know you're here?"
the guilty silence answered immediately. my eyes narrowed.
"yunho."
"it wasn't planned."
"mingi."
"we were watching a movie."
"at your apartment."
"then yunho said he wanted more cake."
yunho pointed accusingly.
"you agreed."
"because you made a compelling argument."
"what argument?"
"'there's still cake at her place.'"
i let out a long sigh.
the two of them stood there looking absurdly pleased with themselves.
one holding a plate. the other, still clutching half my birthday cake.
like oversized toddlers caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
"you're unbelievable."
"we get that a lot."
"get out."
they gasped. again. honestly was starting to think they practised it.
"you'd throw us out?" yunho asked, pouting. looking like a kicked puppy.
the audacity of these grown men weaponising their cuteness after breaking into my apartment.
"you broke into my apartment."
"with permission."
"i did not give permission."
"you gave us the emergency key."
"FOR EMERGENCIES."
"this was an emergency."
i raised the bat slightly.
yunho immediately hid behind mingi. cowards. both of them.
mingi looked down at him.
"you said she wouldn't be mad." he whispered, or tried to.
"i thought she'd still be asleep."
"that's not what I asked."
"well, now she's awake and armed."
while they bickered like children. my stomach thought it would be a great time to manifest its hunger.
we froze at the sound. i'm mortified while they look entertained.
they slowly got closer to me. painfully slow, while holding the cake and three forks.
it feels like im being coerced into the dark side. damn them and their good looks.
i reluctantly lower the bat until i let it drop on the floor. they try to contain their giggles, while i try not to smile at their antics.
they guide me to the couch, and i go along. no point in fighting them, honestly. they eventually tire you out and it's best if you just surrender while you're ahead.
yunho settles beside me with a victorious grin while mingi carefully places the cake on the coffee table like we've just completed some important mission.
three forks.
half a birthday cake.
outside, the building is silent.
inside, my apartment is occupied by two idiots who think wanting cake is an emergency worth breaking into my apartment for.
i watch them argue over who gets the bigger slice and shake my head.
maybe i should be annoyed.
maybe i should throw them out.
instead, i steal the first bite of cake while they're distracted.
their offended protests fill the room immediately.
and somehow, despite the broken sleep, the near heart attack, and the fact that they technically broke into my apartment, i can't stop smiling.
