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vampzwon · 2 months ago

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양정원✸ — much ado about nothing !

ⓘ; lord yang jungwon is the most bothersome lord you’d yet to encounter. he is equal parts charm and arrogance, wit and infuriation—wrapped in finely tailored coats and a mouth far too quick with replies. and worst of all, he knows exactly how much he gets under your skin. so when rumours of impossible love spark between you both, it is with great annoyance—and even greater denial—that you attempt to extinguish them. but as pride begins to diminish under the weight of something foreign and tender, the truth becomes much harder to ignore: perhaps the rumours weren’t so impossible after all.

ii. ⊹”mlist.

﹏ ⌗ 𝓹airing: 𝓎!jungwon x 𝒻!reader ❨12820❩

⏖’ 𝑔enres, e2l. historical. romance. slow burn. fluff. angst !

𝓦arnings: formal english, mentions of infidelity and parent death, smut 18+ MDNI, consent, slight body worship (?) jungwon boobie enjoyer, unprotected sex (don’t do it), creampie (?) conversations of marriage and children.

𓏵-, 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒. omg my first fic and smut here!! be kind. keep in mind this isn’t proofread!! man i love shakespeare.. happy reading! feedback, likes n reblogs much appreciated! ^^

⌗𖹭.ᐟ “i will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes” — much ado about nothing, william shakespeare.

"𝓦e are expecting guests, my dearest." When you hear your uncle's soft, smooth voice ring out from the garden below, you sigh to yourself. Of course.

You were quite content as you were. Sat in a creaking wicker chair (though, built more like a swing) you sipped lightly on some fresh wine, basking in the beauty of the sunlight. It was quite the day already. What need it more?

Earlier that morning, your cousin- though, you called her sister- Jiyoung had all but begged to braid your hair. She’d claimed it was a crime to let it go wild on such a lovely day. You’d resisted, of course. Insisted that no one was coming, that there was no one to impress, that you liked it better unruly. But Jiyoung, with her puppy eyes and relentless fingers, had already begun weaving before you finished your protest.

Afterwards, she roped you into wearing one of her sun dresses—the pale ivory one with the low back and embroidered yellow flowers along the hem. The one she always claimed made you look “like you stepped out of a poem.” You scoffed at the time, but secretly, you didn’t mind it.

Then, you'd danced around in the kitchens with her—Jiyoung, with her hair tied back in ribbons, her laughter bright and sticky like honey, and you pretending not to enjoy yourself as much as you did. The two of you spun and stirred and reached past one another in a flurry of hands dusted with flour and sugar, a pie crust half-formed on the counter, spices scattered like confetti.

You should’ve anticipated it then.

You were cooking quite a lot for someone who only helps out “when needs be.” And when did you ever volunteer yourself to whisk cream or knead dough unless there was an ulterior motive—or, more dangerously, an atmosphere that required distraction?

With him being such a prominent, well-known, and relentlessly charming figure, it really wasn’t much of a surprise. People liked Jungwon. The uncles thought him respectable. The aunts adored his manners. The younger cousins followed him like ducklings. He was good with names, always knew who liked lemon in their tea, who preferred cream in their soup, who secretly couldn’t stand parsnips.

He was beloved. And there lay the most unfortunate truth of all.

Because no matter how many times you rolled your eyes at his words, or outwitted his smug little remarks in front of the family, or claimed he was no more interesting than wet parchment—Yang Jungwon remained a constant guest.

Always invited. Always welcome. And somehow, always arriving just when you thought you could breathe. Brushing your flour-dusted hands over your apron, you froze at the familiar sound. Low, rumbling. Arrogant, careless and all the more carefree. A laugh.

Yang Jungwon.

Your mood instantaneously had soured. With a huff, you brushed your hands against your apron with such fevour it made Jiyoung blink in pure confusion, before you leaned over the wide windows of the kitchen. And there he stood.

Jungwon, with that familiar lazy posture, hands tucked into his pockets like he owned the very concept of leisure. His shirt was too crisp. His smile too rehearsed. And yet, laughter bubbled out of him, smooth and effortless, as he chatted with Sunghoon and the others.

You scowled.

The last time you spoke, he said your debating skills could be bested by a fruit fly with a head cold.

The time before that, you may or may not have implied that he’d never pleased a woman in his life.

And yet somehow, despite all odds, your uncle still insisted on inviting him to everything.

You'd hoped—perhaps foolishly, perhaps vainly—that war would have changed him. That the months away would have dulled that smug glint in his eye, grounded his floating confidence, taught him some humility.

But there he was. Untouched. Unbothered. Still too clean. Still too Jungwon.

You winced as your uncle clapped Heeseung on the back and pulled Jaeyun into a firm, fatherly hug. But when he moved to Jungwon, you had to glance away entirely.

You didn’t want to see it.

Didn’t want to see your uncle’s face soften with affection, didn’t want to see Jungwon’s return of it—warm, even sincere. That part always confused you. Because for all the wit and biting remarks, Jungwon was... well, good. At least where it counted. He remembered names. He held the door for elders. He kissed your aunt’s hand and helped the kitchen boy carry crates in the rain.

And that was what made it so unbearable.

Because it would’ve been easier to hate him if he were only arrogant.

An old habit by now, hands furiously roped through the unbraided ends of your hair, a silly effort to ground yourself. It was impossible grounding yourself around him. He was infuriating beyond measure. You had to remember that.

"You seem... perturbed." Jiyoung managed as her eyes peered over at Jaeyun with all the interest in the world.

"Even melign isn't too crude a word enough to detail him." You huffed, tone borderline petulant as you crossed your arms. Jiyoung, more then used to your antics by now merely laughed, her warm hand grabbing yours. "Come, come. We have guests to greet."

You didn’t bother hurrying.

Jiyoung, as always, moved like joy incarnate—bounding down the stairs with the kind of energy that made even sunlight seem slow. The white of her dress flared behind her like a wave caught mid-crash, her laughter trailing behind her like perfume.

You followed sulkingly, each step deliberate, measured, weighed down by the knowledge of who was waiting below.

She smiled—radiated, really—as your aunt pressed a kiss to her forehead, murmuring some soft motherly praise only daughters ever heard. You watched from the landing as Jiyoung slipped behind her father with all the grace of someone who’d never once known doubt.

Then your aunt turned to you.

She laughed the second she saw your face.

“Gracious,” she tutted, brushing her hand against your cheek with practiced affection. “That’s what happens when you spend too much time with the gardeners.”

You grunted. “And yet, the plants don’t talk back.”

Jungwon groaned when Heeseung told him where they were going.

“The L/N residence?” he muttered, voice thick with reluctance. “What sin did I commit to deserve this?”

Jaeyun raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You’re acting as if the place is some sort of dungeon. It’s a grand estate. With food, music, and a beautiful garden.”

Jungwon shot him a dry look. “And a niece who is as cruel with her words as the sharpest dagger. What joy.”

Heeseung snorted, adjusting his coat with a proud smirk. “You’ve not met many women, have you? That sharp tongue is why they all adore her. The L/Ns have a way with conversation. A little bite, a little wit.”

Jungwon groaned again, rubbing his temples. “More like a venomous bite. The last time I spoke with her, she had me rethinking every syllable I uttered as if I were a fool.”

“Of a lady!?” Heeseung exclaimed, his voice a mix of mock horror and genuine amusement. But he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Jungwon, scared? My, that’s a new one.”

Jaeyun burst into laughter, shaking his head in that playful way that made Jungwon almost want to shove him into the nearest bush. “Oh, I wouldn’t say scared. But, tell me, Jungwon, can you imagine someone who talks more than you?”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed, a wry smile curving his lips. “You’re right. I do think it would be a challenge. But you, Jaeyun, only speak when you’re certain there’s something ridiculous to say.”

Jaeyun pouted at the effortless insult, as Heeseung laughed, patting the two on the back. "Come on, you two. Behave yourself."

"I wonder that you will still be talking, Lord Yang. You see, no one marks you." You almost yawn, passing the comment as if it were general knowledge. He scoffs at the audacity.

He reels back slightly, mouth parted in disbelief. “No one—marks me?”

You don’t even turn your head, eyes set ahead as you reach for a plum from the polished wooden bowl on the veranda table. You cradle it in your palm like a precious jewel, admiring its skin before taking the smallest bite. You speak with your mouth full, deliberately uncaring.

“Not unless you’re trying to be tiresome,” you hum. “In which case, then yes—your talent is quite unmatched.”

“Ah,” he says, voice light, “but perhaps I speak only in the hopes that you’ll have, by some miracle, learned the art of silence.”

You blink. Then you laugh—short, sharp, delighted.

“Silence? From me? And here I was thinking you enjoyed the sound of my voice.”

He smirks, taking a step closer until you can smell the faint trace of lavender on his collar, no doubt from some overzealous maid. “Enjoy is a strong word. I’d say I endure it—like one endures a summer storm. Loud, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning ever so slightly forward, the plum still cradled in your hand like a weapon. “And yet,” you murmur, “you always stand in the rain.”

That draws a pause. The smirk falters—just barely. His mouth opens, but he shuts it again with a faint click of his teeth, as if weighing his next move with care.

Then— “And you always think yourself clever when really, you’re just loud.”

You gasp in mock offense. “You wound me!”

“No,” he says smoothly, eyes glinting. “You wound yourself with all that talking.”

An enraged flicker of fire sparks in your eyes—hot, brief, and unmistakably real. The kind of flare that would’ve scorched him, had it not been so quickly extinguished by the sound of your name being called.

"Y/N!"

Jungwon’s gaze flicks over your shoulder, instinctively alert. There, at the edge of the garden path, stands a young man—tall, sun-kissed, with a jaw sculpted like he’d been carved straight from the marble steps of your family estate. The gardener. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, forearms dusted with dirt and sweat, and he waves at you with all the casual confidence of someone who knows he's admired.

Jungwon watches—expression unreadable—as your entire posture softens. Your lips curl into something gentle, radiant even. You wave back, that same warmth lighting your features.

And then—just as quickly—it fades. You turn back to him, the moment gone, but not forgotten.

“Well,” you sigh, feigning boredom as you tilt your chin upward, “I’m off.”

Jungwon’s jaw tenses ever so slightly, eyes narrowing as you step away.

You pause, turning just enough to throw over your shoulder with a syrup-sweet smile, “Try not to finish off my family’s harvest with that stomach of yours.”

He scoffs, lifting his chin with the smallest hint of a grin. “Worried I’ll eat you out of house and home?”

You flash him a wicked smile. “Only that you’ll forget what manners are, again, and start grazing straight from the vine. Akin to a pig.”

He laughs—sharp, short, but it’s real. “You think yourself clever,” he calls out as you walk away.

“I know I am!” you call back, not even bothering with a glance over your shoulder.

Men are boring.

You've been saying that your whole life. No one ever believed you.

Jiyoung, for starters, was an example. She danced with Jaeyun with such a bright smile it could've been blinding. Whatever it was that seemed to blossom between them within a couple of days, it was real. She was glowing, flushed from dancing and happiness alike, as Jaeyun stood close beside her, fingers brushing hers whenever they thought no one was looking.

You sighed—loud enough that your current partner took mild offense.

“My lady?” he asked, clearly hoping you’d flatter him into thinking he was fascinating.

“Oh, forgive me,” you said, smiling sweetly. “For a moment, I thought I was asleep.”

You left him mid-turn. Let him spin alone. He’d recover.

You were halfway to the terrace for a breath of fresh, unperfumed air when a figure in deep navy stepped into your path. A black mask covered half his face, but it did nothing to hide the sharpness of his jaw or the faint curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You didn’t need to see more to know it was him.

That perfect, infuriating hair, those eyes too clever for their own good, that smug set of his shoulders like he already knew you were going to say something insufferable.

Jungwon.

You took one long, slow look at him—and then blinked with all the innocence you could muster.

“Oh,” you breathed. “A stranger. How thrilling.”

You had to try your very best to bite back a laugh at the stupidity of the man before you. But then again, you'd known him long enough to expect it.

He tilted his head, lips twitching beneath the mask. “A stranger indeed,” he said, his voice barely disguised, rich with restrained laughter. “Might I ask for this dance?”

You pressed a hand to your chest, mock-gasping. “You sound familiar. But I suppose it’s only that I’ve recently suffered a headache.”

He offered his hand wordlessly.

You took it.

The music rose again. You joined the flow of dancers, letting him lead as your gown swept across the floor like water, effortless, elegant. And then you struck. Ruthlessly, a small grin dancing on your moonlit face. “I must say,” you began airily, “you remind me terribly of someone.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head to the side as he spun you by the waist.

You nodded. “Yes. A Lord Yang. Dreadful sort. Always under the illusion that people enjoy his company.”

Jungwon’s lips parted slightly beneath the mask—you couldn't see it, but you surely heard the pause of this heavy breath. You pressed on.

“He has this habit of always saying the last word,” you sighed. “Very irritating. Talks like he’s composing a letter to... well, himself.”

“I’ve heard,” he said dryly, “that some find his conversation rather… engaging.”

You scoffed. “Then ‘some’ clearly have more tolerance than I. Or less sense.”

His hand tightened at your waist, just briefly. “Strange. I’ve heard you mentioned in equal measure. Something about a woman who treats a man’s opinion as if it were a crumb to be swept underfoot.”

You beamed. “That’s generous. I usually just ignore it.”

You spun, your fingers brushing his shoulder as you came close—close enough to see his eyes flash with something that looked dangerously like fondness. But you weren’t done yet.

“I can’t imagine anyone loving such a man,” you murmured, mock-conspiratorial. “Too self-important. Likely never pleased a woman in his life.”

Jungwon let out a quiet, incredulous laugh—half scandalized, half impressed.

“And you?” he asked, voice low, teasing. “What would it take to please you, my lady?”

You looked up at him slowly, lips parted just enough for him to wonder whether you’d speak at all.

Then you smiled.

"None that a man can."

Jungwon was fuming.

He stormed through the corridors just beyond the ballroom, one hand tugging at the knot of his cravat like it had personally offended him. His mask dangled from two fingers, forgotten.

“She thinks herself so clever,” he muttered to the air, pacing the stone floor. “Mocking me in front of half the nobility—again. And for what? Because I had the misfortune of asking her to dance?”

He scoffed. Loudly. Bitterly. “Her words are knives with ribbons on them. Decorative, but still meant to wound.”

He turned back again, boots echoing against the stone.

“She treats my name like a stain she can’t scrub off her glove. And yet—yet!—she always has something to say to me, doesn’t she? Never a moment of peace when she’s near.”

His voice rose with each pass, frustration spilling out of him like wine from an overfull goblet. “She could just walk away, but no. No, she lingers. She provokes. She—”

"Loves him." He stills as he hears a voice in the distance.

And there they were: your uncle, Jaeyun, and Heeseung, gathered on the garden terrace as if they just so happened to be talking at full volume right where anyone might eavesdrop.

“Oh, it’s tragic, really,” your uncle said dramatically, clasping his hands behind his back like a man retelling an ancient war story. “She’s completely besotted with the boy.”

Jungwon’s brows furrowed. His lips parted ever so slightly.

Heeseung gave a very poorly concealed snort. “Y/N? In love with Jungwon? I thought she’d rather choke on a grape.”

Jaeyun gasped with theatrical flair. “Ah, but it’s always the ones who fight the most. Her wit is just her armor! Why, I heard she keeps a lock of his hair tucked into her prayer book!”

Jungwon’s mouth opened fully now. What?!

Your uncle didn’t even flinch. “She mocks him because it is all she knows. Her feelings run deeper than the Danube.”

“Isn’t that a river? Isn't the metaphor supposed to be linked with the ocean?” Jaeyun asked, clearly going off-script.

Heeseung elbowed him. “Shut up, she’s in love.”

“Oh, right, right. She'd said,” Jaeyun added with the tone of someone barely holding in laughter, though his voice also seemed to waver with extraordinary emotion “that she dreams of him. That she wakes with her pillow damp with tears because she cannot say what’s in her heart.”

“Because if she does,” Heeseung said solemnly, “she fears he’ll laugh.”

“She’s so vulnerable, poor thing,” your uncle sighed.

Jungwon, now blinking like a stunned animal, slowly sank down into a crouch.

His thoughts were spiraling.

She loved him? All this time? She—she thought of him? Dreamed of him?

A hand to his chest.

Had she really once written “Lady Yang” in the corners of her notebooks?

His heart was thudding.

“She’s proud,” Jaeyun added, tone syrupy. “But if he were to say even one kind word, I think she’d melt like snow.”

Your uncle nodded. “A single look from him would shatter her composure.”

Heeseung sighed wistfully. “I do hope he sees this. Poor lad has no idea.”

Oh, not only did he see it. He heard it. All of it.

The words echoed in his head like a drumbeat, but when they finally settled into his chest—when he truly heard them—Jungwon collapsed. His knees buckled, and he sank down into a crouch, hands gripping his hair like a man trying to keep himself from shattering entirely.

She loves me?

It felt too impossible to comprehend, like a riddle with no answer. The world spun around him, the heat of the ballroom, the low hum of laughter and chatter, all of it faded into a dull, ringing buzz as the revelation hit him harder than anything he had ever experienced before.

His breath came shallow, ragged.

“She… LOVES me?” he whispered aloud, staring blankly ahead, as though hoping some divine force might correct this absurdity.

His fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands like he could pull the confusion straight from his skull. His chest felt tight, the weight of it all almost unbearable. There was no denying it now. They—they—had all heard her words, seen the signs he had so badly missed.

And now he was left reeling, struck by the idea that every word she had ever hurled at him—every barbed quip, every sharp retort—hadn't been out of spite. She hadn’t hated him. She had been dancing around it, pretending she didn’t care, fighting the feelings that had been bubbling beneath her teasing surface. For a moment, he just sat there, lost. Then, in a small, quiet voice that held the weight of a thousand unspoken things, he muttered:

“Why didn’t she just say it?”

A beat of silence passed.

“Wait—does she think I’m a fool?” he muttered again, raking his fingers through his hair, pacing in tight circles. “Why didn't she just—damn it!” He kicked at a stone, though foolishly tripped over it instead. He hissed in pain, before he swore at the stones and lords above.

Whatever could he do now?

You huffed as you bounded down the halls. Your ears ringed with the faint click-clack of your heeled sandals, arms holding onto your much-too flowy dress in efforts to ensure nothing would get in the way.

You had a mission. One you most certainly would have to partake, against your very will.

You’re not sure why your aunt told you and only you to fetch Jungwon for dinner. Perhaps she just likes to see you in your element. Hating.

Your steps heaved with exasperation, your pace sharp—until you caught sight of him.

Jungwon stood leisurely in the sun-dappled corridor, back resting against a stone pillar, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. And, curiously, for a man who used to bristle at the mere sight of you, he was smiling.

Worse—he was smiling at you.

Your steps slowed. “What,” you asked flatly, “is wrong with your face?”

His grin widened.

You narrowed your eyes. “You look like someone who’s just been gifted a country estate.”

He pushed off the pillar and stepped forward, all slow confidence and unbearable amusement. “My lady,” he said softly, with the kind of faux reverence that made your skin crawl. “You’ve come to fetch me?”

You raised your chin. “I’ve come under duress.”

“Oh, I’m certain,” he said, bowing just slightly, the gesture playful. “And yet, here you are. Glistening like a summers’ sunset.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Are you well?”

“Perfectly,” he said with a shrug, walking beside you now, far too casually. “It’s just… there’s a certain glow about you this evening.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him, deadpan. “Have you been drinking?”

He only smiled, eyes glinting with something far too pleased. “Not yet.”

You gave him a once-over, suspicious. His shirt was just slightly unbuttoned, the locks of his hair soft and perfectly unruly, his whole demeanor far too warm. Soft. Like he’d woken up in love with the world.

It was absolutely disgusting.

You stared at him, suspicious. “You’re smiling like someone who knows something I don’t.”

He tilted his head, feigning thought. “Perhaps I do.”

“Then it mustn’t be very important,” you said coolly, brushing past him.

But he followed, steps leisurely, shoulders rolled back as if he had all the time in the world. As if he belonged here, hands behind his back. “You wound me. Is it such a crime to be in good spirits?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The silence between you was thick, brittle, and full of suspicion—on your part, at least. After a few more paces, you glanced sideways at him. “I’m only here because your presence has been requested at the table.”

“Ah,” he said with faux solemnity. “Then I suppose I must oblige.”

You stopped at the stairway. “Then why aren’t you moving?”

He looked at you, then at the staircase. And with all the grace of a man enjoying a daydream, he said: “…No.”

You blinked. “No?”

He smiled again—that smile, insufferably charming and entirely unwarranted. “I don’t believe I will.”

You stared at him, mouth parted in disbelief. “You’ve gone quite mad.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, tilting his head, curls falling over his brow. “But I find I rather enjoy your company more when it’s just the two of us.”

Your eyes narrowed. “There won’t be two of us, because I’m leaving. And I will tell them you refused.”

“Tell them anything,” he said, now leaning against the banister with criminal ease. “Tell them I’ve taken ill. Tell them I’ve been struck by lightning. Tell them I was too enchanted by a certain sunset-lit lady to join the meal.”

You stared at him. Then made a noise halfway between a laugh and a growl. “You’re sure you were born without difficulty?.”

He winked. Winked. “And yet, you came looking for me.”

You spun on your heel before you could strangle him with your own shawl.

Down the stairs, you went, muttering furiously.

When your aunt asked where he was, you didn’t even pause.

“Dead in a ditch, hopefully.”

Love.

A conundrum in itself.

You didn’t think you knew what it felt to love. Perhaps as a baby you loved your late mother and father. Perhaps you didn’t. You didn’t have any memories of the two. You’d been an orphan your entire life.

And still, you were told, “You are loved.”

You were loved by your uncle. By your aunt.

But it wasn’t the same. Not that kind of love.

The kind that made people foolish. Made them write poetry and lose sleep and act like they’d misplaced their own hearts.

The kind that Jiyoung had found.

You smiled despite yourself, plucking a stray leaf from a bloom.

Jiyoung had practically floated through breakfast that morning. Ever since Jaeyun returned from the war and thus proposed for marriage, it was as though her life had been cast in gold. The way he looked at her—like she was a secret he was trying not to blurt out too soon—and the way she blushed around him, her usual grace replaced with nervous smiles and hopeful glances… it was all nauseating. And oddly moving.

You didn’t think you’d ever have that.

Or want it, if you were being honest.

Love, to you, felt like an overgrown grape vine—sweet, yes, but far too soft. It bruised too easily. It turned sour the moment you looked away. And so, you gardened.

Your hands, gloved and soil-streaked, moved carefully through the rose bed. You liked gardening. It was predictable. Gentle. The roses, at least, had the decency to bleed when they hurt you.

You pressed your fingers into the soil, easing a stubborn root free. The morning sun painted the garden in a soft warmth, the breeze tugged at the hem of your sleeves, and for a moment—just a moment—you had peace. You felt—

“Heartbroken.” Jiyoung’s soft voice rang out before you, slow and syrupy, just stood adjacent to the grape vine. “Poor Lord Yang. He must simply be heartbroken that my dear cousin does not love him back.”

You heard a muffled tut of agreement. That one was surely your aunt.

“I don’t understand, mother,” Jiyoung sighed, the sound largely heavy and contemplative. “Jaeyun and I have but found ourselves together. Why must Lord Yang and Y/n dance around their feelings rather then be wed?”

You choke on nothing. It is growing quite hot. Perhaps the weather is playing mind tricks with you.

“He is obsessed, Mother!” Jiyoung continues, and you just barely see the flourish she walks with. “He follows her with his eyes like a deer to light! Yesterday he walked into a door—a door!—just trying to watch her argue with the stable boy.”

You slowly, silently sat back on your heels, covered in dirt, utterly still. Your hat slipped sideways. You did argue with the stable boy yesterday. He was treating the horses with such brute force you felt it unethical not too. Whatever could be so attractive about that?

“Y/n has no idea,” your aunt replied mournfully. “Too clever and proud for her own good. But he’s mad for her.”

“Do you think she suspects?” Jiyoung asked with a mock gasp.

“Oh, heavens no,” your aunt declared. “She’s far too busy pretending not to notice the way he stares at her like she’s some goddess carved from starlight.”

You were going to throw a rose bush. Your hand gripped your trowel with white-knuckled fury. Perhaps it wasn’t just the sun messing with you. Maybe it was the whole universe, above and beyond.

“Did you hear about the poem?” Jiyoung whispered—loudly. “He tried to write her one! Burned it the moment he finished. Said it was unworthy of her.”

“Oh, how romantic,” your aunt sighed. “Our poor Jungwon, pining for a girl who’d sooner bury him under a tree than kiss him.”

That must’ve been the only thing they’d let slip from their mouths that was remotely true. You would sooner bury him under a tree. Happily. With flourish.

And yet, your heart still swirled. Uncomfortable. Foreign.

You thought about it. You thought about it a lot.

You stood slowly, the ache in your knees forgotten as you stared blankly into the thick, reaching thorns of the rosebush before you. The petals curled gently in the sunlight, soft against the brutal barbs. Much like him, in some twisted, infuriating way.

Because deep down—beneath the smug grins and verbal duels, beneath the way he looked at you like a challenge, like a chess match he was winning—Yang Jungwon was attractive.

He was infuriatingly attractive.

He was sharp. Witty. A strong man, yes, but never cruel. Even when he teased you past the point of reason, even when he said things that made your blood boil, he never once looked down on you for it. He matched you. Word for word. Flame for flame.

And worse still—when you caught glimpses of him alone, unguarded, smiling at someone with real warmth, or speaking softly to the servants, or offering his arm to your aunt without a second thought— He looked like someone who could be good. Not just to others. To you. And you hated the thought.

You hated it so much that your hands clenched again, fingernails biting through your gloves.

“Stupid,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was meant for him, or for yourself.

Probably both.

You needed a walk.

Or a cold bath.

Or perhaps a lobotomy.

“There is something quite odd about her,” Jungwon thought aloud, staring at your distant figure.

You stood tall, tray in hand, lips pursed as you arranged fruit and bread on the table, utterly unaware—or pretending not to be—that you were being observed. Your hair was down, long and wild, bellowing softly in the spring wind, catching the sun like threads of true gold.

It was unwise, truly. To look for too long. But Jungwon found himself unable to do anything else.

“Good God,” Heeseung laughed softly under his breath.

“What is so funny to you, brother?” Jungwon scowled, straightening his back whilst pulling at his suit buttons.

“Perhaps your ability to profess your unweilding love for Y/n only when she cannot hear.” Heeseung chimed with a soft, knowing grin on his wise features.

Jungwon scoffed. “I do not—”

“You do,” Jaeyun piped up from behind a bowl of grapes, far too delighted, lighting up with puppy like excitement. “Every time she’s in earshot, you become a walking storm cloud. But the moment she leaves—suddenly you’re quoting poetry with merely your eyeballs.”

“I am not—”

“You are,” Heeseung said simply, pointing with the pear. “Just now. I watched it happen. If your eyes had hands, I figure they’d have written her a ballad and braided her hair.”

Jungwon’s face darkened. Embarrassment or bewilderment, he did not know. “You two are insufferable.”

“Ah,” Jaeyun nodded solemnly. “A classic deflection. Must be love.”

“You will both be silent,” Jungwon gritted through his teeth, adjusting his cuffs like that could restore his dignity. “You know nothing.”

Heeseung leaned back, smirking. “Oh, we know everything.”

Jungwon huffed. The movement was stupidly petulant, and incredibly embarrassing in hindsight, but then, in the distance, as he watched you tend to the maids’ children with such an attention-grabbing, charming smile, he wondered how it would feel to have you look at him that way.

Perhaps, with love.

You were moving in such a rush, you were so sure your body and soul were seperate. You figured your soul was floating somewhere above, watching in judgment as you darted between baskets and dishes, dress snagging at your ankles, hair already frizzing from the kitchen heat.

“Move!” someone barked.

“I’m trying!” you called back, hands gripping a covered tray far too wide for the doorway. You stumbled backward in the chaos, muttering a curse—and collided squarely with a body. A very solid, very familiar one.

You froze, tray still in hand, feeling the slow intake of breath behind you. Warm breath. Ticklish. Familiar.

“Careful,” came the low murmur, laced with far too much amusement. “You’ll bruise. We don’t want that, do we?”

You turned—awkwardly, unwillingly—and looked up.

Jungwon. Of course. You could only sigh.

He stood impossibly close, hair unruly from the breeze, eyes unreadable as they flicked down to your hands and back up again.

His gaze landed on your palm, where a small cut had opened, a tiny bead of blood trailing down the line of your skin.

Without a word, the playfulness in his expression immediately fell away. His brow furrowed, lips parting as if he were about to speak, but hesitated. The shift in his demeanor was so stark that you almost couldn’t believe it was the same man.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, his tone stripped of all the usual teasing. He reached for your hand, his fingers gentle as he examined the cut.

You pulled back instinctively, but not before noticing the seriousness in his eyes, the way his hand lingered, and the faint worry that twisted his usually confident features. It was almost… startling.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, wiping your hand on your apron as if to dismiss it. You didn’t want his concern. Not now, especially not with him so close.

“Don’t be daft,” Jungwon said, his voice low, now filled with something completely foreign—care. “You’re not fine.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asked, a small smirk playing on his lips again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hand was still poised near your palm, as if unwilling to let it go. “The next thing you’ll tell me is you’ve broken your leg too, and that I shouldn’t worry.”

You shifted uncomfortably, looking at the floor. “It’s a small cut. Really, it’s nothing.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened for a second before he let out a breath, clearly making an effort to calm himself. Slowly, he reached into the pocket of his coat, retrieving a small handkerchief. His fingers were deft, careful, as he pressed it against the cut with the precision of someone who had done this before.

You watched in stunned silence, your heart beating just a little too fast.

“Let me,” he said softly, as if apologizing for his insistence, but the warmth in his voice was undeniable. “It’s better this way.”

The kitchen felt suddenly too small, too warm. Your breath was shallow, a flurry of conflicting emotions washing over you. You wanted to pull away, but for some reason, you couldn’t. He was so close, his face just inches away as he finished tending to your hand.

When he finally pulled back, his expression had returned to its usual cocky calm, though there was still an edge of something softer. Something unfortunately unreadable.

“There. Better?”

You blinked, looking down at your hand, which now felt a little lighter. You couldn’t say why, but it did.

“Better,” you muttered, trying to hide the heat rising to your face.

“You shouldn’t just be in the kitchen. When are you all going to eat?” The furrow in his eyebrows only deepened, peering around at all the maids running around with bewilderment.

You shrugged, shifting your weight between each of your sore legs. You watched as his broad shoulders moved softly, up and down as he softly inhaled and exhaled the kitchen fumes, and for a soft, fleeting second, you found yourself weirdly entranced.

Perhaps he is a male-witch.

Perhaps you’ve been bewitched.

Perhaps, you don’t mind.

The wind was warm today. Which was a little weird if you thought about it, seeing as wind, scientifically, is supposed to be the latter. Maybe it was the way Jungwon was practically skipping that made it whip onto his face in a way that made his cheeks flush up.

Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t seem to get you out of his head.

He walked in the middle of Heeseung and Jaeyun, the chatter between the three of them flowing easily as they wandered through the grounds. It was a peaceful day—sunlight dappling through the trees, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers filling the air.

And as if he were cursed by the Lord and Heavens above, allocating you as some sort of personal annoyance, there you were.

It wasn’t enough that you had somehow infiltrated his thoughts, wrecked his composure. No, now you had to appear at the most inopportune moment, right when he was least prepared for it.

There you were, laughing lightly as one of the children tugged at your sleeve. You held a small flower in your hand, showing it to the others with an easy grace, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for you to be surrounded by the warmth of others.

It wasn’t just the fact that you took care of children so well— children that weren’t part of the estate. Poor. Lower class. And yet, you entertained them as if they were equals.

You took the littlest one into your lap with the warmth of a mother’s touch, and handed it the daisy with such softness Jungwon had to do a double take.

The little girls’ eyes were round with awe as her tiny hands took the flower appreciatively, before she peered up at you. Eyes wide, filled with awe— like you were the most fascinating thing to grace planet Earth.

You smiled kindly, brushing the girls’ hair behind her ears. Despite that image you put up, you surely were soft at heart. With a pensive expression, you spelled out the word, “Daisy,” ushering the little girl to repeat after yourself. It took the little one but a few tries— for her confidence still hadn’t bloomed, but after she did it, you pulled her in the air triumphantly, watching her wriggle with soft giggles, before cascading her with prompt kisses on chubby cheeks.

The sight made his heart physically hurt. Like it had swelled with adoration just at the very sight. It was such a domestic scene, it made a feeling swirl in his stomach, coupled by his own fleeting thoughts. What if that were you both? He imagined. A girl, maybe. With your full lips and his sharp eyes.

The image was too vivid, too real in his mind’s eye. His chest tightened, and for a moment, it felt like everything was closing in on him.

It wasn’t just the sight of you with the children that had him so rattled. It was the possibility. The idea that, maybe, one day—just maybe—it could be you and him. And that thought alone was enough to send his mind spiraling.

And just like that, it hit him.

You were impossible.

You had always been this thing that he couldn’t quite reconcile. You infuriated him to no end—always sharp, always a little too smart for your own good. Yet, in this moment, as he stood there, transfixed by the soft, unguarded way you interacted with the children, he felt something unfamiliar stir inside him. Something entirely uninvited.

God, he thought, feeling the sudden rush of heat in his cheeks, how did she manage to do this to me His body tensed, his hands twitching at his sides.

Heeseung and Jaeyun continued walking, oblivious, their conversation light and carefree, rather detailing the intricacies of Jaeyun’s wedding with Jiyoung.

“Jungwon?” Heeseung called out, noticing his friend’s strange stillness. He gave him a curious look, but Jungwon couldn’t muster the strength to respond. He was too caught up in the image of you, glowing in the sunlight, completely unaware of his sudden conflict. It was maddening.

He sighed. He knew words would fail him. It wasn’t like he could explain the mess of emotions swirling inside his chest. Instead, he just swallowed his frustration and forced himself to move forward, pulling his gaze away from you.

It wasn’t enough, though. No matter how hard he tried, you remained there in his thoughts, sitting among the children, radiant in a way he couldn’t understand.

As if the universe had decreed he would be forever cursed by your presence, just as surely as the day he met you.

God help me, he thought. I’m losing my mind over someone who thinks I’m a nuisance.

“He’s a nuisance,” You mutter aloud, giving no thought to your careless words. Your fingers worked through her hair as you sat behind her on the marble patio-balcony, focused on the task at hand.

The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows against the so colourfully vibrant garden and the distant murmur of maids working on wedding preparations seemed to fade into the background.

Your cousin. Your sister. Your best friend since diapers. Married. Gone.

The thought really did not settle right with you— you were happy for her, of course you were, but it all seemed to be happening too fast. Jaeyun, though irrevocably kind, also had a knack for being quite daft, and for the two to be wed in such a short time? The words left for you to articulate surely weren’t pleasant.

But she’s happier than ever before. Even now, sat at the mercy of your nimble fingers, she buzzes with quiet excitement.

“An afterthought. Akin to a dead fly.” You continue as a gruff grumble. She replies with a short laugh.

“Can a dead fly attract the ladies as does he?”

You promptly smack her lightly on the shoulder, eliciting a short laugh. “What? Do I lie, cousin?”

You merely scowl, nudging her shoulder with your own as you plop beside her comfortably.

“You’d have to be a woman gone insane to find him attractive.”

Jiyoung raises an incredulous eyebrow at your words, and just as you open your mouth, perhaps to tarnish the certain lord’s name a little more, you’re promptly cut off by a series of giggles from the garden below.

Jungwon.

He was walking across the sun-dappled grounds, carrying five boxes of apple crates with effortless ease, his posture straight, shoulders relaxed. It was almost annoying how easily he carried them—each box stacked neatly, no visible strain. His white shirt clung to his skin, slick with sweat, but he wore it with that casual, confident smile that somehow made him even more unbearable. The maids nearby noticed him, their gazes following him as he moved, their whispers filled with admiration and a touch of longing. You could hear the soft tittering, the giggles. “So strong, so handsome,” they murmured.

You felt your chest tighten—familiar irritation and something else you weren’t ready to acknowledge. Your eyes followed him across the garden, watching how effortlessly he moved, like he was the star of some play and everyone else was simply a supporting role. The worst part? You knew they were all right. He was the type of man who could walk into a room, and the world would stop for him.

The worst part was, you hated how much it bothered you.

You tried to ignore it, turning your attention back to Jiyoung, but your mind kept drifting.

You had always been able to dismiss him as an arrogant nuisance—until now. Every time you thought you had him figured out, he went and did something like this. He was impossible to pin down, impossible to ignore. And you hated the feeling that was beginning to bloom in the pit of your stomach, a mixture of frustration and something else.

You looked back out at the garden again, just in time to see Jungwon flash that smile, that self-assured grin that was way too charming for his own good. The maids sighed as he passed by, practically swooning.

It’s sickening how attractive he is.

Perhaps he is more to you than a dead fly.

Feeling both happy and sad at once is an emotion you’d yet to discover. And now, stood behind your dear cousin, graced in the most beautiful wedding dress money could offer, your heart swelled with it.

Emotion is one weird thing.

Jiyoung was radiant. Her smile could split the sky. And despite the ache in your chest that had lingered all morning—some mix of nerves, and melancholy, and maybe a bit of dread—you found yourself smiling.

And then your gaze found his.

Jungwon.

He stood on the groom’s side, tidy in his formal attire, hair brushed neatly, face calm. His eyes met yours across the crowd, and something shifted. The air between you changed. It softened.

You smiled.

And he smiled back.

His eyes, usually so sharp, now filled with quiet warmth, crinkled at the sides, and his thin pink lips curled up at the corners. He brushed a hand through his thick, dark hair.

It wasn’t mocking, nor smug. It was small. Private. Real.

Immediately, you mentally reprimanded yourself and straightened your back as strong footsteps echoed against the marble floors of the church hall.

You didn’t need to turn. You knew those steps.

Jaeyun. The groom. The man Jiyoung was supposed to marry in the next hour.

She smiled widely, and you squealed beside her, before adjusting her veil hurriedly, but just then— a hush fell.

His expression was unreadable—stone-set jaw, eyes dark with something more than just anger. Beside him, Heeseung moved with equal purpose, lips pressed into a tight, grim line. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing off the outside world like something would happen— something the world would dare watch.

Jaeyun’s gaze swept the room before falling squarely on her. No smile. No warmth.

Jiyoung’s smile slowly dropped as she took just a step closer to him, as if testing the waters. “Jaeyun?”

“I was told,” he said, voice clear and cutting through the silence, “that my bride-to-be has been less than loyal.”

You could feel the words stab into her. Into the room. You could hear your aunt’s hand fly to her mouth in a gasp. Jiyoung flinched, her fingers digging into yours as she looked up at him, wide-eyed and shaking her head. “No—I don’t know what you mean, I haven’t—Jaeyun, I swear—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. His voice didn’t raise. If anything, it got quieter. “I’ve heard enough. I didn’t want to believe it. But when Heeseung heard it from multiple mouths…”

Heeseung remained silent behind him, eyes darting toward you for only the briefest second.

You opened your mouth to speak—to fight—but Jiyoung moved first.

She took a step forward, tears streaming now, and clutched at the lace of her sleeves as if trying to hold herself together. “Please, you must know me better than this—Jaeyun, I haven’t— I would never—”

“Then why,” he asked, voice tight, “would so many say the same thing?”

Your heart cracked.

And then, like glass shatter—Jiyoung broke.

Her knees buckled beneath her. You caught her before she hit the ground, lowering with her slowly as she collapsed into sobs once more. Her veil slipped off her head, pooling around you like silk water. You held her fiercely, lips pressed to her temple, trying not to let your own despair show.

Tears brimmed hot at your lashes, but you forced your voice steady. “She’s telling the truth,” you said, sharp and certain, voice raising with the injustice of it all.

But Jaeyun had already turned his back.

At the sight, Jiyoung scream sobbed into your chest. The sound tore through the hall, raw and unrestrained, a sound so heartbreakingly human it made your heart stutter in its place.

You held her tighter, arms wrapped around her shaking frame as if your touch alone could anchor her. But even as you whispered her name, again and again, she only trembled harder.

Your eyes brimmed with ushered tears. One slipped free, carving a hot, silent line down your cheek. And then—she fell limp in your arms.

“No, no—Jiyoung—!�� you gasped, shifting to cradle her, brushing the damp strands of hair from her forehead. Her lips moved, mouthing something soundless, her body slack, utterly spent.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sorry sight, and your tears flew much more freely now, blurring the edges of the world around you. Jiyoung’s body remained still in your arms—so soft, so heartbreakingly still. Her sobs had quieted, but her breathing came in small, desperate gulps, like she was trying to hold herself together by will alone.

You looked up.

And through the blur of salty tears and sorrow, your gaze found him.

Jungwon.

Beside him, Heeseung had already turned his back too, and expectantly, the two men looked toward him to make some decision—some movement, some word that might break the tension. But Jungwon didn’t move. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his eyes still locked with yours, but they flickered now—torn between duty and something else, something much harder to define.

You looked up at him from the floor, Jiyoung in your arms. Your eyes pleaded. Please. Don’t follow them. Please.

You slowly nodded no, words failing to leave your trembling lips, a silent begging, pleading for him to stay. For him to believe. Your chest heaved with heavy emotion as your eyebrows furrowed pleading, yet alas—

Jungwon turned his back.

A choked little sob left your lips, and you swore you saw him hesitate in his step as his hands bunched into fists. You whimpered into Jiyoung’s hair as panic began to settle in, but your eyes couldn’t move from his figure, disappearing into the distance.

And the church fell silent but for the broken rasps of breath of a bride that would not be wed.

Men are, in fact, disappointing.

You know it. Everyone knows it.

And yet, as your eyes helplessly searched for Jungwon within the cathedral, he just about proved your point.

It only sucked so much because you truly believed he was different.

You truly believed he was kind. A man with integrity, with a heart full of warmth and made of steel. And yet, when you watched him turn just as the others did—without a word, without even meeting your gaze—your heart cracked in a way you hadn’t known it could.

You sat curled on the cold stone bench in the garden, surrounded by the rosebushes that you’d always loved. Nothing seemed to make you feel better.

Your face was buried in your hands, your shoulders trembling with every stifled sob. The air was warm, fragrant with crushed petals and damp earth, but your chest felt hollow. Stretched. Bruised.

You hadn’t even heard his footsteps.

Only felt the shift of weight beside you, the quiet creak of the bench as Jungwon lowered himself to sit next to you.

Silence.

He didn’t speak. Not at first. He just sighed. Long and low and full of everything he couldn’t yet say.

You whimpered as you wiped your tears away with trembling fingers, trying desperately to smooth your features. To look strong. Even now. Especially now.

Then, wordlessly, you turned your back to him—just slightly. Just enough to make the distance between you feel bigger.

It worked.

Because when he spoke, his voice cracked like it hurt to use. Because when he spoke, it was no longer with pride or poise or wit.

It was just a boy. Breaking.

“Say something,” he begged, his voice cracking, thin with desperation as he turned to face you. “Curse me. Hate me. Just—say something.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. You only turned and pressed your face into his shoulder, finally, finally letting yourself fall into him as the sobs overtook you once more. They came from somewhere deep, and guttural, your whole body shaking with them.

Jungwon sat there, barely breathing, his hands flexing uselessly in his lap as he stared at your back. At the fine tremble in your frame. At the way your fingers gripped at his crisp suit as if him himself were the only thing keeping you anchored to the world.

Jungwon flinched like your pain, especially that in your voice had physically struck him. His arms moved slowly—like he wasn’t sure he had the right—but eventually wound tightly around you, holding you close. As if trying to protect you from a storm he helped create. “I’ll fix it,” he proposed weakly, pleadingly, his big hands rubbing against your back in a pathetic attempt to make you feel better.

“No,” You began, sitting up straight. Your fingers faltered against his suit, as you sniffled weakly, looking at the ground. “I’ll fix it myself.” You grunted, gruff and calculated. Your jaw clenched.

“I’ll kill him,” you spat suddenly, your voice trembling with rage as your eyes burned into the earth. “I swear to God, Jungwon—I’ll kill Jaeyun. I’ll use my own hands, I’ll—” You stopped, gasping through the ache in your chest. “I’ll bury him myself, right here in this garden.”

You spoke so passionately, hot with pure fury, and yet, you still didn’t have the courage to look him in the eye.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t scold you, or tell you to breathe, or insist on logic and honor and sensibility like you thought he might.

He just went still.

And then, softly—so softly—you heard his voice. “…Please. Look at me.” He began, voice weak with emotion and wavering with tears. “I can’t stand it. Please.”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want to let yourself fall back into that softness you swore to abandon.

But you looked.

And when you did—he shattered all over again.

Your eyes were red and glassy, your cheeks stained, your lip bitten raw. You looked like someone who had given too much. Trusted too hard. And still carried love in your chest like a burden.

And so he did the only thing he could.

He kissed you.

Not out of victory or pride or triumph—but like a man begging for forgiveness with his whole body. His lips trembled against yours, one hand buried in your hair, the other pressed to the small of your back as if holding you was the only thing keeping him upright.

It was a kiss that hurt. A kiss that healed. A kiss that said everything his words could not.

And for all you could,

you kissed him back.

You sat at your vanity, brushing through your hair slowly, the bristles snagging on tangles you were too tired to care about. The lace at the back of your nightgown had come half-undone, trailing like wilted ribbon. Candlelight flickered in the mirror, softening your features, making the furrow in your brow look less like grief and more like longing.

But the ache was real. Deep. Gnawing.

You sighed.

The brush stilled in your hand.

You missed him, and it was disgusting.

When you’d last seen him, he’d left with his eyes dark; jaw set, and whispered lowly of fixing everything. How he could fix a broken heart, you didn’t know.

Even more disgustingly, you were worried. Undeniably worried, about a man you certainly cared for far too much for your liking.

You frowned at your reflection. The skin beneath your eyes was puffy, your lips swollen from too many bitten-back sobs. You looked every bit the tragic heroine you’d once sworn you’d never become.

How pathetic.

You set the brush down. Somewhere in the still of the night, an owl called. A branch scraped against the windowpanes. The wind rustled the curtains gently, And then— thud.

Your head snapped toward the window. Another thud. More insistent. You rushed to the latch, heart already leaping in your chest—because you knew. And when you pulled open the frame, your breath hitched.

There he was. Jungwon.

Bloodied, battered, sweat-matted locks of dark hair falling over his brow. His shirt was torn, and a shallow cut marred the line of his cheekbone, but his eyes—his eyes were still warm. Still full of you.

“A hand?” he said hoarsely, gripping the ledge with one arm and eventually lifting himself the rest of the way.

You stumbled back to give him space, and he collapsed with a grunt into your room, knees buckling slightly before he righted himself.

His eyes were clouded with haze. And yet, still, full of love they remained. He paced towards you slowly but surely, a slight wobble in his step— and instinctively you reached out, arms stabilising him by his broad shoulders. You frowned, hands dusting over his face with such care he could only melt into your touch.

And through it all, he looked only at you, his eyes piercing into your own. The top of his eyebrow marked with a sharp cut of a blade, the plain of his cheek dirtied ever so slightly with blood, you frowned at his state.

And then you smacked him.

Hard. On the arm.

“You idiot!” you hissed. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“I missed you too,” he muttered, eyes crinkling despite the gash above one of them.

“You’re bleeding!”

“You should see the other guy,” he winced.

You didn’t laugh. Instead, your fingers found his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the mess of his cheek. You wiped at a bit of dried blood with the edge of your sleeve. He let you. Silently. Still as statue, eyes never leaving yours.

You should’ve expected it. Him to duel Jaeyun.

Jungwon was many things—proud, infuriating, endlessly stubborn—but coward was not one of them. And if there was one thing he couldn’t let sit, it was injustice. Especially when it came for those you loved. Especially when it came for you.

You should’ve seen it in the way his jaw clenched when you sobbed into his shoulder. The way his arms tightened around you like he was already vowing retribution in your very name.

But there’s a difference between knowing someone would go to war for you and watching them actually do it. And worse, he didn’t tell you. Not a single word before vanishing into the night like some knight of old.

Now here he was—half-wrecked and full of some odd, boyish resolve—at your window, lips on your palm like you were something holy.

“You didn’t have too,” Your voice wavered with emotion as he kissed the palm of your hand which was cupping his cheek again. “But I did,” He whispered with such softness the contrast between his tone and his appearance was stark. “And I don’t regret it.”

“Is he..?” You begin contemplatively, your other hand brushing up his broad chest to his shoulder. He looks away. You push his face back towards yours.

Those lips.

You have kissed them now, once before. And yet, it still doesn’t feel enough. Your fingers trace over them as he sighs warmly, pressing his lips against the tips of your fingers. His eyes bore into yours with such attentive demeanour it makes you dizzy.

“It was a tie,” He grunts, as if the fact that he, Lord Sim Jaeyun’s best friend and fellow soldier, didn’t just duel him for your sake. For Jiyoung’s sake. “I worked things out with them both. Someone orchestrated quite the lie against your dear cousin, and Lord Sim seemed to take the bait.”

You roll your eyes. Typical. “I saw that one coming.” You weakly laugh, and he chuckles too, as if an unexplainable weight has been lifted off his shoulders as it has yours.

“Turn around,” Weakly, suddenly, he commands, and you? Willingly, you oblige.

You give him a little twirl, a soft flourish in your step. You smile as he sits on the edge of your bed and admires you as if he’d never seen a woman in his life before. “I must ask though, my lord, why must I twirl for you?”

He laughs. Deep. Husky. Warm. Dangerous. “You needn’t if you’d prefer not too,” He begins, rolling his shoulders as the cuffs on his sleeves are adjusted. “But you seemed perfectly willing to oblige, my lady.” He grins, one hand supporting himself on the bed, the other motioning you to come closer.

Closer you go, until you’re stood right before him. Your breathing grows heavier as you notice all the smaller things about him you really ought to notice before— like the way his Adam’s Apple bobs with every movement, or how his legs are spread widely enough to welcome you on his lap.

“Turn around,” He commands yet again, and this time, you laugh. “Perhaps I want not to. What’d you do then, my lord?” You poke at his shoulders with a teasing smile.

“I’d do this,” He begins, spinning you in one fluid movement. You yelp. “And then this.” He pulls you into his lap.

You stop breathing. Because suddenly, you can feel him in ways you’d never felt him before.

You fuss in his arms, wriggling around through laughter to conceal the fluttering in your stomach, as he laughs, pressing ticklish little kisses onto the crevices of the smooth skin on your neck. You squeal, shimmying his large hands off you. “You’re cold!”

“And you’re warm,” He hums lowly into your neck, coupled with a sultry chuckle. That makes you close your legs tightly, an unexplainable fluttering arousing.

His hands dance over the intricacies of your back before they crawl up towards your hair. Large, warm hands toy with it appreciatively, fingers wringing around the burgundy of the ribbon you wore.

“You wear the ribbon I gave you?” He looked at you from over your shoulder with such sincerity it made your heart stutter. Suddenly, the ceiling appeared very interesting.

A large hand. It cups your chin, and faces your head towards him. He opens his mouth to speak, and yet, the words die on his tongue; as if struck by your very beauty as the moonlight shines through your wide windows. Instead, he closes his eyes, and pushes his lips onto yours.

You let out a little hum of both content and surprise, as he lifts you off his lap and you raise your hips, he turns you to face him. His hands, mottled in bruises and scratches, roam around your body with such quiet reverence for a moment truly, you feel special. Irrevocably special. That you are his, and that he is yours.

He lets out a low sound in pleasure as one hand pulls your ribbon off your hair gracefully, before stroking through your hair softly, as if one wrong move could make you break.

And as you just about manage to break away, still his eyes only find yours.

He chuckles weakly, lips kissing your now held hand before moving upwards, resting at your shoulder. He closes his eyes for a pause, as if nothing is as comfortable as being in your arms is. In turn, now it is your hands that brush through his hair. “Fatigued?”

“No. Just content.”

“Well, I am glad you are as happy as I am, my lord.” You breathe, a soft smile blessing your face. He cups it in return.

“This nightgown,” Jungwon whispers, hands toying at your back where the lace lies. “It’s ever the flattering on you.”

“So you say,” You tease. “Or perhaps you say this seeing as it is easy to remove?”

He laughs, the corner of his eyes wrinkling with amusement. “I fear you know me far too well, my lady.” He hummed appreciatively as he dug his nose into your hair, closing his eyes. “You smell quite so pleasant.”

“You think so?” You asked, fidgeting with the coarse material of his suit.

“Very much so.” He replied simply, a hand fitting onto your waist. The way his hand had sat on your waist was as if it belonged. You sighed, resting your chin on his shoulder tiredly, as he kissed your head warmly. “I figure perhaps you’re the one fatigued, Y/n.” His voice raised lightly, as if reprimanding you— though his tone remained soft, showing he was really just jest.

“Maybe I am, Lord Yang.” You clap back teasingly, and to that, he laughs heartily, before flipping you onto the plush silk of your bed. You squeal, hands flying to his shoulders to stabilise yourself, and in return, he kisses your cheek.

You didn’t ever think you’d find yourself underneath him. You, yourself, personally always thought you were always above him. Now it was clearly proved wrong. Your breath caught in your chest, your teasing smile melting into something more sincere.

His hair hung before his dark eyes, hazy with a cryptic look that made you squirm. He grunted softly as he rested on one side, propping himself up on one arm— just to watch you.

“My, you are odd.” You giggle, looking up at him with a gummy smile.

“Oh, really?” He challenges softly, his free hand tracing from your waist to your neck. Slowly. Teasingly. Like you could feel every atom of his being dancing on your goosebump-ed skin. “You think im odd, do you, Y/n?”

You, unintentionally and unconsciously, swallow on nothing. He picks up on it, a soft kiss followed after he buries his face atop your throat. It’s ticklish, and you want to laugh, but the sincerity in his eyes and the soft certainty in his touch made you feel only want. Raw, aching want.

He went silent just as quickly, rather staring at you with a longing look of love, his hand ghosting near your breasts. His lips were slightly, ever so slightly parted, and the tiniest trickle of sweat traced his jawline.

“You can touch me, you know.” You chortle lightly to hide just how flustered you are. You grin lightly, but when you look into his eyes, when you feel the severity of whatever it is he is feeling, it fades.

“Can I?” His voice breaks, his hands still ghosting above your breasts, though now daring to move closer just the slightest. “Can I, Y/n? Because once you say yes, I’m telling you, you’re stuck with me.”

Your lips part.

Suddenly, it’s very hot in your chambers.

You look over at your window, and then back at him. You swallow again, though this time you know it— in efforts of mitigating your now-dry throat, but it’s all to no avail.

Hot, aching need. You nod before you let out a tiny sound, a mix of a whimper and a wanting whine, and he sighs in a way both impatient and very much patient all at once.

“Words, my beautiful,” He chimes, his hand tracing your jawline. In one, croaky, breathy movement, you grace him with the words he clearly were waiting for. “Yes, Jungwon. A million times yes.”

And with that, his lips found yours again. It was much less softer this time, but all the more passionate. He moaned into your mouth as his free hand grabbed at your jaw tighter, as if you’d disappear the moment he let go. Still, he rested up on his other arm, and as you broke the kiss to actually breathe, you rested your forehead against his. “Are you sure?” He whispered, his free hand brushing your unruly hair, matted with sweat, behind your ears.

You could only nod, so clouded with lust and fatigue that even words couldn’t portray what you felt. You fell rag doll-limp in his arms, your own arms slowly snaking around his neck, as both of his arms effortlessly propped your back off the bed.

One hand held you up, the other pulled the strings bonding your nightgown together at the back. You merely threw your head back, and at that invitation, his lips made its way to your neck. Then they danced down to your collarbones, teeth grazing ever so slightly as he looked up at you for any sign of discomfort.

Instead, your eyes were peacefully closed, lips parted to allow your soft, breathy moans to escape. He sighed, pulling the dress down your shoulders, kisses tracing around your breasts. You whined, back arching ever so slightly into his touch, and in response he merely chuckled, lying you down as he propped himself up above you.

“So gorgeous, aren’t you?” He cooed softly, his lips finding your left nipple, and his hand finding the right. At the sudden movement your chest jerked ever so slightly, a long whimper falling from your lips. “Jungwon,” You barely managed as he hummed, looking up at you from where he contentedly rested at your chest. “Yes, my love?” He hummed, letting go with the lightest little “pop!”

You closed your legs and squirmed. It was getting too much now. Stickily hot and insatiable— all you needed, truly, was.. well, him.

“I need you,” You sighed, melting into the pillows. He raised an eyebrow teasingly, unbuttoning his shirt as you fiddled with the stupidly-annoying metal buckle of his pants.

“Oh, you need me?” His voice raised with amusement as you scowled playfully, slapping at his now bare shoulder lightly. He took your hand and kissed it instead. “You do demand me so, my lady?”

“Yes. I do so.” You huff in mock-petulance, before you both laugh, his larger figure leaning before you yet again.

“And you can do so from beneath me, I figure?” He hums, as his hand grips the base of his length lightly. It’s dizzying. You pretend to not notice, not even as he softly spreads your legs or pushes them against your stomach, and instead, you smile lightly.

But as soon as you open your mouth to say something, probably just as smart back, the warmth of his leaking tip brushes against your clit, and you moan almost immediately, head throwing back onto the soft fabric of your pillows.

You hiss as he rubs himself against you softly, up and down, slower, slower. You whine, nails digging into his back.

And instead of giving it to you, he peers down at you with a triumphant grin. “Hmm? What was that, my lady?” He teases softly. You breath heavily, watching as a prompt kiss is pressed to your wrist as he slowly pushes himself in.

The words you had prepared suddenly died on your tongue, replaced with a loud, sudden moan of his name. “Jungwon!”

He groans in response, throwing his head back as he pushes himself in just as fair as he can manage. Tears prick at your eyes as his tip pushes the boundaries of your cervix, a pain you’d never felt— but one you were seemingly prepared too.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, beautiful, I promise,” He whispers, kisses dusting over your face, even over your tightly weilded-shut eyelids. “We have all the time in the world, my love,” he hummed through kisses. “There’s no rush, hmm? If it hurts too much, just tell me.”

You cry out a strangled moan as your eyes roll closed at the unfamilar, yet incredible feeling. He sighs comfortably, one strong hand lacing into yours against the duvet.

“My lady,” he sighs, nuzzling his nose against yours. “So perfect. So beautiful. So smart.” He begins as he pushes himself in just a little, little more. You sob out, hands flying all around his back, as he lovingly shushes you, kisses pressed to the tip of your nose or the plain of your forehead.

“Would you marry me, my lady? Hmm?” He whispered, kissing around your ear, as if to distract you from the pain. “Would you like that?”

You could only nod, though now, your eyes could slowly flutter open; and could take him in for all of his glory.

His dark hair was matted with sweat against his forehead, as his broad, bare chest heaved with the energy of keeping himself above. “You’d stay a L/n, or you’d take my name? Hmm?” He hummed, pressing kisses to your lips between his words.

“Can I have both?” You weakly whisper, though you laugh, and he laughs too, slowly moving himself out. Then, he rams himself back in, and you almost scream, rolling your eyes closed as you practically see stars. You moan into your hand as he throws his head back in pleasure. “God, you feel so good.” He manages, voice wavering as his thrusts grow in pace.

You cry out in pleasure, the pain now subdued. “You suit ivory,” He manages with heavy breath. “You’d look quite exquisite in your wedding dress, wouldn’t you?”

You let out a strangled cry, burying your head into the pillows. He groans, rolling his lips forward smoothly, and you moan into the pillows uncontrollably.

“Oh, Jungwon!” You sigh shakily, your voice stuttering with the fevor of his sharp thrusts.

He moans in response, pushing your legs against your stomach just a little, little more. You both moan together as he hits your cervix again, before you find him again in a messy kiss.

Lips, tongue, teeth, all of it. At this point, it doesn’t really count as a kiss in the first place. But that’s the last thing on your mind. All you can think about is an unfamiliar, pressing coil building at the pits of your stomach, biting your lips in efforts to conceal your noises just a little more.

“God, I love you,” He moans, his pace fastening enough to make that very coil snap. Your body jerks with the movement and you can’t help it— you whine, the sound long and low, and he throws his head back as he feels you release around his length.

“Just a little more, my love,” He spoke between moans, and you sobbed from the overloading stimulation all of this was giving you. “You’re doing so well. I love you, my beautiful.” You took his lips onto yours again, and with one final, harsh thrust— one that had you screaming into the kiss, his warm seed filled you up, a feeling so fulfilling you arched your back at the very sensation.

He crashed beside you on the bed with a groan, as if the weight of his day had finally caught up with him. But then he turned toward you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you flush to his side. You sighed softly, burying your head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“Are you hurt?” you eventually asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper as your fingers grazed over his cheek. His eyelids fluttered under your touch.

“Nothing that won’t heal,” he murmured.

A beat of serene silence passed.

Then, with the kind of gentle, hopeful courage only he could muster, he asked, “What kind of ring would you want?”

You blinked. Pulled back just slightly to look him in the eye. And then you laughed. “Whatever it is you can afford.”

“My, do you mark me as poor?” He raises a weak hand to his chest jokingly and you laugh, voice laced with growing fatigue. You curled into his chest even more, though you weren’t sure that was quite possible, and sighed contently.

Silence.

The rise and fall of his broad chest, cricket-song, and silence.

You simply lay there in the hush of the night, bodies pressed close, breaths synchronising, hearts slowly catching up to the quiet. You stared at the curve of his collarbone, at the cuts and dried blood near his shoulder, remembering all the pain and rage that had passed through the two of you to get to this very moment.

And weirdly enough, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Then he sighed, fingers drawing soft circles on your bare back. “And what would you want?” he asked, voice barely audible now. “As a child.”

You paused. Thought about it. The image came so vividly, it almost surprised you.

“A girl,” you answered without a pause.

He blinked slowly. “Hmm?”

“So I can raise her,” you murmured, pressing your forehead against his chin. “To be the strongest a woman can be.”

He let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-laugh, and fully overwhelmed. “She’d be impossible.”

“She’d be loved,” you replied, eyes fluttering shut. “She’d never think twice about her voice. She’d know how to wield it.”

“Sounds like someone I know.” He smiled, the words brushing against your temple like a kiss.

You felt it more than heard it—the pride in his voice, the adoration in his tone. The way he said it, like it was the highest compliment he could ever give. Like he meant it with the very bones of him.

You sighed softly, your body loosening completely in his hold, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his voice low, soothing, meant only for you. “She’d have your fire. Your kindness. Your wit. God help me if she ever learns your temper.”

You laughed, soft and muffled against his skin.

“She’d be so loved,” you murmured, voice laced with quiet fatigue.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering as if trying to seal the moment in place forever.

“As are you, my beautiful.”

man i wish shakespeare was alive i xouldve rawdogged him from the back as a personal thank you for much ado about nothing

©VAMPZWON

#gracie’s works #jungwon smut #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon smut #yang jungwon x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen au #enhypen royal au #enhypen fic #enhypen imagines #SHAKESPEARE REINCARNATE PLEASE

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