#I’m passionate about everything I touch

[shitsndgiggs]

Heyyy

What about something very cutesy where Kenan and reader are on vacation(where he went this summer with his friends) and reader is waiting for Kenan to get ready on their bed to go out for dinner and when he finishes he goes to her and they kiss etc and Kenan doesn’t want to leave anymore but the reader obliges him. Little messy I know😔

STAY IN? - KENAN YILDIZ

Kenan wants to stay in

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The hotel room was softly lit, the sounds of waves crashing on the beach outside filling the air with a peaceful rhythm.

I was sprawled across the bed, my legs dangling off the edge as I absentmindedly scrolled through my phone.

Kenan had been in the bathroom for what felt like forever, getting ready for our dinner reservations.

I sighed dramatically, calling out to him, “And you say I’m the one who takes forever to get ready? What’re you doing in there, applying a full face of makeup?”

From behind the closed door, I heard him laugh. “Patience, woman. I’m almost done,” he teased back.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face. I was honestly just excited to spend a night out with him after our long day exploring the island.

It felt like we were in our own little world here, with no schedules, no responsibilities—just each other.

Finally, the bathroom door creaked open, and Kenan stepped out, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

My eyes traveled over him, taking in the sight of his sun-kissed skin and how ridiculously good he looked in that fitted shirt. He smirked when he caught me staring.

“What? You like what you see?” he asked, his voice a low tease as he crossed the room to me.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “You clean up alright, I guess,” I said, though the way my eyes lingered on him gave me away.

Kenan’s smirk widened as he leaned down over me, one hand resting on the mattress beside my head. “Just alright?” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yeah,” I teased, my heart skipping a beat as he brought his lips closer to mine. “But you really took your time in there.”

“Maybe I was trying to look good for you,” he said softly, brushing his lips over mine in a quick peck.

I let out a small, satisfied hum, intending to sit up and head to the door, but Kenan had other ideas. He caught my chin between his fingers, tilting my face back toward him.

Another kiss—slower this time, his lips lingering on mine like he was savoring the taste.

I sighed into the kiss, melting under his touch as he deepened it, turning what was supposed to be a quick peck into something that had my toes curling.

The kisses came one after another, each one slower, more drawn out than the last. Kenan’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him as he tilted his head, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss that left me breathless.

It was the kind of kiss that made the world outside fade away, the kind that made me forget about dinner reservations and everything else.

“Mmm,” Kenan hummed against my mouth, his hands sliding down to rest on my hips. “Maybe we should just stay in tonight…” He mumbled the words between kisses, his voice husky and warm.

I let out a breathless laugh, pushing lightly at his chest even as I felt myself giving in to the way his fingers traced circles against my skin. “Kenan,” I protested weakly, but he only kissed me again, his lips finding that spot just below my ear that made my knees go weak.

“Seriously,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear, “I don’t think I can leave this room now.”

As much as I wanted to just melt into his embrace and forget all about dinner, I knew we’d regret missing it. I placed a hand on his cheek, pulling back just enough to look into his darkened eyes.

“We have a reservation,” I reminded him, though it came out in a breathless whisper.

Kenan groaned dramatically, leaning his forehead against mine. “Who cares about food when I’ve got you right here?”

I laughed, gently detangling myself from his hold and stepping back. “We can come back here after dinner,” I promised, giving him a cheeky grin. “But first, we eat.”

He gave me that adorable pout, but there was a glint in his eyes that told me he wasn’t giving up that easily. “Fine,” he sighed, grabbing my hand as I started toward the door. “But you owe me dessert when we get back.”

“That can be arranged,” I said, my heart fluttering at the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Knife's Edge (Human Alastor x Reader)

CW: Knifeplay, stranger sex, smut, creampies, dub con Rating: Adult Summary: Stepping away from the party, you tried to get some are. It's a chance encounter with a dangerous stranger that leaves your dress ruffled, your panties missing and you facing some new facts about yourself. Requested by: @nyx-umbrakinesis

The clicking of your heels against the stone floors echoed down the silent hallway as you fled the party. The skirt of the gown was heavy, hanging down around your hips, swaying with each step. 

It was outdated, and you hated it, but it was the expected style of dress for a high society event.

What wasn’t expected was the man that came running down the hallway toward you, dark brown hair bouncing as he looked over his shoulder. You didn’t know him and he looked terribly out of place. That didn’t make him any less attractive. If anything, the out-of-place nature of his appearance, well dressed but skin a touch too dark for someone who would be invited to such an event, made him even more alluring. 

“Excuse me?” your voice was high, pulled tight with confusion as he swept you up in his arms. “Do I know you?” 

“No,” the man hissed, voice rich and warm. He spun you away from him as he danced, taking a moment to pull from his sleeve the hilt of a blade. Red smeared along the sharp cutting edge.

“Are you hurt?” You asked, gasping as he let the blade fall into his sleeve and taking you into his arms again. 

“You’re going to play along,” the man whispered as he held your body closer. “You’re going to play the part of my prospective partner. If anyone asks, we’re courting and I’ve been with you all night.” 

“I know you,” you whispered, placing his voice. “You’re the radio host- Alastor, isn’t it?” The man spinning you to the music in the hall cursed under his breath in a language you didn’t know but had heard plenty of times in the shops. “Why do you have a bloody knife?”

“Shh,” Alastor soothed, “If you don’t want to get hurt, you’re going to do everything I say. You can play the part of my lover, can’t you?” 

“Did- did you hurt someone?” You watched his eyes sharpen at the question, “Oh god, you did.” 

“No one will believe you,” Alastor said, as he spun you around again and again. “No one will believe that I was here. They’ll think you’re just a silly woman.” 

“What did you do?” You whispered as bodies moved together. 

“I did what had to do,” Alastor said, watching as you softened in his arms slowly. Your relaxation ended as a scream cut through the halls. “Well, that took less time than I hoped.” 

Alastor pushed you, using his body to guide yours back and back until you crashed against the wall. You trembled in his arms, but he could see excitement mixing with fear in your eyes. 

“You like this,” Alastor whispered as he pulled the knife from his sleeve again. “So, I don’t think I need to tell you how imperative it is that you be quiet and play the role of a lover. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“I-” you gasped as his nose ran along the side of your neck, breathing in the soft smell of your skin. 

“I don’t think that’ll be hard for you at all.” Alastor sighed, pressing his body into yours. “I’m going to kiss you now. If you do anything to raise their suspensions, I will kill you, too.” 

The sharp point of the knife pressed against the skin of your neck, an icy reminder of the danger you were in. Alastor’s lips slanted over yours, burning heat in contrast to the cold danger. You stood frozen in his arms as he kissed you passionately. 

Your inaction rewarded you with the biting tip of the knife pressed into where the swell of your breast peeked out from the top of the dress. You gasped as he kissed you, only to have him deepen the kiss. 

The warning had been well communicated. He didn’t have to tell you twice. The rough weave of his shirt, not nearly the same quality as the fine shirts worn by men invited to the party, was warm under your hand. The heat of his skin soaked into it. 

You took in the feeling of his biceps, arm curled to hold the sharp point of the knife to your breast. Your other hand rested on his chest, running up the firm muscles of his chest. 

Eyes fluttered closed as the dangerous radio host stole your kiss. It was wrong, but feeling that cold knife blade pressed against your skin stole your breath in the same way his lips moving against yours did. You wanted more and more if it. 

It was wrong, but you wanted it.

The wall was hard against your back. Alastor pressed into you, kissing you deeper. His lips parted, taking your lower lip between his. He wrapped his hand around your thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his legs as he pressed into you. 

It was scandalous. This wasn’t how one behaved at such events, but… you knew they did. Couples snuck away, got too close in the halls. You wouldn’t be the only ones. The only difference was Alastor was a stranger with a bloody knife. 

“Does anyone look out of place?” Security staff were talking as they walked by. 

“We need to call the police.” The other man insisted. “A man is dead.” 

“Quiet down,” the first man snapped, “people will hear you. If we call now, the party is over.”

“I know but-” Alastor pressed harder into you, stealing any question off your lips as his tongue swept into your mouth. You moaned, the sound traveling from your throat into him as he held you tighter. 

Alastor pulled you from the wall, easily moving you as if you weighed nothing. Then the wall was again pressed into your back, this time a few feet further down the wall. 

“They left,” you whispered as his lips latched onto your neck. “You can make your escape now.” 

“No,” Alastor nipped your neck as his hand left your thigh, “If I leave now it’ll raise red flags.” 

“Oh,” you sighed as the blade, warmed by your skin, moved over your chest, tracing your collar bone. “What does that mean for us?” 

The blade left your skin, something you found you missed as Alastor shoved you behind the curtain. He cut the tie, slicing the rope easily. Then he was kissing you again, lips running over your exposed clavicle. 

“I want you,” Alastor said, bunching your skirts up as the curtain fell around you. It would be clear as day that two people were behind it but no one would see you or what you were doing.

“Sir,” you were unsure what to say, heat rising high in your cheeks at the thought. The blade ran over your exposed thighs. 

“You see,” Alastor spoke into your skin as his other hand cupped your breast, “If you dare tell anyone what you know, you’ll have to explain your absence from the party as well. What you were doing instead of reporting what you know.” 

His hand worked between you, blade slicking through your knickers easily. The fabric fell, ghosting down your legs as he worked the fly of his pants open. The tip of his knife ran against your thigh as legs pushed yours apart. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” The defiance wasn’t present in your voice, though you wished it was. 

The knife left your thigh. Alastor pressed the blade to your neck. You gasped as he ran his fingers through your folds. They slipped, smeared through slick folds. Shame burned at you, each caress of his fingers reinforcing the fact that you did in fact want him.

“Are you a virgin?” Alastor asked, working his cock from his pants. 

“I’m unwed,” you answered simply as his finger slipped into your opening, testing the tightness of your core. 

“So am I,” He laughed, “That’s not what I asked though.” 

“No,” you were shamed to admit it. If it was known, you wouldn’t be desirable on the marriage market and yet you knew the touch of a man. 

“Good,” Alastor kissed you as he lined the soft head of his cock up with your opening. The heavy skirts of your dress bunched between you, held higher as they were pinned between your bodies. “I’d almost feel bad if this was your first time.” 

You moaned, back arching as he pushed into your body. The thick shaft of his cock sank deeper and deeper, spreading you. He was gifted in both girth and size, spreading your walls over him and filling you. 

Every slow thrust into you pulled against your walls. The wide head of his cock ran over the sensitive walls inside you, hitting each nerve. You clung to him, fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes.

“You’re so tight,” Alastor whispered in your ear. Though he was fucking you, the knife remained pressed against your throat. The blade fought for your attention. “Are you sure I’m not your first?” 

“No,” you whispered, “So big.” 

Alastor chuckled, finding it amusing that all it too was to spread you over his cock to have you totally wrapped around his fingers. You would do anything for him as long as he kept thrusting into you. It was shameful, really, how easily the simple act of sex controlled one’s mind. He would never understand it. 

“That’s right,” Alastor cooed, running the tip of the knife down your chest as he pulled the bodice of your dress down, exposing more of your breasts. Women liked that, he knew, being exposed to their lovers. “You’re going to feel so good.” 

“Please,” your back arched, core fluttering as he worked through your walls faster and faster. 

His lips found yours, silencing your moans with a long kiss. The sharp blade ran over the swells of your breasts lazily, catching threateningly on the buds of your nipples. 

Each thrust was faster, harder than the next as he read the fluttering of your walls. You grew tighter and tighter, not needing much stimulation to drive you toward your orgasm. The forbidden excitement of the situation was more than enough to make up for the way he neglected your clit. 

“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone suspicious?” someone asked in the hall as Alastor fucked into your tightening cunt. You were far from the proper woman you looked like. No, you were getting off on the whole situation. 

“No,” another voice carried through the hall. “Just a couple necking. Looks like they’re still there.” 

“You’re so close,” Alastor whispered as he pulled your thigh tighter around his waist. “I can feel your body griping me, begging for more of me.” 

“Please,” you whispered, head falling back as he worked his cock through you again and again, “I’m so close.” 

“Just focus on me,” Alastor whispered, body moving against yours. The blade ran over skin as his lips ran over your neck. “Focus on the feel of me,” 

“Alastor,” you whimpered, body clenching around him. 

“I know,” he shushed, cock twitching inside you as he worked you closer and closer, “I know. I’ve got you. Let go.” 

“Ah-” You curled around him as the waves of pleasure ran through you. “Ah- ah- Alastor.” 

Your body gripped him, core caressing his cock in waves. The sucking feeling of your cunt trying to milk him pushed him over rather unexpectedly. You were just so damn tight; he wanted to remain inside you. 

He knew better. He should pull from your warm, caressing body as his own pleasure crested. With a moan, he thrust into you harder. Each pump of his hips pushed his seed deeper and deeper as he shot ropes into you. It was careless, sloppy, but fuck, you felt so good wrapped around him. 

Each thrust after came slower as he caught his breath. You couldn’t help but admire the warmth of his skin, the relaxed smile on his face as he rode the aftershocks of your orgasm out. 

“There,” he said, lungs working to pull large gasps of air as he pulled back from you, softening cock slipping from your opening, “Now you’ve got reason not to tell.” 

“Where are you going?” you asked as his knife left your skin.

“You have no reason to know that,” Alastor said, tucking his cock into his pants before yanking your dress up over your breasts.

Leaning forward, he kissed you deeply one last time before slipping out from behind the curtain. You stepped out after, only to catch sight of him letting himself out of an open window. 

You were left alone with the memory of the feel of his knife against your skin, the taste of his kiss and the way his cock spread your walls for him. All you had was the memory… and the way his seed leaked from your stretched opening, running unobstructed down your legs as you walked timidly down the hall.

“Where have you been?” Your friend was quick to rejoin your side. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” you answered too quickly, face flushing. 

“There’s blood on your chest,” she whispered, leaning in.

“Oh!” You scrambled to come up with a lie, eyes fluttering up to look out the window just in time to catch sight of a man with brown hair slipping into the treeline. “My nose bled. I must have missed a spot, that’s all.” 

“Go to the powder room then,” your friend pushed you toward the hall. “And clean it up.” 

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[domm1etae]

Hello!! If requests are still open can I ask for a Seonghwa/reader office fic? Ever since I've found that one office asmr video he did I can't stop thinking about it 😭

Overtime Attraction

seonghwa x reader

oneshot | mdni

2.5k

Y/N’s strict, no-nonsense boss Seonghwa calls them in for a late-night “work session” that quickly turns into way more than just project revisions

nsfw tags under

readers gender not specif. , top seonghwa, boss/employee, workplace tension, power dynamics, praise kink, slow burn, buildup, desk sex, possessive seonghwa, tension release, passionate make-out, teasing, thigh touching, mutual pining, eye contact, unguarded moments, lap straddling, finger teasing, deep kissing, after-hours intimacy, needy touches

Y/N hurried down the marble hallway, heels clicking in sync with the beat of the clock ticking on the wall. It was 8:59, and every second mattered when it came to Park Seonghwa. As their boss, he was notorious for his unwavering punctuality and no-nonsense attitude. Nothing frustrated him more than tardiness, and Y/N had been on the receiving end of his reprimands enough times to know they didn’t want to push his patience any further.

Sliding into their desk just as the clock struck nine, Y/N let out a small sigh of relief. But the relief was short-lived. Seonghwa’s office door opened, and he stepped out with his usual commanding presence. He scanned the room, his sharp gaze briefly landing on Y/N, and for a moment, they could feel their pulse race.

“Team meeting in the conference room. Now,” he announced, his tone clipped and direct. No unnecessary pleasantries. Just business as always.

Y/N grabbed their notebook, gathering themselves before following him. As they settled into their usual seat, they couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves. This project was crucial, and Seonghwa had been working them all hard to ensure everything went perfectly. His expectations were high, and they didn’t want to be the one who let the team down.

Seonghwa took his seat at the head of the table, flipping through his notes with focused precision. He went over every aspect of the project, analyzing each detail and making it clear exactly what he wanted. His calm, authoritative tone filled the room, and Y/N found themselves hyper-aware of every word, jotting down notes to ensure they wouldn’t miss a thing. But despite their efforts, Seonghwa’s expression remained as unreadable as ever.

At the end of the meeting, as everyone else began packing up to leave, Seonghwa’s gaze fell on Y/N. He raised an eyebrow, his face as composed as always.

“Y/N, stay behind a moment.”

Y/N felt their stomach tighten with a mix of anticipation and dread. Had they made a mistake? They waited as the room emptied, glancing up at Seonghwa as he watched everyone file out. Once the door closed, he leaned back, his fingers steepled in thought.

“There’s a section in your report from last night that has some errors,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Some critical data was left out. I’ll need to go over it with you later to make sure it’s fixed before tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a pang of embarrassment. They’d spent hours on that report, meticulously checking each line, but evidently, it hadn’t been enough to meet his standards. “Of course, sir. I’m really sorry about the oversight—I thought I’d gotten everything.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “I know you worked hard, and I appreciate the effort. But my standards are high for a reason.” He glanced at his watch. “I have meetings the rest of the day, so we’ll handle this tonight after hours. Make sure you’re available.”

Y/N’s heart skipped at the idea of being alone in the office with Seonghwa, especially given the tension that had been building between them over the past few weeks. There was something about him—his intense focus, his precision—that made it hard not to be captivated by him. And though they’d never admit it, the idea of a private meeting with him was thrilling.

“Understood,” they replied, maintaining their composure despite the rush of anticipation.

Throughout the day, Y/N worked tirelessly to finish other tasks while nervously glancing at the clock. The office gradually emptied, and by 7 PM, they and Seonghwa were the only ones left. As the last few coworkers waved goodbye, Seonghwa finally emerged from his office, his expression as composed as ever.

“Y/N,” he called, gesturing for them to follow him. They stood up, clutching their notes and laptop, and walked into his office, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement settle over them as he closed the door behind them.

He sat down across from them, pulling up the document on his computer. “Let’s start from the top,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he scanned through the lines. They worked through the report, his voice low and steady as he pointed out each section that needed correction.

But as the minutes ticked by, the air between them grew more charged. Every time his hand brushed over the mouse, or his shoulder accidentally brushed theirs, Y/N felt their heart skip a beat. His closeness was almost dizzying, and the usual stoic, unbreakable mask he wore seemed to falter slightly as they moved through the corrections together.

At one point, as they both reached for the same section on the screen, their hands met, lingering longer than necessary. Y/N looked up, catching the flicker of something deeper in his gaze—a hint of warmth, of something that wasn’t entirely professional. His fingers lingered on theirs, and he didn’t pull away.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, finally releasing their hand. But his gaze remained intense, locked on them with an unreadable expression. “Y/N,” he began, his voice lower than before, carrying a hint of vulnerability. “I… don’t usually let things like this happen.”

Y/N’s heart pounded. “Me neither,” they whispered, barely able to find their voice. There was something raw in his expression, something they hadn’t seen before. And in that moment, the weight of his controlled, disciplined exterior finally broke.

He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from their face. “You’ve been working so hard,” he murmured, his fingers grazing their cheek with surprising tenderness. “But I think there’s been something between us for a while now.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and before they could respond, he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing softly against theirs. The kiss was gentle at first, almost cautious, as if testing the waters. But as they melted into his touch, his grip on their waist tightened, pulling them closer. His strict, measured demeanor fell away, replaced by a passion that left them breathless.

Seonghwa lifted them onto his desk, his hands exploring with a newfound freedom that left them shivering. He whispered praise, his words quiet and reverent, as if he were savoring each moment. “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should admit,” he murmured against their skin, his voice thick with desire.

Y/N wrapped their arms around his neck, pulling him closer, their own restraint slipping away. The air was charged, heavy with everything unspoken between them.

Seonghwa’s lips brushed against Y/N’s, deepening the kiss as his hands found their waist, pulling them flush against him. Y/N’s legs shifted, one knee rising as they positioned themselves on his lap, their skirt hiking up as they straddled him. A low sound rumbled from his chest, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine as his fingers traced circles on their thighs.

“Y/N…” Seonghwa’s breath ghosted over their lips, his voice thick with a want he had carefully kept buried until now. “You… have no idea…”

Y/N’s fingers traced up to his tie, tugging it slightly, silently urging him closer. He let out a soft groan, pressing his hips forward so they could feel the evidence of his own need. His hands traveled up their sides, grazing over the fabric of their blouse, his touch just shy of indulgent.

“More,” Y/N whispered, the word escaping them in a needy breath. They felt their pulse quicken as his hands finally traveled to cup their face, his thumb brushing softly over their bottom lip before trailing down, brushing over the sensitive spot at the base of their neck.

A sly smile played on Seonghwa’s lips as he watched their reactions, reveling in every hitch of their breath and the faint flush on their cheeks. “Oh, you want more?” His voice held a note of control, deep and rich, as if he was savoring each moment of their unraveling.

“Yes…” they murmured, and he raised an eyebrow, his hands sliding back down to grip their waist firmly. They gasped softly as he lifted them onto his desk, his expression darkening as he took in the sight of them, legs spread just enough to reveal the hint of lace at the edge of their skirt.

He leaned in, capturing their lips again, a little rougher this time, his gloved hand reaching to cradle their cheek while his other hand trailed to their thigh, inching upward with a slow deliberateness. Each kiss became more intense, more consuming, until they felt dizzy with need. His thumb traced small circles on the bare skin just below the hem of their skirt, his lips moving to trail down their neck, nibbling softly as he went.

Y/N’s hands clutched the back of his blazer, pulling him close as he teased them, letting out a quiet whimper as his hand finally ventured to the edge of their underwear. “Seonghwa, please…”

He smiled against their skin, his breath warm as he whispered, “Shh, we’re not alone yet. Do you really want someone to hear?” But despite his caution, his thumb pressed into them through the fabric, earning a muffled gasp from Y/N as they bit their lip to keep quiet.

"Good. Just like that,” he murmured, his voice heavy with approval, as he toyed with them, keeping the touch just light enough to drive them wild with need. “Be good for me, and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Unable to contain their need any longer, they pressed their hips up to meet his touch, their body aching for more as he continued to tease, his fingers tracing soft circles around their most sensitive spot, still separated by just a thin layer of fabric. His control, his restraint, was maddening, and he relished every second of watching them unravel under his touch.

With his other hand still steady on their cheek, he finally whispered against their lips, “Hold on to me, Y/N.”

Seonghwa’s voice was steady and sure, like he was holding the reins even as the world tilted beneath them both. Y/N’s pulse quickened, their hands clutching his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm line of his back. His words echoed in their mind—Hold on to me. They did as he commanded, wrapping their legs around his waist, drawing him closer still, as he continued his slow, torturous exploration.

His fingers traced the waistband of their underwear, skimming over their skin just enough to leave a tingling path. He maintained eye contact, a look of both mischief and fierce intent in his gaze, as if savoring the power he held in their shared secret, here, alone in his office after hours. Y/N was panting softly, struggling to keep quiet even as their restraint unraveled under his measured, relentless touch.

Seonghwa’s lips met the edge of their jawline, and he brushed his nose along their cheek, lingering by their ear. His whisper was barely audible, but it sent a shiver down their spine. “You’re so beautiful like this, Y/N,” he murmured. “So responsive… so ready for me.”

Y/N’s head tilted back, giving him access to the curve of their neck, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His lips trailed down, placing open-mouthed kisses along their throat, teeth grazing just enough to leave a whisper of pressure before he soothed each spot with his tongue. His hand slid up their thigh, and this time, he didn’t stop at the edge of their underwear. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding their center, slick and warm with anticipation.

A shaky breath escaped Y/N as his fingers began to move, slow and sure, teasing and tracing over every sensitive spot he discovered. Y/N’s hands found his tie again, tugging at it reflexively as their head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as they lost themselves in the sensation. His touch was skilled, and the friction drove them to the brink, each movement adding fuel to the smoldering fire between them.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low, a trace of roughness seeping into his usually controlled tone. Y/N’s gaze met his, and the intensity in his eyes made them feel as if they were laid bare, every inch of desire on display for him alone. He didn’t look away, his fingers moving with greater purpose now, watching every small gasp and whimper, reveling in the effect he had on them.

When he finally withdrew his hand, Y/N bit back a whine of protest, only to feel him shift them back on the desk, guiding them to lie back. The cold surface beneath was a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body as he loomed over them, lips curved in a self-assured smirk.

“Be patient, Y/N,” he whispered as he leaned down, his hands tracing the curves of their body before he carefully unbuttoned their blouse, his touch gentle yet decisive. “We don’t want to rush this… not after all that time spent building up to it.”

With each article of clothing he removed, his gaze became more intense, drinking in the sight of them with an appreciative, possessive gleam. When they were finally bared before him, he let his hands roam, mapping every inch of them, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

His lips claimed theirs again, and this time, there was no restraint. His kiss was demanding, consuming, his hands gripping their hips as he settled between their legs. They could feel the hard press of him against their core, both of them beyond any semblance of control. His fingers laced with theirs as he aligned himself, pressing forward with an exquisite slowness that made them gasp. His forehead rested against theirs as he whispered, “You’re mine tonight, Y/N. Every part of you.”

With every thrust, his control slipped just a bit further, and he abandoned the careful restraint he had kept around his desire for so long. They clung to each other, their shared need overcoming any lingering hesitations, their breaths mingling in the heated silence of the empty office.

Each movement was a promise fulfilled, a long-held tension finally released, as he guided them to the brink, his voice a steady, grounding presence in their ear, murmuring words of praise and desire that left them trembling beneath him. And as they reached their peak together, Seonghwa’s name fell from Y/N’s lips in a breathless whisper, echoing into the quiet, marking the end of one kind of distance—and the beginning of something far more consuming.

They stayed close, breaths slowing as they held each other, still entangled on his desk. Seonghwa’s fingers gently traced along their arm, as if reluctant to let them go, even now. He smiled, soft and real, his usually sharp expression softened in a rare, unguarded moment.

“Tomorrow…” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you might just have to stay late again.”

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (her choice)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: to refuse a dragon

- Next part: lion's pride

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

You sit across from your father, King Viserys, in his private chambers. His face, softened by age and weariness, holds a patient, gentle expression as he watches you, sensing the weight of what you’re about to say. There’s a calmness in his eyes, a father’s warmth, and it gives you the courage you need to speak the truth you’ve held close for so long.

Taking a steady breath, you look down, gathering your thoughts, and then back up to meet his gaze. “Father,” you begin, your voice soft but determined, “you’ve asked me to make my choice… to choose from the suitors that have come forward. And I’m ready to tell you now.”

Viserys nods, leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped in his lap as he regards you with that quiet, encouraging presence. “I am glad, my dear. I know the decision has not been easy.” He offers a faint smile. “But tell me—who has earned your heart?”

You take another deep breath, and there’s no doubt or hesitation as you say his name. “It’s Tyland, Father. Tyland Lannister.”

A moment of silence stretches between you, and you watch as Viserys’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly with a mixture of surprise and reflection. He doesn’t look shocked, but rather as though he’s piecing together a puzzle whose outline he had already started to see.

“Tyland,” he repeats, his voice quiet but thoughtful. “I cannot say I am entirely surprised, not after… the last small council meeting.” His gaze flickers with a hint of memory, and he raises an eyebrow, a touch of amusement mingling with his curiosity. “He defended you with quite the passion, more so than I would have expected from a man of his usual reserve.”

You smile softly. “Yes, he did. He has always treated me with respect and loyalty, even in private. It’s… something I’ve come to value deeply.”

Viserys studies you, his expression turning thoughtful as he considers your words. “Loyalty and respect… those are rare qualities, especially within the court.” He leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrests. “But I must admit, I am surprised by one thing.”

You tilt your head slightly, sensing the curiosity in his tone. “What is it, Father?”

He sighs, shaking his head slightly as he meets your gaze. “For all his affection, Tyland never once put forth a formal petition for your hand. In all these months, with every other lord clamoring for your favor, he remained silent.” His brow furrows, clearly puzzled. “It is unusual for a man of his position—especially a Lannister—not to make his intentions known formally.”

You feel a faint warmth rise to your cheeks, understanding Tyland’s choice but realizing how it might look in your father’s eyes. “He held back out of respect, Father. Tyland knew that the other suitors would be offended if he made his petition too soon. He didn’t want to create more tension at court. And… he wanted me to choose freely, without feeling pressured by a formal offer.”

Viserys’s gaze softens, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he watches you. “So, it seems Tyland is not only loyal but considerate. He is a man who understands the delicate balance of this court.” He pauses, a slight twinkle in his eye as he adds, “And he clearly cares deeply for you, if he was willing to risk waiting… in silence.”

You nod, your heart swelling with the truth of his words. “He does, Father. He has been willing to risk everything for me—even his own reputation. And he’s given me the freedom to choose, no matter what.”

Viserys sighs, looking both proud and slightly wistful as he regards you, his gaze filled with the kind of love only a father could feel. “Then it seems you have found someone truly worthy of your heart.” He leans forward, reaching out to place a gentle hand on yours. “If Tyland is your choice, then I will support it. And I will give my blessing.”

Relief floods through you, and you squeeze his hand gratefully. “Thank you, Father. I know Tyland may not be what everyone expected, but I believe he is… what I need.”

Viserys chuckles softly, nodding. “The court may have its expectations, but as King, it is my duty to ensure your happiness above all else. And as your father… I cannot help but be glad that you’ve chosen a man who values you so dearly.”

You smile, feeling a sense of peace settle over you as you sit there, hand in hand with your father, knowing that your choice is not only accepted but understood. Viserys’s eyes hold a warmth and pride that only deepens your gratitude.

“Speak with Tyland,” he says, his tone gentle yet resolute. “Let him know that he has my blessing—and my thanks for caring for you as he has.”

You nod, your heart brimming with joy as you rise from your seat, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “I will, Father. And thank you, for everything.”

Viserys watches you, his expression one of quiet pride as you leave the room, his presence a steady, comforting strength behind you. And as you walk through the corridors of the Red Keep, a newfound sense of purpose fills you, knowing that soon, you and Tyland will no longer need to hide in the shadows.

The small council chamber is filled with the usual murmur of conversation as Tyland takes his seat, his expression composed yet carrying a glint of quiet amusement in his eyes. Just that morning, you had come to him privately, bearing news that filled his heart with a fierce, unshakable joy. He can still feel the warmth of your touch, the lingering taste of your kiss, the sense of shared elation at the promise you would soon no longer need to hide.

Across the table, Otto Hightower sits with an air of confidence, his expression one of expectation. Tyland notes the faintest trace of a smile on Otto’s lips, as though the Hand is all but certain that this meeting will secure a victory he’s been maneuvering toward for months. After all, Otto had long been pushing for Gwayne to wed you, and by the look in his eyes, he believes this day will mark the moment that goal is achieved.

Around the table, Lord Jasper Wylde, Grand Maester Mellos, and Lord Beesbury sit with calm attentiveness, unaware of the news about to unfold. Tyland watches with a concealed smirk, relishing the thought of the surprise that’s about to reverberate through the council chamber.

At the head of the table, Viserys enters, his expression warm yet firm as he takes his seat, his gaze briefly meeting Tyland’s with a hint of amusement in his eyes. Once everyone is settled, Viserys begins, his voice steady as he addresses the council.

“Thank you all for gathering on such short notice. Today’s meeting is… a rather personal matter, one I wished to share with those closest to me and to this court.”

The room falls silent, and Tyland notices Otto straightening slightly, a flicker of anticipation crossing his face as he waits for the King to speak further.

“As you know,” Viserys continues, his voice carrying a touch of warmth, “for some time now, many have come forward with petitions regarding the hand of my youngest daughter, Y/N. She has been of marriageable age, and as is customary, the offers were numerous.”

Otto’s smile deepens, his eyes flicking briefly to Tyland, clearly believing he is on the verge of securing his family’s alliance. Tyland keeps his own expression neutral, waiting.

“But,” Viserys continues, and there’s a subtle shift in his tone, a father’s pride glimmering in his eyes, “I believe a woman’s choice in such matters is of utmost importance. And I am pleased to announce that my daughter has made her choice.”

A murmur ripples through the room, Otto’s expression sharpening, his gaze fixed on the King with an intensity that betrays his certainty. He almost seems to hold his breath, fully expecting to hear Gwayne’s name spoken next.

Viserys glances around the room, his gaze lingering on each council member before finally resting on Tyland, his voice calm but firm. “She has chosen none other than Lord Tyland Lannister.”

A stunned silence descends over the council as every pair of eyes turns to Tyland. The amusement he’s barely held in check now flickers in his gaze, though he maintains his composed exterior, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Otto’s face shifts from smug anticipation to disbelief, his jaw tightening as he struggles to keep his composure. “Your Grace…” he begins, his voice carrying a note of barely concealed frustration, “are you certain this is… advisable? Given the importance of House alliances?”

Viserys meets Otto’s gaze with a calm but unyielding expression. “It is precisely because of the importance of alliances that I have accepted my daughter’s choice, Lord Otto. And I believe Tyland has proven his loyalty to both House Targaryen and the realm.”

Tyland watches Otto with a hint of satisfaction in his eyes, relishing the subtle yet unmistakable defeat in Otto’s expression. Grand Maester Mellos clears his throat, casting a glance between Viserys and Tyland.

“Lord Tyland… this is indeed unexpected,” Mellos remarks, his tone a mixture of surprise and cautious approval. “But I trust that your intentions are honorable?”

Tyland inclines his head, his voice steady and respectful. “I assure you, Grand Maester, my intentions toward Princess Y/N have always been of the highest respect and devotion. I am deeply honored to have her hand.”

Jasper Wylde, who has been watching with an open-mouthed grin, chuckles softly, clearly entertained by the unfolding spectacle. “Well, I daresay this council has been shaken today! Congratulations, Lord Tyland. A true prize indeed.”

Lord Beesbury, who seems a bit slower to catch up, simply blinks, finally nodding in agreement, though he still appears somewhat dazed. “Yes… yes, indeed. Most unexpected, but, well… the King’s choice is the only choice that matters.”

Otto, however, is less than amused, his expression tightening further. “Your Grace,” he says, his tone respectful yet strained, “are we to understand that this decision is final?”

Viserys leans back, giving Otto a firm look that leaves no room for further argument. “It is final, Otto. And I trust you will give it the same respect you would give any choice made by the Crown.”

Otto nods, though his lips press into a thin line. “Of course, Your Grace. My apologies… it was not my intent to question your wisdom.”

Viserys nods, his gaze softening slightly as he turns back to Tyland. “Lord Tyland, you have my gratitude for honoring my daughter’s heart with patience and respect. I am certain you will make a fine addition to our family.”

Tyland bows his head, a flicker of warmth and pride in his voice as he replies, “Thank you, Your Grace. It is an honor I do not take lightly.”

As the meeting begins to wrap up, Tyland allows himself a brief, sidelong glance at Otto, whose frustration is palpable even beneath his carefully composed expression. Tyland meets his gaze with a polite, measured look, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he enjoys this quiet victory.

And as he rises from his seat, Tyland feels a sense of certainty settle within him. Whatever challenges lie ahead, he knows that he now has the blessing of the Crown—and, most importantly, the love of the woman who has chosen him.

As Tyland steps out of the small council chamber, a sense of relief and satisfaction fills him, his mind still replaying the moments of Viserys’s announcement. He has long awaited this day, and now, the weight of secrecy has finally been lifted. Just as he’s about to continue down the corridor, Lord Jasper Wylde steps forward, catching him with a broad grin and a hearty clap on the shoulder.

“Tyland! My sincerest congratulations once more,” Jasper says, his voice carrying a note of genuine warmth. He shakes his head with a laugh. “I must say, this explains quite a lot—particularly Daemon’s behavior toward you. I should have suspected something sooner.”

Tyland chuckles, inclining his head with a look of polite amusement. “Thank you, Lord Jasper. Daemon’s… sentiments have indeed been made quite clear.” He allows himself a small smirk. “Though I can hardly blame him for being unsettled by things beyond his control.”

Jasper nods, letting out another chuckle. “Indeed. With Daemon, if it’s not under his command, it’s practically an insult to his pride.” He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful as he regards Tyland. “But truly, Tyland, it’s no small feat to gain the favor of both the princess and the King himself. You’ve earned this match, even if it comes with the scorn of certain… interested parties.”

Tyland meets Jasper’s gaze, his expression calm but carrying a hint of the satisfaction he feels. “I am grateful for the King’s support—and even more so for the trust of the princess.” He glances back toward the council chamber, his voice lowering slightly. “As for those with… differing expectations, I’m prepared to handle them as needed.”

Jasper raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, if anyone can keep their head in a lair of dragons, it’s a Lannister. You’re well-suited to it, Tyland.”

But before Tyland can respond, Otto Hightower approaches, his expression unreadable but carrying a cool, unmistakable tension in his gaze. He inclines his head toward them both, though his attention is clearly directed at Tyland.

“Lord Tyland,” Otto says, his tone cordial but with an edge of restraint. “Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

Tyland inclines his head respectfully, meeting Otto’s gaze with a polite smile. “Thank you, Lord Otto. I appreciate the sentiment.”

Otto’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral. “It was a… surprising development, to say the least. I had assumed, like many, that the princess’s hand would be given with the aim of solidifying the Crown’s alliances. It seems, however, that the King’s priorities have… shifted.”

Jasper, watching the exchange with interest, raises an eyebrow but remains silent, his gaze flicking between the two men. Tyland, however, holds Otto’s gaze evenly, his voice calm.

“His Grace made his decision based on what he believed would bring his daughter happiness,” Tyland replies smoothly. “I can only express my gratitude that he found me worthy of her choice.”

Otto’s lips press into a thin line, and he nods, though there’s a faint shadow of disappointment in his eyes. “Worthy, perhaps. Though one must wonder… the strategic benefits of such a match are not as clear as they might have been. The princess is a key to uniting loyalties—a role that, in different hands, might have been more… impactful.”

Tyland’s gaze sharpens, his smile never faltering. “With all due respect, Lord Otto, I would argue that the loyalty of the Crown’s own blood is a strategic advantage in itself. There are bonds that go beyond mere political alignment.”

Otto’s jaw tightens slightly, and for a brief moment, the mask slips, revealing a hint of his frustration. He recovers quickly, inclining his head once more. “Of course, of course. And, as always, I defer to the King’s judgment.”

Jasper, sensing the tension, decides to break the silence with a chuckle. “Well, I, for one, find it refreshing to see a match made for something other than sheer politics.” He claps Tyland on the shoulder once more. “Love isn’t such a dreadful thing to bring into a marriage, wouldn’t you say?”

Otto’s gaze flickers toward Jasper, a faint, strained smile appearing on his face. “A charming notion, Lord Wylde. But love, as we all know, is seldom enough to hold the weight of a throne.”

Tyland’s smile remains, though there’s an unmistakable edge of confidence in his voice as he replies, “Perhaps not, Lord Otto. But it is a foundation that endures—and it is something upon which loyalty and respect are built.”

Otto’s eyes flash, though he merely nods, his tone curt. “Then let us hope, Lord Tyland, that this foundation serves the realm as well as it serves the princess.”

With that, he offers a final nod to them both and strides away, his back straight, his expression schooled back into its usual stoic calm. Jasper watches him go, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turns back to Tyland.

“Well, that was a pleasure to watch,” Jasper mutters, shaking his head. “Otto’s plans have finally been thwarted. I imagine he’s furious inside, though he hides it well.”

Tyland chuckles, his gaze steady as he watches Otto’s retreating form. “He’ll recover,” he says lightly. “Lord Otto is not one to dwell on losses for long. I’m certain he’s already calculating his next move.”

Jasper grins, giving Tyland an approving look. “Perhaps. But you’ve managed to outmaneuver him this time, and that is no small accomplishment. Tyland Lannister, son-in-law to the King. I daresay you’ve done quite well for yourself.”

Tyland smiles, though there’s a glint of quiet resolve in his gaze. “It’s not just for myself, Jasper. I would have done this a thousand times over… for her.”

Jasper chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder one last time. “A romantic, then. Perhaps you’ll bring some charm into that stone heart of yours after all.”

Tyland shakes his head, allowing himself a rare, soft smile as he turns toward the corridors that will take him to you. And as he walks, a sense of fulfillment settles within him, knowing that, for once, he has bested those who would seek to control your future. Now, the path is yours together.

You stroll beside Rhaenyra through the corridors of the Red Keep, enjoying the rare moment of peace. The news of your betrothal has lifted a weight off your shoulders, and even now, you can feel the faint smile that’s settled onto your lips, unable to fully disappear. Rhaenyra notices and gives you a knowing look, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“You look positively radiant, sister,” she teases, nudging you playfully with her shoulder. “One would think you were already a bride.”

You laugh, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I suppose it does feel that way,” you admit, glancing down as a faint blush colors your cheeks. “It’s as if the entire court has been holding its breath for this, and now… now I can finally breathe.”

Rhaenyra nods, her expression softening. “I’m glad you could make your own choice. Father was wise to let you decide.” She pauses, her tone turning more playful. “Though I do imagine some lords are less than pleased with the outcome.”

Just as the two of you round a corner, deep in conversation, a familiar figure appears, his cane clicking softly against the stone floor as he walks. Larys Strong, his expression as unreadable as ever, gives a slight bow as you approach. He straightens, his gaze flickering between you and Rhaenyra, a polite smile playing on his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Princess,” he greets Rhaenyra with a respectful nod, before turning his attention to you. “And my heartfelt congratulations to you, my lady. News of your betrothal has reached every corner of the Keep.”

You incline your head, polite but wary, feeling the subtle weight in his words. “Thank you, Lord Larys. I appreciate your kind wishes.”

He gives a slight, calculated smile, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “The court has been… abuzz with excitement, though one might wonder if this union will satisfy everyone’s expectations. The Lannisters are certainly fortunate.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze sharpens as she watches him, sensing the faint edge to his words, but you maintain your composure, refusing to let Larys’s veiled remarks dampen your spirits. “Fortune often favors those who have earned it, Lord Larys,” you reply smoothly, matching his smile. “And I believe my family values happiness as much as any political gain.”

Larys chuckles, inclining his head as though acknowledging your point. “Indeed, my lady. I trust your union will bring the prosperity you seek, in whatever form that may take.” His eyes linger on you a moment longer, his gaze shadowed by something that feels almost like warning. “After all, peace is a fragile thing, as we all know.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, her chin lifted in subtle defiance. “We’re all aware of how delicate peace can be, Lord Larys. But my sister has made her choice, and I think it’s safe to say she’s content with it.”

Larys inclines his head once more, giving another polite smile. “As you say, Princess. My best to you both.” And with that, he moves away, his cane clicking steadily as he disappears around the corner, leaving a faint chill in the air behind him.

Rhaenyra watches him go, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “He’s always full of riddles and subtle threats, isn’t he?”

You roll your eyes, letting out a quiet laugh. “It’s as if he speaks in codes, never saying what he truly means. But I won’t let him ruin my day.”

Rhaenyra grins, linking her arm with yours as the two of you continue down the corridor. “Good. It’s about time we enjoy something without the endless intrigue weighing us down.” She gives you a teasing look. “Although I do imagine Gwayne will be brooding for a full moon over your decision. He looked utterly crestfallen in the hall earlier.”

You laugh, unable to resist the grin that spreads across your face. “Poor Gwayne. He’s certainly persistent, but I doubt he expected me to choose Tyland.”

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Persistent, yes. But now that you’ve chosen another, he may be more sulky than ever. Perhaps he’ll write a tragic poem or two in your honor, filled with laments and sighs.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I’ll expect to hear him sighing in every corridor, then. But perhaps he’ll recover soon enough.”

Rhaenyra squeezes your arm, her smile softening as she looks at you. “You made the right choice, sister. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise, least of all men like Larys or Gwayne.”

You nod, feeling a sense of warmth and reassurance settle within you. “I won’t. Tyland is the one I chose, and nothing will change that.”

With Rhaenyra at your side, the shadows of courtly intrigue seem to fade, and together, you continue through the Red Keep, the echo of laughter trailing behind you. In this moment, with your sister’s unwavering support, you feel ready to face whatever lies ahead.

It was the late afternoon as Daemon entered unannounced to King's private chambers, his expression dark and his stride purposeful. Viserys looks up from a scroll, raising an eyebrow as his younger brother strides forward with that unmistakable air of barely-contained frustration.

“Daemon,” Viserys says calmly, setting the scroll aside. “To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?”

Daemon doesn’t bother with formalities. He crosses the room in a few swift steps, his voice low and simmering with barely controlled anger. “This marriage, Viserys. Y/N’s choice. A Lannister?” He almost spits the word, his expression twisted in disdain. “And you approved it?”

Viserys’s gaze hardens, though he keeps his tone measured. “Yes, I did. It was her choice, Daemon, and I believe it was a wise one.”

Daemon scoffs, pacing the length of the room, his hands clenched at his sides. “A wise choice?” He glances over his shoulder at his brother, his face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Since when have we been in the habit of granting Lannisters such… favor?”

Viserys sighs, folding his hands calmly as he watches his brother. “Since it became a strategic advantage, Daemon,” he replies, his tone firm. “You may not approve, but House Lannister is one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the realm. An alliance with them strengthens our position—financially and politically.”

Daemon’s eyes flash with frustration, and he stops, turning to face Viserys fully. “Is that truly the reason, brother?” he asks, his voice laced with bitterness. “Or are you simply letting her indulge in whatever fleeting infatuation has taken hold of her?”

Viserys’s expression cools, a faint edge creeping into his voice. “This is not a mere infatuation. Y/N has chosen someone who values her, who respects her, and who understands the significance of our House. Tyland Lannister is a thoughtful man, a loyal man. And from what I’ve seen, he has her best interests at heart.”

Daemon’s jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he takes a step closer. “Her best interests,” he mutters, almost as if to himself. “And what of my interests, Viserys? Do you think I wanted to see her cast her lot with a man who hides in the shadows, who lacks the fire to even stake a claim openly?”

Viserys’s eyes narrow, catching the underlying bitterness in Daemon’s words. “This is not about you, Daemon,” he says firmly. “You had your chance to make your intentions known. But she chose Tyland—and I support her decision.”

Daemon laughs, a hollow, bitter sound that fills the room. “Of course you support her. You’ve always coddled her, always let her get away with anything she pleases. And now, when she makes a decision that undermines our alliances—”

“Enough, Daemon,” Viserys interrupts, his tone sharp. He rises from his seat, meeting Daemon’s glare with unwavering authority. “Y/N is a Targaryen. Her loyalty to this family is unquestionable, and I will not allow you to insult her or her choice.”

Daemon’s mouth tightens, and for a moment, he appears to be holding back a storm of words. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and edged with something close to resentment. “You believe a Lannister can ever be loyal to anyone other than himself? They’ll sell their loyalty to the highest bidder the moment it suits them.”

Viserys shakes his head, his gaze steady. “Tyland has shown nothing but respect, both to Y/N and to this family. He has been patient, cautious even, waiting for her choice without ever pressing her hand. That is loyalty, Daemon. And it’s something you would do well to respect.”

Daemon scoffs, his frustration evident as he looks away, his gaze distant. “She deserved better than a Lannister. She deserved someone who would fight for her, who would claim her without hesitation.” His voice softens, a flicker of something almost vulnerable crossing his face. “Not… hide behind a curtain, waiting for her to come to him.”

Viserys regards him quietly, understanding dawning in his eyes as he takes in his brother’s words. “This isn’t just about her choice, is it, Daemon?” His voice softens, though there’s a note of sadness in it. “You wanted her for yourself.”

Daemon’s jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he meets Viserys’s eyes. “She was… she is wasted on him, Viserys. And you, of all people, should see that.”

Viserys sighs, crossing his arms as he regards Daemon with a mixture of sympathy and firmness. “Daemon, you cannot force love, nor can you force someone’s loyalty. Y/N chose Tyland because she saw something in him that you, perhaps, could never offer her—a steady heart, a quiet loyalty, and a respect that allows her to be herself.”

Daemon bristles, his face twisting with frustration as he turns away. “I would have protected her better than he ever could. I would have given her a life worthy of her blood, her lineage.”

“Daemon,” Viserys says quietly, taking a step closer, “sometimes love is not about fire and blood. It’s about finding someone who brings peace, who stands with you even when the world turns against you.”

Daemon glares at him, the defiance in his eyes tempered by a flicker of something like hurt. “And you believe he can give her that?”

Viserys nods, his tone unwavering. “Yes, I do. And I trust my daughter’s judgment as well. She has chosen her path, and it is one I am proud to support.”

Daemon stands silent for a long moment, the tension hanging thick in the air. Finally, he lets out a bitter laugh, his expression hardening as he looks away. “Then so be it. But don’t come to me when this alliance you’ve blessed brings ruin.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel, striding out of the room, leaving Viserys standing alone, a faint sadness in the King’s gaze as he watches his brother go, knowing the storm that has only just begun to brew.

You continue your stroll beside Rhaenyra, sharing easy laughter and quiet conversation. The weight that had lingered over you for so long seems to have lifted, replaced by a calm anticipation for the future with Tyland—a future no longer hidden in shadows. But as you turn a corner, the sound of approaching footsteps brings your laughter to a halt.

Queen Alicent stands before you, her expression carefully composed, though there’s a hint of stiffness in her posture. At her side, Ser Criston Cole regards you both with a polite nod, though his gaze holds a sharper, more assessing quality as it rests on you.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Alicent begins, giving her a brief nod before her gaze shifts to you. “Princess Y/N. It seems congratulations are in order for your… recent engagement.”

You incline your head, keeping your expression polite but guarded. “Thank you, Queen Alicent. I appreciate your well wishes.”

Alicent’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and there’s an edge to her tone as she continues, “I must admit, it was… unexpected. I had thought you might consider other suitors, ones perhaps closer to your family in both blood and allegiance.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze sharpens, and she steps slightly closer to you, a subtle show of support as she addresses Alicent. “My sister’s choice was her own, and Father respected that. I would think that would be enough.”

Alicent’s expression remains carefully neutral, though her tone holds a hint of pointedness. “Of course. But as her family, it’s only natural to wish for her happiness and stability. It’s just that there were… other, suitable options.” Her eyes flick briefly to Ser Criston, who stands quietly beside her, his gaze steady as he listens.

You nod, holding her gaze calmly. “I chose Tyland because he understands and respects me, Your Grace. And I believe that is the foundation of a strong and lasting union.”

Alicent’s lips tighten almost imperceptibly, but she manages to keep her tone light. “I am certain he does, Princess. But I had hoped you might consider a match with someone who… well, someone with whom our families already share a bond.” She pauses, her gaze lingering on you with that same edge of expectation. “My brother, Gwayne, was most sincere in his intentions, after all.”

You feel the weight of her words, but your voice remains steady. “Ser Gwayne is an honorable man, and I am grateful for his attention. But my heart made its choice.”

At your side, Rhaenyra’s hand brushes against yours, her presence a comforting reassurance. “As is her right, stepmother,” she says pointedly, a faint smile of amusement playing on her lips. “Surely, the Crown should support such a decision wholeheartedly.”

Alicent’s gaze flickers to Rhaenyra, a momentary tension tightening her expression before she lets out a soft sigh, her tone turning resigned. “Of course, Princess. I am only… concerned for the family’s stability. That is my only aim.”

Beside her, Ser Criston watches the exchange quietly, but as Alicent shifts slightly, you catch the subtle, assessing glint in his eyes. His gaze lingers on you, and suddenly, it feels as if he’s fitting pieces of a puzzle together in his mind. The memory of that night resurfaces—a knock on Tyland’s door in the dead of night, Criston’s voice on the other side, seeking you out on Alicent’s orders. You see the faint realization flicker across his face, as if he’s just now connecting that night with your newly announced engagement.

Clearing her throat, Alicent gives you a final nod, her voice softening to something closer to genuine, if still stiffly formal. “Well, I do wish you all the happiness, Y/N. I hope your union with Lord Tyland brings you both what you seek.”

You incline your head respectfully. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Alicent offers a thin-lipped smile before turning to Criston, gesturing for him to follow. He nods, casting you one last thoughtful glance before following her down the corridor. Their footsteps echo as they disappear around the corner, leaving you alone once more with Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking her head in amusement. “She certainly has a way with… subtle disappointment, doesn’t she?”

You smile, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I imagine she won’t forgive me for refusing her brother anytime soon.”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, linking her arm with yours as she nudges you forward. “Well, let her sulk.”

You laugh softly, matching her stride as you continue down the corridor.

The Great Hall is bustling with activity, a throng of courtiers and nobles filling the space with excited murmurs and polite exchanges as Tyland steps into the midst of it. Since the announcement of his engagement to the youngest Targaryen princess, he’s found himself at the center of courtly attention, every noble seemingly eager to offer their congratulations and curry favor with House Lannister. The gleam of opportunism is unmistakable in their eyes, and Tyland’s lips quirk with faint amusement as he listens to their overly enthusiastic praises.

“Lord Tyland,” one noble greets him with a deep bow, his voice filled with thinly veiled admiration. “It is an honor to witness this union—House Lannister and House Targaryen together. May it bring strength to the realm, as I am sure it will.”

Tyland inclines his head, a polite smile in place as he accepts the noble’s words. “Thank you, my lord. I am honored by His Grace’s approval and look forward to strengthening our Houses in service to the realm.”

Around him, a few more lords and ladies voice their congratulations, each phrase tinged with the hint of a request, a favor waiting to be asked. Tyland manages each exchange with practiced ease, his demeanor calm and courteous as he acknowledges their words without committing to anything concrete. In the back of his mind, he knows that the real strength of this union lies in his commitment to you and what you share.

As he turns from one group, he catches sight of Ser Criston Cole lingering nearby, his dark eyes observing him with an expression Tyland can only describe as calculated. Cole steps forward, inclining his head in what could almost pass for respect, though there’s a subtle intensity in his gaze.

“Lord Tyland,” Cole begins smoothly, his voice low, ensuring that their conversation remains private. “It seems congratulations are in order.”

Tyland regards him with a cool, measured look, nodding once. “Thank you, Ser Criston. Your kind wishes are appreciated.”

Criston’s lips quirk in what could almost be called a smile, though there’s a glint of something sharper in his eyes. “It must be a relief, finally, to have the King’s approval. I imagine you and the princess are… most relieved.”

Tyland raises an eyebrow, sensing the subtle starin in Cole’s tone. “Relieved, yes. And honored to have His Grace’s blessing.”

Criston nods, though his gaze doesn’t soften. Instead, he leans in just a fraction, his voice dropping even lower, the edge in his words unmistakable. “Yet, one might wonder, Lord Tyland, if the swiftness of this approval was, perhaps… necessary. After all, there are whispers, as you might imagine. Whispers that could easily turn into doubts. It would be most unfortunate if other lords questioned the princess’s virtue—if they were to assume it was… compromised, let us say, prior to the announcement.”

Tyland’s smile fades, his gaze turning steely as he watches Cole. “Are you suggesting that her honor, and therefore mine, might be… scrutinized by others?”

Cole’s eyes narrow slightly, his tone smooth but laced with threat. “I’m merely observing the nature of court, Lord Tyland. Rumors grow like weeds, especially in matters of virtue. It would be a pity if your engagement were overshadowed by such… implications.”

Tyland steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur, his tone edged with an unmistakable threat. “Then perhaps, Ser Criston, it would be wise to ensure that such weeds are not planted in the first place. Those who spread lies about the princess may find themselves facing consequences they could not anticipate.”

Criston’s gaze hardens, though he holds his ground, meeting Tyland’s eyes with equal resolve. “There is no lie in caution, my lord. Only in assumption.”

Tyland’s lips curve into a faint smile, though it carries no warmth. “Then I trust you’ll make sure your caution remains… reasonable. If I were to hear of any rumor about the princess—any suggestion that would imply a loss of virtue—I’d be inclined to find the source personally.” He pauses, his voice a quiet threat. “And as I’m sure you know, Lannisters never forget those who undermine their family.”

Criston’s jaw tightens as he considers Tyland’s words. Finally, he gives a curt nod, his voice carefully restrained. “As you wish, Lord Tyland. I will remember your… concerns.”

With that, Cole steps back, casting one last cold glance at Tyland before turning away to rejoin Alicent’s side. Tyland watches him go, his expression unflinching, his resolve only strengthened. For all the subtle threats and pressures of the court, he would not let anyone, least of all Ser Criston Cole, tarnish the honor of what he shared with you.

As the last of the courtiers drift away, Tyland straightens, the faintest trace of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. Whatever else may come, he has made it clear: no one would question your honor without facing the full wrath of House Lannister.

[echoalyssa]

No Love | Dick Grayson

“You’re falling in love.” He whispers.

My heart throbs wildly in my chest and I glance away, hoping he won’t catch the swirl of emotions in my eyes.

I can’t confirm or deny his statement.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair and gripping the back of his neck. “I think you’re way past that.”

My eyes start to water and I clamp down on my lip. “It’s been a year…”

Dick’s jaw works. “What do you want from me?”

I look everywhere but at him, knowing that the second our eyes connect I’ll burst into tears.

I’m his little solider. I don’t cry. He doesn’t want me to cry.

“I don’t want anything from you… I just, I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you but I do and you don’t feel the same and-“ I pause to wipe furiously at my eyes. “I’m upset and I know you don’t understand but I just wanted to be enough for you.”

“You are.” He leans forward, rubbing my knee with the thumb of his left hand. “I don’t understand where this is coming from. Everything was fine.”

I risk a glance up and the concern in his irises make my heart clench.

“I don’t know. I r-really don’t. I just… I don’t understand why you don’t love me.”

He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me.

“Y/N… I care about you. I do. I don’t love people.”

“Neither do I!” My voice is louder than I intend it to be and I start to cry. “I didn’t hear those words for years growing up. I-I can count on one hand how many people I love in this world and you’re one of them. You don’t love me.”

Dick grimaces. He means well. He wasn’t behaving any differently than what the two of us had talked about when the whole ‘friends with benefits’ situation arose. I was the one that had caught feelings.

I love his friends. I love his family. I love the life we have together. I love our dynamic and his passion for the things he cares about. I love him. Almost painfully.

Dick had done nothing wrong and yet it felt like he had stabbed me through the heart. We had talked about this. Like mature adults. We’d laid down our ground rules and expectations.

We had different views for our futures. And because I loved him it meant knowing that he deserved more than a future with me.

To fall in love was to accept weakness. To have someone who can be used against you.

Still, I can’t help but ask the question because hope is a dangerous thing. “Do you think that’s going to change? Could you see y-yourself on the same level as me ever?”

Dick crosses the distance in half a stride and then he’s cradling my head to his chest, carting his fingers through my hair.

“I couldn’t even tell you how I’ll feel tomorrow. One day at a time remember?”

The tears fall heavier and I hiccup because he’s crushing me and it’s not even his fault.

“Don’t cry baby. Please don’t cry. Just enjoy being in the moment with me.”

It feels like the world is coming to an end. They say to love someone is to surrender complete control of your feelings and that’s true.

I let him hold me but inside I shatter. How could two people so perfect for each other not be together? How could he invest this much time into me and not love me? How could he look at me and touch me the way he did and not love me?

“It’s okay.” He murmurs but it’s anything but okay.

[ileyable]

Beneath the Stars

~Mdni~

The room is softly lit by the moonlight streaming in from the open window, casting gentle shadows over the silken sheets and plush cushions. The air is calm, filled with the faint hum of distant magic and the scent of flowers. Everything about this place is serene, a reflection of the emotional intimacy you and Nanami share.

NANAMI stands by the window, his gaze outward, but there’s a quiet intensity in the way he carries himself. He turns slowly, catching your eye, his lips curling into the slightest smile—a smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

NANAMI

(soft, steady)

Are you sure?

(he steps closer, his voice softens)

This is our time. Only if you’re ready.

You meet his gaze with confidence, but underneath, there's a sense of vulnerability. You feel safe in his presence, knowing he would never push you. His voice, his words—they’re like a soft promise of protection.

YOU

(softly)

I trust you, Nanami. I’m ready.

He reaches for you gently, as though you were something precious and fragile. His fingers touch your face, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch is warm, and you lean into it instinctively, your body reacting to his steady calm.

NANAMI

(soft smile)

You have no idea how beautiful you are… how much I want to protect you.

The sincerity in his voice stirs something deep within you. He leans in and kisses you, slow and tender. His lips are soft, exploring yours with a reverence that takes your breath away. As the kiss deepens, his hands move, tracing the curve of your back, pulling you closer to him.

YOU

(breathless)

I’ve never felt this… seen before. So… cherished.

NANAMI

(voice low, comforting)

That’s because you are. You’re everything to me.

(he pauses, his breath warm against your skin)

I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything. Not from me. Not anymore.

His voice is calm, but there’s a rawness to his words, like he’s laying himself bare before you, revealing everything he is. You can feel the strength of his emotions beneath the steady exterior, and it draws you in even more.

He guides you slowly to the bed, his hands never leaving your body, tracing slow, deliberate paths. His movements are patient, as if savoring the moment, treating each step as sacred. The gentle, thoughtful way he touches you makes you feel safe in a way words alone could never explain.

NANAMI

(voice steady, filled with trust)

I’m not rushing you, love. You can tell me what you need. What you want.

(he brushes his thumb across your lips)

I’ll follow your pace, always.

Your heart races, not from fear, but from the deep connection building between you. You’ve never known intimacy like this, where every touch feels like a conversation, a promise. You pull him closer, your hands trailing up his chest, your fingers grazing his skin as if memorizing the warmth of his body.

YOU

(softly)

I want you, Kento. All of you. Right here, right now.

His eyes darken with an emotion you can’t quite name, but it’s deep, intense. He captures your lips in another kiss, this one more urgent, as though all the feelings he’s held inside are now pouring out in a gentle storm. His hands move with purpose, but always with care, as if ensuring you’re always in control.

NANAMI

(voice low, full of passion)

I’ll give you everything I have, everything you want. You’re mine now.

(he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours)

And I will never let you go.

His words are a promise. His touch is soft but insistent as he slowly undresses you, his fingers brushing your skin like the gentlest of winds. Every kiss, every movement of his hands speaks of patience, of a man who would never rush, who would never push.

NANAMI

(soft, whispering)

You’re perfect, you know that? Everything about you is perfect.

(he caresses your side, his thumb running along your waist)

I want to make you feel like you’re the only one in this world. Because, right now, you are.

He leans in, pressing his lips to your shoulder, then your neck, each kiss like a vow, each touch like an affirmation of everything he feels for you. His hands gently roam your body, every movement deliberate, every gesture filled with a quiet intensity.

YOU

(whispering)

Make me feel everything, Kento. I want to feel you… truly feel you.

He answers you with a kiss, deep and tender, his hands moving to hold you with a gentleness that speaks volumes. His body moves with yours, not in a hurried rush but in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Every press, every pull is a conversation—a shared moment of trust, of letting go.

NANAMI

(voice thick with emotion)

I’ve never felt anything like this… with anyone else. You make me feel like I can be completely myself.

You breathe together, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, the space between you disappearing with each soft, gentle touch. There’s nothing but the sound of your breath and the steady rhythm of your hearts.

NANAMI

(whispering, just above a breath)

I’ll love you like this, every day. Every single day.

The night stretches on, but it’s not about the passing hours. It’s about the quiet moments shared, the deep, unspoken bond that connects you both on a level that feels eternal.

As the dawn light begins to break through the window, you’re wrapped in his arms, safe, loved, and cherished. You know, without a doubt, that this—this—is where you both belong.

[superhousecat-once-again]

Honestly, at this point I’m pretty sure that my problem with dating is not that I’m weird or inherently unloveable, as I used to say when I was in high school and college.

It’s literally that I’m too fucking cool and as such way too good for most people; they simply cannot keep up with me.

[stuckinapril]

Early morning study sessions, corepower gym classes at 5 am, unhurried walks under the sun w laidback rnb, extensive skincare bc I need time to myself even on booked & busy days, cute fits & nails, keeping track of my multivitamins, putting more effort into phone calls w relatives, engrossing myself in days at my orgo lab or the neuro clinic, volunteering more and more at the refugee center, holding myself accountable, being more in touch w my feelings, getting better at staying in touch w friends, soft & moisturized curls, reading for fun even when my brain tells me I could be doing something productive…. I will make this life beautiful even if it’s by the skin of my teeth etc etc

[deus-ex-mona]

little brothers and their will to #slay, man </3

[hanasnx]

“ I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN’ YOU ” — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ suggestive content ノ sexual content: naughty daydreams about pussy eating, nipple play, and groping; masturbation; voyeurism.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” Those six words—six—have defined your relationship with your husband, LOGAN HOWLETT. There’s a great protector in him, this compulsion to mentor and house within him that stretches far beyond his own needs. You fall within that range, and as soon as you met him you latched onto him. It didn’t take long at all before your imprint was reciprocated. Now he thinks of you first in everything he does.

He may not always look it, but you’re a factor in all his decisions. Settling down, nabbing a good job—one that didn’t ask for his background—was all to put you up in a house in the mountains. Far away from civilization, an ivory tower made up of wood he cut himself, surrounded by acres of nature. He’s always thought of himself a hair on the wild side, somehow you tame that down. It’s good, he tells himself, you and him.

It’s a partnership, and all he wants out of you is your safety. He likes you where he can keep an eye on you, make sure you stay out of trouble, make sure you’re comfortable.

You wish you could explain just why he thinks he has to protect you, why he married you, why he pays all the bills and expects nothing in return. You wish you could explain just why this relationship comprises all facets of a real marriage except for intimacy.

Logan won’t touch you. You’ll eat off each other’s utensils, fall asleep on his chest on the couch watching a movie—hell, he’ll reluctantly incline in your direction with a roll of his eyes to let you peck his cheek good-bye when he leaves for work. Yet, he won’t even kiss you. Even before he married you, there wasn’t so much as a grope or a stray look.

There’s home in Logan. You live to please him. You’ll cook him whatever he wants, keep the house he built for you clean as a whistle, you’ll spend all your free time with him, grab him his nightly beer and light his cigar so he stays content—but you’ve never even seen him naked. You doubt you ever will. Regardless, you stay, you can’t imagine leaving this life, leaving him.

It’s defied your expectations the fairy-tales of your childhood gave you. Your knight in shining armor rescued you, yet refuses to plant even true love’s kiss. When you’d matured, you’d fantasized about an insatiable husband that found you so irresistible he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Logan’s never looked at you that way, even though he calls you his wife without hesitation, married you without a second thought.

“Is it because I’m younger than you? I’m only in my early twenties. That’s not a big deal!” you’ve reasoned with him, but he still treats you like you’re naive. He must want passion, you’re sure of that. Why else are you young and beautiful if not to take advantage of it while you still can? Just once you’d like to see him yearn for you, to show lack of restraint, to come home one day so hungry for you that you don’t make it out of the kitchen.

Those claws… those deadly metal claws… you wish he’d use them in fantastical and deviant ways. Just one would glide through your nighty like sheet paper, bareing you to your husband—a sight for him only. You lie awake next to him at night, envisioning raunchy dreams of him proudly boasting the size difference between you two, demonstrating his sheer raw strength by overpowering you and taking what he wants from you. You’ve run your fingers delicately over his lips and the rough pad of his shaved chin, but you can’t imagine just how good it’d feel against your tit, swirling his hot tongue around your perked nipple while his callused digits pinch the other. You can pretend his head is ducking between your thighs, the sensation of his soft hair tickling your skin and tangling in your fingers as his masculine jaw scratches the fragile tissue of your pussy. As starved as you are, even discomfort like that is enough to make you moan into your palm, only to check over your shoulder to make sure you still hear your husband’s snoring.

You steel yourself at the noise, the low rumbling of his sleep cautions you to stay quiet but to proceed nonetheless. Your hand creeps down your neck, your chest, your stomach… You really should leave the room, but you’d risk waking him up for real at the sound of the door. Instead, you fuck yourself yet again, the soft rocking of the mattress as you hump your own hand filling the ears of your kindhearted husband—who’s been awake this whole time.

[maccreadysbaby]

Some of My Favorite Ways to Describe a Character Who’s Sick

pressing their forehead into something cool or comfortable (this could be an array of things. the table, the floor, someones leather jacket, their water bottle, the countertop)

warm to the touch, or heat radiating from them (could be noticed if someone’s gauging their temperature with their hands, hugging them, or just generally touching them)

leaning into people’s touch, or just spontaneously leaning on them (like pressing into their hand when someone’s checking their temp, or just, like, literally walking up and laying their head on them from fatigue. bonus points if the character is usually feral and the other is scared to engage™︎)

falling asleep all over the place (at the dinner table, on their homework, in the car, in the bathroom — just being so exhausted from doing literally nothing)

being overly emotional (crying over things that don’t usually bother them, like their siblings arguing, or their homework, or literally just nothing)

stumbling/careening/staggering into things (the wall, furniture, other people. there is no coordination in feverish brains. running into chairs, hitting the door, falling over the couch, anything and everything)

slurring their words (could be from fatigue or pain. connecting words that shouldn’t be connected, murdering all of their conversations with the excessive use of ‘mm’ and ‘nn’ in place of words) (this is my favorite thing ever)

being overly touchy (basically like a sick kid — just hold them, please. do that thing where you brush their hair back out of their face, or rub circles on their back, or snuggle them. they won’t care. bonus points if this is also the feral character and they refuse to believe it afterwards)

being extremely resistant to touch (flinching away when they usually don’t so someone can’t feel the fever, not letting themselves be touched because they’re so tired they just know they’ll be putty in their hands if they do)

growing aggressive or being extremely rude (it’s a defense mechanism — they feel vulnerable and are afraid of being manipulated or deceived while they’re ill)

whimpering/whining/groaning (this was in my “characters in pain” post but it’s so good that i’m putting it here too. this shite is gold, especially if it’s just an involuntary reaction to their symptoms)

having nightmares caused by a fever and/or delirium (crying and murmuring in their sleep, or being awake but completely out of it and convinced they’re somewhere else)

making themselves as small as possible (curling up into a ball everywhere they lay, hunching over slightly when standing, wrapping their arms around themselves)

TW for vomiting below cut !!

sleeping in the bathroom floor because they keep getting sick over and over (bonus if someone finds them all weak and pitiful. bonus bonus if they find them there in the morning only to learn they’ve been there all night)

using their hands/other body parts to clamp over their mouth so nothing can come out (like pulling their knees up to their chest and using that, or like, their arm, y’know) (~maccreadysbaby who has emetophobia suddenly gets very awkward about this post~) (~yes i have a phobia of puke and still write this happening to my characters, shut up~) (~it’s about the hurt/comfort okay~)

sympathy pukers (people who aren’t the sick ones but get nauseous/vomit when they see someone else throw up) (~aka me~) (~okay I’m done now~)

dry heaving (it’s gross, but good for making your characters absolutely freaking miserable)

rolling/churning/spinning/cramping/ lurching and all those awesome words that describe what stomachs do when sick (i hate these words with a deep, fiery passion. but they’re good for writing or whatever)

[princessbellecerise]

First Impressions

Summary ✩ If you want to make a good impression on your boyfriend’s family, then you probably shouldn’t get caught naked together

Warnings ✩ Smut, college!jace, Jace likes slow passionate sex I don’t make the rules, so many innuendos, Jace and the reader literally get caught by his whole family, humor, lowkey a crack fic

“But what if they don’t like me?”

“Babe, relax. They’ll love you.”

Jace stroked your arm lovingly as you sat on his dorm room bed, nerves and anxiety nearly eating you alive.

You were in the middle of finals, and not only that, Jace’s family had decided to come up for the weekend and visit him before winter vacation.

Every year, he usually travelled back overseas to be with them, but this year his family decided to stay in the United States and celebrate the holidays over here.

As his girlfriend, you were understandably worried because it meant that you’d be meeting them for the first time. Jace tried to reassure you that your fears didn’t matter, and that they’d love you despite what you thought, but you simply weren’t convinced.

“But what if they hate me?” You continued, chewing on your lip as you looked at him. “What if…what if they think I’m too…American or something?”

“What? Too American?” Jace snorted. “What does that even mean?” You groaned.

“It means they might hate me, or my accent, and they might try and set you up with a British girl or something, I don’t know.”

To your displeasure, Jacaerys merely laughed which made you pout.

“Jace! This is serious!” You whined at him, smacking his arm playfully. He shook his head.

“Like I said, they will love you and they will be very excited to see you. Especially my mother. She’s been dying to meet you ever since I told her about you.”

“But—!”

“No buts! Everything will be fine,” Jacaerys cooed, and you sighed as you buried your head in his chest.

“I hope you’re right,” You mumbled miserably, not wanting to even think about him being wrong. You loved Jace so much, and you couldn’t imagine not being accepted by the ones he loved the most. No matter how many times he reassured you that they would, the thought still terrified you to your core.

“Of course I am,” Jacaerys leaned his head down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arms around you as he did. “How could anyone not love you? You’re perfect.”

Quickly, a small rush of embarrassment flooded to your cheeks but luckily it was hidden.

“You really think so?” You mumbled again, and this time you felt Jace pulling you away from his chest so that you could look him in the eye.

Two pools of warm honey held nothing but confidence and reassurance as he nodded. “Of course,” Jace confirmed sweetly, and then he sealed his promise with a kiss.

Smiling, you welcomed his lips and relaxed as your fears began to melt away. As always, Jace had a habit of being able to calm you with the slightest touch, and now as you felt his plump lips against yours, your worries evaporated.

It was like magic how you could be so worked up one minute, and then completely like putty in his arms in the next. Forgetting your anxiety, you deepened the kiss with Jace and panted as you felt his hands roam over your body.

“Shouldn’t we…shouldn’t we be getting ready?” You asked him quietly, pulling away as you felt him hardening underneath you.

“We’ve still got,” Jace picked up his phone and tapped on the screen, grinning when it read 5:52pm. “Two hours until dinner, I think? That’s plenty of time.”

You grinned back and sank into another kiss, this time bringing your hands up to tangle in his curls. They were soft against your fingertips; a weapon you used to render your boyfriend defenseless as you crawled on top of him.

Moaning, Jace held your hips as you began to grind them, feeling the way his cock got hard as you did so. Jace’s hockey hoodie and your thin sleep shorts left minimum barriers between the two of you, but still, it was too much.

You needed to feel him as desire pooled in between your legs, a little wet spot forming on the crotch of your shorts.

“Jace. Help me take this off,” You said against his lips, and Jace, all too eager, obeyed.

You felt his strong hands tug on the band of your shorts, pulling them off and throwing them across the room. Then, Jace reached for the hoodie and pulled it up just enough to expose your tits, but he kept it on you because he loved the way you looked in it.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” Jacaerys groaned, leaning up to suck on one of your buds as you continued rocking against him.

The feeling of his soft tongue made your core clench with anticipation, throwing your head back as you panted. You weren’t really in a rush, so Jace took his time; sucking and biting and licking your flesh as he pleased.

Already, you could feel the marks on your skin forming, and you lightly pushed his chest to get him to stop.

“Don’t give me a hickey right before I meet your family,” You warned, but the damage was done and Jace was quite proud as he admired his work.

“Oops.” Your boyfriend smirked up at you, and then you squealed as he flipped you around. Now, your back was against his chest and Jace propped your hips up so that your ass was in the air.

You could feel him begin to grind against you now, pressing his hard cock against your body as his kissed his way down it.

He started with your neck, nipping at your sweet spots before eventually going lower. Jace pushed the hoodie up so he could kiss along your spine, leaving little marks wherever he pleased. While he did that, you shivered as his hands occupied themselves with your cunt, teasing your wet folds and ghosting over your clit.

“Jace,” You whined in the pillow, desperate for more friction as you wiggled against him. You were burning up, aching for his touch; and luckily your boyfriend wasn’t a cruel man.

“I’ve got you, Princess. Don’t worry,” He cooed softly. You felt the bed dip as he moved in between your thighs, placing a delicate kiss to each before going where you needed him most.

“God…” You moaned, biting the pillow as Jace’s lips attached to your cunt, tongue darting out to taste you.

He went slow at first, dipping his tongue in between your folds and circling your entrance. You whined as Jace pushed in, tongue-fucking you while his fingers came to play with your clit. His other hand occupied itself with steadying your trembling hips, keeping your cunt firmly pressed against his face as he messily ate you out from behind.

“Fuck, fuck! Jace!”

His name fell from your lips like a chant, your thighs shaking as your orgasm approached. If you could, you would’ve tugged on his curls but you had to settle for gripping the bedsheets as you made a mess on his tongue.

To Jace, you tasted so sweet that he just couldn’t help but to lap it all up; face getting drenched with the evidence of your arousal. He reached out to message your trembling thighs, placing little kisses on them before turning you over.

As he did, you couldn’t help but think how hot your boyfriend looked after eating you out. His face was glistening with your cum, his pupils blown and eager for more.

He couldn’t get the condom on fast enough, and you nearly started drooling when he teased his swollen cock head in between your folds.

You were still sensitive by the time he started to push in, but you welcomed his cock and eagerly held his body close to yours. As always, Jace held your hand and let out a shaky breath as he entered you. With his forehead pressed to yours, he gazed into your eyes and sank into your cunt until there was nothing left for him to give.

“Fuck!”

The two of you moaned in unison as he bottomed out, Jace trembling above you as your warm cunt squeezed him. He leaned down to capture your lips in a long, deep kiss, loving to make out with you while he fucked you.

It was one thing to be inside of you, but with Jace, he always felt the need to be consumed by you, taking you in every way he could think of. His lips upon yours, his hands holding yours, his cock deep inside of you.

The closeness, the sheer intimacy of it all always drove your boyfriend crazy, as he wanted to think of and feel nothing but expect for you. No matter what, Jace always poured everything he had into you—every bit of love, want, desire.

You could feel it in the way he moved his hips, desperately chasing the high only you could bring him to. You spread yourself eagerly below him, taking, wanting, craving for the same things.

Together, you held one another as your bodies moved in sync, giving and taking and fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Jace’s cock began to tighten as he neared his release. Likewise, your core clenched, your head becoming fuzzy as he brushed against your sweet spot over and over again. Just as you pulled away from his kiss, your own lips—plump and swollen—let out a gasp as you came around him. All that you could see, all you taste and feel was Jacaerys as pleasure completely took over your senses.

And then, not even a second later Jace was collapsing as well, panting as he spilled himself into the condom.

You had the pleasure of hearing his sweet sounds as he did, rubbing his back and his ass gently to coax him. By the time he was finished, the condom was filled to the brim and Jace pulled it off, lazily tying it up and throwing it in the trashcan.

Pink puffy lips, bruised from kissing you and biting them so hard when he came, once again ghosted over your skin, Jace leaving a kiss on your forehead before collapsing beside you.

“I love you,” Your boyfriend said gently, taking your face into his hands. Soft cheek pressed against soft cheek as you curled into one another, still panting and glowing and smiling from your highs.

“I love you too,” You giggled as he squeezed your cheeks, pressing them together so your lips jutted out like a fish. “I lobe you, I lobe you, I lobe you, I lobe you—”

Jace laughed at your disordered speech, just about to comment on it when suddenly the door flung open, and Cregan Stark stood with his entire family behind him as he grinned.

“Surprise!”

“What the—?”

The smile on your lips died as you froze in shock, eyes coming to settle on the plethora of people that filed into the room.

They hadn’t noticed it yet, not until it was too late. There were six people in total, all too busy grinning with anticipation and chattering excitedly until they noticed exactly what they had stumbled upon—a very naked Jacaerys and his girlfriend.

“Oh,” Rhaena, who you had seen before in FaceTime calls and followed on Instagram, was the first to notice your predicament. Their eyes widened when they looked at Jace, stuttering but not able to warn anyone in time. “I…”

“Oh shit!”

“Are they—?”

“Dude!”

Jace was much faster than you to react; shouting at Cregan and telling him to close the door while his roommate stood there in shock.

Behind him, you could hear laughter and horrified shouts as Jace’s family looked at the scene; his step-sister Baela cracking up while who you presumed was his mother gasped.

“Jacaerys—” The white haired woman blinked, dumbfounded, and of course you would have the absolute unfortunace of locking eyes with her right before Jace exclaimed,

“Mom! Get out!”

The door slammed shut just as Jace began to scurry up, his face a violent shade of red as you blinked. In that moment, you couldn’t tell if you wanted to scream or just straight up die as you looked at Jace, horrified as you covered your naked body.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know…” He rapidly shook his head, trying to explain but you could obviously tell he wasn’t expecting his family to come here.

You were supposed to meet them at the restaurant at seven, and you still thought you had time to get yourself presentable.

You wanted to make a good first impression on the people who would hopefully be your future in laws, but now though, there was no such luck. His whole family had seen you naked, and now you had no fucking clue how you’d ever leave this room without wanting the ground to swallow you up.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. What are we going to do?” You asked, panicked as Jace paced around the room. “Your mother—Jace, your mom just saw my fucking pussy!”

“Or maybe she didn’t,” Jace countered, trying to delude himself and you into thinking the situation wasn’t that bad. It didn’t work. “Maybe they…maybe they only saw us in the covers, but didn’t see anything else.”

“Yeah right,” You scoffed, knowing damn well that wasn’t the case. “I’m pretty sure they’ve seen more of me than you ever have!”

“Shit!”

Jace ran a hand through his curls as commotion sounded outside. Cregan panicking and Baela laughing and Luke so horrified all he could do was stare at the wall.

They were all waiting out there to meet you but, “I can’t ever show my face again,” You wailed. “I was right. They’re gonna hate me and think I’m a slut and they’re never gonna want to see me again!”

“That’s not true,” Jace insisted, shaking his head. “Babe, they would never think that about you.”

“Yeah! We’d never—” Rhaena’s voice became muffled as Rhaenyra scolded them, but the fact that they could hear what you were saying just made you want to die even more.

“Jesus Christ. Is there no end to the embarrassment?” You groaned, flopping on Jace’s bed. You buried your face into the pillow while Jace rubbed circles on your back, torn between comforting you and yelling at Rhaena to fuck off.

“It’s alright. It’ll be alright,” Your boyfriend said awkwardly. “The best thing that we can do is to just go out there, and forget this ever happened, yeah? I’m sure after a few drinks no one will even remember this.”

Which might’ve been true, if half his family wasn’t under 21 and couldn’t drink in the USA.

You groaned. “Ihatemylife.”

“What?”

“I said I hate my life,” You pouted at Jace, pulling your face from the covers. “Only something like this could happen to me.” But eventually, you agreed to just bite the bullet.

You knew you couldn’t hide forever, and as much you wanted to, you couldn’t avoid the six people standing outside waiting for you and Jace either.

No matter how undignified you felt, you still got ready and you took a deep breath as Jace grabbed your hand.

“Let’s go meet them properly this time, shall we?”

—

“So how’s the bed—I mean, the bread! Sorry!” Luke blushed deeply while you sank into your seat, utterly mortified while Jace tensed beside you.

He still had yet to relax even though the incident had happened hours ago, and his family was graceful enough not to mention it save for a few accidental innuendos and stray giggles as they recalled the moment.

Cregan, who was also invited along, hadn’t stopped sending either of you apologetic looks since it was his idea to bring them to surprise Jace.

The poor guy had a wanted to do a nice thing for his best friend and ended up humiliating him in the process.

But you were so embarrassed you didn’t even care, not being able to even look at Luke while you answered.

“It’s good,” You told him meekly, even though it was obvious you had barely touched it. “A little hard, but...”

Daemon snickered as you suddenly stopped, stomach dropping when you realized you said. “I-I mean…I didn’t…”

“Babe,” Jace gave you look as he squeezed your hand under the table, shooting his step father an angry glare. “He knows what you meant. Right, Luke?”

“Yeah.” The sophomore in high school didn’t say anything else as he picked at his appetizer.

You sighed.

Quite frankly, it was awkward all around, making you feel like you should have just stayed in your dorm room.

What was supposed to be a normal family dinner was now overshadowed by the incident, and you felt like no matter what you did, something brought it up.

The last thing you wanted to do was make a bad first impression, and you had made an impression alright.

You cleared your throat. “So how was the flight?” You asked no one in particular, desperately wanting to change the subject. You didn’t think you’d survive another minute of this if not, but thankfully Rhaena ended up being the one who answered you.

“It was boring. Kind of long, actually,” They shrugged. And then they added, “T-The flight, I mean,” which only made the situation worse.

Baela shook her head. “I don’t know. It was kind of short to me,” She grinned, laughing when Jace glared and kicked her under the table.

“Baela!” Rhaenyra scolded her, shaking her head. Like you, the woman seemed to be at her wits end with how much more she could take.

It was embarrassing enough for you to experience it, but you couldn’t imagine catching your own son naked. Rhaenyra was probably the only one more mortified than you and Jace, and so she was a bit more sympathetic than the rest of her family.

“That’s enough. Stop torturing the poor girl, will you?”She warned. “Y/N, honey, I’m so sorry,” She then said gently, and you gave her a tight smile, hating yourself for not ordering a stronger drink.

Thankfully though, you were saved by the waitress coming around. You and Jace let out a sigh of relief as the food momentarily distracted everybody. Baela stopped smirking, eyeing her spaghetti with joy. Daemon no longer stared at you accusingly, just waiting to for the chance to jump in and embarrass Jace. Eveything seemed fine again; that is until she set Jace’s entree down.

“And here is that shrimp for you, sir,” She smiled at him politely, and you could see Cregan absolutely loosing it as he stood up.

“Fuck—I’m sorry man. I can’t, I just…” He crackled all the way to the bathroom, his laugher echoing through the whole restaurant. A few people stared at him as he passed, but the waitress didn’t seem too bothered by it.

She turned to Rhaenyra, handing her a red drink and said, “And here is that cocktail for you.”

Rhaenyra stared at the drink, not even knowing what to say as her children burst into giggles. Not even Daemon could hold himself back, laughing into his wine while Jace laid his head on the table.

“Is there anything else I can get for you all?” The waitress asked, chewing her lip at the scene. She obviously didn’t understand what was going on or why everything she said was so funny.

“A gun,” Jace whispered from beside you, catching her attention. His red face was as buried into his arms due to permanent shame. “I would like for you to bring me a gun, please.”

“Excuse me?” Your waitress reeled back, her eyes going wide at Jace’s words. The tray she carried momentarily shook in her hands, and—not wanting for her to call the police and make this an even worse situation—you quickly stepped in.

“I-I think he means that we’re all satisfied, thank you,” You told her weakly.

Your whole body burned from shame and embarrassment, and you were surprised that you didn’t catch on fire right then and there. You certainly wished you would, as it would save you from the absolute worst dinner of your life.

The woman nodded slowly. “Alright then. Enjoy,” She said cautiously.

And then, without missing a beat, Baela looked straight at you and giggled. “Oh, I’m sure she did.”

[chocum]

COMING DOWN !

— bunched up, sweet little whimpers, he always gets so sensitive under your touch feat. choso kamo

WARNINGS. femreader (she/her) x goodguy!cho :3 mentions of violence/death, sub cho, dom reader, overstimulation, begging, blowjob, premature ejaculation ;( crying + 1.2k wc note. i’m so insane abt choso it’s actually scary, he’s all i think about. tysm for all the support on my first post. love u all! feedback + reblogs are appreciated! also art by @/swag_yay on x. ty again & enjoyyy ᡣ𐭩

choso hated missions with a passion that pierced his very soul.

his cursed energy manipulation and combat skills are unrivaled, making him crucial to a mission’s success, but the relentless nature of them drained him beyond words— both mentally and physically.

they feel so repetitive: eliminate curses, protect civilians, prevent damage. eliminate curses, eliminate curses, eliminate.

he has always been driven by a deep desire to protect everyone he could, especially those who were unable to do so themselves, but the constant cycle of violence and death confused him—wrestling with self-doubt, doing mental gymnastics, trying to justify his actions. the cognitive strain became a heavy burden that compounded during missions, further exhausting him like heavy buckets of water dousing an already flickering flame.

and after meeting you — his sweet, sweet girl — his hatred for missions only grew.

the ache of missing you constantly gnawed at him. your homey scent. your taste still fresh on his tongue, preventing him from concentrating because, in his mind, he’s still tangled in your sheets, stealing sweet kisses that linger on his lips long after they’ve left yours.

when out scouting, he would catch glimpses of couples hand in hand in the streets sporting deep smiles, making his stomach twist— his brows pinching together, deepening the ridge between them.

his sole solace was the thought of returning home to his pretty girl once everything was over— it pushes him to keep going, to keep fighting, even avoiding shoko because he preferred your clumsy little hands to patch him up.

finally done with his latest three-week mission — a seeming eternity away from you — he was being driven to your place, to you, home.

head lolling back against the car seat, he spreads his legs wider, rolling his hips to adjust himself, before sinking, letting the leather seat swallow him whole. he tilts his head to the side, deep purple irises flickering, to watch the familiar scenery— large leafy trees crowding the darkening highway under evening skies.

after he waved his goodbyes, giving thanks to his driver, he stumbled up to the door, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the keys underneath the dim light of the porch. on the other side, the distinct sound of the lock clicking open causes you to bolt up, rushing to greet him.

he pushes it open and there you are. looking up at him with that big smile he adores so much lighting your face— pretty eyes sparkling with relief. you squeal and fling your arms around him without hesitation and he does the same, burying his face into the side of your neck, feeling your hair brush against him, inhaling deeply.

you always smelled so good— a blend of your natural scent and hints of vanilla from your body wash. he’s been craving that scent for so long, growing dizzy now that it finally embraces him, his body falling limp, so weak in your smaller arms.

you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, fingers gently tracing the smooth lines on his face— lines that seemed deeper since you’d last seen him.

“i missed you so much” you hummed faintly as he cupped your face, nuzzling your warm cheeks against his rough hands.

“i missed you so much more”

he leaned down to find your lips. they felt so much softer than he remembered. kissing you deeply, his calloused hand cradling the back of your neck, drawing you closer into the warmth of his embrace.

and when you moan against him— oh, it sounds so sweet, the blood rushing to his cock so quickly. next thing he knows, he’s rutting against your thigh, pressing against you so, so desperately, almost mounting you.

“what’s wrong cho?” a soft whine escapes him at the sudden loss of contact, “tell me, baby, use your words”

“i’m sorry,” he breathes, a pretty blush crawling up his neck, “just missed you so much— got excited”

“i know, my pretty boy, but ‘m here now, okay? let me take care of you. i know you missed it.” you take his hand, drawing him to your room as he follows obediently, shutting the door behind him, “did you touch yourself without me?”

he shakes his head, his fluffy hair cascading down to rest on his shoulders. “you .. you told me not no”

“good boy”

you push against his shoulders, gently guiding him to sit on the bed, his breath hitching so sweetly watching you lift yourself to straddle his waist. connecting your lips once more, hips grinding against him so slowly— rocking back and forth. his mouth now tinted pink and tenderly swollen from your ardent kisses, you move down to his neck planting a trail of light ones along the sensitive skin, each touch eliciting subtle little quivers and soft exhales. his fists bunch up the sheets, he—

“sorrysorrysorry” he babbles breathlessly— endlessly, his pants turning damp, material darkening as his cock twitches and pulses so cutely, cum drooling out his sensitive slit, “just feel so good against me. been so long. couldn’t even touch myself when you sent those pictures. it’s so sensitive”

“shhhh ‘s okay, cho.” a finger pressed against his pout— pushing its way in for him to suckle on warmly before you slide down to your knees. trailing your hands down his thighs, tugging on the hem of his pants, “i’ll clean you up”

he’s still so hard— his tip blushing, crying white cream, and when you take him in your hands, his hips jerk up for you— body still coming down from his high and you’re already taking him in your mouth, cruelly, licking fat stripes up his twitchy length.

“fuck ‘s too much baby, i just- wai, wait, please.” he’s pawing at you, pushing against your head, but he sounds too cute, crying and whimpering around you for you to stop— looks too cute with the prettiest pink blush shrouding his body from the tips of his heated ears to his curled toes.

you gargle and gag around his cock— exaggerating the sounds because you know it drives him insane. he loves when you get so nasty and messy for him, foamy spit bubbling around where his cock plugs your mouth up. your hands move to cup his warm balls, caressing and squeezing gently, coaxing him to cum for you again.

“ah f- baby, i’m so fucking— please. wanna cum for— you. gonna be so good, gonna—”

he cums salty, thick stripes straight down your warm throat with a whine so pretty you wish it was recorded so you could play it over and over and over.

and he’s crying— it’s too much, feels too good — sweetly hiccuping, sniffing as he hides his face behind his hands. such a pretty boy. he’s growing limp in your mouth and you pull off with a whine before kissing up his shaky legs.

“did so good for me, cho, missed having you like this” lightly moving his hands to pet at his damp cheeks, watching keenly how he leans into your touch, wiping pretty doll-like tears with your thumbs.

knowing that he has you to take such good care of him once he’s home will forever ease his mind while he’s away, a comforting thought that lingers like a soft embrace, even in your absence.

[greengoblinswifey]

Breaking Innocence—Fratboy!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you fall for shy, sweet fratboy!nicholas who’s different from his cocky frat brothers <3

warnings— innocent!nicholas, sub!nicholas, dom!reader, loss of virginity, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, strip tease, dry humping, face sitting, praise kink, fluff.

a/n— this might be an on going au series so requests are open for frat!boy nicholas or him in general <3

You were known around campus, the popular girl everyone seemed to have their eyes on, but you didn’t have time for the typical crowd of college guys. Most of them, especially the frat boys, had a one-track mind, and you’d long since figured out they only saw you as a conquest, something to fuck and be praised for it. You’d shut down every attempt, disinterested in their shallow flirting and relentless pursuit.

Then, one afternoon on campus, you were mid-scroll on your phone, drink in hand, when someone collided with you.

“Watch where you’re going!” you snapped, not in the mood for another run-in with some cocky frat boy.

“Sorry! I’m really, I didn’t mean to—” he stammered, looking genuinely horrified, and you stopped. The guy in front of you wasn’t like the others. He was tall, muscular, and had this almost awkward sweetness, eyes widening like he was caught doing something wrong. He barely met your gaze, shuffling a bit like he wanted to melt into the ground.

You felt a small grin creep onto your face. “You always this clumsy?” you teased, watching him flush.

“N-no, I just, I didn’t see you there, sorry,” he managed, voice soft but earnest. And then, after a second, he surprised you. “Could I, maybe get your number?” He scratched the back of his neck, his nerves obvious.

Something in you softened. You weren’t used to guys who seemed this genuine, this…different? So you handed him your number, and he looked up at you, a glimmer of disbelief in his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll, um, text you later.”

As he walked away, your friend leaned over, eyeing you curiously. “That’s Nicholas Chavez,” she whispered. “He’s in Theatre Arts. Heard he wants to be an actor.”

You felt a flicker of intrigue. The shy frat boy wanted to act? Nicholas was already proving to be unlike anyone else around here.

As evening rolled around, you were in your dorm room, putting the final touches on your makeup and slipping into a sexy dress that you knew would turn heads. Your phone buzzed, a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: “Hey Y/N! I was wondering…would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I know it's short notice, and totally fine if you can't!”

Then, almost immediately:

Nicholas: “It's Nicholas, by the way…Nicholas Chavez.”

You laughed at his nervousness, finding it unexpectedly charming. Quickly, you typed back, “Sure, I’d love to. I’m on the east side of campus.” He replied instantly, “Great! I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Right on time, you heard a knock. Opening the door, you caught the look in his eyes as they widened, taking in your outfit. "Wow, you look incredible," he said, clearly a little stunned.

You smiled, “Thank you.” Then you noticed the flowers he was holding. “Are those…for me?”

“Yeah,” he said, blushing slightly, “I thought you might like them.”

“I love them, thanks, I’ll go put them in some water.”

As you headed to his car, he opened the door for you, and you settled in. The ride to the restaurant was filled with light conversation, but you caught his shy glances in your direction.

At the restaurant, he was every bit the gentleman, pulling out your chair and making sure you were comfortable. As you sat, you couldn’t help but notice how his nervousness seemed to melt away as you talked about everything from your favorite movies to his passion for acting.

When the check arrived, you reached for your purse. “I can pay my share, seriously.”

He shook his head, insisting with a smile, “No way. I asked you out, so I’m paying.”

After dinner, he drove you back, and as he walked you to your door, he paused, his hands nervously fidgeting. “I really had a great time tonight, I hope we can do it again sometime?”

You surprised yourself, not quite believing the words as they came out. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Nicholas grinned, his excitement clear. “Awesome. I’ll text you later?”

You nodded, and with one last smile, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a sense of anticipation you hadn’t felt in a while.

The next day, word spread across campus about Nicholas’ fraternity hosting a big “End of Halloween” party. You were tempted to skip, knowing the frat’s reputation, but when Nicholas texted, personally inviting you, you decided to go, mostly because of him.

Dressed to kill, you arrived at the frat house with your friends. Nicholas was waiting outside, leaning against his car, and his face lit up when he saw you. His hand hovered protectively over your back as he guided you through the crowded party, never letting you out of sight. Once you were settled on a couch, he disappeared to grab drinks from the kitchen.

Just then, Connor, one of the frat’s popular members and a guy you’d briefly entertained in the past, slid up beside you, smirking. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he teased. “Thought you ghosted me for no reason.”

You raised an eyebrow, replying, “I cut you off because you’re an asshole…with a not-so-impressive dick size, I might add.” The party nearby burst into laughter, Connor’s face going red as he tried to stammer a comeback.

Before he could say anything else, Nicholas returned, stepping between you and Connor. “Is there a problem here?” Nicholas asked, his voice calm but firm.

Connor sneered. “Oh, so this is the guy you’re fucking now? Figures.” He turned to Nicholas. “Better watch out. She’s just a—”

You cut him off sharply, “I’m a ‘what,’ Connor? A whore? Funny, considering you never even got close.” The party erupted with laughter again as Connor glared, defeated, and stormed off.

Nicholas handed you your drink, clearly impressed. “Thanks for standing up for me,” you said, touching his arm.

His cheeks turned slightly pink. “Anytime,” he replied, flashing a shy smile.

After a few drinks, you felt the alcohol kicking in, and the music pulled you to the dance floor. Grabbing Nicholas by the hand, you started dancing, pressing your body against him and grinding to the beat. He was shy at first, but he reluctantly wrapped his hands around your waist, his face a mix of excitement and nervousness.

You glanced back at him, laughing. “Loosen up, Nick. We’re just dancing!”

He chuckled, stammering, “I-I know, I just, wasn’t expecting- this.”

But he was smiling, and you could tell he was enjoying every second. You took his hand and slowly guided it over your body, letting him feel the curves along your waist, your hips, and your thighs. Then, you turned to face him, your gaze locking with his as you moved closer. Feeling him rock hard against you, a smirk played on your lips as you pulled his hands up, guiding him to grab your ass firmly. You swayed together to the music, electricity buzzing in every touch.

As someone passed by with drinks, you reached out, grabbed one, and took a sip. The alcohol was strong, sending a rush through you. Without a word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, transferring the drink in a slow, heated kiss. He was taken aback but quickly melted into it, swallowing as the taste mingled between you.

“Didn’t expect that,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You grinned up at him, feeling bold. “Stick around; I’m full of surprises.”

His hand moved back to your waist, drawing you even closer. “I’m counting on it.” He was getting bold too.

He leaned down, his forehead against yours as you both dirty danced to the music blaring over the speakers. It felt like you were the only ones in your own little bubble.

“Do you wanna go back to my dorm?”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered, “Y-yes! I mean, sure!” You laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him through the party, the noise fading behind you as you made your way to your side of the campus.

“Why are we going there?” he asked, curiosity etched on his face.

You glanced back at him with a mischievous grin. “Shh, you’ll see.”

Once you reached your dorm, you opened the door and gestured for him to sit on the bed. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

As you stepped into the bathroom, you quickly took off your clothes, leaving yourself in just your lingerie. A flutter of nerves washed over you as you contemplated whether you should really go through with this, he was still one of the frat boys after all. With a deep breath, you stepped back out into the room, and his jaw dropped at the sight of you.

“Close your mouth, Nicholas,” you teased, your heart racing.

“Wow, you’re- so- wow. Um, you’re beautiful,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing.

You bit your lip, feeling confident, and stood between his legs. Taking his hands, you guided them across your body, letting him feel the curves beneath your delicate lingerie.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice a mix of eagerness and uncertainty.

You nodded, leaning in to kiss his neck, then tugging at his shirt. “Let’s see what’s under here,” you murmured, pulling it off to reveal his toned chest. You didn’t expect this shy, awkward guy to be a Greek god beneath those clothes.

As he leaned closer, you began making out, feeling the heat build between you. His hands explored your body and the air thickened with anticipation.

You sank to your knees, your hands gliding from his firm chest down his abs. Your lips followed, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made him shiver under your touch. As you reached the waistband of his boxers, you looked up at him, noticing the nervous anticipation in his eyes.

When you gently tugged them down, his face flushed a deep red. He stammered, “Y-you really don’t have to.”

But as you took him in, you felt a thrill. “Shy guys really do surprise you,” you murmured, grinning up at him, which only seemed to make him blush more. He was huge. The biggest you’d ever had, if you were being honest.

As you began, his hands gripped the edge of the bed, and he gasped, “You— you're amazing.” His voice grew breathy, and he looked down, struggling to keep himself together.

When he was close, he tried to pull back. “W-wait, I’m about to—”

You simply held him in place, and his protests dissolved into a moan as you continued sucking and slurping his cum as he released into your mouth. Afterward, he looked down at you in awe. “You really didn’t have to, but wow, you’re amazing.”

You smiled and leaned up, and he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your lips, surprising both of you with the intensity. He cupped your cheeks, tongue sucking on yours as he hummed, tasting himself in your mouth.

You nudged him back gently, stepping away with a sly smile. Slowly, you began to slip out of your lingerie, giving him a strip tease as he watched, entranced, his breath hitching. His gaze roamed over you, and you could see the effect you had on him, his entire body tensing and his dick hard and leaking as you played with yourself, then finally turned and bent over, offering him a full view.

Pushing him down onto the bed, you grinned at the way he looked up at you. “I want you to- sit on my face,” he said, his voice barely a whisper but full of confidence.

“Are you sure?” you teased, hovering over him.

“Sit,” he insisted, guiding you down until you were close enough, and then he pulled you fully down, his mouth on you with a hunger you hadn’t expected. His tongue explored with an intensity that left you gasping, his hands gripping your hips as he delved deeper. “Just like that, I wanna taste every part of you,” he murmured between breaths, and the sound of his voice sent you over the edge. You couldn’t hold back, your body responding fully, and you leaned into him, gripping his hair as he drew everything out of you and you squirted.

Catching your breath, you looked down at him, amazed. “You- you’re the first to make me squirt like that,” you said softly.

He smiled, a hint of pride flashing across his face. But then he hesitated. “I, uh- I should probably tell you… I’m a virgin.”

You smiled, taking his hand in yours. “Hey, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said gently. “It’s actually… kind of sweet.” You ran your fingers over his jaw. “Do you want me to help you feel good?”

He looked away, then back up at you, and nodded.

“Use your words, Nicholas,” you teased.

“I want you to take my virginity,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

As you straddled him, you both took in a sharp breath. The connection between you was powerful, both of you feeling it as you moved closer, slowly sinking down until his cock filled you completely. The feeling left you both gripping each other, your breaths mingling as you adjusted, the feeling almost overwhelming but perfect.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re so big, stretching me so good,” you gasped.

Nicholas' hands moved to your hips, guiding you as he leaned in, his mouth tracing a warm path to your collarbone before lowering to your hard brown nipples. His lips wrapped around them, sending shivers through your whole body as he took his time, savoring each kiss, each movement. You began to ride him slowly, letting every inch of his dick fill you as you took in the moment, enjoying how he reacted to each shift of your hips, his moans becoming more and more uninhibited.

As the rhythm built, you started moving faster, grinding against him, feeling the heat between you both reaching its peak. “I’m- I’m so close,” you whispered breathlessly.

“Me too,” he groaned, his voice heavy with need.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I want you to,” you reassured him, pulling him close. Moments later, he cried out, your name on his lips, his hands gripping you tightly as you both reached that final, perfect high together.

Breathing heavily, you both lay back for a moment, catching your breath. But as you glanced over, you noticed he was still just as eager, his cock hard. You lay down, opening your arms to him with a soft smile, and he shifted to take his place above you. His movements were careful but passionate, each thrust deep and unhurried, as he leaned in close, your legs wrapping around him as you whispered, “Tell me how good it feels sweetie.”

“So good,” he answered between breaths. “You feel incredible.”

His voice sent a rush of warmth through you, and you pulled him closer, murmuring, “Tell me how much you love my pussy.”

“I love it,” he admitted, his eyes locked on yours, his voice sincere, “I love your pussy.”

As you both reached that final peak, everything else faded away, leaving only the closeness between you. When it was over, he collapsed beside you, a soft smile on his face. “That was amazing,” he said, his voice full of gratitude.

You reached over, your fingers tracing gentle running through his hair. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you murmured, and when he looked up, his eyes shy, he quietly asked, “Can you hold me?”

“Of course,” you replied, pulling him close as his head rested on your chest, your fingers running softly through his hair. There, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you both drifted into a comfortable silence, feeling the connection between you deepen with every moment and he soon fell asleep on your chest. His soft, cute snores filling the room.

[gyuuberryy]

a tailored connection

pairing: designer!sunghoon x muse!reader

synopsis: sunghoon, a talented designer, has always harboured feelings for his longtime friend, you. when he invites you to be his muse, the sessions are charged with a tension that neither of you can ignore. as sunghoon’s compliments and intimate moments reveal deeper feelings, a surprising twist shakes your world. with your engagement to someone else looming and sunghoon grappling with his emotions, both of you face a turning point that will challenge everything you thought you knew about love and friendship.

genre: friends to lovers, both are fools in love

warnings: looot of tension, angst!! , kissing, crying, not really proofread

note: aaand with this royally yours comes to an end, i had a great time writing it! where can i get a man who makes me dresses like this :( i hope you enjoy reading this<3

word count: 16.8k

royally yours masterlist | prev:jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the sound of laughter echoes through the village streets, a memory woven into the fabric of your childhood. sunghoon had always been there, his presence as familiar to you as the sky above. you grew up side by side—first as playmates, then as something more complicated, though neither of you had the words for it yet.

it started with simple things. the way he’d hold out his hand to help you over the stones in the river, his grip firm but gentle. the way he’d always save the last piece of the bread he bought for lunch, handing it to you with a shy grin. and the way he’d linger just a bit longer when you hugged him goodbye, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go.

you were never apart for long, always finding reasons to be in each other’s company. as children, you’d run wild through the village, a pair of inseparable companions. the streets had been your playground, the trees your hideout, and the open fields your kingdom.

sunghoon was the one who taught you how to climb trees, his long limbs making it look easy as he scrambled up the tallest one in the village square. you’d followed him then, determined to keep up with him no matter what, your competitive spirit something he both teased and admired.

“come on, you can do it,” he’d called down to you one day, perched on a sturdy branch high above, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “i’m not leaving you behind.”

“i’m not going to be left behind,” you’d retorted, climbing faster, though your hands were trembling. you didn’t want to admit it, but heights terrified you.

sunghoon had seen through you, though, like he always did. when you reached the top, his hand had shot out to steady you, his touch reassuring. “see? i told you,” he said, smiling in that soft way that always made you feel warm inside.

that was how it always was—sunghoon pushing you to be braver, to go further, but always there to catch you if you stumbled.

as you grew older, the carefree days of your childhood evolved into something quieter, but no less meaningful. sunghoon’s passion for design began to bloom, his sketchbook always tucked under his arm, filled with dresses, cloaks, and the kind of ornate embroidery that would make any noble gasp. he’d spend hours at the village tailor’s shop, learning from the master tailor, and you’d sit in the corner, watching him work, admiring the way his hands moved with precision and care.

“why don’t you just play outside like the other girls?” the old tailor would often ask you, shaking his head with a smile. “this place is no fun for someone your age.”

you’d always smile back, knowing full well why you stayed. “i don’t mind. besides, i like watching sunghoon.”

sunghoon would look up from his work then, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “she’s my best critic,” he’d say, as if that explained everything.

but it wasn’t just about watching him work. there was something in the quiet moments between you, in the way you understood each other without having to say a word. he would sketch something and glance up, catching your eye, and you’d know exactly what he was thinking. he didn’t have to say it.

the bond between you deepened with every passing year, though the village seemed blind to it. to everyone else, you were just friends, nothing more. but there were moments—fleeting, subtle—when you felt something stirring between you, something neither of you dared to speak aloud.

it wasn’t until one late afternoon, when the two of you were sitting under the large oak tree at the edge of the village, that you truly realised how much he meant to you.

the summer sun cast a golden glow over the fields, the breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers. you were both quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company. sunghoon had his sketchbook open on his lap, his charcoal pencil moving lazily across the page. you were watching him, as you often did, wondering what it would be like to have your portrait sketched by him. would he see you differently if he looked at you that way? would the feelings you’d kept locked inside for so long show on your face?

“what are you drawing this time?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. it was always your way of trying to sneak a glimpse into the world that sunghoon poured into his designs.

he looked up, startled from his thoughts, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. “just... a dress,” he said, and though it sounded like a simple answer, there was a softness in his voice that made you curious.

“a dress?” you echoed, smiling. “for who?”

“for... no one in particular,” he murmured, closing the book before you could peek at it. “just an idea.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “you’ve been spending a lot of time on these designs lately. are you preparing for something big?”

he shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “maybe. i’ve been thinking about... making something new. something different. i don’t want to just follow the same old patterns forever.”

you nodded, understanding. sunghoon had always been ambitious, but his talent had begun to outgrow the small village you lived in. you knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to leave—venture into the capital or even beyond to showcase his work.

“whatever it is, you’ll be amazing at it,” you said, your voice steady, though your chest tightened at the thought of him leaving.

he glanced at you then, his expression unreadable. “you really think so?”

“of course,” you replied without hesitation. “i’ve always believed in you.”

the words felt heavier than they should have, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. sunghoon’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes, but just as quickly, he looked away, his fingers nervously tapping the cover of his sketchbook.

“i couldn’t have come this far without you,” he said, his voice quiet. “you’ve always been there for me.”

you smiled softly, nudging him with your shoulder. “that’s what friends are for, right?”

but even as you said it, the word “friends” felt inadequate—too small to hold the depth of what you felt for him. and though you couldn’t say it aloud, you wondered if sunghoon felt the same.

as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields, the two of you sat in silence, side by side. in the fading light, everything felt suspended—like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

but neither of you moved, and the unspoken feelings between you remained just that—unspoken.

for now.

the day had started like any other. you were making your way through the village, the familiar sights and sounds surrounding you—children running through the streets, merchants shouting their daily specials, and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. but today, something felt different. there was an odd flutter in your stomach, though you couldn’t quite place why. perhaps it was because you were heading to sunghoon’s workshop, as you often did, or perhaps it was something else.

his shop had grown over the years, its modest space now brimming with elegant fabrics and mannequins draped in partially finished garments. sunghoon had worked tirelessly, his name slowly gaining recognition beyond the village, though he remained humble about his achievements. it had become a routine for you to visit him, to sit in the corner while he worked, offering your thoughts or simply watching the magic unfold under his skilled hands.

when you arrived, the door was slightly ajar, and you pushed it open to find sunghoon standing at his worktable, deep in thought. his back was turned to you, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the window and casting a soft glow around him. he was focused, hunched over a sketch, his pencil moving in rapid strokes, as if he were chasing some fleeting inspiration.

you stepped inside quietly, not wanting to disturb him. he was always at his best when he was lost in his work—his mind far away from the village, immersed in a world of silk and satin, seams and stitches. but even in those moments, it wasn’t uncommon for him to sense your presence before you spoke.

today, though, he was more distracted than usual. he didn’t notice you until you were almost beside him, peeking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his newest creation. “what’s this one?” you asked lightly, hoping not to startle him.

he jumped slightly, straightening up and turning to face you, a small smile forming on his lips when he saw it was you. “you’re early.”

you raised an eyebrow. “am i interrupting?”

“no, not at all,” he said, closing the sketchbook and setting it aside. “i was just... thinking.”

“you do that a lot,” you teased, leaning against the edge of the worktable. “what’s on your mind today?”

for a moment, he didn’t answer. his gaze drifted toward the window, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of a piece of fabric. you could see there was something weighing on him, but sunghoon had always been the type to choose his words carefully, never speaking until he was sure of what he wanted to say.

finally, he turned back to you, his expression serious but soft. “i’ve been working on something new. something important.”

you crossed your arms, intrigued. “i figured as much. you’ve been spending even more time here than usual. what is it? a new collection?”

“not exactly,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “it’s... different this time. i want to create something that’s truly mine, something that will set me apart. but to do that, i need help.”

you blinked, surprised. sunghoon rarely asked for help, especially when it came to his designs. “help? from me?”

he nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. “i want you to be my muse.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavier than you’d expected. muse. it wasn’t just a word—it was a role that carried meaning. in a way, you’d always been part of sunghoon’s creative process, offering suggestions or simply being there to share in his successes and frustrations. but this... this was something else entirely.

you shifted your weight, suddenly feeling a little unsure. “a muse? what do you mean?”

“i mean...” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “i’ve been designing dresses, outfits for people i’ve never even met. but none of them feel personal. none of them feel real. i want to create something that speaks to me, and to do that, i need someone who inspires me. someone i know. someone... like you.”

your breath caught in your throat. the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you—it was impossible to ignore the meaning behind his words. he wasn’t just asking you to be part of his work; he was asking you to be at the centre of it. to be the person he looked at, thought about, dreamed about while he created. and that idea stirred something inside you that you hadn’t been prepared for.

“i don’t know if i’d make a very good muse,” you said, trying to laugh it off, though your heart was racing.

sunghoon stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “you’re perfect for it. you’ve always been perfect.”

the air between you shifted, growing warmer, heavier with tension. it wasn’t the first time he’d complimented you—he was always kind, always thoughtful—but this felt different. his words weren’t casual or lighthearted. they carried weight, an unspoken truth that had been building between you for years.

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your throat tightening. being his muse meant more than just standing still while he draped fabric around you. it meant letting him see you, really see you, in ways that no one else ever had. it felt intimate, like a part of you would be etched into every piece he made.

“what would that mean for us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon blinked, startled by the question. “what do you mean?”

“you and i,” you clarified, feeling the weight of the words. “if i agree... won’t it change things between us?”

for a long moment, sunghoon didn’t speak. he seemed to consider your words, his eyes searching your face as if trying to decipher your feelings. finally, he took a deep breath, stepping even closer, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his body. “maybe it will,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “but maybe it’s already changed. maybe it’s been different for a long time.”

his words hit you like a wave, the truth in them undeniable. he was right. things had changed—slowly, quietly—but neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge it. until now.

your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. you could feel the tension between you, crackling like the air before a storm. there was something fragile, something precious hanging between you, and the slightest word or movement could shatter it.

but then, without thinking, you made your decision.

“i’ll do it,” you said, your voice barely audible, but firm.

sunghoon’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and relief passing across his face. “you will?”

you nodded, your gaze never leaving his. “yes. i’ll be your muse.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken feelings that had been buried for so long. and then, slowly, sunghoon’s lips curved into the softest smile—a smile that reached his eyes and made something inside you melt.

“thank you,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it felt as if time stood still. you were acutely aware of how close he was, how much more intimate things had become between you in just a few short minutes.

you smiled back, though your heart was pounding. “i think it’ll be fun.”

sunghoon laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and the tension between you seemed to ease, just a little. but even as you both fell into a more comfortable silence, you knew that things between you had changed. there was no going back now.

the sun was beginning to set as you made your way to sunghoon’s shop, a soft, golden glow spreading across the village. it had been only a few days since you agreed to be his muse, but the weight of that decision still lingered in your mind. there was a sense of anticipation, an underlying current of excitement that thrummed through you, but also an edge of nervousness that you couldn’t shake.

you had always been comfortable around sunghoon, but this felt different. it wasn’t just visiting a friend; you were stepping into a role that felt intimate in ways you hadn’t quite expected. and you knew that once you crossed the threshold of his workshop today, something between you would shift again.

when you arrived, sunghoon was already waiting. the door was propped open, and you could hear the faint sounds of rustling fabric and the occasional scratch of his pencil against paper. you hesitated for a moment at the doorway, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

sunghoon looked up as soon as you entered, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “you came,” he said, sounding almost relieved.

“of course i did,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the quickening of your pulse. “i’m your muse now, remember?”

his smile widened just a little, and he motioned for you to come in. “right. my muse.”

the word still felt strange on your tongue, and hearing him say it made something flutter in your chest. you glanced around the room, noticing that he had cleared some space near the large windows where the light poured in. rolls of fabric were neatly arranged, sketchbooks stacked nearby, and a dress form stood at the centre, waiting to be draped with something new.

you stepped closer, feeling the warmth of the sunlight against your skin, but also the weight of sunghoon’s gaze on you. his eyes followed your every movement, a soft intensity in them that made the space between you feel smaller, more charged.

“so, where do we start?” you asked, forcing a smile to break the tension that was building in the room.

sunghoon set down his pencil and moved to stand beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he reached for a roll of fabric. “i was thinking we’d start by figuring out what you like. i want to design something that feels like you—not just any dress, but one that you’d wear and feel... beautiful in.”

the way he said the word beautiful made your stomach flip. you swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way his voice lingered on the compliment.

“what i like?” you repeated, frowning slightly. “i’m not sure. i mean, i’ve never really thought about it.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you with a small smile. “you’ve never thought about what you like in dresses? after all this time of coming here and watching me work?”

you laughed, a little nervous. “i guess i’ve always been more interested in what you were making for other people.”

“well,” he said, his voice softening, “now it’s time to think about what’s right for you.”

he moved closer, picking up a few pieces of fabric and holding them up to the light. “what do you think of these? what colours feel like you?”

you eyed the fabrics he held—a deep emerald green, a soft blush pink, and a striking midnight blue. each one seemed to carry a different weight, a different mood, and the idea of choosing one for yourself felt strangely personal.

“i’m not sure,” you admitted, reaching out to touch the green fabric. “i’ve always liked green, but... i don’t know if it suits me.”

sunghoon tilted his head, his eyes flickering over you, as if he were studying you in a way he hadn’t before. “it suits you,” he said quietly, the certainty in his voice catching you off guard. “it brings out your eyes. but so would the blue.”

you blinked, surprised by the compliment. sunghoon wasn’t one to flatter people needlessly, especially not you. his compliments usually came in the form of casual remarks, offhand observations about how a colour might work or how you carried yourself in a certain style. but this—this was different. there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you now, that felt far more intimate.

you felt your face grow warm under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious. “you think so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i know so,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “you have a way of making things look better just by wearing them. it’s not just about the dress—it’s about how you wear it.”

the room seemed to shrink, the air between you growing heavier with each passing second. you hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to speak so plainly, so openly. sunghoon had always been composed, professional, even around you. but now, there was something more vulnerable in the way he spoke, something unguarded.

you cleared your throat, trying to break the moment before it became too much. “well, what about styles then? i’ve always liked simpler designs. nothing too extravagant.”

sunghoon nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still lingering on you, as if he were trying to memorise every detail of your expression. “simple suits you,” he murmured. “but there’s something about you that deserves more. something elegant.”

“elegant?” you echoed, unsure of where this was coming from.

“mm,” he hummed, reaching for his sketchbook. “you’ve always carried yourself with a kind of grace—like you don’t even realise how beautiful you are.”

your breath hitched. you stared at him, your heart pounding louder in your chest as his words hung in the air between you. this wasn’t just a compliment—it was something else. something deeper. and the realisation of it hit you like a wave.

sunghoon, too, seemed to realise the weight of what he’d just said. he quickly looked away, focusing on his sketchbook as if he could take the words back by drowning them in his work. “i didn’t mean to... i mean...”

you stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. you had never thought of yourself the way sunghoon was describing you now, and the fact that he saw you like this—it was overwhelming. you could feel the tension crackling between you, the unspoken feelings that had always lingered beneath the surface suddenly threatening to rise.

“i just... think you should have something that shows who you are,” sunghoon continued, his voice quieter now, more careful. “not just as my muse, but as you. something that makes people stop and see you the way i do.”

your pulse quickened at his words, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak. the way he was looking at you now, with an intensity you hadn’t seen before, made it feel like the walls of the workshop were closing in.

you glanced down, trying to focus on the fabric in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingered. “sunghoon... i don’t know what to say.”

he shook his head, stepping back slightly as if to give you space. “you don’t have to say anything. i just... i want you to feel beautiful in whatever i make for you. that’s all.”

there was a long pause, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of fabric as you ran your fingers over the green material again. your mind was spinning, your heart racing, and yet you couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through you at his words. it wasn’t just the compliment—it was the way he saw you, the way he always had.

finally, you looked up, meeting his gaze once more. “i trust you, sunghoon. i always have.”

his eyes softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “good,” he said quietly. “because i promise, whatever we create together, it’s going to be something unforgettable.”

the light from the late afternoon sun bathed sunghoon’s workshop in a golden hue, casting long shadows that stretched across the room. you stood near the centre, nervously smoothing the fabric of your dress as sunghoon readied his tools. he had done this countless times—measuring clients for garments—but somehow, this felt different. more intimate. more real.

“alright,” he said, his voice a little too casual as he approached with a measuring tape in hand. “this won’t take long.”

you nodded, trying to keep your breathing steady as you watched him move closer. sunghoon had always been meticulous when it came to his work, his hands sure and steady, but today there was a faint tremor in them as he unspooled the tape.

“so, uh,” he began, his gaze flickering between your face and the tape in his hands. “we’ll start with your shoulders. just... relax.”

you forced a smile, though the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. “i’m relaxed.”

he shot you a look that said he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t argue. he stepped behind you, and you could feel his presence—warm, steady—just inches away. the fabric of your dress shifted slightly as he gently placed the tape around your shoulders, his fingers grazing your skin ever so lightly. the contact sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried your best to suppress it.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustling of the measuring tape as he adjusted it. you could feel your heart beating faster, your pulse quickening with each passing second. sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed to be holding his breath, as if he were just as aware of the closeness as you were.

“alright,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, more focused. “now your waist.”

he stepped around to face you, his gaze briefly meeting yours before dropping to the tape in his hands. his movements were careful, almost hesitant, as he crouched slightly, bringing the tape around your waist. you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as his fingers brushed the sides of your dress, the heat of his touch lingering longer than it should have.

the proximity, the feel of his hands so close to you—it was almost too much. you bit your lip, fighting the urge to fidget under his intense concentration. sunghoon had always been calm, composed, but now there was an unmistakable tension in the air, a subtle awkwardness that made your heart race even faster.

he straightened up, pulling the tape taut as he noted your measurements. “i... uh,” he began, clearing his throat slightly, “i’ll need to get your bust next.”

you blinked, feeling your face grow warm. “oh. right.”

it wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected it—this was part of the process, after all—but somehow the idea of sunghoon taking that particular measurement felt... different. the room seemed smaller, the air thicker as you watched him struggle to keep his composure.

his hand hovered for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do. “i—uh,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “just... hold still.”

you nodded, though you could feel the flush rising to your cheeks as he brought the tape around your chest, his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress with the lightest touch. his face was close now—closer than it had ever been—his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken desires that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. his fingers fumbled slightly as he adjusted the tape, and for a brief moment, his hand brushed against your skin, sending a shock of electricity through you.

you inhaled sharply, your breath hitching at the unexpected contact, and sunghoon froze. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and startled, as if he hadn’t meant to let the moment slip.

“sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to...”

“it’s fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

but he didn’t move away. his hand remained where it was, the heat of his palm radiating through the fabric. you could feel every inch of him—every breath, every subtle movement—and the closeness was dizzying. there was something in his eyes, something unspoken, that made your pulse race even faster.

you swallowed hard, your voice barely steady as you spoke. “sunghoon...”

he blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and quickly stepped back, dropping the measuring tape as if it had burned him. “i—i think that’s enough for now,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck again, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “i’ve got what i need.”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “are you sure? i mean, if you need more measurements—”

“no!” he said, perhaps a little too quickly, then cleared his throat. “i mean, no. we’re good. i’ve got everything.”

the tension between you was palpable, thick and heavy, but neither of you knew how to break it. sunghoon busied himself with gathering the tape and jotting down notes, though his movements were jerky, his usual calm demeanour nowhere to be found.

you watched him, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest. there was an awkwardness, yes, but also something else—something that had been building between you for a long time, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to spill over.

finally, sunghoon spoke again, though his voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “you know,” he said, not meeting your eyes, “you really do have... perfect proportions.”

your heart skipped a beat, his words catching you completely off guard. “what?”

he cleared his throat, rubbing his neck awkwardly once more. “i mean... for the dress,” he added quickly, as if trying to backtrack. “you have a really... balanced figure. for tailoring, i mean.”

you blinked, taken aback by the sudden compliment, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it. the way his voice softened, the way he fidgeted under your gaze, as if he were revealing more than he intended.

“i... thanks?” you managed, feeling your cheeks burn with a mix of surprise and awkwardness.

sunghoon gave you a tight-lipped smile, clearly as flustered as you were. “yeah. no problem.”

the silence that followed was thick and heavy, both of you too aware of the tension that had settled over the room like a heavy blanket. sunghoon quickly turned away, busying himself with his sketches, but the weight of the moment lingered in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart, but you knew—no matter how much you both tried to pretend otherwise—something between you had shifted. and neither of you were quite ready to confront it yet.

the days following that first measurement session seemed to blur together, each one filled with quiet moments, shared glances, and unspoken words that hung heavy in the air. sunghoon had thrown himself into the design, sketching feverishly as if creating your dress had become not just his project, but his obsession. every stroke of his pencil seemed deliberate, every detail in the fabric a reflection of how closely he had studied you—not just your body, but you as a person.

the workshop had become a second home to you, and you found yourself spending more and more time there as the dress took shape. each day, you would come in, greeted by the soft sounds of scissors slicing through fabric and the rhythmic hum of sunghoon’s needle as he stitched delicate patterns. his focus was unbreakable, yet there was always that moment when he would pause, look at you, and give a small, almost shy smile, as if he still couldn’t believe you were there, helping him create something so personal.

the tension between you grew thicker with every passing day. it was as if the fabric sunghoon was weaving was also binding the two of you together in ways neither of you had expected. there were the long stretches of silence, where the only sound was the soft brush of fabric against your skin as he worked, and then there were the moments when his hand would linger just a little too long as he adjusted the fit of a sleeve or pinned the hem of a skirt.

each session brought a new creation—a new dress, a new style. it had become almost routine: he would sketch out his ideas, asking for your thoughts on the design, and then you would model the fabric as he draped it over you, pinning it into place before moving on to the next step. but no matter how professional sunghoon tried to keep things, there was always that spark of something more lurking beneath the surface.

one afternoon, as you stood in the centre of the room, sunghoon paced around you, scrutinising the latest dress he had draped over your frame. this one was softer than the others, a light cream-coloured gown with delicate embroidery along the bodice. you could feel the weight of his gaze as he circled you, studying every fold, every contour, as if he were memorising the shape of you through the fabric.

“what do you think?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady, his eyes focused entirely on you.

you glanced down at the dress, running your fingers over the soft fabric. “it’s beautiful,” you murmured. “you’ve really outdone yourself.”

sunghoon didn’t respond right away. instead, he stepped closer, his brow furrowing slightly as he adjusted the neckline of the gown. his fingers grazed your collarbone as he worked, sending a shiver through you. he seemed to hesitate, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, before he cleared his throat and stepped back.

“i’m trying to capture... something,” he said, his voice trailing off as he picked up his pencil and notepad, scribbling down a few notes. “something that feels... like you.”

you blinked, surprised by his words. “like me?”

he nodded, not looking up from his notes. “it’s not just about the dress. it’s about how you move, how you carry yourself. i want to create something that feels like it belongs to you. not just any dress, but... your dress.”

there it was again—that intensity in his words, the way he seemed to see you in ways no one else ever had. you weren’t sure how to respond, so you simply nodded, letting the moment settle between you.

the sessions continued like this over the next two weeks, each one more charged than the last. sunghoon worked tirelessly, sketching new designs late into the night, and every day you would return to see the progress he had made. he would greet you with that familiar smile, sometimes shy, sometimes teasing, and you would fall into the rhythm of your muse-and-artist routine.

but there was something else growing between you, something neither of you could ignore. each time sunghoon draped a new fabric over your shoulders, each time his fingers brushed your skin as he measured or adjusted the fit, the unspoken tension between you deepened. his compliments, once casual and light, became more thoughtful, more personal.

one day, as he worked on the finishing touches of a new gown—a soft lavender dress with delicate lace trimming—he paused, glancing at you from across the room. “you know,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “i’ve always known you were beautiful.”

you froze, your heart skipping a beat at his sudden confession. he didn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on the hem of the dress as he stitched. “i just... i don’t think i’ve ever told you that,” he continued, his voice almost hesitant.

the words hung in the air, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. sunghoon had always been complimentary in his own way—praising your grace or your proportions for the sake of his designs—but this was different. there was something raw, something vulnerable in his tone that made your chest tighten.

“sunghoon,” you began, but he quickly shook his head, cutting you off before you could continue.

“i’m not saying it for any reason,” he said quickly, his hands still busy with his stitching. “i just... i think it’s something you should know. you’re more than just a muse to me.”

your breath caught in your throat. the weight of his words was impossible to ignore now, the line between friend and something more growing blurrier with each passing day.

you watched him work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on the task at hand. the quiet intimacy of the moment settled around you like a soft cloak, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed outside of this room—just you, sunghoon, and the delicate threads of connection that were slowly being woven together.

by the time he finished the lavender dress, the air between you had shifted once again. there was no denying the feelings that had been bubbling beneath the surface for so long, but neither of you were ready to confront them. not yet.

“i think it’s done,” sunghoon said quietly, stepping back to admire the dress.

you turned, catching his eye for a brief moment before looking away, the tension between you still thick and unresolved.

“it’s perfect,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turned back to his sketches, his hands already moving toward the next design. but as he worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted once again, pulling you both closer to the inevitable.

the day sunghoon finally called you to his workshop to try on the completed dress, your heartbeat quickened with anticipation. you had witnessed pieces of the gown as it came together—folds of fabric, tiny swirls of embroidery—but you hadn’t yet seen the masterpiece in its entirety. now, standing at the doorway, you felt a fluttering mix of nerves and excitement, an invisible pull drawing you into sunghoon’s world once more.

as you stepped inside, you found sunghoon waiting, his face a picture of quiet intensity. he nodded toward the mannequin where the dress hung, his eyes unreadable but somehow deeper, darker than usual, as if holding back something unspoken.

when your gaze finally landed on the dress, your breath caught in your throat.

it was breathtaking.

the gown was nothing short of exquisite—lavender silk flowed like water from the bodice down to the floor, shimmering under the afternoon light that streamed through the windows. the neckline was delicately embroidered, the threads so fine they seemed like whispers etched into the fabric, while lace fluttered over the sleeves, giving the piece an ethereal, almost dream-like quality. the entire dress exuded elegance, but more than that, it felt like you—a reflection of something so deeply personal that you almost couldn’t believe sunghoon had captured it.

you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the gown. “sunghoon... i don’t even know what to say,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the edge of the fabric. “it’s perfect.”

he remained silent, watching you with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. his gaze didn’t waver as you admired the dress, his expression unreadable but brimming with something just beneath the surface.

“try it on,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a note of something raw in it.

nodding, you carefully took the dress from the mannequin and disappeared behind the changing screen, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. the fabric felt cool against your skin as you slipped into the gown, the weight of the silk settling around your body like it had been made just for you—which, of course, it had.

the dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the bodice fitting snugly while the skirt fanned out into a soft cascade of fabric. you ran your hands down the front, smoothing the delicate lace as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. it was perfect—no, more than perfect. it was everything you had dreamed of.

but there was one problem. as you reached behind your back to tie the strings that secured the dress, you quickly realised they were positioned just out of your reach. you stretched and fumbled, trying to catch the ties, but it was no use. frustration bubbled inside you, and after a few more futile attempts, you sighed in defeat.

“sunghoon?” your voice was hesitant, your cheeks warming as you called for his help.

“yes?” he replied, his voice soft but nearby.

“i... i can’t tie the strings on my own. could you—could you help me?” your request was almost timid, aware of the intimacy it required, but there was no other option.

a pause followed, but then you heard his footsteps approaching. he came closer, and the air between you seemed to shift, charged with a kind of tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“of course,” sunghoon said quietly. his voice had taken on a softer tone, one that sent a quiet thrill through you as you stood there, waiting, feeling the heat of his presence behind you.

you turned your back to him, exposing the bare skin between the open edges of the dress. the silence that followed was thick, palpable, as his fingers grazed the strings, brushing against your skin in the process. his touch was featherlight, but each accidental contact sent small jolts through you, your senses heightened by the proximity, the intimacy of the moment.

sunghoon worked with slow, deliberate care, pulling the strings through the loops at your back. his fingertips continued to brush your skin, his movements precise but betraying the tension in the way his breath seemed to catch when his hands touched you. you could feel his closeness—the heat radiating from his body, his steady breath that almost matched the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

in the mirror directly in front of you, you watched his expression as he tied the delicate knots. his brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, but there was something else, something simmering beneath the surface. his lips parted ever so slightly, his eyes darkening as they traced the movement of his hands against your skin. you couldn’t stop staring at him, watching the way his fingers worked, almost trembling as they lingered on your body longer than necessary.

your pulse quickened, your breath coming out a little too shallow, and you wondered if he could feel the way your muscles tensed under his touch. it was impossible to ignore the tension—something unspoken, something that had been building between you for weeks, was about to break.

“there,” sunghoon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. his hands remained on your waist, resting lightly against the fabric as though he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet.

you swallowed hard, watching him through the mirror. the look on his face wasn’t just one of pride in his work—it was something far deeper. his gaze softened as he admired the way the dress fit you, his fingers tightening slightly against your waist. “you look... beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “it suits you perfectly. is it comfortable?”

the words were innocent enough, but the way he said them—the hushed tone, the way his eyes never left yours in the reflection—made your heart race. you nodded, unable to form words, still lost in the haze of the moment.

“it’s perfect,” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

sunghoon’s hands stayed where they were, his touch sending a heat through you that was impossible to ignore. your eyes met his in the mirror, the intensity between you crackling like a flame barely held back. his grip on your waist tightened just a little, his fingers pressing into the fabric as though he were anchoring himself.

for a moment, everything froze. the workshop, the world outside—none of it seemed to matter. all that existed was the way he was looking at you, the way his breath hitched as he stood so close. his fingers brushed against your waist, just under the edge of the fabric, grazing the skin there ever so slightly.

then you turned around, and suddenly, the space between you was gone.

you were standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, your chest brushing against his as you moved. his eyes darted to your lips, then back up to your gaze, conflicted but full of want. the air was thick with tension, so much that you could hardly breathe, and then, without warning, sunghoon’s restraint snapped.

he kissed you.

the kiss was swift, almost frantic, as if he’d been holding it back for too long. his lips pressed against yours with a kind of hunger that sent shockwaves through your body, stealing your breath. one of his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, while the other remained at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of the dress as though he were afraid you’d slip away. the kiss deepened, your senses overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth against yours, the way his hands held you like he’d never let go.

your mind spun in a whirlwind of sensation. the kiss was impulsive, raw, filled with all the feelings he had been holding back for so long. you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—all you could do was respond, kissing him back with the same intensity, the same desperate need that had been growing between you for weeks.

but then, reality crashed down.

sunghoon pulled back, his eyes wide with shock and regret, his breath ragged as he stared at you. “i—” his voice faltered, his hand still lingering on your waist, trembling slightly. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i didn’t mean to—”

you were just as dazed, your heart still pounding, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “it’s... it’s okay,” you said, though the words felt hollow. the kiss had left you reeling, and you weren’t sure what to think, what to feel.

sunghoon’s expression twisted with regret, his hands falling away from your waist as he stepped back. “we shouldn’t have—” he shook his head, his face pale. “i crossed a line.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you shift into something heavier, something filled with confusion and guilt. “maybe we should forget this happened,” you whispered, though the weight of the kiss still lingered in the air.

he nodded, his expression tight, though the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “yeah. let’s... forget it.”

but neither of you could. the kiss, the way his hands had held you, the way your heart had raced—it was etched into the fabric of your friendship now, impossible to untangle.

word had spread quickly about sunghoon's exceptional craftsmanship. it began with whispers among the town’s elite, impressed with the stunning gown he had created for you, and soon, nobles from far and wide were flocking to his workshop, eager to have their own garments custom-made by his skilled hands. what had once been a modest business now thrived under the weight of new orders, with sunghoon’s talent finally receiving the recognition it deserved.

every day the workshop buzzed with activity—fine fabrics and intricate patterns sprawled across every surface, and sunghoon worked tirelessly, sketching designs, selecting fabrics, and stitching together dreams. you often found yourself there, as his muse, watching as he brought these creations to life, offering input or simply keeping him company through the long hours. his success was yours to share, and you couldn’t have been more proud.

one day, a letter arrived from the royal palace itself. the princess had heard of sunghoon’s work and requested him personally to craft a gown for her upcoming ball. the letter was written in elegant script on fine parchment, a formal request for his presence at the palace to discuss the details of the gown. when he read it aloud to you, you could hardly contain your excitement.

“sunghoon, this is incredible!” you exclaimed, beaming at him as he held the letter in his hands. his eyes shone with a mixture of pride and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“it’s surreal,” he admitted, glancing at you with a smile that warmed you from the inside out. “i never thought i’d be making dresses for royalty.”

“you deserve it,” you said earnestly, feeling your heart swell with admiration for him. “you’ve worked so hard, and now everyone can see just how talented you are.”

sunghoon’s smile faltered for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes as he looked at you. “i couldn’t have done it without you,” he said softly. there was a weight to his words, a depth of feeling that you felt but couldn’t quite name. your heart skipped a beat, but before you could respond, he turned away, folding the letter carefully.

the trip to the palace was an experience neither of you would forget. the sprawling estate, the opulence of the interiors, the sense of awe that filled you as you walked through the grand halls—it was like stepping into another world. sunghoon had been invited to meet with the princess and discuss her gown, and as his muse and close friend, you accompanied him.

the princess was gracious and kind, and she spoke with sunghoon about the design she envisioned, praising his previous work. throughout the conversation, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, watching the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, his artistic mind already turning over the details of the gown in his head. it was hard not to feel a swell of pride, knowing you had played a part in his journey to this moment.

afterward, when the order had been placed and the royal commission secured, sunghoon suggested you both celebrate the occasion.

the restaurant was warm and cosy, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, far removed from the grandeur of the palace. the two of you had shared many meals together over the years, but tonight felt different. the weight of sunghoon’s newfound success hung in the air between you, the knowledge that his life—your lives—were changing in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated.

you sat across from him, toasting to his success with glasses of wine, laughter bubbling up as you reminisced about old times. “do you remember the time we tried to make that dress for my cousin’s wedding, and the fabric tore right before the ceremony?” you said, laughing as you recalled the chaos.

sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head. “how could i forget? i thought i was finished as a tailor before i even started.”

“but you saved it in the end,” you said, your smile softening as you looked at him. “you’ve always had this way of making things beautiful, even when they seem impossible.”

his laughter faded, and for a moment, there was a lingering silence between you. his gaze met yours, and the atmosphere seemed to shift—something unspoken hung between you, thick and heavy like the summer air. the warmth from the wine and the closeness of the moment made it difficult to focus on anything else but him—the way the candlelight flickered against his features, the way his eyes softened when they lingered on you just a little too long.

he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “you know, this success… it’s more than i ever thought possible. and i don’t think i could have done it without you by my side.”

his words struck a chord deep within you, the intensity in his eyes making your breath hitch. there it was again—that undercurrent of something more, something that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to break free.

your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned in slightly, your faces just inches apart. the air between you crackled with anticipation, the proximity sending sparks down your spine. you could feel the warmth of his breath, the space between you narrowing with every passing second. your eyes locked, and in that moment, it felt like the world had fallen away.

the moment stretched on, and you could feel your heart racing, your pulse thundering in your ears. he was so close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, close enough that all it would take was one small movement, one tiny step forward, and—

“i’m getting married,” you blurted out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

sunghoon froze, his eyes widening in shock. the spell between you shattered, and you immediately regretted speaking, but there was no taking it back now. the air between you went cold, and you felt your stomach drop as the weight of your announcement settled over the table like a heavy blanket.

“what?” his voice was low, strained, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “my parents... they’ve arranged a marriage for me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m engaged.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon stared at you, his expression unreadable, though you could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. his jaw clenched slightly, his hand tightening around his glass as if he were trying to steady himself.

“when?” he finally asked, his voice tight, controlled.

“the date hasn’t been set yet,” you admitted, feeling your throat tighten with guilt. “but... soon.”

sunghoon sat back in his chair, his gaze dropping to the table. for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, the silence between you stretching into something unbearable. you could see the conflict in his eyes—the hurt, the frustration, the confusion. the tension that had been building between you for weeks, months even, was now thick with an unspoken finality.

finally, he looked up at you, his eyes dark and clouded with emotion. “congratulations,” he said quietly, though the word felt hollow, like it had been ripped from him unwillingly.

your heart sank, a wave of disappointment washing over you. you had expected... well, you didn’t know what you had expected. for him to fight for you, maybe, to protest or say something that would change everything. but instead, all you got was a distant, polite congratulations.

“sunghoon—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“i’m happy for you,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed his true feelings. “i’m sure he’s a good man.”

the words stung, more than you had anticipated, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep ache in your chest. this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. but what could you say? you were engaged, and he... he was congratulating you, just as any friend would.

“yeah,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. “thanks.”

but neither of you was happy, and you both knew it.

the walk back home felt heavier than usual. the excitement and easy flow of conversation that had filled the night seemed to dissipate into an awkward, thick silence. sunghoon walked beside you, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, eyes focused on the road ahead. normally, you’d both talk about everything and nothing—jokes, shared memories, or the latest designs he had been working on. but tonight, every step felt strained, as if the unspoken words were choking both of you.

you could feel the weight of what had happened at the restaurant still hanging between you, as if the tension you hadn’t acted on had only grown with your admission. sunghoon had insisted on walking you home, just as he always did, though the usual warmth in the gesture felt distant now. neither of you had tried to break the silence, though you kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of your eye.

his face was unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line as he walked with an unusual stiffness. you wanted to say something, to break the thick silence, but no words came. the engagement had changed everything between you, and you hated how powerless it made you feel. there was a dull ache in your chest as you watched him struggle with the weight of emotions he clearly wasn’t ready to share.

when your house came into view, you slowed your steps, almost wishing the walk could last just a little longer. but it didn’t. you reached your doorstep, and just as you were about to thank sunghoon for the walk, the door swung open.

your mother appeared, her face lighting up the moment she saw the two of you standing there. “sunghoon! what a surprise!” she exclaimed warmly, stepping out and pulling him into an embrace before he could protest. “you look so well!”

sunghoon smiled politely, though you could tell he was caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “good evening, ma’am. i was just walking your daughter home.”

your mother beamed, glancing at you with that knowing look of hers. “he always does, doesn’t he?” she teased lightly. “such a good boy.”

“mama...” you muttered, feeling embarrassed.

but your mother wasn’t finished. “come in, come in! you can’t just leave him standing outside like that,” she scolded, ushering sunghoon into the house before either of you could object. you shot him an apologetic look, but he waved it off with a small smile as he followed her inside.

the warmth of your home enveloped you both, the familiar scent of dinner lingering in the air. your father was sitting by the fire, and when he saw sunghoon, his face brightened. “ah, there’s the young tailor everyone’s talking about! come, sit with us.”

sunghoon looked between you and your parents, clearly not wanting to intrude, but it was hard to refuse the hospitality of your family. you watched as he settled into one of the chairs near the fire, his polite smile fixed in place, though you could sense the unease in his posture.

your mother sat beside him, clasping his hands in hers as she looked at him with pride. “sunghoon, i’ve heard such incredible things about your work lately. everyone is talking about you, and we couldn’t be more proud.”

you could see the discomfort in his eyes as your mother’s words began to feel more like a reminder of the distance between you. he offered her a tight smile. “thank you. it’s been... unexpected.”

“and well deserved!” your father chimed in. “we always knew you’d make something of yourself, ever since you were little.”

your mother nodded eagerly, her gaze softening as she looked at him fondly. “we’ve seen you grow up alongside our daughter, sunghoon. you two have always been so close... practically inseparable.”

you stiffened at the words, knowing what was coming next.

“which is why,” your mother continued, glancing at you briefly before turning back to sunghoon, “it’s been so hard for her, this whole engagement business.”

your stomach twisted. the topic you had been dreading was now out in the open, and you didn’t miss the way sunghoon’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. he was trying to stay composed, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes was unmistakable.

“she’s protested quite a bit, hasn’t she?” your mother added, her tone half-amused, half-concerned.

sunghoon’s eyes darted toward you, his surprise evident. you could see the confusion in his expression as he processed your mother’s words. you hadn’t said yes to the engagement? not fully? he had assumed you had accepted it without question, but now...

you averted your gaze, feeling your cheeks flush under the weight of both his and your parents’ attention. you hadn’t exactly fought against the engagement with much force either. it was an unspoken understanding between you and your family that the marriage would happen eventually, even if your heart wasn’t fully in it. but now, seeing sunghoon’s expression shift, you could see the conflict in his eyes.

your mother continued on, oblivious to the tension now thick in the air. “it’s just nerves, of course. every girl feels a bit uncertain before a big step like this.” she smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “she’ll come around.”

you wanted to protest, to say something that would dispel the awkward silence stretching between you and sunghoon, but the words caught in your throat. instead, your mother’s next words hit like a hammer, unknowingly driving the wedge deeper.

“actually,” she began, her voice suddenly filled with excitement, “we were hoping you could help us with something, sunghoon.”

he blinked, taken aback by her tone. “of course, ma’am. what is it?”

“well,” she said, glancing at you with a grin, “who better to make our daughter’s wedding dress than the most talented designer in town?”

the room felt as if it had dropped several degrees, the weight of her request pressing down on all of you. you felt your stomach churn, a sinking feeling of dread settling in. you hadn’t expected this—he hadn’t expected this. you watched as sunghoon’s expression faltered for the briefest moment, his composure slipping as the full impact of your mother’s words hit him.

make your wedding dress. your wedding dress.

he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’d be honored,” he said quietly, his voice strained.

your mother clapped her hands together, beaming with delight. “oh, that’s wonderful! i knew we could count on you, sunghoon.”

he stood up then, a sudden stiffness in his movements. “thank you for your kindness,” he said, his voice more formal now. “but it’s late, and i should be going.”

your mother stood as well, ushering him toward the door with a fond smile. “of course, of course. but we must meet soon to discuss the dress!”

sunghoon nodded, his gaze avoiding yours as he headed for the door. you followed behind in silence, the heaviness between you both suffocating.

at the doorstep, he paused, his hand resting on the doorframe as he turned to face you one last time. there was something broken in his expression, a quiet sadness that you couldn’t quite place. for a moment, it seemed as if he might say something—something real, something raw—but then, he simply nodded.

“good night,” he whispered, before turning and walking away.

as you watched him disappear into the night, your heart ached with the words left unsaid, the feelings unspoken, and the love you both were too afraid to fight for.

as sunghoon walked through the dimly lit streets, the cool night air did little to ease the storm brewing inside him. each step echoed in the stillness, but his mind was anything but calm. the evening had turned from tense excitement into a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.

he replayed your mother’s words over and over in his mind: “who better to make our daughter’s wedding dress than the most talented designer in town?” the words had cut deeper than any blade, the cruel irony of it all making his heart twist painfully. he had dreamed of crafting something beautiful for you, yes, but never like this. not for someone else’s wedding. not for the marriage that would take you away from him.

sunghoon clenched his fists, his knuckles white as his nails bit into his palms. a marriage. to someone else. he could barely picture it, the idea so foreign and painful that it seemed absurd. but the reality was right there, looming in front of him like an unstoppable force. he had always known that this day would come. you were from a noble family, destined to marry someone of status. and him? he was a tailor, nothing more. his growing reputation in town meant little in comparison to the weight of your family’s expectations.

it’s for the best, he told himself, over and over, like a mantra he hoped would dull the pain. your life with that man—whoever he was—would be easier, more secure. you’d live the life you were meant to lead, filled with luxury, stability, and everything a noblewoman deserved. sunghoon had nothing to offer in comparison. even with his recent success, his craft could never provide you with the life that an arranged marriage could.

sunghoon’s pace quickened, the weight of his emotions making it harder to breathe. his mind whirled with a painful realization: it’s better this way. he had no right to confess his feelings to you now. no right to complicate your life any further. you were getting married, and he had to respect that. confessing his love wouldn’t change anything—it would only hurt you more, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the cause of your pain.

he thought of the way you had looked at him tonight, how your eyes had softened when you admitted that you hadn’t agreed to the marriage yet. the flicker of hope that had briefly ignited in his chest had been swiftly extinguished by the cold voice of reason. you deserved better than him, better than a life filled with uncertainty and struggle. and even though it tore him apart inside, sunghoon knew he had to let you go.

she’ll be happier without me. the thought twisted like a knife in his heart, but he held onto it like a lifeline. it was easier to believe that than to face the truth—that he was simply too afraid. too afraid to fight for you, too afraid of what loving you truly meant. because if he did confess, if he asked you to choose him, what then? you would have to give up your life of comfort, your family’s support, and the future they had planned for you. and what if you regretted that decision later? what if he couldn’t be enough for you?

no. he wouldn’t let that happen. he couldn’t risk it.

by the time sunghoon reached his workshop, his heart was heavy with the decision he had made. he stepped inside, the familiar smell of fabric and wood filling the space around him, but it no longer brought him any comfort. he stood in the dim light, surrounded by the tools of his trade—the very things that had brought him success—and felt nothing but emptiness.

he wouldn’t confess. he couldn’t.

because he loved you too much to ask you to settle for less.

the tension between you and sunghoon hung in the air like a thick fog, clouding everything you had once held dear.

he avoided you, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. each passing day, you found yourself hoping—desperately—that he would come to you, that he would say something to stop the impending wedding. but instead, sunghoon pretended to be okay. he carried on with his work, his life, as if the confession hadn’t happened. as if you hadn’t bared your soul to him and he hadn’t done the same. he buried his emotions, putting on that same calm, controlled front, and it drove you mad.

he wouldn’t fight for you.

your heart ached with the realisation, and it became painfully clear during the next few days that sunghoon had no intention of changing the course of things. the silence between you both was unbearable, the distance growing wider with each passing moment. and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, your parents made it worse.

they scheduled an appointment with sunghoon for the most painful task yet: designing your wedding dress.

the irony of it was too cruel. sunghoon, the man who knew every inch of you, who had memorised your shape, your measurements, who had held you so intimately in his arms, was now tasked with crafting the gown you would wear as you married someone else. it was the final blow, the final insult, to a relationship that had been ripped apart by circumstances you couldn’t control.

when the day of the appointment arrived, you found yourself standing outside his workshop, dread pooling in your stomach. you didn’t want to go inside. you didn’t want to face him, not after everything that had happened, and certainly not for this.

with a deep breath, you pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar space that now felt cold and foreign. sunghoon was already there, standing by his work table with rolls of fabric laid out in front of him, but the usual warmth in his eyes was absent. he looked up when you entered, his expression neutral, professional. he greeted you with a small nod.

“let’s get started,” he said, his voice low, as if he too was trying to suppress the emotions that lingered just beneath the surface.

you could barely look at him. the air was thick with tension, and you forced yourself to speak, though your voice came out flat, distant.

“i don’t even know why i’m here,” you muttered, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “this is just… a formality.”

sunghoon’s eyes flickered briefly with something—hurt, maybe—but he masked it quickly. “your parents want you to have the perfect dress. it’s important to them.”

the atmosphere inside sunghoon’s workshop felt suffocating. you sat rigidly on a small chair, staring at the neatly folded fabrics in front of you while sunghoon prepared his tools. everything about the moment felt forced, mechanical, nothing like the ease and flow of your previous sessions together. you didn’t want to be there. and you were making it painfully clear.

sunghoon turned to face you, holding a few sketches in his hand, his face expressionless. but you could sense the tension in the air, the unspoken pain that lingered between you both. he wasn’t the same, and neither were you.

“so,” he began, keeping his voice calm and professional, “do you have any preferences for the neckline? maybe something you’ve always liked?”

you shrugged, not even looking up at him. “don’t know. don’t care.”

his brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, nodding as if that response was perfectly normal. he glanced down at the sketches again, adjusting the paper. “okay… how about the fabric? i was thinking something soft, maybe silk? or—”

“whatever,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “doesn’t matter.”

sunghoon paused, his eyes lingering on you for a moment. you could feel his gaze, heavy with concern, but you refused to meet it. you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how hurt you were, how badly you wanted him to say something, anything, that would change this.

he sighed quietly, turning back to his worktable. “i just want to make sure it’s perfect for you,” he said softly, his voice gentle but strained. “this is an important day…”

you clenched your jaw, the words digging into your heart like shards of glass. an important day? for who? certainly not for you. he kept talking about the wedding as if it were inevitable, as if you were excited about it, and it made your blood boil.

“what about the waistline?” he asked again, forcing the conversation to continue. “something fitted, or maybe a bit more relaxed?”

“i don’t care,” you replied tersely, your tone sharp. “you’re the expert, right? just do whatever.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon stood still for a moment, his hands resting on the fabrics, his back to you. you saw the slight slump in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the table just a little too tightly, and for a second, you almost regretted your words.

but the frustration bubbling inside you wouldn’t let up. you had come here hoping, praying, that he would give you a reason to stop the wedding, that he would fight for you. instead, you were sitting here discussing necklines and fabric as if everything was perfectly fine, as if you weren’t on the verge of losing everything.

he turned back around, this time holding a measuring tape. “let’s… start with your measurements,” he said, his voice sounding tired, defeated.

you stood up reluctantly, moving toward him, your movements stiff and reluctant. you stood there in the middle of the room, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest.

sunghoon stepped closer, the tape measure in his hands, and for a moment, you both stood in silence, the tension between you thick and suffocating. his proximity felt overwhelming, but this time, it wasn’t filled with the same spark as before. instead, it was heavy, burdened with all the things you both refused to say.

he hesitated for a second before gently wrapping the tape around your waist. his fingers brushed lightly against your skin, but there was no tenderness in the touch. it was robotic, methodical, like he was forcing himself to distance every part of him from you.

“what about the sleeves?” he asked quietly, trying to fill the silence. “long or short?”

“whatever,” you snapped. “it doesn’t matter. none of this matters.”

sunghoon froze for a moment, his hands stilling against your waist. the silence stretched between you, thick with unresolved tension, before he pulled away, the tape measure slipping from his fingers. he turned to face you, his expression strained, frustration and confusion swirling in his eyes.

“what’s going on with you?” he finally asked, his voice low but firm. “why are you acting like this?”

you stared at him, your chest heaving with a mix of anger and sorrow. his question was the breaking point, the floodgates that had been holding everything back bursting open all at once.

“why am i acting like this?” you repeated, your voice trembling with emotion. “because you’re standing here, pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not!”

sunghoon’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

“this dress… this wedding… none of it matters to me!” you continued, your voice growing louder with every word. “i don’t want this. i never wanted this. and you know it, sunghoon. you know it better than anyone!”

he opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t let him. the words kept pouring out, all the frustration and pain you had been bottling up for weeks finally spilling over.

“i’ve been waiting for you to say something, to do something—anything—that would make me stop this wedding. but you’ve just been standing there, acting like this is what i want when you know it isn’t!” your voice cracked, your hands trembling at your sides. “why won’t you say anything? why won’t you fight for me?”

sunghoon stared at you, the weight of your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. he looked down, his shoulders sagging as if the burden of everything you had just said was too much to bear.

“i… i thought this was what you wanted,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i thought you deserved someone better than me. someone who could give you everything i can’t.”

you felt your heart clench painfully in your chest, the ache of his words almost unbearable. “that’s not for you to decide!” you shot back, your voice breaking. “you think i care about any of that? i don’t. i never did. the only thing i care about is you.”

the silence that followed was thick with raw emotion. sunghoon stood there, his expression torn, his hands trembling at his sides. he looked like he wanted to say something, like he was finally ready to fight, but the fear in his eyes held him back.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “i’m so sorry.”

the apology shattered whatever was left of your composure. you turned away, not able to stand the sight of him any longer.

“i don’t want to wear a wedding dress if it’s not for you,” you said quietly, tears brimming in your eyes. you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to leave, your heart breaking with every step you took toward the door.

sunghoon didn’t try to stop you. he just stood there, broken, as you walked out of his life.

it was the dead of night, the streets shrouded in silence, broken only by the soft crunch of your hurried footsteps on the cobblestone path. you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. not when you had finally made your decision. with nothing but the small bags clutched in your hands, you walked with purpose, heart pounding as you made your way toward sunghoon’s home.

the weight of the evening air pressed against your skin, thick with the lingering tension that had been suffocating you for days. since that fateful conversation at his workshop, the ache in your chest had only deepened, every moment spent away from him gnawing at you. there was no escaping it. you couldn’t go through with the marriage. not when you knew where your heart truly lay.

the small house loomed ahead, a single dim light flickering from the window, signalling that sunghoon was still awake. your pulse quickened, the gravity of what you were about to do hitting you all at once. you were throwing away everything—your family’s expectations, your arranged marriage, the life you had been destined to live—all for him. and yet, none of it scared you.

because sunghoon was worth it. he was the only thing you wanted.

you reached the door, your breath shallow as you hesitated for a split second, your heart hammering in your chest. then, without another thought, you raised your hand and knocked.

a few moments passed, the silence inside the house dragging on like an eternity before you heard soft footsteps approaching. the door creaked open, revealing sunghoon standing there, his hair tousled, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you standing there, drenched in moonlight, with your bags in hand.

“y/n?” his voice was laced with confusion, concern flickering across his features as he glanced between you and the bags at your side. “what are you—what’s going on?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you stepped forward, crossing the threshold into his home without invitation, leaving him to close the door behind you. the room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows across the familiar space where so much of your time together had unfolded. it felt both comforting and surreal to be here now, on the brink of something monumental.

“i couldn’t do it,” you said at last, your voice barely a whisper but filled with determination. “i couldn’t marry him, sunghoon.”

he stood there, frozen, his brow furrowing in confusion. “what do you mean? the wedding—it’s—”

“i don’t want to marry him,” you interrupted, turning to face him fully, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made your heart race. “i don’t want any of this. the wedding, the life my parents planned for me—it’s not what i want. it’s never been what i wanted.”

sunghoon’s breath hitched, his confusion deepening, but you could see the glimmer of hope slowly dawning in his eyes. “then… what are you saying?”

you dropped your bags to the floor and stepped closer to him, the raw emotion swirling inside you finally breaking free. “what i’m saying is that i’m here, right now, because i’m choosing you, sunghoon. all i’ve ever wanted is you. i thought—i hoped—you’d feel the same. but you never said anything. and i can’t keep waiting.”

his eyes widened, a storm of emotions flashing across his face. he looked torn between disbelief and longing, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

“i know you think i deserve better,” you continued, your voice growing more urgent, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out to him, “but i don’t care about that. i don’t care about anything except you. all i wanted—all i ever wanted—was for you to tell me you felt the same. to fight for me.”

sunghoon swallowed thickly, his eyes locked on yours, and for the first time since you had shown up, he looked utterly vulnerable. “i do… i do feel the same, y/n. i’ve always felt the same. but i thought—” his voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “i thought you’d be better off without me. i was afraid i’d ruin your life if i held you back from everything you deserve.”

you shook your head fiercely, your heart pounding. “you’re wrong. you never would have ruined anything. the only thing that’s been ruining me is the thought of losing you.”

tears welled up in his eyes, his composure crumbling as the weight of his emotions finally caught up to him. he took a step closer, his hands reaching out to gently cup your face. his touch was warm, familiar, filled with the tenderness that had been missing for so long.

“y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “i don’t deserve you… but i can’t let you go.”

your breath caught in your throat as the distance between you vanished. his hands trembled slightly against your skin, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. you could feel the raw need, the longing that had been suppressed for too long, finally coming to the surface.

“then don’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “don’t let me go, sunghoon. i love you. i’ve always loved you. and i’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.”

the words seemed to unlock something in him. without another second of hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, passionate kiss that spoke of all the years of pent-up desire and unspoken feelings between you. it was everything you had hoped for, everything you had longed for—pure, unfiltered love.

when he finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed, as if savouring the moment.

“run away with me,” you whispered, your hands still tangled in his shirt. “we can leave this place, start a new life. i don’t care where we go as long as i’m with you.”

sunghoon opened his eyes, searching yours for any hint of doubt, but all he saw was determination—love. a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him, his fingers tracing the lines of your face as if committing them to memory.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice shaking. “are you really sure about this?”

you smiled, leaning into his touch, your heart swelling with the certainty of your decision. “i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

sunghoon closed his eyes again, pulling you into a tight embrace, as if afraid to let go. “i love you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice raw with emotion. “i’ve always loved you.”

tears of relief and joy welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. this was what you had been waiting for. this was all you ever needed.

“we’ll leave tonight,” he whispered, his voice resolute. “we’ll start over, just the two of us.”

you nodded, a smile breaking through the tears as you felt the weight of the world lifting from your shoulders. this was your new beginning. your future with sunghoon, the one you had always dreamed of.

and together, you knew you could face whatever came next.

the moon hung low in the sky, casting its pale glow over the winding road that stretched out before you and sunghoon. the cool night air clung to your skin as you both moved in silence, hearts pounding in unison as you left the only life you had ever known behind. with each step, the weight of your decision lifted, replaced by a thrill that sent shivers down your spine.

you glanced over at sunghoon, his face illuminated by the moonlight, a mix of determination and exhilaration playing on his features. his hand gripped yours tightly, as if afraid to let go, as if letting go would mean losing you forever. neither of you had spoken much since leaving his house, but the unspoken understanding between you was stronger than ever.

the path ahead was unknown, but that no longer frightened you. in fact, it excited you.

as you crested the hill that overlooked your town, you both stopped for a moment, turning to take in the view one last time. the place where you had grown up, where your families lived, where your life had been planned out for you—it all felt so distant now, like a world you were no longer part of.

you turned to sunghoon, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the enormity of what you were doing. “so… where are we going?”

he turned to look at you, his eyes filled with that familiar spark of ambition you had always admired. “there’s a city,” he began, his voice low and steady. “a place i’ve always dreamed of going. it’s known for fashion, for artisans, for people like me who want to make a name for themselves.”

you could see the excitement dancing in his eyes, the dream he had always kept close to his heart. “i’ve heard of it,” you said, your smile growing. “you’re talking about sorina, aren’t you?”

he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “yes. it’s always been my dream to open my own studio there. to create something that’s entirely mine. but… i never thought i’d actually go. i didn’t think i’d have the chance.”

your heart swelled with pride and affection as you looked at him. “well, now you do,” you said softly. “and you’re not going alone.”

his expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you—really looked at you, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening. then, with a quiet laugh, he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. “i don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

you smiled against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. “you’re wrong. you’re everything i deserve.”

with one final glance at the town behind you, the two of you turned and began your journey to sorina, the city of dreams. the road ahead was long, but the promise of a new life with sunghoon made every step feel lighter. the thought of him creating masterpieces, of you being by his side as his muse, filled you with a hope you had never known.

and as the two of you settled into your new life in sorina, that peace only grew. sunghoon’s dreams were coming to life with every stitch, every sketch. he was thriving in a way that you had always known he could, and you were there to see it all. your role as his muse was more than a job or a title—it was the culmination of your deep connection, your bond that had grown through years of friendship and love unspoken.

there were moments when the thought of your parents crossed your mind. the guilt of running away lingered in the back of your heart at times, knowing how much they had hoped for you to marry into the match they had chosen. you wondered if they were angry, disappointed, or hurt by your decision. but as days turned into weeks, those worries faded. you knew your parents—they loved you too much to hold on to their disappointment forever.

"i’m sure they’ll forgive me," you said one evening, resting your head on sunghoon's shoulder as you both watched the busy city streets from your studio. "they’ll come to understand… eventually."

sunghoon looked at you, his eyes searching your face for any signs of doubt. “you really think so?”

you nodded, smiling softly. “i know they will. they’ve always wanted me to be happy. and when they see how happy we are… when they see all you’ve achieved, they’ll realise we made the right choice.”

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “i hope so,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with warmth. “i just want you to have everything you deserve. i want them to see that.”

“they will,” you reassured him, your voice soft but firm. “they’ve known you all your life, sunghoon. they know how hard you’ve worked. they’ll see why i chose you. why we chose each other.”

sunghoon’s lips curved into a small smile, one that made your heart flutter. “we’ll make a life together that’s worth showing them. one day, when they see what we’ve built, they’ll understand.”

and deep down, you knew he was right. your parents loved you, and in time, they would see the joy that your life with sunghoon brought you. they would forgive the abrupt departure, the wedding that never was. because while it wasn’t the life they had envisioned for you, it was the one you had always dreamed of.

as sunghoon’s studio grew, and as the two of you thrived in sorina, you no longer felt the weight of your decision. you had chosen love over duty, dreams over expectations. and in the end, you knew it would all work out. one day, when the time was right, you would return to your parents—not as the daughter who had run away, but as the woman who had found her happiness.

for now, though, the life you had built with sunghoon was everything you had ever wanted. the city of fashion, the thriving studio, the man you loved—it was more than enough.

and with every stitch sunghoon sewed, every dress he designed, you were reminded that you had made the right choice. together, you had found your place in the world. and you had no doubt that the people you loved most would come to understand that too.

BONUS SCENE !

in sorina, life had unfolded beautifully, and not just for sunghoon. the city may have been known for fashion, but it was also a hub of opportunity for anyone willing to carve out their own path—and you had done just that.

while sunghoon spent his days sketching and tailoring in his studio, you found your own passion and footing in the city. before long, you’d built something of your own—a modest business in jewellery making, a craft you had dabbled in back home but now took seriously. the bustling markets of sorina were filled with artisans from every walk of life, and soon your intricately designed pieces caught the eye of locals and visitors alike.

at first, it was a hobby. a way to pass the time while sunghoon worked. but it didn’t take long for you to gain recognition. your designs, delicate yet bold, paired perfectly with the high-end garments sunghoon was crafting. your pieces began to complement his work, and you both realised the potential of collaborating together—not just in love but in business.

the two of you often worked late into the night, your small workbench tucked in the corner of his studio. sunghoon would be bent over his latest creation, needles and thread in hand, while you arranged shimmering stones and metals into intricate patterns.

“you know,” sunghoon said one evening, breaking the comfortable silence between you, “we’re going to need a bigger space soon.”

you looked up from your work, raising an eyebrow. “why’s that?”

he smirked, nodding toward the scattered jewellery and sketches of new designs littering the floor. “because you’re taking over my studio, that’s why.”

you chuckled, shaking your head as you placed a bracelet you’d been working on down on the table. “i think we both know you’re the one taking up all the space. these fabrics are everywhere.”

“touché,” he replied with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “but i’m serious. your business is growing. people are asking for your pieces specifically now. you’ve got clients lined up at the door. we can’t keep pretending this is just a side gig.”

you shrugged, but your smile betrayed your pride. “maybe. but it’s not like i’m doing this on my own. you’ve helped me a lot. half of the clients only know about my jewellery because it’s paired with your designs.”

sunghoon shook his head. “no. they come for you. you’ve worked hard to get here. don’t downplay that.”

his words warmed your heart, and you leaned back in your chair, watching him for a moment. “i guess we’ve both come a long way, haven’t we?”

he met your gaze, the familiar spark of affection lighting up his eyes. “more than i ever imagined.”

as the weeks passed, the collaboration between your jewellery and sunghoon’s garments became the talk of the city. nobles and royals who ordered dresses from sunghoon began requesting matching jewellery pieces from you. soon, you were no longer just sunghoon’s muse or his partner—you were an established name in your own right.

at events and gatherings, whispers of “have you seen her designs?” filled the halls, your name mentioned alongside sunghoon’s, but never overshadowed by it. the partnership between the two of you was equal, balanced by your mutual respect and admiration for one another’s talents. while sunghoon’s studio flourished, so did your own reputation. you set up a small stall in the heart of the city, your jewellery catching the sunlight and drawing the attention of passersby. with each new order, you found yourself standing more confidently in this new life you had built.

one evening, as the two of you sat in the now-expanded studio, reviewing orders and discussing the future, sunghoon turned to you, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“so, what’s next for you? you’ve got clients begging for your work, you’re practically a household name now,” he teased, nudging you gently. “maybe it’s time you open your own studio, too?”

you smiled, considering his words. “maybe. i’ve been thinking about it, actually.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “oh? you’ve got plans you’re not telling me?”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “no, nothing concrete. but i do think it’s time i take things to the next level. i want to expand, maybe hire a few apprentices. i don’t want to just make jewellery—i want to teach others how to do it, too. there’s a lot of talent in this city that deserves to be nurtured.”

he looked at you with such pride in his eyes, it made your heart swell. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you shrugged, trying to downplay your excitement. “i’m just doing what i love.”

“and you’re damn good at it,” he said firmly. “don’t forget that.”

it wasn’t long before you made that dream a reality. you secured a space in one of the city’s artisan districts, a small but beautiful shop where you could sell your creations and train apprentices in the art of jewellery making. the shop was an extension of yourself—chic, elegant, and full of the creativity that had always been a part of you.

soon, your shop became as well-known as sunghoon’s studio. the two of you were often talked about together, not as a couple who had run away from their old lives, but as two individuals who had built something remarkable side by side.

every piece of jewellery you created had its own story, just as every dress sunghoon designed had its own flair. and while you both supported each other’s work, neither of you relied solely on the other to define your success.

the life you had built together in sorina was not just about love—it was about the dreams you had both nurtured and the independence you cherished. you were more than sunghoon’s muse. you were a creator, a designer, a businesswoman in your own right.

as the sun set over sorina, casting a warm, golden glow across the city, you stood at the threshold of your jewelry shop, taking in the scene before you. the streets were alive with people bustling between vendors, artisans displaying their wares, and musicians playing softly in the distance. your heart swelled with contentment as you looked out over the life you had built, not just for yourself, but alongside sunghoon.

the sound of footsteps broke you from your thoughts, and you turned just in time to see him approaching. his face was illuminated by the setting sun, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he drew closer. even after all this time, your heart still skipped a beat whenever you saw him. there was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence, the kindness in his eyes, that always made you feel safe and cherished.

"busy day?" he asked, his voice low and familiar as he stopped in front of you, his gaze warm.

you nodded, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile. "busier than usual. i think word is spreading faster than i expected. what about you? how’s the studio?"

he chuckled, glancing back toward his own shop down the street. "same here. we might need to start hiring more help."

you laughed softly, and the two of you stood there for a moment, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere around you. the city was beautiful in the fading light, and for a brief second, everything felt perfect. but then sunghoon shifted slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you saw something deeper flicker in them—something that had never fully disappeared.

without a word, he reached out, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a little too long. the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension that had only grown stronger over the months.

“you’ve got a speck of something,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more intimate. “right here.”

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as his fingers lightly grazed your skin. “thanks,” you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

sunghoon didn’t pull away immediately. instead, he stayed close, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something different in his gaze tonight—something tender, yet intense. and as you looked back at him, you felt the weight of all the moments you’d shared, the quiet yearning that had simmered between you since the day you’d arrived in this city together.

“do you ever think about… everything?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. he didn’t have to explain further. you both knew exactly what he meant.

you swallowed hard, your heart racing. “i do,” you admitted quietly. “every day.”

his hand slipped down to your waist, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. but when you didn’t pull away, he drew you in closer, until your bodies were nearly touching, the warmth of his chest radiating against yours. you could feel the rise and fall of his breath, and it was intoxicating.

“i never imagined…” sunghoon’s voice was barely a whisper now, his lips close to your ear, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. “that we’d end up here. together.”

you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you took in his scent—so familiar and comforting. “me neither.”

for a long moment, you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, neither of you daring to move or speak. the world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you, suspended in time.

and then, without warning, sunghoon pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“i love you,” he whispered, the words escaping him like they’d been held back for far too long. “i’ve always loved you.”

your heart stopped, the confession hanging in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. you had known it, felt it, but hearing the words out loud still sent a rush of emotion through you.

“i love you too,” you replied softly, the words coming out as naturally as breathing.

sunghoon smiled—a slow, tender smile that reached his eyes. and before you knew it, he was leaning in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly grew more passionate. it was as if all the years of longing, of unspoken feelings and missed opportunities, had finally culminated in this moment.

you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. his lips were warm and gentle, yet insistent, and you could feel the depth of his emotions in every touch. the world spun around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, sunghoon rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the evening.

“i don’t want to wait anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we’ve waited long enough.”

you nodded, your heart swelling with a sense of certainty you hadn’t felt in a long time. “neither do i.”

you smiled, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over you. the future felt bright, and for the first time, you could see it clearly—both of you, side by side, not just as lovers but as equals. you were no longer running away from the life you didn’t want. instead, you were running toward the life you had built together, filled with love, passion, and the promise of a beautiful tomorrow.

you weren’t just sunghoon’s muse. you weren’t just a girl who had fallen in love. you were a woman who had taken control of her destiny, and now, with sunghoon by your side, you were ready for whatever the future held.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl (the rest will be tagged in the comments since tumblr is acting up again )

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

His Empire of Desire

Pairing || Mob!Bucky x Wife!Reader

Summary || After a gruelling day with maintaining his criminal empire, Bucky returns home to you, seeking comfort and passion in your touch and words.

World Count || 3016

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, mob/mafia business, mention of violence/torture/murder, explicit content/language, pet names, unprotected vaginal sex, oral (male receiving), degradation & praise kink, use of the word whore, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, begging, face/throat fucking, gagging/choking, fingering, spanking, rough fucking, creampie, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note || It’s been a whiiiiile… Hopefully I’m back for good now. But anyways, this is a WIP that I started at the beginning of 2023 and I finally finished a few days ago. Enjoy, and I will be back with more fics soon. But I’ll be taking my time and not rushing/stressing myself with it. I want to have fun and write again, but I won’t force it when I don’t have energy so there won’t be weekly fics most likely.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Mob!Bucky Masterlist

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Once the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting shadows over the city’s towering buildings, Bucky made his way home after another demanding day maintaining his criminal empire. The day, much like the others, had been a grueling mix of meetings, negotiations, and the unsettling business of violence that defined Bucky’s world of organized crime. Accustomed to the daily occurrences of bloodshed, torture, and death, even the strongest individuals, like Bucky, had their moments when frustration and weariness weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. All Bucky craved was solace and comfort in the embrace of his wife’s warmth and love, concluding the night with the pleasure of burying himself deep within her. That singular thought occupied his mind as he sat in the backseat of the Rolls, heading towards the penthouse that overlooked the city—his sanctuary, his kingdom, and you, his Queen.

“Have a good evening, Sir,” Bucky’s chauffeur nodded firmly in the rearview mirror, receiving an equal parting nod as Bucky stepped out of the car.

As Bucky ascended the private elevator, his fingers itched intensely for your presence, yearning to wash away the day’s cruelty with your loving touch and mend his wounds with your caring words. The ascent to his and your floor, typically swift, felt like an eternity. Leaning his forehead against the mirrored elevator walls, hands clenched on each side of his head, he muttered to himself, “Come on, come on. Hurry the fuck up. I fucking need her.”

Finally, on the top floor, the elevator pinged and opened, revealing the vast penthouse. Bucky swiftly departed, entering the one place where he truly felt safe and at home. The familiar scent of your shared home immediately calmed him, normality easing his frustrations. As he entered the spacious living room, soft music filled the space, accompanied by the sound of your bare footsteps drawing closer. It was everything he had longed for after his gruelling day.

The ache he felt for you gradually faded as you approached. Clad in a silk robe, your captivating form moved with confidence, the curves of your body dancing beneath the expensive material. Your face, bare and glowing, reflected the wear and tear of your own long day.

Though Bucky adored when you were all primed and dolled up, there was an ethereal quality about you when stripped down to your natural beauty that captivated him even more.

He released a deep, heavy breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in, eyes closing briefly in bliss at the anticipation of you finally being beside him.

“Bucky,” you murmured as you stood before him, assessing him with a hint of worry. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the day, his eyes pleading. You understood immediately—he needed you now more than ever. Sensing his need for your presence and words, you prepared to offer the comfort he sought.

“Baby, you look exhausted,” you murmured, pressing yourself against him, cupping the back of his skull with your hands, thumbs softly grazing his earlobes. Your shimmery eyes met his weary gaze.

He groaned quietly as he leaned his forehead against yours. His fingers spread across the silky material on your hips, pulling you closer, needing the reassurance of your body. “Doll, I fucking need you,” he groaned, pushing his fingers harder into your covered flesh. “Now more than ever, baby.” His plea blended fiery lust with loving need.

“Come on,” you mumbled, laying a feather-light kiss on his lips, soft fingers laced with his calloused ones. “I know just what you need,” you purred, promising to provide whatever he needed—whether it be a loving cuddle and kisses or an intense physical connection, to bend you over and fuck your body and mind senseless. You were his.

You guided him through the dark hall to the luxurious en-suite, where the spacious marble shower awaited. Turning on the cascading stream of warm water, you beckoned him to come closer and let you take his stress away.

“Let me take your stress away, baby,” you purred, approaching him once again. Bucky watched your movements intently, the weariness in his eyes transforming into a look of pure lust and the longing for the gentle care only his wife could provide.

With your hands at the lapels of his suit jacket, you pulled it away from his firm body, letting it fall to the floor. Slowly, while never breaking your gaze from his fiery eyes, you unbuttoned each button with precise movements, pushing the fabric of his muscular torso. Your eyes roamed over his chiseled physique as your hands lay flat on his pecs, adorned with specs of hair. Your palms moved down the planes of his firm muscles, making him moan at your gentle touch. Unbuttoning his suit pants, you pulled them down along with his underwear, leaving him standing naked before you.

Unfastening the sash of your silk robe, you let it drop, standing completely naked before him. Taking his hand in yours, you led him into the steaming shower, the warm mist enveloping you both.

Bucky stood under the shower head, letting the water soak him from head to toe, washing away the burdens of the day. You joined him, placing your palms on his chest with a gentle touch as you stood flush against him—your bodies melded together by the water. His hardening cock pressed against your abdomen. He dropped his gaze to your burning eyes that mirrored his own, before trailing them over your naked and wet body, intensifying the heat.

With a groan, he knotted his fingers in your hair, the other wrapping around your waist. Your arms curled underneath his, placing your palms on his muscular back. Your pulse quickened with excitement, knowing where the evening was headed. All that was needed was your encouragement for Bucky to take it in the direction he desired.

“I’m yours, Bucky. Take what you need. Take me. Love me. Use me. Do whatever you need and desire right now. My body and mind are yours.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips with his, claiming and owning your mouth. His sweet and tender kisses quickly escalated into firm and needy ones. The tip of his tongue swept your bottom lip, pleading for your taste. As your tongues met, his fingers tightened in your hair, and his hand slapped the apple of your ass, followed by a firm squeeze. You whined into his mouth, pushing your body into his wet and slippery one, surrendering yourself.

Your hand wrapped around his firm cock in a tight squeeze, jerking his length in deep and slow motions while your tongue continued to dance with his. Bucky pulled away with your bottom lip between his teeth, groaning against your puffy lips as he slowly fucked himself into your grip.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” you purred against his lips, flicking the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip. “I’m all yours.”

“Get on your knees, baby,” he growled. “Suck my cock like the whore I know you are for it.” His hand came up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pussy throb without suffocating you. “I’ll make you cry and choke on it while I fuck your mouth, use that tight throat.” A moan of need escaped at his filthy words. You loved being his adoring wife and his dirty whore. His lips curled in a satisfied smile at the duality you embodied—Whore and Queen.

He let you go, and without hesitation, you pressed sloppy kisses to his chest. Fingers traced the dips and planes of his chiseled physique as you continued kissing and licking down his body—his abs, his defined v-line—until you were lowered on your knees before him, mouth agape as you stared at him through your lashes. The water from the shower head above made his body gleam, intensifying the irresistible appeal of him towering over you. His cock stood fully erect, practically begging for attention, begging to be sucked. A shiver ran through your body, and a whimper escaped your lips as your pussy throbbed, eager for the same treatment your throat would soon receive—getting fucked and bruised.

Aroused with anticipation, your body practically shaking, you grasped him firmly in your hand as your tongue traced the protruding veins along his shaft, licking up to his bulbous head. Kissing and sucking the tip, you moaned at the taste of him. With no patience left, Bucky grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to release him from your mouth. His hot gaze met yours as a stinging yet delicious tug prompted a sharp gasp from your lips as tears welled in your eyes—the first of many for the evening.

“Don’t tease me, doll. I’ve had enough of being undermined today,” he groaned, his voice laced with cruel warning. “Now suck it like the pretty little whore I know you are for it.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be your good little whore.”

Obediently complying, you engulfed his length as Bucky’s guttural groan vibrated off the shower walls. Your choice of words, and taking him all with no hesitation, only fueled his burning desire.

You took him deep, inch by thick inch until all of him nestled in your throat. Tears ran down your already wet cheeks, and the sensation of your lips wrapped around him and your throat suffocating his cock with your choked coughs made Bucky tip his head back in bliss. Moaning thickly, he pushed his hips forward into your compliant mouth.

Withdrawing to catch your breath, a thick string of saliva trailed from your lips to his tip. A testament to your eagerness to please the man above you.

“So gorgeous,” Bucky smirked, looking down at you with tears and saliva running down your chin. “Such an eager whore to please me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across your lips.

With no further hesitations, you wrapped your hand tightly around the base to jerk him off, while your mouth engulfed his swollen and leaking tip. Your hand and mouth worked in perfect sync—jerking him with force and delicious pressure while your head bobbed on his cock, slurping and sucking. Bucky’s hips met your movements, making you choke and gag by his rough thrusts. Your other hand squeezed and kneaded his firm ass cheek, pulling him closer and anchoring yourself to him as you sucked him off.

Bucky’s vocalization became a hot and heavy symphony of moans, groans, and every guttural sound in between—a testament to you working him thoroughly with your hands and mouth.

His hips jerked, his muscles tensing, on the verge of climax, and spilling into your mouth, and you wanted nothing more than a taste of him. But he pulled you off before he could finish down your throat, making you wheeze and chest heave to catch your breath after he released you.

Reading the disappointment on your face, he brushed your tear and water-stained cheeks and swollen lips, a smirk playing on his own. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll come down your throat next time.” His voice was low and sultry, laced with delicious promise. “I need to feel your tight cunt wrapped around me, now.”

Helping you up, he met your lips in a sloppy kiss, slapping your ass with a force that made you gasp before turning you around and directing you to bend over for him on the marble bench.

You bent over, placing your forearms on the cold stone, presenting your ass for him. The view of both your tight holes a tantalizing sight for him.

During the blowjob, your pussy had throbbed with need, eager for the same treatment as your throat, and you had never felt as frustrated as you had now, waiting for his cock. Looking over your shoulder at Bucky, his fist jerking his cock as his hot and burning gaze trailed over your dripping cunt, which he would fill and come deep inside.

“Please, Bucky,” you cried. “I need you cock so bad.” Your voice thick with desperate desire to be fucked and used by him. “Please, please, fuck me. Use me. Use my cunt.” You knew after the day he had that the fuck would be brutal, and you would love nothing more. You loved his gentle and caring nature that he reserved only for you, but you also loved to be used and fucked like a whore by him. The duality of his two sides only makes you love him deeper with each passing day.

He chuckled, relishing the power he held over you, the absolute desperation in your pleading voice and submissive body. “Patience, doll,” he replied with a low growl. “I’ve had a rough day, and I will take my time with you.”

He firmly kneads your ass in his palms, rough hands grabbing and squeezing the flesh before delivering a sharp slap that sends a jolt of pleasurable pain up your spine. Your toes curl, and a whimper escapes your parted lips as the cruel laughter from Bucky fills the space. Despite the sobs and cries during the next two spanks, your pussy grows wetter at his cruelty, soaking your inner thighs.

Bucky curses under his breath, running two fingers through your messy folds, circling your needy clit in teasing strokes. A breath of relief escapes you at finally being stimulated, even though it’s not at the satisfaction you crave. He groans as he pushes two fingers inside your wet cunt, fucking it in slow strokes, making your breath shake at the stretch.

“What made you this wet, doll? Sucking and choking on my cock, or me spanking and bruising your ass?”

“B-both,” you reply with a shaky voice.

“That’s my good whore,” he growls, softly patting your ass where his brutal hands landed.

With the head of his cock, he teases your bundle of nerves, before slowly and oh-so-deliciously pushing his length inside your welcoming cunt. You moan and whine through your swollen and parted lips as he stretches you out to accommodate his size. “Fuck, so tight, baby.”

He forces the rest of his length balls deep, making you gasp, while he moans, at stuffing you completely. “Ah, fuck… so big,” you whine, closing your eyes and fists tightly, adjusting to him.

With a low, throaty chuckle in response to your reaction, Bucky gives you a moment before setting his rhythm, hands firmly gripping your soft hips, fingers digging into your skin.

He holds nothing back as he unleashes himself, intensifying the brutal pace, thrusting deeply into your pussy like his existence depends on it. The tip of his swollen cock repeatedly brushes against your sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your nerves, eliciting soft whimpers from your lips.

“So good for me, doll. Such a tight, pretty pussy,” he grunts, lost in the sensation of your cunt and the pleasure it brings him.

You tilt your head to meet his burning gaze, the fiery passion in his eyes searing your exposed and submitted body before him.

“Fuck, it’s all yours, baby. All of me. Only for you,” you whimper, the soft symphony of your gentle whispers and moans enticing Bucky closer to the edge, fucking you roughly and chasing his high. “Keep using it, baby. Claim me. Take what you want,” you urge, your words a breathless plea for him to keep unleashing his pent-up anger and frustrations on your eager and pleading cunt.

As you ascend to pleasurable heights, your impending orgasm closing in swiftly, the clenching of your walls around his pulsating cock signals his pending release as well. His hand slides around your throat, lifting you upright amidst his primal thrusts.

“Are you gonna come for me, baby? Come on my cock as I fill your greedy cunt?” His gruff voice sends a shiver down your spine.

The searing pleasure, coupled with the firm grip on your throat, leaves you with no choice but to nod, conveying that you are close to an eruption with an earth-shattering explosion.

“Open that pretty mouth for me and use your words, doll.” A sharp slap to your thigh jolts you out of the haze, prompting you to gather yourself and respond to his demand.

“Yes,” you managed to gasp. “I’m gonna come. I need you to come inside me, baby,” you cry, craving his warmth like a good whore.

With those pleading words, Bucky surges over the edge. His grunts and moans resonating against your skin as he fills you up with his cum. The sensation of him pulsing and filling within you and the rhythmic movement of his hips have you tumbling over the edge. Waves of your release ripple through your body, shaking and convulsing, your cries of pleasure echoing off the tiled walls.

“Good girl,” Bucky moaned against your skin. His fingers skillfully play with your engorged clit to heighten the downfall of your orgasm. “You take my cock and cum so well.” He continued to fuck and talk you through it, ensuring that your mind and body were consumed with nothing but pleasure and him.

The shared climax left you both suspended in the aftermath of your intense fucking. The air thick with echoes of your breathless satisfaction.

“Hmm, my good girl,” Bucky muttered, withdrawing from your used cunt and turning you around. The warm water of the shower continued to rain down on you both, washing away the shared evidence of your intense and passionate lovemaking.

Bucky cupped your cheeks, brushing his thumbs across the skin beneath your eyes. His hands, which held your body with force only moments ago, now cradled your face as if you were the most delicate of artworks, which to him, you were more than a masterpiece. He captured your lips, kissing you with a mix of passion and need. Your arms held his waist, bringing his slick body closer to yours.

“Let’s get out and dry off, doll. I need to bury my face in that pretty cunt of yours before I hold you in my arms and express how much you mean to me for the rest of the night.”

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