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wonderlandnet · 4 months ago

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-> NEW ADDITION: "Your Gentle Hands (They Feel Like Home)" by Minvera

Your Gentle Hands (They Feel Like Home To Me). || Kim Hongjoong. [ Part I ]

Summary: meeting the local outcast shouldn't have ended with you slowly falling for him. yet you did, all while knowing you could never have this man, because you were already someones else's wife. two lovers, a dress shop, and a violent man between it all. we all know how this ends, right? ... right?

Pairing: dressmaker!kim hongjoong x fem. reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Wordcount: 15k

Warnings: playing in the 1800s so general warning for that, reader is married to a very violent man, emotional (justified) infidelity??, misogyny, (domestic) violence, injuries, talks about religion and people suffering because of it, blood, murder, i think that's it??

A/N: can't believe it's finally here. oh my gawd. i love this piece so much, but god did i struggle with it i'm so glad i can finally post part 1. i would really really appreciate reblogs, comments, and likes too, but reblogs are so helpful, so please do it if you liked it it would help me immensely. also comment if anyone would like to be tagged for part 2 of this two-shot! and now onto the most important part: the biggest thanks and hugs and kisses to @yessa-vie and @ghstzzn because without them, this fic would've long been in the damn trash can holy moly. also, thank you so so much to @seulrinnie-rinrin for beating this last minute, i'm so thankful really!! and as always divider credits to @firefly-graphics!

Taglist: @ghstzzn, @kyukyustar, @hwapetals, @foxinnie8, @preciouswoozi, @aussiekpopginger, @kitten4sannie

My Dearest Husband,

The years have been harsh to us, and the cracks in our marriage grow wider with each passing day. Your hands, once embracing me so gentle and loving, now leave bruises upon my skin that no amount of powder or paint can conceal.

I dare not speak of the pain that lingers within me, for fear of invoking your wrath once more. Yet, the time has come for me to break the chains that bind me to this wretched existence and find solace in the arms of another.

Know this, my dear husband, I shall not suffer in silence any longer. Your tyranny shall not be tolerated, and I shall not rest until I am free from the shackles of your oppression.

With every ounce of strength left within me,

[Your Name]

The clock turned midnight.

You sat by the window, the gentle patter of rain against the glass a soothing backdrop to the turmoil raging within your heart. The room felt suffocating, the walls seemingly closing in on you with each passing moment. How long has it been since you last felt a glimmer of hope in this house?

How long has it been since you last felt safe in it?

You closed your eyes. Nothing but silence greeted you.

Good.

The creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounded deafening in the silence of the night, and you held your breath, afraid that even the slightest noise would awaken him.

Him.

Your husband, or rather: your own personal tormentor.

“He's a good man,” your mother in law screamed, her fingernails marking your skin, her eyes desperate and angry. “Be a good wife and learn to obey and endure. My son said it was a mistake, and so be it!”

The black eye he gave you days later told a different story. Yet it didn't matter.

Once outside, you found yourself drawn to the familiar path that led to the edge of the forest.

Finally stepping outside the small, scruffy looking house, you were greeted by darkness and the occasional chirping of various insects. Luckily, the temperatures were still mild in late September, yet you still pulled the cardigan tighter around you. Despite the darkness and uncertainty that surrounded you, there was a sense of freedom in being away from the suffocating confines of your home.

Just for a little, a few hours, both your mind and body could finally relax.

As you made your way along the familiar path towards the edge of the forest, a sense of anticipation bubbled within you. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to entertain the possibility of a bit of time free from fear and pain. It would only last a short while, making you lose valuable hours of sleep, but still for you, it was enough.

The path before you seemed to stretch on endlessly, disappearing into the darkness of the woods. Tall, gnarled trees loomed overhead, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers towards the heavens. The soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze filled the air, accompanied by the occasional hoot of an owl or the distant cry of a night bird.

The chirping at the insects had stopped entirely.

Despite the late hour, the forest was buzzing with activity. Small creatures - stray cats and dogs known to frequent the area - scurried among the underbrush, their eyes glowing in the darkness as they went about their nocturnal rituals. Every now and then, the faint glimmer of fireflies could be seen darting through the trees, their soft, golden light illuminating the path ahead.

You followed their lead, heart pounding in your chest as you ventured deeper into the forest. For a split second, your mind wandered back to your husband. You knew he was asleep, passed out blank from the amount of alcohol he consumed at The Saloon, the only pub in your village.

Despite knowing he was asleep, the fear lingered like a dark cloud looming over your every thought. The bruises on your skin served as a constant reminder of his violence, and even in his absence, his presence felt suffocating.

“Meow.”

The sound broke the silence of the night, startling you momentarily, making you almost trip over your own feet. Your heart raced as you glanced around, half expecting to see your husband's shadow looming in the darkness. But there was no sign of him, only the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of insects.

He's not here, you reminded yourself, taking a deep, slow breath, it's just a cat. It's okay. You're okay.

As you stood there, trying to calm your racing heart, the source of the meow emerged from the bushes - a small, scruffy-looking cat with fur as dark as the night itself.

It's a beautiful cat, you thought.

You crouched down, extending a tentative hand towards the cat. “Hey there, little one,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you out here all alone?”

The cat looked you up and down for a moment, then cautiously approached, its movements slow and careful at first. It sniffed your outstretched hand, then rubbed its head against your fingers, purring softly.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you gently scratched behind the cat's ears.

“Looks like we're both seeking some peace in the night,” you said, your words more for yourself than for the cat. But in that moment, it felt like the cat understood, as if it were offering you silent companionship in this dark, lonely forest.

With a sigh, you leaned back against a nearby tree, the cat following and curling up beside you.

“I should give you a name, right?” you hummed. The cat didn't respond, just continued purring as your fingers went through its unkempt yet soft fur.

“I have the gut feeling that you're a boy, so… let's name you Benji, shall we?”

You giggled as Benji took your hand in his paws, gently biting and licking while his purring filled your ears.

“You like it? What a good, sweet boy.”

Suddenly, a rustling in the bushes nearby startled you, tearing your gaze away from Benji. The cat hissed, and only then you saw what was making the noise: a… goat?

A goat that was now sprinting right at you at full speed. Panicked, you hurried to your feet, backing away slowly only to be met by the tree you previously set by. You turned around to run, but as you did, the goat lunged forward, catching your dress with its horns and tearing the fabric apart. A loud scream - your loud scream - echoed through the night, and you fell to the ground, your knees and hands immediately starting to bleed as they hit the forest floor.

“Help!” you screamed, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart and the goat's relentless assault. In a desperate attempt to escape, you scrambled away, your hands and knees scraping against the rough ground once again, blood mingling with dirt as you crawled towards another tree, away from the animal. “Somebody, please help me!”

Your desperate cries pierced through the darkness. Every fibre of your being screamed for someone to hear your plea and rescue you from this nightmare.

And then, as if conjured by your sheer desperation, a male voice cut through the night.

“Let her be, you damn goat!”

Oh finally.

You turned towards the source of the voice, your heart pounding in your chest as you beheld the figure emerging from the shadows. In the darkness, you couldn't see his features clearly, but the silhouette of a lean figure emerged from the shadows. His stature was not imposing, but there was a quiet strength in the way he carried himself. Short, tousled hair framed his face, and his clean-shaven jawline hinted at a youthful charm. Despite his lean frame, there was a sense of agility and grace in his movements as he approached, his steps purposeful yet cautious. His clothes, though worn and faded, spoke of practicality rather than luxury, and the faint glint of silver caught your eye as moonlight danced upon a necklace around his neck.

“Get back, Django,” he commanded, his voice stern and serious.

For a moment, it seemed as though the goat - Django - hesitated, its wild eyes darting between you and the stranger as if weighing its options. But then, with a defiant snort, the goat actually backed away, its hooves scraping against the forest floor as it retreated back to its owner's side.

You watched in stunned silence as the young man approached, his expression softened by a glimmer of concern. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

You nodded weakly, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and relief as you struggled to sit up. He offered you a hand, and you accepted it gratefully, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you met his gaze.

Your eyes widened.

You knew this man.

It was hard not to, because the women at the market loved to gossip about him.

“He's a filthy man. Have you seen the dresses he makes? Outrageous.”

His name was Kim Hongjoong, you believed, a man known for his unconventional ways and said ‘outrageous’ dresses he crafted.

The women's cruel words towards him echoed in your mind, their voices dripping with disgust whenever his name was mentioned. They spoke of him as if he were beneath them, a plague, to be avoided at all costs. But as you looked at him now, you saw none of the malice they spoke of, only kindness and a smile etched into his features.

Hongjoong's eyes softened at your words. He had a pretty face, you realised, staring up at him in awe and curiosity.

You are a married woman! Oh Lord, may you save me from those malicious, evil thoughts!

“You shouldn't be out here alone,” he said, his voice tinged with concern.

“I'm always here alone,” you responded. “It's my safe space.”

Instead of pressing you further, his eyes scanned your form, his expression growing more serious as he took in the extent of both your wounds and torn dress.

“It's even worse than I thought…” He looked at Django, who's now freely roaming around, seemingly no longer agitated and angry. “This goddamn goat,” he groaned.

“Is he always like this?” you asked.

Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair as he glanced back at Django with a mixture of frustration and resignation. “Unfortunately, yes,” he replied, “He's a stubborn creature, to say the least. His former owner wanted to slaughter him because he was aggressive towards humans and goats alike, but I convinced him to let me take care of him instead.”

“That's very noble of you,” you remarked, a sense of admiration evident in your voice. “Not many would take in a troubled animal like Django and give him a chance to change.”

Hongjoong offered you a small, appreciative smile, his eyes reflecting a hint of pride. “It hasn't been easy,” he admitted, patting Django's head, “But despite a few angry outbursts here and there, he's actually been adjusting well.”

You hummed, still keeping your distance from the goat that just attacked you. You and him probably won't become friends any time soon.

“Do you think you are able to walk?”

You nodded, though the pain throbbing in your knees and hands contradict your words. “I'll be fine,” you assured him, though your voice faltered slightly as you spoke.

Hongjoong's gaze softened with concern as he observed your state, his brows furrowing slightly with worry. “Are you sure?” he asked, his tone gentle yet insistent. “You're hurt, and it's not safe for you to be out here alone, especially with those injuries.”

You hesitated. Despite your initial plan to find solace and peace in the forest, you couldn't deny the reality of your situation - bruised, bleeding, and very much in need of assistance.

Swallowing your pride, you met Hongjoong's gaze with a grateful nod. “I... I think I could use some help,” you admitted, your voice wavering slightly with a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

Without hesitation, Hongjoong stepped closer, offering you his arm for support. “Here," he said, “Lean on me. We'll get you patched up and back home safely.”

“N-no!” you screeched, making Hongjoong falter in his steps and shoot you a confused look, “I-i mean, the night's still young, am I right? There's no need to return home just yet…”

“Why are you avoiding your own home?”

Your heart raced at his question, and you could feel your pulse pounding in your ears. His straightforwardness caught you off-guard, yet you tried - and failed - to hide your uneasiness and upcoming fear.

“You wouldn't understand,” you whispered.

Avoiding his eyes, you bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. The fear of revealing too much, of exposing the dark secrets of your marriage, held you back. You couldn't bear the thought of anyone knowing the truth, let alone a stranger who could very much use this information against you.

Hongjoong must have sensed your hesitation, for he didn't press further. Instead, he offered a gentle smile, his eyes filled with understanding. “It's alright,” he said softly. “You don't have to explain. Let's just get you somewhere safe and comfortable for now.”

His words and tone surprised you. You were accustomed to being met with demands and anger, not patience and empathy. The contrast left you feeling both confused and intrigued. Why was he being so kind to you? What did he hope to gain from helping a stranger in the middle of the night?

You accepted his support, leaning on him as you walked, your steps slow and cautious. The pain in your knees and hands was a constant reminder of your current vulnerability, but Hongjoong's steady presence provided a strange sense of comfort. Despite your initial wariness, you found yourself beginning to trust him.

Oh, what a foolish woman you are.

“Where will you take me?”

“To my house. It would be a shame if your husband would see you like this, with visible injuries and a torn dress, wouldn't it?”

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

That's how long you stared into his eyes, and he stared into yours.

Both of you knew what this meant.

Yet no one spoke it out loud. Society forbade it.

You exhaled a trembling breath, the truth of his words settling heavily between you. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “It would be a shame.”

Hongjoong’s eyes softened, as if he could read the unspoken pain behind your words. “Let’s go, then,” he said gently, guiding you along the path with Django following closely behind.

“You know,” you whispered, “a married woman should never visit a bachelor's property alone. Especially at such late hours.”

Hongjoong glanced at you, a faint, yet boyish smile playing on his lips. “If you go by the rules of society, then yes,” he said, “but I'm known to do the exact opposite.”

Hongjoong's house came into view after a short walk through the forest. It was a modest building outside the small village, yet it looked charming, nestled amid tall trees that swayed gently in the night breeze. The front was adorned with a small, covered porch, where a couple of wooden chairs and a table sat invitingly. Ivy climbed up the walls, giving the house an almost fairytale-like quality.

It seemed to be well kept too, a stark contrast to your own home.

As you approached, you noticed the sign above the door, “Kim’s Dressmaking,” written in elegant, swirling letters. It was clear that the front of the house doubled as a shop. The large windows displayed a variety of dresses, each more beautiful and intricate than the last, their fabrics shimmering softly in the dim light.

You remembered the villager's harsh words, and for a small second you thought: should you really follow this unruly man? What if anyone would see you entering his house at night, completely alone?

But you also knew this was quite literally the only solution right now, because if your husband saw you at home tending to your wounds he'd know of your nightly trips, and you couldn't let that happen.

So, the outcast’s house it was.

Hongjoong, who just escorted Django back to a small stall behind the property, passed you and pushed open the door, the bell above it tinkling softly. The interior of the shop was a burst of colour and creativity. Dresses of all styles and fabrics lined the walls, hung from mannequins, and lay draped over chairs and tables. Ribbons, lace, and beads were strewn about in an organised chaos that spoke of hours of dedicated craftsmanship. The scent of fresh fabric and a hint of lavender lingered in the air.

These dresses were made for royalty, beautiful and extravagant, unlike anything normal citizens would wear. You pitied Hongjoong; his talent was being wasted in a small village, while queens and princesses should be the ones wearing them, not women talking badly about his craft the second he turned his back on them.

“Welcome to my workshop,” Hongjoong said, a note of pride in his voice. He led you through the shop and towards a door at the back. “The living area is just through here.”

You followed him into a cozy living space that was a stark contrast to the bustling shop. The room was warmly lit by a few oil lamps, casting a soft glow over the rustic wooden furniture. A large, comfortable-looking sofa took up most of one wall, with a knitted blanket draped over it. Shelves lined with books and trinkets filled another wall, and a small fireplace crackled with a gentle fire, providing a soothing warmth. A modest kitchen area occupied one corner, with a wooden table and two chairs positioned nearby.

“Sit,” Hongjoong instructed gently, guiding you to the sofa. “I'll get some water and bandages for your wounds.”

“Yes, sir,” you giggled, a childlike euphoria suddenly overcoming you. He shot you a grin in response.

You sank into the sofa, the softness a welcome relief after the night's ordeal. You watched as Hongjoong moved around in the kitchen, his movements swift and efficient.

After a few minutes, he returned with a bowl of warm water, a clean cloth, and a small box of medical supplies. He knelt beside you, his eyes focused and serious as he gently took your hands in his.

“This might sting a bit,” he warned, dipping the cloth into the water and carefully cleaning the dirt and blood from your scrapes. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and you found yourself relaxing under his care.

“Thank you,” you murmured, watching him work. The tenderness in his actions was a stark contrast to the harshness you had endured at home.

“You're welcome,” he replied softly, his eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to his task. He worked silently for a few moments, cleaning and bandaging your wounds with practised ease.

“Now,” he said, standing up and cleaning his hands with the washcloth, “all we gotta do is fix your dress now to avoid your husband suspecting anything.”

“I… I don't have any money to pay you,” you admitted.

Hongjoong shook his head, a kind smile playing on his lips. "Don't worry about that," he said. “Consider it my way of helping a neighbour in need. I mean, it was my goat who put you in this situation after all.”

The kindness in his words brought tears to your eyes, and you had to look away to hide your emotions. It's been an hour since you've met this man, and yet he already treated you better than people whom you should be closest to. It had been so long since someone had shown you such genuine care and concern.

Hongjoong led you to a small sewing table in the corner of the room, surrounded by bolts of fabric, spools of thread, and an array of needles and scissors. He pulled out a chair for you and you sat down, feeling a sense of peace settle over you.

“Can I ask another favour of you?” you asked quietly.

Hongjoong knelt down, now looking up to you. It made your heart beat faster, and you hated yourself for it.

“Go ahead,” he said, encouraging you to speak.

“Please don't leave any obvious stitches… my husband would notice and then he would get mad and I really don't-”

“Hey, hey,” Hongjoong shushed you, carefully taking your trembling hand in his own.

His gentle touch seemed to soothe you immediately.

“I'll give my very best. Your husband won't notice anything amiss,” he promised.

As he worked, carefully mending the torn fabric of your dress, you watched his skilled hands move with precision and grace. His focus was unwavering, and you couldn't help but admire the artistry in his every movement.

“You know,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “the women in the village talk about you. They say your dresses are too extravagant for common folk.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I've heard the gossip,” he admitted. “But I don't create these dresses for them. Let's say my clients are of more… different backgrounds.”

“You mean women of wealthier status?”

“Indeed.”

You couldn't help but giggle at Hongjoong's response.

“So does that mean… Did you just… indirectly make fun of those women, Hongjoong?” you asked, trying to stifle your laughter.

A mischievous smile spread across his face as he glanced up at you. “Maybe I did,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with a playful glint. “But it's only fair, don't you think? They judge me without understanding, too.”

You laughed again, the sound feeling foreign yet welcome to your own ears.

Hongjoong’s returned to his work, his fingers working fast, his concentration unwavering. You watched him in awe. There was something comforting about watching him work, knowing he was doing his best to help you. And on top of that, his skills fascinated you. You didn't know much about the craft of dressmaking, yet even a layin like you knew that true skill was needed for such incredible work.

And Kim Hongjoong definitely had that skill.

“Why do you stay here?” you asked after a moment of silence, curiosity getting the better of you. “You could be making dresses for queens and princesses, living a life far away from all the judgement and poverty of this village.”

Hongjoong paused, his needle stopping mid-air as he looked up at you once again. “I could do that, you're right,” he agreed, “but I prefer living peacefully. Going back to the court… it's not what I want anymore. People there are difficult.”

“More difficult than here?”

He laughed. “Yeah, actually. Just in a different way.”

You hummed. Hongjoong finished mending your dress, carefully examining his work before looking up at you with a satisfied smile. “There,” he said, “all done. Your husband won’t notice a thing.”

You looked down at the dress, marvelling at his skill. The stitches were invisible, the fabric as good as new. “Thank you,” you said, your gratitude heavily evident in your voice.

He stood up, offering you his hand once more. “Let me walk you home,” he said. “It’s not safe for you to go alone.”

Panic rushed through you at his suggestion, your heart pounding in your chest. You jerked back, withdrawing your hand from his as if his touch burned you.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling, “I can't let you do that. What if someone sees us together? What if my husband finds out?”

Hongjoong's brows furrowed in concern. “But it’s not safe for you to walk alone at this hour. After what happened in the forest, I can’t just let you go unaccompanied.”

You shook your head vehemently, your hands clenching the fabric of your freshly mended dress. “I appreciate your kindness, Hongjoong, but you don’t understand. If anyone sees us together, it will only get worse for me. My husband… he's not a kind man. He'll make my life a living hell.”

Hongjoong's expression softened. He reached out as if to comfort you, but then hesitated as you took another step back. “I won’t let anything happen to you, but I understand your fear. At least let me watch and follow you from a distance, to make sure you get home safely.”

You nodded reluctantly. It was late after all, and even though the village was small, you still didn't feel safe walking back alone. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just… Please, be careful.”

Hongjoong gave you a reassuring nod. “I promise. Just stay close to the path, and I’ll make sure you get home safely.” He led you to the door, and as you stepped out into the night, the cool air brushing against your skin, you felt a sudden sadness overcoming you.

You didn't want to leave. Or moreover: you didn't want to go back. Back to him.

With a final glance back at Hongjoong, you set off down the path, which was the opposite direction of where you first came to his house from the forest.

The journey felt shorter than you wanted it to be, and before long, the familiar sight of your house came into view. The windows were dark, a sign that your husband was thankfully still asleep. You stopped at the edge of your property, your heart pounding in your chest as you glanced back at the shadowy figure of Hongjoong standing in the distance.

With a final nod and a slight wave, you turned away and walked up to the door. You opened it as quietly as you could, slipping inside and closing it behind you with a soft click. The house was silent, and only the steady ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard. You held your breath, listening for any sign of movement from your husband.

Silence. Good.

Because silence was always better than his usual rage and violence.

“This is a good night,” you murmured. You quietly moved to the window, trying to see if Hongjoong was still there.

One last time. I gotta see him just one last time.

But unfortunately, your kind and pretty stranger was no longer there.

The trees seemed to slowly close in around you.

The forest surrounding you felt alive, watching, waiting.

A shiver ran down your spine as the sound of rustling leaves echoed ominously through the forest.

Just three more steps. One. Two. Three-

“Y/N?”

“Dear God!”

The sudden movement caused the reason you were here today to dart deeper into the underbrush. “Benji!” you called out, frustration now evident in your frantic voice.

Hongjoong stepped closer. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. What… are you doing here?”

You sighed. “I'm looking for a little cat. Met the little one last week, shortly before Django attacked me. He was gone afterwards. I've been coming here all week, but it's of no use. Last week he was so trusting, but now… it's so hard to even get close to him.”

The sun was piercing through the trees on this warm Friday evening, and you had to squint your eyes as you looked in the direction Benji ran away.

“I can't see him anymore,” you said.

Hongjoong’s expression softened. “Do you want some help?” he asked. You nodded, shooting him an appreciative smile. “I’d really like that.”

The two of you moved cautiously, stepping lightly over the forest floor. The silence between you was punctuated only by the occasional crack of a twig or the rustle of leaves.

As you neared the spot where you last saw Benji, Hongjoong held up a hand, signalling for you to stop. He crouched down, peering into the thick bushes.

“There,” he whispered, pointing. “I see him.”

You followed his gaze and spotted the little cat, his eyes wide and alert as he watched you both from the shadows.

“Benji,” you called softly, your voice gentle. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re here to help you.”

Slowly, painstakingly, Benji inched closer, drawn by the sound of your voice. You took a tentative step forward, trying to maintain your balance on the uneven ground. Just as you were about to reach him, your foot slipped into a hidden hole in the forest floor. You stumbled, your ankle twisting painfully as you almost fell.

Behind you, Hongjoong reacted instantly, his strong hand grabbing your arm to steady you. You hissed in pain as his grip tightened around a particularly sore spot.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

You nodded quickly, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, just twisted my ankle a bit.” You chuckled awkwardly. “It's quite funny, isn't it? I always get hurt when we meet.”

But Hongjoong didn’t let go. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the bruises on your arm, previously hidden by your sleeve. “Y/N… what happened?” he asked, his voice a mix of anger and concern.

You swallowed hard, looking away. “It’s nothing. Just an accident at home.”

He shook his head, his grip gentle but firm. “Y/N, don’t lie to me. Was this… your husband?”

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Hongjoong, please. Y-you know I can't talk about it.”

“I know,” he whispered, “But…”

He didn't continue his sentence. Instead, his eyes found yours, and everything he couldn't say, every single, unspoken emotion you found there, hidden behind those kind, brown orbs.

And you understood. You understood that if this man had the chance to change your situation, he would do it. Whatever it would take, and all for you.

A married woman. Practically a stranger still, despite the intimate moment you shared.

In that very moment, you sinned.

And God was your only witness as you fell a little bit for a man that wasn't your husband.

“Meow.”

Benji’s soft meow brought you back to the present. You looked down to see the little cat rubbing against your leg, practically purring his heart out. You reached down, gently scooping the little Grey fur ball up into your arms.

Hongjoong watched you, his expression unreadable to you. “He's still so little. You sure his mother isn't nearby as well?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I've been here to get him every day and haven't seen any other cat here. He seems to be completely alone.”

“Alright then, let’s get him to my home first. We’ll figure something out then.”

You nodded. Without even mentioning, Hongjoong knew you couldn't take him to your own home.

The path back seemed shorter, perhaps because you weren't alone anymore. Benji fidgeted a lot, but wasn't as much of a trouble as you originally thought.

When you reached the edge of the forest, the sunlight was brighter, and you could hear the distant sounds of the town.

“I'm glad you don't have any close neighbours.”

“I'm also glad. Because if I did, I wouldn't be able to see you right now Y/N,” he said, and smiled. Oh, that goddamn smile.

You're not quite sure what it meant, but you felt your heart skip a beat. It was something so beautiful only described in those ‘unholy’ books your mother forbade you to read, but ended up doing anyway. You felt like a young girl again, curious and desperate for love, seeking solace in men that weren't real, but oh so charming.

Men who couldn't hurt you. Couldn't touch any part of your body, only your pure heart.

Yeah, that's how Kim Hongjoong made you feel. With only a smile.

You felt like you were flying, so free and happy and brave and young again. Like you could conquer the whole world together.

But Kim Hongjoong wasn't yours. Because in no world could you ever become his.

Stepping foot into his shop was like entering another work, and even though you've already seen his gorgeous dresses, you still looked at them in awe.

“One day,” you whispered.

“If you want, you can try a dress on. No one will bother us since the store's closed today.”

You shivered. Hongjoong stood almost right behind you, his warmth radiating off his body.

The temptation to indulge in this small fantasy was strong, but you shook your head. “I couldn’t possibly,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing at all,” Hongjoong replied, his tone gentle yet insistent. “Think of it as a gift. Besides, I could use some help around here.”

Your curiosity piqued and you turned to face him. “Help? With what?”

He gestured to the array of dresses on display. “I’ve been working on some new designs, but I don’t have a proper model to try them on. I use mannequins for display, but it’s not the same. I need someone to see how the dresses move and fit in real life. You can work for me in exchange for taking in Benji. Model my dresses, help me with fittings and adjustments. It’s a fair trade, don’t you think?”

“I'd like that,” you whispered, “it's just… these dresses are made for royalty, not for a woman like… like me, Hongjoong.”

He vehemently shook his head. “You underestimate yourself, Y/N. Just try one on, for me?”

You nodded slowly, and he selected a dress from the rack, a soft, flowing gown in a shade of deep emerald. You took it from him, feeling the weight and texture of the fabric, smooth and luxurious against your skin.

Hongjoong led you to a small changing area behind a curtain. You stepped behind it, your heart pounding. Carefully, you undressed and slipped into the gown. The fabric felt cool and comforting, draping over your body with an unexpected ease. You adjusted the dress, feeling its weight settle around you, and took a deep breath before stepping out.

Hongjoong's reaction was immediate and genuine. His eyes widened, a look of pure admiration spreading across his face. “Y/N,” he breathed, “you look… stunning.”

You blushed, feeling embarrassed yet also undeniably charmed. “I don’t know about that. It feels strange, like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“You’re not pretending,” he said softly, stepping closer. “This is you, Y/N. The real you. Sometimes a princess just needs the right dress to feel like one.”

You hesitated, still feeling unsure. “It’s just… I’m not used to this. I feel out of place.”

Hongjoong’s gaze was steady and reassuring, not once taking his eyes off of you. “You belong in this dress, Y/N. Trust me. Walk around a bit, feel the fabric, see how it moves with you.”

You took a tentative step, then another. The dress flowed around you, the fabric whispering against your skin. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror, and for the first time, you saw what Hongjoong saw – a woman who was strong, beautiful, and so, so much more.

“See?” he said softly, standing right behind you. “You’re perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you fought hard to hold them back.

You're perfect.

Oh Hongjoong, you thought, I'm anything but. I'm lost, I'm weak, I'm scared.

But instead, with his eyes on you, calm and beautiful and so honest looking, all you could mutter was, “Yes. Yes I am.”

He looked at you proudly.

And so, the hours went by, spent with you trying on several more gorgeous dresses and Hongjoong eagerly taking notes and making small changes here and there.

With each dress you tried on, you felt a little more confident. The first few moments were always awkward, feeling out of place and almost guilty for indulging in this fantasy. But Hongjoong’s constant reassurance and the genuine admiration in his eyes slowly chipped away at your insecurities.

The emerald gown gave way to a sky-blue dress that shimmered in the light. Then a deep burgundy number that made your skin glow. Each dress was a work of art, and each time you emerged from behind the curtain, Hongjoong’s reaction was the same – pure, unadulterated admiration.

“You’re like a vision,” he murmured as you twirled in a pale pink gown. “These dresses come to life on you.”

By the time you tried on the final dress, a stunning midnight blue creation with delicate silver embroidery, you felt like a different person. The woman in the mirror was confident, elegant, and yes, perfect.

Like the princess from your book coming straight to life.

“You must be exhausted,” Hongjoong hummed, helping you step down the small podium, “go ahead and change while I fetch you something to drink, okay?”

“Okay.”

You slipped back behind the curtain. As you changed out of the midnight blue gown into your ordinary clothes, you felt the weight of reality slowly setting in again.

Looking outside and seeing the sun slowly disappearing meant you head to return home.

Hongjoong returned with a glass of water and a soft smile. “Here you go,” he said, handing you the drink. “You did amazing today, Y/N. Thank you for helping me.”

You took the glass gratefully, feeling the cool water soothe your parched throat. “I'm glad I could be of help.”

“Alright, same day and time next week?” he asked.

Without wasting a second, you agreed. “Yes. I'll be there, Hongjoong.”

Wherever there was light, the lurking darkness was never far away, and you realised that pretty early on.

Even before Hongjoong stumbled into your life, you noticed something. Your husband wasn't coming home after getting off work, instead opting to spend his free time in the town's tavern or with his various affair partners.

And to be honest, you didn't mind.

Instead, you were happy about it. So so happy.

That is, until the townspeople started talking. Ruthlessly. And not about your abusive, alcoholic and cheating husband; no, about you - the ‘bad, sinning wife.’

The wife who couldn't be obedient enough. The wife who couldn't give him children.

It was unbearable. Their words stung and hurt you deeply, but they were true.

…Right?

Your childhood and adolescence were spent learning about your future duties as a wife. Taking care of the house, obeying your husband without question, birthing his children and believing in God and his good deeds.

And you failed all these duties, so you deserved to be frowned upon.

Even your own family thought so, too.

The only person who didn't was Kim Hongjoong, who was currently working on a purple gown you stood model for just a few minutes ago.

If he noticed how quiet you were today, he didn't mention it.

“How does it look?” he asked, glancing up at you shyly, like your opinion truly mattered to him.

“It’s beautiful,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The gown was stunning, but that was to be expected of him. But today, even his pretty dresses couldn't cheer you up.

He nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. “It's even prettier when you're wearing it, Y/N.”

You blushed previously, but only managed a small smile in return, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thank you, Hongjoong. I just… I’m not feeling very well today.”

Hongjoong set his needle and thread aside, his full attention now on you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The genuine concern in his voice was almost your undoing. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, your finger nestling with the fabric of your shabby dress. “It’s nothing, really. Just… the usual gossip in town.”

His expression darkened slightly. “People can be cruel. You don’t deserve that.”

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly, looking away. “Maybe they’re right.”

“No,” Hongjoong said firmly, stepping closer. “They’re not right. You don’t deserve to be treated like this. You’re strong, and kind, and… you deserve so much more than what you’ve been given.”

A sob escaped your lips and you hid your face behind your hands, unable to face Hongjoong's eyes.

“H-how did you deal with this all alone? I can't… I don't even wanna leave my house anymore. The looks they give me, their words… It hurts so much, but I know they're right. I know that I-”

“What could you have possibly done wrong, Y/N?” Hongjoong cut you off, and for the first time since you've known him, he'd raised his voice, and you flinched, because anger could only ever mean one thing and soon his hands would-

His hands slowly took yours into his own, and instead of hurting you, they caressed you carefully as tears fell down your cheeks.

“I'm a bad wife, Hongjoong…”

He vehemently shook his head, his hands gripping your own tighter. “No, Y/N. You're not a bad wife. He is a bad husband.”

“Do you believe in God, Hongjoong?” you quietly asked.

He visibly tensed up, avoiding all eye contact.

“It's okay,” you quickly reassured him, “I know in my religion it's a sin not believing, but since I'm also struggling… I really have no room to judge you for not believing in God. I also had my suspicions already, since you're one of the only people in town who doesn't attend Sunday mass.”

Hongjoong's shoulders relaxed a little, though he still seemed wary. "I don't know what I believe anymore," he admitted. "But I do know this: no god worth believing in would want you to suffer in a marriage like this.”

“I- please don't say that. God is good, he knows all, and if I am getting punished t-then that means that I deserve it! According to Ephesians 5:22-24, ‘Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is head of the wife, as also Christ is head of the church; and He is the Savior of the body. Therefore, just as the church is subject to Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything’.”

Hongjoong sighed, his expression a mix of both frustration and empathy. “Y/N, I understand that those verses have been drilled into you, but what about the rest of it? The parts that speak about love and respect?”

You looked down, your hands trembling slightly. “I’ve tried to love and respect him, but nothing I do is ever enough.”

“That’s because he should give you the same love and respect in return, yet he doesn't,” Hongjoong said softly. “A true marriage should be a partnership, where both people uplift and support each other. What you have isn’t that.”

“But what if God is just testing me to see if my faith in him is strong enough? And I'm clearly failing him because I'm weak and… and… oh God.” You started sobbing uncontrollably again.

Hongjoong wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you cried. He spoke softly, his voice steady and reassuring. "Y/N, if God is testing you, it’s not to see you suffer but to help you find your strength. And strength doesn’t mean staying in a place where you are being hurt. Strength is knowing when to stand up for yourself and seek the life you deserve."

You clung to him like a child to its mother, your tears soaking his shirt. "I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve never known anything else.”

“You asked me if I believed in God,” he reluctantly began, “and… it's complicated. I do believe in something, like a higher power that none of us can truly grasp, but… I don't believe in the Christian God. Or any other religion's God for that matter. Because to me, believing in something shouldn't come with any rules. Yet all religions do it, and I just… I think that's wrong. They label anything that they aren't comfortable with immediately as bad. I learned that the hard way.”

You pulled back slightly, looking at him with curiosity through your tear-streaked eyes. "What do you mean?"

Hongjoong sighed, his eyes distant as he recalled. "I was… different growing up. I didn’t fit the stereotype that everyone expected. I was more interested in art and fashion than in the traditional roles laid out for men in our community. I grew up in a small religious city just like you and because of that, I faced a lot of judgement. I was labelled a sinner, a bad person, just like you are now. But what truly opened my eyes was when I met two men whom I quickly grew close with. Well… they were in love with each other, and the people from my town… they planned to kill them. By publicly executing them. That night, the three of us ran away, and I haven't been back since.”

“What I also wanna say,” he added before you could speak, “is that if you truly believe in the Christian God and it makes you happy you should never give up your faith. But Y/N… you're not happy, not with your religion and definitely not with your marriage.”

Deep down, you knew he was right. But that also meant that your whole life, your whole upbringing was nothing but a lie. Nothing but pure manipulation.

And you weren't ready to admit that yet.

He held you for what felt like hours, humming soft melodies and caressing your back over and over again.

“I'm sorry,” you said, your words muffled in his shirt, “I'm sorry for not being able to choose the right path yet.”

“Oh, you silly woman.” he laughed and squeezed you tightly again, “don't you dare apologise for taking your time.”

“Okay,” you hiccuped, wiping your tears away, “I'm sorry for apologising- Oh God, I just did it again.”

Hongjoong chuckled softly, his laughter mixing with your own, lightening the heavy mood.

After a while, he backed up, and you immediately started missing his arms around you. “Hey, I know you're not feeling too well today, but there's something I wanna do. Something for… for you.”

“For me?” you asked surprised.

“Yeah. You only stood model for dresses that needed nothing but slight retouching, but… I wanna do a dress specifically for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, disbelief colouring your voice. “You’d make a dress just for me?”

Hongjoong smiled warmly, nodding. “Yes, just for you. You're like my muse, Y/N. You give me so many ideas.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt your cheeks flaring up. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” Hongjoong replied gently. “Just let me do this for you.”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly, trusting this man completely. “Okay.”

Hongjoong’s face lit up with pure excitement. “Great! Come, I have some ideas already.”

He led you into one of the rooms behind the shop. You quickly saw this was the place where he worked, full of mannequins, fabrics and more. He quickly set to work, pulling out fabrics and sketching designs into a sketchbook. His enthusiasm was infectious, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of genuine happiness.

“Do you have any preferences?” Hongjoong asked, looking up from his sketches. “A colour you love, a style you’ve always wanted to try?”

You thought for a moment. “I’ve always loved blue,” you admitted. “It reminds me of the sky, the sea… freedom.”

Hongjoong’s smile widened. “Blue it is, then. I can already see you in it, it suits you.”

As Hongjoong started working, you watched him silently in awe. His hands moved with precision and grace, his focus unwavering. It was clear that this truly was his passion, and he poured his heart into every stitch.

Hours passed, but there was still much to do. The room was filled with the soothing sound of fabric rustling and the rhythmic click of scissors. Hongjoong occasionally asked for your opinion, and after a while, Benji joined too, placing himself onto your lap and purring so loudly it made Hongjoong lose focus several times.

When the sun started slowly disappearing, it meant the end of your weekly session. “We made good progress today,” Hongjoong said, smiling. “Let's continue next week.”

When you returned home that day, the smile Hongjoong put on your face still hadn't left your face, not even when you saw the mess in your house or your husband passed out on the couch, completely wasted. Instead, you quietly started cleaning, all your worries and problems elsewhere because at that very moment, all you could think of was a certain man named Kim Hongjoong.

And how you wished that, in another world, he could be your husband instead.

The next weeks seemed to drag on endlessly, each and every day filled with the same monotonous routine. Your husband’s drinking worsened, and the church, which had once been your one and only safe space, was slowly turning into a place you started to resent more and more each day, because every pair that laid its eyes on you was not viewing you with any kindness, but judgement, and the shame, the utter humiliation you felt was steadily becoming too much to handle. Yet, you reminded yourself that you did have something to look forward to: seeing Hongjoong once a week.

Every session with Hongjoong was a reprieve from the relentless condemnation you faced in the town. His shop became your sanctuary, a place where you could be yourself without fear of judgement. He was always there with a warm smile and a listening ear, making you feel valued and understood in a way you hadn't felt in years.

In a way not even family or close friends could.

One afternoon, as you entered his shop, you were greeted by Hongjoong slumped over his desk, sound asleep with both fabric and needles still in his hands.

You quietly walked over, careful not to startle him. Gently, you took the fabric and needles from his hands, setting them aside. You noticed dark circles under his eyes and the way his clothes hung loosely on his frame, signs of the toll his hard work and sleepless nights were taking on him.

Behind you, Benji made a sound, jumping on the table and staring at his owner.

“Your daddy is a little foolish for overworking himself, am I right baby?” you said, quietly chuckling as Benji laid his head in your outstretched hand. He didn't pay his owner any mind.

Hongjoong stirred at the sound of your voice, blinking awake. When he saw you, a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. “Y/N, I'm sorry. I must have dozed off.”

“Don't apologise,” you replied softly, still occupied with petting Benji. “You need to take better care of yourself, Joongie. You've been working too hard.”

He blushed at the nickname you called him, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “I just… wanted everything to be perfect for you.”

“Perfection can wait,” you said gently. “Your health can't.”

He nodded, looking genuinely touched by your concern. “I'll try to rest more. I promise.”

Benji meowed softly, seemingly agreeing with you, and you couldn't help but laugh. “Even Benji thinks so.”

“I'm pretty sure Benji would agree to everything his mommy would say, he practically worships the ground you walk on,” Hongjoong chuckled, reaching out to scratch the needy cat behind the ears. At your insistent gaze, he reluctantly agreed: “Alright, alright. I'll take it easy.”

“Good,” you said, smiling. “Now, how about some tea? It looks like you could use a break.”

Hongjoong nodded appreciatively. “That sounds wonderful.”

You made your way to the small kitchenette in the back of the shop, preparing two cups of tea. As the water boiled, you glanced back at Hongjoong, who was now petting Benji and looking more relaxed. It warmed your heart to see him taking a moment for himself.

When the tea was ready, you brought the cups over to the table and handed one to Hongjoong. He took a sip, closing his eyes as he savoured the warmth. “Thank you, Y/N. This is just what I needed.”

“You do so much for me, let me tend to you once in a while too,” you said.

You both sat in comfortable silence for a while, respectively sipping your tea. After a few moments, Hongjoong broke the silence. “I've been thinking a lot lately,” he began, his voice tentative. “About what you said last time, about the church and how they've been treating you.”

You looked up from your tea, meeting his eyes. “What about it?”

“I've seen how much it's been weighing on you, and it breaks my heart,” he said, his gaze sincere. “But as a mere villager, my hands are bound, although I wish it would be different. Do you think… Do you think it would help if I would accompany you to Sunday mass? Of course separately, but maybe… maybe that could be of help to you.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the sound almost deafening in the quiet of the room. His offer sent waves of emotions crashing through you.

No one had ever been this kind, this lovely to you, especially a man.

You stared at him, momentarily speechless, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm, comforting blanket. He wanted to help you, to stand by you in a place that had become a source of pain and humiliation, for the both of you. He cared enough to offer a hand in a situation he knew he had no control over, and the realisation hit you like a bolt of lightning.

You glanced down at your cup, the steam rising in delicate tendrils, and tried to steady your breathing. You had always known that Hongjoong was different, that he was shunned for being different, and that he had a kindness and understanding that was rare in this judgmental town. But now, as you sat there with him, you also realised something else: your feelings for him ran deeper than you had allowed yourself to acknowledge.

Million thoughts swirled in your mind. How could you feel this way about him when you were still bound to a man who had long since stopped caring for you? Your duty as a wife was to be loyal to your husband till death do you apart, and you failed. Miserably. Was it fair to Hongjoong, who had done nothing but support and uplift you, to be dragged into your complicated, painful life?

No. He deserved a woman who could give him everything he wanted, and that definitely wasn't you. You couldn't even give him your hand in marriage.

And yet, despite the confusion and the guilt, there was an undeniable truth you couldn't ignore: you were falling for him.

He was the prince you long had hoped you'd find, but you weren't his princess.

You thought back to all the times he had been there for you, his gentle words and warm smiles, the way he listened to you without judgement, making you feel seen and heard. His dedication to his craft, his passion for creating beauty in a world that often seemed devoid of it, mirrored the passion he had for helping you and any living being he encountered. It was this combination of compassion and creativity, of understanding and resilience, that drew you to him like a moth to a flame.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked back at him, his concerned expression making your heart ache.

He had no idea what was going on inside your head, and in this very moment you made a promise to yourself: the feelings you harboured for this beautiful, perfect man would be kept a secret forever. You would take them with you to your very death.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “Hongjoong,” you began, your voice trembling, “I... I don't know what to say. Your offer means the world to me. Truly.”

“But?” he asked, knowing you weren't quite done talking yet.

“I have to decline. I'm not gonna stand by and watch you going into a church you clearly don't want to go to. There's no reason for you to do so,” you said firmly.

“But there is a reason,” he whispered, his fingers slowly drawing patterns on the palm of your hand. You had to take your eyes off him. “You. You are the reason.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and the room seemed to blur around you as his words echoed in your mind. You. You are the reason. How could someone so selfless, so kind, want to sacrifice his comfort for yours? The weight of his sincerity bore down on you, making it difficult to breathe. You wanted to believe that you could accept his offer, lean on him without reservation, but the reality of your situation loomed large and impossible to ignore.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, threatening to spill over. You couldn’t let him do this. You couldn’t let him tie himself to your miseries and your complicated life. He deserved so much more.

But knowing Kim Hongjoong, he wouldn't accept no for an answer, and so you said quietly, “I'll think about it.”

He smiled brightly at you, his hand finding yours and squeezing it tightly. Your wedding ring was an uncomfortable reminder of the future this bond of yours would hold in the future.

Suddenly, Hongjoong's eyes lit up with a familiar spark of excitement. “I think it's time for you to see it,” he said, standing up with renewed energy.

“See what? The dress?! You're already finished?!”

Instead of answering, he led you to the back of the shop, where a tall, covered mannequin stood. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled away the cloth, revealing a dress so exquisite it took your breath away.

The gown was a deep, saturated blue that shimmered like the ocean under a sky full of shining stars. The bodice was intricately embroidered with silver thread, forming delicate patterns of stars and swirling vines. The neckline was elegant and modest, dipping just enough to be flattering without being revealing. The sleeves were long and fitted, ending in graceful points that brushed against the tip of your hands, embroidered with the same silver designs that already adorned the bodice.

The skirt flowed from the waist in cascading layers of silk and tulle, creating a voluminous yet ethereal effect. Each layer was edged with even more silver embroidery. The back of the dress featured a row of tiny, delicate buttons that ran from the nape of the neck to the small of the back, adding a touch of old-world charm.

You gasped, unable to fathom what you were seeing. “Hongjoong, it’s... it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His entire being seemed to relax as a delicate reddish colour adorned his cheeks. “Thank God you like it, it would've been worthless if not.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached out to touch the dress, your fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you, Joongie. I don’t know what to say.”

He smiled gently. “How about trying it on? I’d love to see you in it - No, I need to see you in it.”

You nodded, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Hongjoong carefully lifted the gown from the mannequin and handed it to you. You stepped behind the changing screen, the luxurious fabric feeling cool and smooth against your skin.

As you tried to change into the gown, you realised just how intricate it truly was. The buttons down the back were nearly impossible to fasten on your own, and the delicate fabric seemed to slip through your fingers. You struggled with the fastenings, your frustration obvious as you fidgeted with each and every button like a little child.

“Hongjoong,” you called out softly, your voice trembling. “I think I might need some help.”

He was at your side in an instant, sending your heart into a frenzy.

So close.

Too close?

No, not close enough.

“Of course, let me help you.” His fingers moved carefully over the buttons, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of intimacy as he worked, his hands warm and steady against your back.

When the last button was fastened, he stepped back, his eyes wide with admiration. “Y/N, you look... absolutely stunning.”

You stepped out from behind the screen, feeling like you had stepped into a fairy tale. The dress fit perfectly, accentuating your figure perfectly and complimenting every unique feature of yours. You twirled slightly, the skirt flowing around you like a dream.

Not once did Hongjoong’s eyes leave you. “It’s perfect,” he murmured. “You’re perfect.”

Your blush deepened as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. The dress was everything you had ever dreamed of and more.

As you moved, you felt the cool brush of the fabric against your bare skin, a sensation that made you acutely aware of your body in a way you hadn’t felt in years. Just seconds before, Hongjoong’s hands had lingered on your back, and the memory of his touch sent a jolt of both pleasure and guilt through you. The touch of a man, one who truly cared for you, was something you hadn’t realised how much you really had craved until now.

“I feel like a princess,” you whispered. You didn't notice a tear streaming down your check until Hongjoong carefully cupped your face and wiped it away.

“Would the princess like to dance with me?” he sheepishly asked, sending a playful wink your way that made you both laugh and blush.

You managed a smile through your tears. “Yes, I would love that.”

Hongjoong’s eyes sparkled with joy as he extended his hand to you. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. He led you to the centre of the room, where he gently placed his other hand on your waist, the contact sending a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you both stood there, simply enjoying the shared closeness. Then, slowly, he began to guide you in a swift motion, your movements mirroring each other with an ease that felt almost magical.

The dress flowed around you as you twirled. Hongjoong's eyes never once left yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of undying bliss and something deeper, something you were almost afraid to name.

“My husband never danced with me, not even on our wedding day,” you said.

Hongjoong’s expression softened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he led you in another gentle turn. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

You looked up at him, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “Hongjoong, I…”

He shook his head slightly, stopping your words with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to say anything, Y/N. Just… let’s enjoy this moment. Let’s pretend, even if it’s just for a little while, that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion as you followed his lead, the two of you moving together in perfect harmony. In his arms, the weight of your troubles seemed to lift, if only for a brief moment. The dress, the dance, the soft glow of the afternoon light filtering through the shop’s windows - it all felt like a scene from your favourite romance books.

You and Hongjoong were lost in the moment, the world around you fading into the background as you danced together. His hand on your waist, the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes never left yours - it was all so perfect, so right, like nothing else in your entire life.

Just as Hongjoong spun you gracefully, a voice shattered your beautiful moment. “Well, what do we have here?”

You both froze, turning to see an elderly woman standing in the doorway, her sharp eyes fixed on you. You didn’t recognize her, but there was an unmistakable air of authority surrounding her. Hongjoong stiffened beside you, his hand dropping from your waist as he quickly took a step back.

“Mrs. Lee,” he said, his voice stern but polite. “What brings you here?”

Mrs. Lee’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene, her gaze lingering on your flushed cheeks and the way you were anxiously clenching the skirt of the beautiful dress. “I’ve been looking for you, Hongjoong. We need to talk about my daughter.”

Your heart sank, and a wave of terror washed over you. You quickly stepped away from Hongjoong, trying to compose yourself.

“I… I should go,” you stammered, avoiding Mrs. Lee’s piercing gaze. “Thank you for everything, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong reached out, his hand gently touching your arm. “Y/N, wait-”

Mrs. Lee’s voice cut through the tension. “Hongjoong, I’ve been very patient with you. My daughter, Sooyeon, is a good match for you, and it’s time you stop dilly-dallying and make a decision.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone measured. “Mrs. Lee, I’ve told you before, I’m not ready for marriage.”

Mrs. Lee scoffed, her eyes flicking to you with clear disdain. “Not ready for marriage, yet you have time for… this?” She gestured between the two of you, her meaning unmistakable.

You felt a flush of shame and panic. “This isn’t what it looks like. I'm a married woman,” you began, but Mrs. Lee cut you off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Save your breath, young lady. I know exactly what this is. And believe me, the town and your husband will hear about it!”

The threat hung heavy in the air, and you could see the worry etched on Hongjoong’s face. You almost fainted at the panic that rushed over you. He stepped forward, placing himself slightly between you and Mrs. Lee. “There’s no need for threats, Mrs. Lee. Y/N and I were just… discussing some alterations for her dress.”

Mrs. Lee raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Discussing alterations, were you? In each other’s arms?”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to respond, but you couldn’t bear it any longer. “Please, Mrs. Lee,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s not what you think.”

I don't wanna die.

She looked at you, her lips forming into a cold smile. “I’ll keep this quiet - for now. But only if Hongjoong agrees to meet with my daughter. Alone.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Mrs. Lee replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Think about it, Hongjoong. Both your reputation is on the line here.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the ultimatum pressing down on all three of you. Finally, Hongjoong sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine. I’ll meet with Sooyeon.”

Mrs. Lee’s smile was triumphant. “Good. I’ll expect you at my house tomorrow evening.”

With that, she turned and left the shop, leaving you and Hongjoong standing in shocked silence. You could feel the tears welling up, the reality of the situation crashing down around you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Hongjoong shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and sadness. “It’s not your fault, Y/N. None of this is.”

You wanted to believe him, but the guilt and fear were overwhelming. “I should go,” you said.

Hongjoong tried to stop you, but you rushed behind the curtain and hastily took the dress off. Finally, in your normal clothes again, Hongjoong tried to get ahold of you, but you took off in such a hurry he couldn't even open his mouth and practically sprinted out the open door.

“Y/N, wait,” he called after you, but you were already out the door, the tears streaming down your face. As you hurried home, you could only hope that Mrs. Lee would keep her word, because if not, there was a real possibility you would be dead real soon.

And the man you loved as well.

Your family's stall at the weekly market was as busy as ever. The familiar hustle and bustle of vendors calling out their wares and customers bartering for the best deals filled the air. You tried to focus on helping your mother arrange the vegetables, but your mind kept drifting away.

“Y/N, are you alright?” your mother asked, her brow furrowed with concern as she noticed your distracted state.

You forced a smile. “Yes, mama. Just tired, I guess.”

She took off her gloves and took your face into her callused hands. Your body immediately relaxed at your mother's touch, while your mind was spiralling.

“I should've never let your father marry you off to this douchebag,” she tearfully exclaimed.

Ah. There it was. The lies.

You knew your mother had always harboured guilt about your marriage, but it wasn't fair for her to carry the blame. It was a decision made by your father, and you had gone along with it, hoping for the best. But the weight of her words only added to the turmoil inside you. Her attempts at comfort now seemed hollow, given how often she had turned a blind eye to your suffering.

“It's not your fault, Mama,” you said gently, placing your hand over hers. “You couldn't have known how things would turn out.”

She sighed, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I just want you to be happy, Y/N. You deserve so much more than this.”

Her words stung. Where was this concern when you needed it most? When your cries for help went unheard?

While your father and older sisters didn't even pretend to care, your mother did - in a way. Yet never enough to actually help.

Maybe blaming her was too much. You knew that without your father's approval she couldn't do anything. After all, she was just a woman like you, trapped in a time where all you could do was listen and obey the men in your lives.

Yet it hurt. So much. Sometimes, all you wanted was to return to better times. Back in your mother's lap, laughing with your sisters while she told stories about love and worlds too perfect for your understanding.

You were the last unmarried child remaining in your parents house. All your sisters were married off to good, somewhat wealthy husbands, either already with child and or waiting to be blessed with the fruit of life. All was well, until your father's business began to lose some serious money. He grew desperate to maintain the family's status, and in his desperation, he had accepted the first marriage proposal that came your way - no matter the man behind it.

While all your sisters were given away to live in good, wealthy living households like the one you grew up in, your husband was working in a factory, barely making enough to support himself, yet alone a wife and future offspring.

On top of that, he didn't even hide the fact how he was treating you. Your family knew. The town knew. Yet no one really cared, because you were now nothing but a poor, lowly woman.

And so, you became an outcast in your own family. You were the sister who had married below her status, the daughter who had brought shame to the family name. Your father, once proud and authoritative, could hardly look at you without a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes. Your sisters, though affectionate in public, whispered behind your back, their words filled with pity and disdain.

Your mother's concern, when it did come, was always in private. She would hold you and cry, promising that she had tried to convince your father to wait for a better match, that she had tried fighting for you. But where was she when you needed her most? When you had begged her to intervene, to stop the marriage, she had been silent. When you had showed up late at night with wounds serious enough to kill, she sent you right back home. And now, her tears felt like salt in an old, festering wound.

But while your mother had her faults, she was really the only family member you could really confide in. So, you took a deep, steady breath and turned to her with a determined expression. “Mom, there's something I need to tell you. Siwoo… Siwoo's-”

“Y/N,” she cut you off, “Don't slander your husband's name in front of me.”

“Mom, please-”

“Enough! We're in public!” she hissed, glancing around nervously.

You bit your lip, the words dying in your throat. The market's noise seemed to close in around you, a suffocating reminder of the ever-watchful eyes of the townspeople. You had learned long ago that your cries for help would only fall on deaf ears or, worse, invite further scrutiny and gossip.

So you swallowed your pain and simply nodded. “Yes, Mama. I'm sorry.”

She looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of regret and helplessness. “Let's finish up here. We'll talk later at home. Could you deliver the usual supplies to Mrs. Goo? You know the old lady can't walk anymore, but she pays us well. Your sister's too busy with the children to do it herself.”

You nodded again, grateful for the distraction. As you gathered the supplies and made your way through the busy market, you tried to steady your nerves. The fresh air and distance from the stall helped clear your mind a bit, but your conversation with your mother still pressed down on you.

She didn't even try to listen to you.

Navigating the crowded paths, you marvel at the sights and sounds of the market: the colourful array of various products, the lively chatter of people, the smell of freshly baked bread. It was a small reprieve from everything, yet it didn't keep your mind occupied for long.

Turning a corner, you nearly bumped into Hongjoong, who was accompanied by Mrs. Lee's daughter, Sooyeon. The first thing you noticed was how awkward he seemed with her, keeling the woman at arms length, a stark contrast to how natural and at ease he was when he was with you.

“I'm really bad with women,” he said, clearly embarrassed.

You chuckled. “I don't believe you. You act so natural and nonchalant when you're with me! Does that mean I'm not a real woman in your eyes? you teasingly asked.

His expression turned serious. “Of course I see you as a woman. But… everything feels easy when it comes to you.”

“Hongjoong!” you exclaimed, surprised.

You hadn't seen each other for a month now, but if he had something to say about you avoiding him, he didn't speak on it.

His eyes lit up at the sight of you, but his smile was somewhat strained. “Y/N, it's good to see you.”

Sooyeon glanced between the two of you, a curious look on her face. “Hello, Y/N. How are you?” she asked, her tone polite but detached.

“I'm well, thank you. Just running some errands for my mother,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. You could sense the tension in Hongjoong's stance, the way he seemed almost relieved to see you yet burdened by Sooyeon's presence.

“Oh, look at those flowers! They’re so pretty!” Sooyeon suddenly exclaimed, her attention captured by a nearby stall. She moved toward the vibrant display, leaving you and Hongjoong a few moments alone.

Hongjoong let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Y/N, I’ve missed seeing-”

Your whole demeanour changed. Now, you thought, now's the only chance I got.

“Joong, I need your help,” you urgently whispered.

He glanced over at Sooyeon, ensuring she was still distracted. “How can I?...”

You clasped his hands with all the strength left in you. “He's gonna kill me. Tonight. H-he… he bought a gun. He's going to kill me and there's nothing I can do!” you sobbed.

Hongjoong's eyes widened in alarm, and he squeezed your hands reassuringly. “Y/N, we have to get you out of there. Do you have anywhere safe to go?”

You shook your head, panic making your thoughts race. “No, I have nowhere. I can't go back to my parents. They won't help.”

He looked around, his mind clearly racing as well. “We’ll figure something out. But first, you need to stay calm. We don’t want to draw any attention.”

“Please, Hongjoong, I’m so scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He nodded firmly. “I know, but you’re not alone. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Sooyeon returned, holding a bouquet of vibrant flowers. “Aren’t these lovely?” she asked, oblivious to the tension.

Oblivious to the fact that in just a few hours, you would be dead. Literally gone. Irradiaticated from the world.

He forced a smile. “They are, Sooyeon.”

You took a step back, the moment of closeness slipping away. “I should get going. Take care, Hongjoong. And you too, Soo Yeon.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” Hongjoong said, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer.

I'll be coming to your house later, his eyes said.

And I'll be waiting for you, Kim Hongjoong, you answered, before turning around and walking away.

You wondered if you would ever see the man you loved again. Because if he wasn't fast enough, all he would see was your dead body on the cold floor.

The clock you'd usually hear ticking in the background now lay broken on the floor, just like everything else in this godforsaken home.

In his rage this morning, Siwoo had left nothing, beating your home and your body until nothing but a mess was left behind.

Quietly, you sat in the corner of the room, your breath shallow and uneven. You waited.

And while you did, you asked yourself one last question: how would you face your death?

Would you face it fiercely, staring it directly in the eye, brave and unwavering? The thought appealed to you, the idea of going down with defiance and dignity. But the truth was, you didn't feel brave. You felt small and terrified, a helpless pawn in a cruel game, played by a man who created his own evil rules. The bruises on your body, the scars on your soul, they only told a story of survival, not of courage.

Would you cry, beg for mercy while already knowing that there was nothing saving you from this cruel fate? Your tears had dried up long ago, replaced by a numbing acceptance. You had begged before, pleaded for mercy in both whispers and screams, but Siwoo's cruelty knew no bounds. He thrived on your pain, feeding on your despair. You learned that begging would only fuel his sadistic pleasure.

Or would you smile and take its hand, leaving this world knowing that this life was all you had, that there was no use grieving it no more? This life, filled with suffering and loss, had hardly been spent well. But in the midst of all the darkness, there were fleeting moments of light - memories of laughter with your sisters, the warmth of your mother's embrace, the gentle kindness of Hongjoong. Perhaps those moments were enough to justify a smile, a final act of defiance against a life that had sought to break you.

There was no time for an answer. The door creaked open, and Siwoo stepped in, his eyes cold and merciless.

You could almost feel death’s cold breath on your neck with his arrival.

He approached slowly, savouring the fear he thought he saw in your eyes. "Ready for round two?" he sneered, raising a hand to strike you again.

But something inside you snapped. Perhaps it was the realisation that you had nothing left to lose, or perhaps it was the flicker of defiance that had always burned within you, hidden beneath layers of pain and submission. As his hand came down, you moved.

With a speed and strength born of desperation, you grabbed the broken clock from the floor and swung it at him. The sound of shattering glass and metal was followed by his roar of pain as the clock connected with his head. He stumbled back, blood streaming down his face, his eyes wide with shock.

“You bitch!” he screamed, lunging at you. But you were ready. You dodged his attack and grabbed a shard of broken glass from the floor. The sharp edge bit into your palm, but you didn't care. You had only one thought: survival.

As he came at you again, you thrust the glass into his side. He howled in agony, doubling over. You didn't stop. You couldn't stop. You pulled the glass out and stabbed him again, and again, each thrust fueled by years of pent-up fear, anger, and pain.

He fell to the floor, clutching at his wounds, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You stood over him, your chest heaving, blood dripping from your hands. For a moment, you simply watched him, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice weak and broken. “Please…”

But there was no mercy left in you. You raised the glass one final time and-

A hand grabbed yours. You immediately knew it wasn't your husband's, because he would never touch you like this, all soft and careful.

“Y/N,” the voice said, “Don't do it. Don't ever be like him.”

He gently pried the glass shard from your hand, his touch tender but firm. You fell into his arms, the weight of everything crashing down on you at once. His embrace was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the violence you had just endured. He held you close, murmuring soothing words you couldn't quite make out over the sound of your own sobs.

“It's okay, it's over,” he whispered, his hand stroking your hair. “I'm here now.”

You clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a glimmer of hope. Hongjoong was here. Your Hongjoong was here. You weren't alone anymore.

It could've been the end, but the moment was short-lived.

Siwoo, with a last surge of strength, lunged at you both. His fist connected with Hongjoong's face, sending him sprawling to the floor. His punches were relentless, each blow harder than the last, and you screamed for him to stop. But he wouldn't, he couldn't. He was beyond reason, lost in his own madness. Siwoo turned to you, his eyes blazing with fury. He grabbed you by the hair, yanking you to your feet.

“You think you can get away with this?” he snarled. “You're nothing but a woman, Y/N. My woman! I can do whatever I want with you!”

You struggled relentlessly against his grip, the pain in your scalp sharp and blinding. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hongjoong trying to get up, blood trickling from his nose. Siwoon turned his attention towards your lover.

In that split second, you remembered the gun. The one Siwoo had bought. It was in the bedroom, just a few steps away. You had to get to it. You had to end this.

With a surge of adrenaline, you twisted in Siwoo's grasp, breaking free. You stumbled towards the bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest. You could hear Siwoo's footsteps behind you, his curses filling the air.

You burst into the bedroom and saw the gun on the nightstand. Your hands trembled as you grabbed it, turning just in time to see Siwoo barreling towards you, yanking Hongjoong with him. You raised the gun, your finger now laying directly on the trigger.

“Get away from him!” you screamed, your voice shaking.

Siwoo paused, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “You think you can scare me with that?”

Your hands steadied, and you took a deep breath. You locked eyes with your man for a second. “You're right, Hongjoong. I'm not like him. I'm worse.”

The first shot rang out, deafening in the small room. Siwoo's eyes widened in shock as the bullet hit him. You didn't stop. You couldn't. You fired again, and again, each shot a release of years of pain and fear and rage.

Siwoo collapsed to the floor, his body twitching one last time, blood pooling around him. You stood over him, the gun still in your hands, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He was dead. You dropped the gun and turned to Hongjoong, who was struggling to sit up. You rushed to his side, cradling his face in your hands.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, tears streaming down your face.

He nodded weakly, his eyes filled with pain but also relief. “I am. But you aren't.”

It wasn't a question, yet you shook your head. You laughed, and Hongjoong looked at you like you were crazy. Maybe you were.

“I've never felt this good,” you whispered, “because now I can do this.”

Careful to not hurt him further, you took his face into your hands. He was all bloody, but nonetheless beautiful.

And then, you pressed your lips onto his, desperate and hungry and so, so much more.

Hongjoong responded, his arms wrapping around you despite the pain. He held you close, pouring all his love and reassurance into the kiss. When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

But as the adrenaline faded, reality started to set in. The room was a mess, the evidence of the struggle all around you. The sight of Siwoo's lifeless body, the blood on the floor, and the gun still warm in your hand triggered a rising panic within you.

You started to hyperventilate, your breath coming in shallow, rapid gasps. “What have I done? Hongjoong, what have I done?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Hongjoong cupped your face in his hands, trying to calm you down. “Y/N, look at me. Focus on me. We need to think clearly.”

But it was too late. The full weight of what had just happened crashed down on you. You screamed, a raw, primal sound that echoed through the house. You fell to the floor, clutching your head, rocking back and forth as the horror of the situation consumed you.

Hongjoong knelt beside you, trying to soothe you, but his own panic was beginning to surface. “Y/N, please, we need to stay calm. We need to make a plan.”

His words barely registered through the fog that clouded your brain. Your cries grew louder, more desperate, as you struggled to comprehend the violence you had just unleashed.

“My angel, my love”, he pleaded with you, “listen to me. You have to listen to what I-”

In the distance, you both heard the sound of approaching footsteps and voices. Many approaching footsteps and noises. The shots had already alerted the people, and they were coming to investigate. The panic in Hongjoong's eyes matched your own as he realised the danger you were in.

“Y/N, listen to me,” he said urgently, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you lightly to get your attention. “We don't have much time. They're coming.”

Through your tears, you managed to focus on him. “What do we do, Hongjoong? What do we do?!”

His mind raced as he formulated a plan. It was desperate and dangerous, but it was the only way he could think to protect you. He picked up the gun and looked at you with a pained expression. “Y/N, I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

You nodded without hesitation. “I-i do, Joongie. Of course I do! But don't you dare try to endang-”

Before you could protest further, he aimed the gun right at your leg and pulled the trigger. The pain was immediate and excruciating, a burning agony that shot through your body. You screamed, collapsing to the floor, clutching your wounded leg.

Just a moment later, numerous people burst through the door, their eyes widening at the violent scene before them. Siwoo's body on the floor, you bleeding and crying, and Hongjoong holding the gun.

“What have you done?” you cried out, not even realising this sent off a completely wrong message to all the surrounding people.

What you meant was why, why would he ever sacrifice himself like that.

Why?

But all the mob heard was you screaming in anger at the man who just supposedly killed your husband, and now tried to shoot you.

Why, you wanted to scream. At whom you weren't too sure; at the universe, at God, at Hongjoong himself.

And as the angry mob launched at him, as multiple people were surrounding you and the lifeless corpse of your former husband, all you could think about was how not one, but two men lost their lives today.

Your abuser, and your lover.

And in the middle of it there was a woman who wept for them both, once out of sheer, unexplainable happiness, and once at the loss of the man whom she could now never hold in her arms again.

#member: hongjoong #genre: angst #genre: fluff #trope: hurt/comfort #au: medieval #type: oneshot #wc: 10-30k #rating: pg 16 #author: yourlocaljonghoe

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winterarmyy · 3 months ago

Text

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation.

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence.

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family.

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time.

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile.

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.”

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her.

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed.

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs.

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart.

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core.

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?”

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied, “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again.

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure.

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue.

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything.

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction.

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them.

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar.

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

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A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

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