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brunchable · 2 months ago

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Winter King, Part Two : I Wish You Would. . .

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader Words: 18K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, Arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, Eventual Smut. Summary: The Kingdom's court is treacherous, and enemies lurk in the shadows, waiting to exploit any sign of weakness. Althought Y/N is determined to be a worthy queen of the crown, she find out that The King is as elusive as he is captivating. A/N: Inspired by Queen Charlotte. Also, if you like Sharon Carter, I'm sorry, someone needs to be an antagonist lmao. I hope I tagged everyone.

Tags: @theendofthematerialgworl @httpb3a @spiidergirlsworld @sebastians-love @stevesbbgorl

@targaryenhues @almosttoopizza @scott-loki-barnes @brckenmemories @vicmc624

The clinking of delicate china sounded in the sunroom, but the undercurrent of hostility was unmistakable. Sharon and Leah exchanged a glance, their eyes gleaming with something far more sinister than polite conversation. The warmth of the sun couldn’t reach you through the tension coiling around the table.

Sharon’s voice sliced through the moment, sweet but sharp, as though testing the blade before delivering the cut. “You know, Princess, there’s a rather fascinating story about His Majesty. It surprises me that no one has mentioned it to you yet.”

Your grip tightened on the teacup, but you kept a calm facade. Their words were like needles, pricking at your composure, but you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you uneasy.

“Oh?” you replied, your tone light, “Do enlighten me.”

Leah leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret meant only for your ears. “Well, it’s said that he was quite... entangled with Lady Maria for some time. You know how close they were? Practically inseparable.” She shot you a look that made your stomach tighten. “Of course, that was before you.”

The name Lady Maria was familiar to you, but the way they spoke it—like a weapon—made it clear they intended to lodge it in your heart, to make you doubt.

“Oh, I see,” you said, carefully placing the teacup down, though you could feel the prickle of unease beneath your skin. “Is this the same Lady Maris who now resides in the countryside?” You smiled, a sharp edge to your words. “Quite the distance from the palace, wouldn’t you say?”

Leah’s smile faltered ever so slightly, but Sharon’s eyes glittered with cruel amusement as she picked up the thread of the conversation. “Distance means little when it comes to passion. And His Majesty isn’t the type to forget such things... so easily.”

The insinuation in her words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. You could feel your composure slipping, the words sinking into your chest like stones.

You met Sharon’s gaze squarely, keeping your tone even. “I find that real passion leaves no room for doubt,” you said smoothly, “nor for ghosts of the past.”

Sharon’s lips curved into a smile, “Of course, but the past has a way of... lingering, doesn’t it? Men like His Majesty—they tend to crave excitement. And I imagine keeping his interest will be... challenging.”

The implication hit its mark, a knot of jealousy tightening in your chest. They wanted you to believe you couldn’t hold Jame’s attention—that you were nothing more than a placeholder for someone more exciting, someone like Lady Maria.

Your breath caught, but you forced yourself to smile, lifting your teacup as if you hadn’t just been struck by their words. “I find that security comes from understanding,” you said, “And I’m more interested in the present than the past.”

Leah chuckled softly, leaning in closer. “Oh, but the present can be just as... tricky. After all, there are so many... distractions in the palace. You haven’t known him for very long, have you? So much is still hidden.”

Her words felt like poison, seeping into your mind, whispering the doubts you had been trying so hard to push away. Do you really know him? Can you trust him?

But you refused to let them see you falter. You couldn’t. Not when they were so clearly enjoying the game.

“Everyone has their secrets,” you replied calmly, though the weight of those secrets pressed down on you. “But I’ve learned not to rely on gossip to understand someone.”

Sharon’s eyes gleamed, her smile growing. “But don’t you wonder? All those nights he slipped away. Who knows where he went? Or who he was meeting under the moonlight?”

Your heart clenched, the insinuation sharp as a dagger. You could feel the cold tendrils of doubt creeping into your mind, wrapping around your thoughts. Was James still slipping away at night? Was there more he wasn’t telling you?

But you couldn’t let them see that doubt. You had come too far to let their words unravel you.

“I’m sure there are many stories about Prince James,” you said, your voice remained calm, though each word felt heavier now. “But I trust what I know, not what others choose to speculate about.”

Leah’s smile was thin, but her eyes sparkled with triumph, as though she sensed she had struck a nerve. “We’ll see soon enough, won’t we? After all, the wedding is tomorrow. Then we’ll all know whether you can... keep up.”

The words lingered, a challenge woven into every syllable. They were waiting for you to fail, to prove that you weren’t strong enough for this world, for him.

Your pulse raced, the pressure of their words settling like a weight on your chest, but you refused to let it break you. Slowly, you set your teacup down with a soft clink, meeting Sharon’s gaze one last time.

“I’ve faced many tests in my life,” you said, your voice low, but firm. “And I’m still here. I think that says enough.”

The tension hung thick in the air, you rose from your seat, the finality in your movement punctuating the moment. You had given them no ground, no cracks to exploit, and their smiles, once sharp and mocking, now seemed to falter, ever so slightly.

But just as you turned to leave, Sharon’s voice—smooth and saccharine—floated after you, stopping you in your tracks.

“It’s admirable, really, that someone from... Zienna is so resilient. I suppose growing up in such a small, modest country must have prepared you for all sorts of challenges.”

You froze, your hand pausing on the back of the chair. The underlying disdain in her tone wasn’t lost on you. Zienna, your home, was renowned for its beauty, but in the grander scheme of royal politics, it was often dismissed as insignificant. You could feel the mockery laced in her words, as if she were implying that your upbringing had made you desperate to prove yourself.

Leah’s laughter was light, airy. “Oh yes, Sharon. I imagine life there must have been... quaint. So very different from here, don’t you think, Princess?”

You turned slowly, meeting both of their gazes, your own smile never wavering.

“You’re right. Zienna is different,” you said softly, letting the pride in your voice fill the room. “It’s a place where strength is measured by character, not status. Where beauty is in the resilience of the people, not the grandeur of a palace.”

Your words silenced them, the smile slipping from Sharon’s face. Leah’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though she hadn’t expected you to turn their words around so effortlessly.

“And if growing up there has prepared me for anything,” you continued, your voice steel beneath the sweetness, “it’s how to recognize empty words and empty hearts.” You paused, letting the weight of your gaze linger on them. “Qualities I can spot a mile away.”

The sunroom felt colder now, your retort hanging in the air like a cloud. Sharon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond. Leah shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her earlier smugness evaporating.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you said, a polite smile on your lips that didn’t reach your eyes, “I have preparations to attend to.”

And with that, you turned on your heel, leaving them behind. Each step you took away from the sunroom felt like a small victory, but even as you walked, their words echoed in your mind. The whispers of Lady Maria, the insinuations about James’s loyalty, the insults directed at your homeland—they lingered, swirling together into a storm of doubt.

As soon as you were out of sight, the carefully composed expression you had worn in the sunroom dissolved. Your lips pressed into a thin line, and with a sudden surge of frustration, you stomped away, your footsteps heavier. The garden path crunched beneath your shoes as you strode forward, the crisp air doing little to cool the heated emotions roiling inside you.

Your maids hurried behind you, their footsteps quick and uncertain as they struggled to keep pace. The sun was bright but dipped lower, casting long shadows over the carefully manicured hedges, but none of it registered in your mind.

You stormed past the familiar stone wall—the very one you had once tried to climb, desperate for an escape from this life. A fleeting memory of that morning flashed in your mind, but you quickly whipped your attention forward, determined not to linger on what felt like another lifetime ago.

The sting of Sharon and Leah's words echoed in your thoughts, the insinuations they had dropped like poison slowly seeping through your veins. The worst part wasn’t their cruelty—it was the lingering doubt they left in their wake, the nagging feeling of inadequacy they had sown in your heart.

As you rounded the corner of the garden, you nearly collided with Captain Rogers. You froze for a moment, caught off guard by his presence. His tall frame blocked your path, and you looked up to meet the eyes of the man you had only seen from a distance—a legend in his own right, but unfamiliar to you until now.

“Princess,” his deep voice said, the faintest hint of surprise in his eyes. He stepped back, his posture respectful, but his gaze lingered on you, as if trying to piece together the storm that was painted across your face.

You drew in a breath. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the space, the strength behind his calm gaze only adding to the silent authority he carried. This was the first time he had seen you up close—really seen you—and you could feel his curiosity. His gaze was far too perceptive, as though he could sense the frustration crackling beneath your surface.

He didn’t move, his eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail—the tightness around your lips, the tension in your posture.

“Forgive me, Princess,” he said, his tone gentler now, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Is everything... all right?”

You hesitated. There was something in his voice—genuine concern, but also a strength, as though he was someone who wasn’t easily swayed by the petty games of court. The temptation to unload your frustration rose, but you bit it back, unwilling to show any weakness in front of someone you barely knew.

Behind you, faint whispers and barely contained giggles from the maids floated through the air.

“He’s even more handsome up close.”

“I heard he’s unmatched with the sword.”

“I wonder if the princess is the one who’s caught his eye.”

Their words blended together, stoking the embers of your growing frustration. You shot them a glance, and the group immediately fell silent, though the sparkle in their eyes remained, a few of them nudging each other playfully.

“Captain Rogers,” you repeated, forcing your attention back to him. His eyes flickered past you, noticing the commotion, but he merely smiled, almost as if he was used to the admiration.

"Apologies," he added with a subtle nod toward the flustered maids. "It seems I've become quite the spectacle." His lips quirked in a brief, amused smile before his gaze settled back on you, serious once again. "But that doesn't matter. Is everything truly all right, Princess?"

Your chest tightened. For a moment, the warmth in his eyes threatened to melt the wall you'd built, but you steeled yourself, unwilling to let anyone—especially James’s dear friend—see the cracks.

“Just taking some air,” you replied, attempting to sound indifferent, but your words wavered, betraying a hint of the emotional storm that raged inside you.

Captain Rogers didn’t move, his gaze softening. “It doesn’t seem like the air is doing much to help,” he observed quietly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The subtle warmth in his tone took you by surprise, pulling you from the haze of your own thoughts. It was the first time someone had spoken to you without a layer of formality, without some hidden agenda woven into their words. You weren’t sure if it was refreshing or irritating.

“Well,” you said, lifting your chin slightly, “hence why I’m going inside.”

He stepped aside then, giving you room to pass, but not before his gaze lingered on you one last time, as though he were trying to understand what had unsettled you so deeply. There was no judgment in his eyes—only curiosity.

You nodded curtly in thanks and strode past him, determined not to let him see the cracks in your composure. But even as you walked away, you could feel his presence behind you, as if he were still watching, trying to figure out the puzzle you hadn’t realized you’d become.

Your rest of your maids caught up as you reached the palace doors, their hurried whispers behind you barely registering. You walked past the towering columns and through the grand foyer, a figure appeared ahead of you—a palace staff member—your valet—his uniform crisp and formal. He looked as though he'd been searching for you, his eyes lighting up with relief the moment they landed on you.

“Ah! Princess,” he said, his voice polite but hurried, his slight bow both respectful and urgent. “I’ve been looking for you. Please, follow me—your fitting for the wedding dress is ready.”

You blinked, your frustrations from the sunroom now mixing with a new surge of nerves. The wedding dress fitting. Another reminder of how close the ceremony was—how close you were to stepping into a role you weren’t sure you were ready for. But there was no time to dwell on that now.

You nodded, giving a small, composed smile, though inside, your thoughts still raced. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Scott straightened and gestured down the hall, his steps brisk as you fell in behind him.

× × × ×

The fabric of the gown rustled as the maids adjusted the delicate lace at your sleeves, each stitch tightening like the invisible binds that held you in place. It wasn’t the dress constricting you—it was everything. The ceremony, the expectations… him.

James had become more of a shadow in your life than a man. You hadn’t seen him properly since that morning in the garden, where the flicker of connection between you felt like something precious, something fragile. Since then, you’d only glimpsed him—his tall figure at the coronation, his back turned to you, always just out of reach. And yet, the memory of his touch, the sparkle in his eyes as he teased you, lingered in your thoughts, whispering promises that felt as intangible as smoke.

But promises were thin when matched against the reality of your situation.

Your fingers fidgeted with the silk of your gown as another seamstress knelt at your feet, adjusting the hem. The fabric was exquisite, shimmering beneath the light, but it felt like a gilded cage.

Lady Monica Rambeau circled you, her sharp eyes missing nothing, her presence as unyielding as the steel boning of your corset. She had been assigned to you since the engagement had been announced, her demeanor polite but impenetrable. No matter how hard you tried, you could not pierce the veil of formalities that cloaked her every word.

As Lady Rambeau came around the front of the gown, you cleared your throat, trying to keep your tone light, though the questions weighed heavily on your mind. “Lady Rambeau, I’ve noticed something.”

Her fingers stilled as she pinched a piece of fabric at your waist. “Hm?”

You hesitated, watching her closely. “The King… he always wears a glove on his left hand.”

Lady Rambeau didn’t flinch, but there was the slightest pause in her movements, the briefest tightening of her lips. You had been trained to notice such things.

“Yes, Princess,” she said, her tone smooth, but you caught the subtle shift in her expression. “Many royals have their eccentricities.”

You narrowed your eyes, not satisfied with her evasive response. “It seems more than just an eccentricity, doesn’t it?”

For the first time, Lady Rambeau’s gaze met yours directly, a flicker of something—was it pity?—in her eyes. “The prince prefers not to discuss such matters. It is... a personal choice.”

You straightened your back, feeling the frustration coil tighter inside you. You were about to marry him, and yet everyone seemed to know more about your future husband than you did.

“A personal choice that no one seems willing to explain,” you countered, your voice sharp. “I’m about to marry him. Don’t I deserve to know the truth?”

There was a beat of silence before Lady Rambeau averted her gaze, focusing on the gown again. “Some truths, Princess, are best left for the prince to share himself.”

Her words landed heavily in the room, closing the conversation with an air of finality. You clenched your fists, feeling the fabric of your gown bunch beneath your fingers, the weight of everything pressing down on you like the tight bodice of this perfect, suffocating dress.

“Perhaps,” you muttered under your breath, “but a queen who knows nothing of her king is little more than a pawn.”

Lady Rambeau’s lips tightened again, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she straightened, her expression smoothing back into its usual calm, controlled mask.

“The gown is perfect,” she said, her voice cool. “You will be the vision of a queen.”

You stared at her, your frustration simmering.

“A vision,” you repeated softly, looking at your reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at you wore a gown fit for a queen, but there was something hollow in her eyes. The truth was, you felt like an imposter in that mirror. How could you marry a man who remained an enigma, hidden behind secrets no one would speak of?

Lady Rambeau cleared her throat, sensing your thoughts. “Before we conclude, Princess, we must review the schedule for the day.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. Not yet, anyway. “Of course.”

Lady Rambeau reached for the small ledger on the table, flipping through the neatly written notes. “This afternoon, after we’ve finalized the details of your gown, there will be a brief... educational session.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Educational session?”

Her voice was smooth, unflappable. “Yes, Princess. It is customary for brides of your station to receive instruction on matters... related to the marriage bed.”

Heat rushed to your face, and the room suddenly felt stifling. “I—what kind of instruction?”

Lady Rambeau, as always, didn’t blink. “There will be materials provided. Diagrams, illustrations. You’ll be prepared for what is expected of you.”

The air in the room seemed to thicken, and you fought the urge to pull at the bodice of your gown. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was the beginning of something far more daunting, far more real. And you were expected to step into it without hesitation, without question.

Lady Rambeau seemed to sense your discomfort but pressed forward. “Afterward, there will be time for rest before your private dinner with His Majesty.”

Your pulse quickened. The first private moment with James since that morning in the garden. You hadn’t been alone with him since. You hadn’t seen him up close, hadn’t had the chance to ask the questions that had been building inside you.

“A private dinner?” you repeated, trying to shake the thoughts of the diagrams, of everything that seemed to loom on the horizon.

“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice unwavering. “It will be your final opportunity to speak with His Majesty before the ceremony tomorrow.”

You swallowed hard. Final opportunity. The phrase echoed in your mind like a warning. This was your last chance to confront him, to ask about the glove, about the rumors, about everything you had been kept in the dark about.

You nodded slowly. “I see.”

Lady Rambeau closed her ledger with a faint snap, offering a thin smile. “Everything is in place for tomorrow, Princess. You need only focus on your duties as queen.”

Duties. Expectations. Those were the words that seemed to follow you everywhere. But what about your fears? What about the truth? What about the man you were about to spend your life with?

You swallowed the frustration rising in your throat and nodded. “Very well.”

Lady Rambeau’s expression softened ever so slightly, perhaps sensing your internal turmoil. “Is there anything else, Princess?”

For a moment, the bitterness from the morning tea bubbled back to the surface, and you found yourself saying, “Actually, yes. Are there... any other ladies I can spend time with? The morning tea with Lady Sharon and Lady Leah left a rather bitter taste in my mouth.”

Lady Rambeau’s lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement crossing her face before she masked it once more. “I see. I can certainly arrange for you to meet with a more agreeable company.”

A small sigh of relief escaped you. “Thank you. That would be much appreciated.”

With a nod, Lady Rambeau offered a brief, genuine smile. “Consider it done, Princess.”

× × × ×

You sat in an ornate chair, stiff and uncomfortable, while across from you, the Governess stood like a sentinel, her stern expression and ramrod-straight posture making the space feel even more intimidating.

Your eyes flickered nervously to the stack of leather-bound books on the table between you, each one larger and more foreboding than the last. Then there was the parchment—rolled up, but ominous in its stillness. There was something about the entire scene that made your skin crawl, as though you were not here for a lesson but being led into battle.

“Princess,” the governess began, her tone clipped and authoritative, “this session is essential to your role as the future queen and wife. It is vital that you understand the... expectations that will be placed upon you in the marriage bed.”

You found yourself shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Your hands gripped the armrests, trying to hold on to a semblance of composure. But there was nothing composed about this moment, nothing regal about what was happening.

The governess pulled one of the books from the pile and flipped it open, revealing a diagram that made your stomach turn. The lines, the shapes—they were clinical, and yet, utterly mortifying. You felt heat rising in your face, and it took everything in you not to roll your eyes. The absurdity of the situation made you want to laugh, but you bit down on the impulse, hard.

“This,” the governess continued, her voice as sharp as her gaze, “is crucial knowledge for fulfilling your wifely duties. You must be prepared to consummate the marriage.”

You swallowed hard, shifting again, the lesson settling over you like an iron cloak. “I think I understand the general concept,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light despite the tight knot of discomfort twisting in your gut.

She ignored your attempt at levity, her movements precise as she unfurled the parchment on the table. It revealed even more intricate—and mortifying—illustrations. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at the detailed depictions, each one meticulously labeled as though this were a scientific experiment and not the intimate realities of your future.

You blinked, your heart pounding faster, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. This can’t be happening.

“Pay attention, Princess,” the governess said sharply, noticing your wandering gaze. “This knowledge is essential. You must understand your role—how to fulfill your responsibilities as a wife.”

Your patience snapped. You could no longer hold back the bubbling frustration.

“My role?” you echoed, gesturing toward the diagrams with a wave of your hand. “You mean my role as a willing participant in this?”

The governess’ eyes narrowed, her back straightening further, if that were even possible. “Princess, this is not a matter to be taken lightly. The consummation of your marriage is not only expected, but required. You must take your duty seriously.”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it. The absurdity of it all—the coldness, the diagrams, the formality of something so intimate—was overwhelming. You hadn’t seen James in days, hadn’t even spoken more than a few proper words to him, and here you were, being lectured on consummation because it was a royal decree.

“I haven’t even had a proper conversation with the man,” you blurted out, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “How am I supposed to take this seriously?”

The governess’ gaze turned icy, her lips thinning into a disapproving line. “Princess,” she began, sounding a bit disappointed, “you may find this situation amusing, but let me remind you—this is no laughing matter. As queen, it is your duty to provide heirs. That cannot happen if you do not fulfill your responsibilities to His Majesty.”

The levity you had clung to vanished, replaced by something far darker, far more suffocating.

Heirs.

This wasn’t just about duty anymore. It wasn’t about vague responsibilities or distant expectations. This was real. This was your future—your life.

“So,” She cleared her throat noticing the change in your demeanor, “If you don’t want His Majesty to find a consort willing to provide him an heir, I suggest you listen and learn carefully.”

The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. You tried to even out your breathing, but the panic clawing at your chest made it difficult to think, difficult to even breathe. You were no longer the girl standing in the garden, teased by a prince about escaping. You were a woman facing the stark reality of a role that felt far too large for you.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the governess’s cold, unrelenting gaze bored into you. She wasn’t just speaking of abstract duties or obligations. This was real, and you had no escape.

“I... I understand,” you whispered, though the words felt hollow.

“Do you?” the governess asked, her tone softer now, but still cold with authority. “This is your reality, Princess. You cannot run from it. The marriage will be consummated. You will need to provide heirs. There is no escaping that.”

Each word she spoke settled into your bones, cold and unyielding. You had spent so much time avoiding this truth, brushing it aside as something distant. But now, with the weight of her gaze and the reality staring back at you from those diagrams, there was no avoiding it.

The laughter that had once bubbled in your throat turned bitter. There was no humor here. No escape.

Your hands clenched in your lap, gripping the fabric of your gown so tightly your knuckles turned white. You wanted to protest, to fight back against this fate being thrust upon you, but the enormity of it left you speechless. For the first time in days, you felt utterly powerless.

The governess, sensing your resignation, continued in her cold, measured tone. “I suggest you take these lessons more seriously from now on, Princess. This is not just about your future. It is about the future of the kingdom.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. There was nothing left to say.

You nodded, barely, the movement small and mechanical, as though you had been drained of all energy, all fight. Her words had pressed down on you, threatening to snuff out the last bit of spirit you had left.

And the worst part?

She was right.

There was no escaping this.

× × × ×

Lady Romanoff

The sound of clashing steel filled the training yard, the sharp ring of swords slicing through the afternoon air. Lady Natasha moved with deadly precision, her every strike calculated, her every parry effortless. The soldiers she sparred with were drenched in sweat, struggling to keep up with her, but she showed no mercy. Her red hair was tied back, a single loose strand framing her sharp, focused features.

"Lady Natasha!" A voice called out, breaking the rhythm of the duel.

She spun around, lowering her sword as a servant approached, bowing deeply before handing her a letter sealed with the royal crest. Her sharp eyes lingered on the seal for a moment before she waved her sparring partner off, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

Natasha turned away from the yard, stepping into the shade of the estate’s stone walls as she broke the seal. Her fingers traced over the words, the formal language of the letter at odds with the simple, direct life she preferred.

“To Lady Natasha Romanoff,

By order of His Majesty and the future Queen of Montelune, you are hereby invited to join the Princess Y/N’s court as a trusted advisor and protector…”

Her lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. Protector. She could handle that.

The wind stirred around her as she folded the letter, her eyes flickering toward the horizon where the palace loomed in the distance. She had been summoned. And when the future queen called, Natasha Romanoff never refused.

- - - -

Lady Maximoff

In the quiet of her private study, Lady Wanda Maximoff sat by a large, arched window overlooking the rolling hills that stretched far beyond her family's estate. The air smelled of herbs and candle wax, and the only sound was the faint crackle of the fire behind her. She was deep in thought, her hands idly weaving through the delicate threads of red magic that swirled around her fingertips, when a soft knock broke her focus.

A servant entered, bowing as he held out a letter sealed with the royal crest. Wanda's brows knit together as she dismissed the magic with a flick of her hand, taking the letter and gently breaking the seal.

The letter unfolded in her hands, the parchment crisp and formal, though the weight of its words pressed heavily on her chest.

“To Lady Wanda Maximoff,

By order of His Majesty and the future Queen of Montelune, you are invited to join Princess Y/N’s court, where your wisdom and unique abilities will be invaluable…”

She blinked, her eyes lingering on the phrase unique abilities. They were calling her for more than just her title. A sense of unease stirred in her chest, but also a flicker of something else—purpose.

She closed the letter carefully, her eyes drifting out of the window again. Her future was no longer here in the quiet, secluded halls of her family home. It was with the future queen. It was time to leave the shadows behind.

- - - -

Lady Potts

Lady Virginia Potts stood in the grand parlor of her estate, the late afternoon sun casting golden light over the polished wood floors. Her hands were busy organizing the mountain of correspondence scattered across the table, responding to various requests from lords and ladies who sought her counsel. Her estate was immaculate, a reflection of her meticulous nature.

A servant entered quietly, holding a single letter with a royal seal, far more significant than the others. Pepper paused, her hands stilling as she reached for the letter, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Breaking the seal, she scanned the words with a practiced eye, though the gravity of the message slowed her reading.

“To Lady Virginia Potts,

By the request of His Majesty and the future Queen of Montelune, you are invited to join Princess Y/N’s court, where your knowledge and expertise in matters of statecraft will be essential…”

Pepper set the letter down, her fingers resting lightly on the parchment. It had been some time since she had involved herself with court politics, preferring the stability of her own estate and businesses. But this... this was a request she could not turn down.

The future queen needed her, and where there was a need for clarity and order, Pepper Potts would always step in.

She smoothed the letter, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. The court had no idea what they were in for.

× × × ×

The heavy oak doors creaked open as you were led into the private dining room, the faint rustle of your gown the only sound as the maid quietly withdrew behind you, leaving you in the stillness of the grand chamber. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a golden light over the room, and your eyes fell on him immediately.

King James stood by the large window, one hand resting on the frame, the other gloved hand at his side. He looked out over the sprawling grounds, the fading light of the evening casting a halo of gold through his hair, painting him in a soft, almost ethereal glow. You simply stood there, unable to speak. Unable to move. You hadn't seen him like this before—unburdened by the weight of ceremony or titles—and it stirred something deep within you.

Sensing your presence, he turned slowly, and the moment his eyes met yours, the air shifted. His smile bloomed—soft, adoring, and it lit up the space between you, as though you were the only person in the world.

"Princess," he murmured, his voice warm and intimate, yet restrained. There was a note of something unspoken there, something deeper. The way he looked at you—his blue eyes tracing the delicate lines of your face—made your heart stutter in your chest.

You offered him a small curtsy, your stomach fluttering as you lifted your gaze. “Your Majesty.”

"Please, to you I’m just James." James gestured to the long, elegantly set dining table. “Join me.”

You approached the table with grace, your pulse quickening as you took in the grand spread before you. The chairs were separated by a stretch of three empty seats, and despite the intimate setting, the distance felt like you're oceans apart. You hesitated for a moment but obeyed, sitting across from him at the far end.

He watched you, his smile not faltering, but his eyes grew thoughtful as you settled into your seat. “You look lovely,” he said quietly, his voice rich but gentle.

Your heart gave a little flutter, and despite the formality, you couldn’t help but feel warmth creep up your neck at his words.

“Thank you,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a steadying breath. “You seem… deeply in thought,” you added, noting the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his gloved hand rested stiffly against the table.

He let out a quiet breath, his eyes lingering on yours as though he was trying to gauge your thoughts.

“Perhaps,” he admitted with a small, almost shy smile. “It’s hard not to be when my future is sitting across from me.”

You look down with a smile, a shy reaction. But before you could let them settle too deeply, you cleared your throat, turning the conversation to lighter things. Questions formed quickly in your mind—trivial, unimportant things, but questions that would keep your heart from racing too fast, your thoughts from spiraling.

You gathered your courage, determined to make this dinner less formal and distant. There was so much you didn’t know about hum—about the man you were about to marry. So, before the weight of more serious questions settled over the evening, you decided to ask him about the smaller things. Things that would make him feel more human, less like the elusive king you were supposed to wed.

“Do you have a nickname?” you asked, breaking the silence with a playful tilt to your voice, hoping to ease the tension that had been lingering since the moment you entered the room.

James blinked, surprised by the question, then let out a soft chuckle. “A nickname? I didn’t expect that to be your first question.”

You smiled, “I have to start somewhere, don’t I?”

He grinned, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, my mother used to call me Bucky when I was younger,” he said, his voice softer now. “But that name’s reserved for a select few.”

“Bucky,” you repeated, the name feeling strangely intimate on your lips. “And who are these ‘select few’?”

Bucky’s smile widened, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “People I trust. Mostly my closest friends.”

Your curiosity grew, and you seized the opportunity to dig a little deeper. “Speaking of which, who are your best friends? I feel like I should know the people who are important to you.”

“Steve—Captain Rogers, as you might know him. He’s been my best friend since we were boys. There’s also Sam—he’s got a sharp sense of humor and enjoys keeping me humble.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a good group around you.” You couldn’t help but smile at the affection in his tone.

Bucky nodded, his gaze growing warmer as he spoke of his friends. “Yeah, I’m lucky to have them.”

“And your horse? What’s his name?” You shifted in your seat, feeling a bit more comfortable now that the conversation had softened.

“His name’s Alpine.” He glanced at you with a grin, clearly surprised at your curiosity.

“Alpine?” you repeated, arching a brow.

“It suits him,” Bucky said with a shrug, though there was a twinkle of fondness in his eyes. “He’s stubborn, strong-willed… reminds me of someone.”

You laughed softly at that, feeling the weight of the room lift slightly. “I’d like to officially meet him sometime.”

Bucky’s smile lingered. The conversation had been easy, light, but the distance—both physical and emotional—still felt too vast. You wanted to ask more, to dig beneath the surface. But the space between you felt like a barrier, one you suddenly couldn’t bear any longer.

Without overthinking it, you set down your cutlery, stood, and lifted your plate from its place. Bucky’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as you walked around the table and sat beside him, taking the chair at his right.

Bucky watched you, clearly taken aback, but there was no disapproval in his gaze. If anything, he was amazed at how you seem to give no mind with tradition.

Bucky looked up at you, his lips curving into an intrigued smile.

“Sitting across from you felt… wrong,” you admitted softly. “There’s too much distance.”

Bucky’s eyes softened at your words, and though his expression remained composed, the way his body angled toward you—subtly, almost instinctively—revealed more than he probably intended.

You swallowed, heart pounding as you prepared yourself for the question you’d been avoiding all night. “There’s something I need to ask you, Your Majes—”

“James.”

“James. . .” You repeated his name.

Sitting next to him, the air seemed intimate, and the flicker of the candles on the table cast shadows that danced between your gazes. He was watching you—intensely, yet not in a way that was uncomfortable. There was something magnetic about the way he studied you, as if he was trying to figure you out, but not in the calculating manner you’d come to expect from others.

You swallowed, composing yourself. The words slipped from your lips before you had time to second guess them. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you... about Lady Hill.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t falter, but you noticed the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched ever so subtly. He turned slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

You hadn’t meant to sound so blunt, but the name had hung between you like a shadow since the ladies made sure the name stuck to you. The jealousy bubbling up inside you—the ache you refused to admit even to yourself—made it impossible to keep the question locked away.

“Lady Hill,” you continued, your voice quieter now, though no less steady. “I’ve heard... stories. About you and her.”

Bucky sighed softly, his eyes drifting momentarily to the flickering flames in the hearth before returning to you. “You’ve heard a lot, I’m sure.”

You pressed your lips together, not trusting yourself to speak. It was foolish, really—this feeling of jealousy. You barely knew him, yet the thought of him being close to someone else, someone before you, unsettled you in ways you couldn’t quite understand. Or, maybe you did, but you didn’t want to admit it.

Bucky turned his full attention to you now, his eyes softening, though his gaze held something more serious, something weighted with regret. “There was a time when Lady Hill and I were... close. But that time has long since passed.”

You exhaled softly, though the knot in your chest didn’t fully loosen. “And now?”

His gaze softened even further, as if he could see straight through your carefully composed exterior. “Now?” he echoed, his voice quieter, more intimate. “Now, I’m here with you, not her. And that should tell you everything.”

The words sent a flutter through your chest, though you tried to ignore it. There was something undeniable between you—a pull, a connection that went beyond formalities. Yet, you couldn’t let yourself get lost in it. Not yet.

“Yes, yes it does.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he studied your expression, taking in the slight tremble in your voice and the way you seemed to press your lips together, fighting to keep your emotions in check. He didn’t need you to say anything more to know what was going on in your head. He could see it, the doubt creeping into your mind.

He sighed softly, setting down his glass, the clink against the table louder than the quiet room. His gaze never left yours, though.

“Something’s wrong,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. “You’re not just asking about Lady Hill. There’s something else. What is it?”

You blinked, taken aback by how perceptive he was. You hadn’t meant for him to see through the carefully built walls you had erected. But there he was, watching you with concern, as though he could sense something brewing inside you. Your pulse quickened as you struggled to keep your composure, to bury the jealousy that had crept up, uninvited, after hearing all those stories.

You looked away for a moment, trying to find the right words, to shake off the feeling that you weren’t enough—that maybe you never would be for a man like him. But Bucky wasn’t the type to let something like that slide.

“Y/N,” he said softly, leaning in just a little, as though closing the gap between you might help ease the distance in your heart. “Talk to me. Whatever you’ve heard... Whatever they’ve said, you can ask me. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Your breath hitched, his words wrapping around you like a lifeline you hadn’t realized you needed. Slowly, you turned back to face him.

“They...” You hesitated, biting your lip as you struggled to say it. “They said, you always sneak out late at night to see her.” The admission came out more quietly than you intended.

“Do you believe that?”

You swallowed hard, looking down at your hands as your fingers twisted the fabric of your gown.

“I don’t want to believe it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But... they’re so convincing. And I—” Your breath hitched as the words caught in your throat, and you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence.

“Who is ‘they,’ Y/N?”

“People in court. They... they—”

“Be specific,” Bucky interrupted, his voice low, a command wrapped in concern. His blue eyes darkened with a mixture of frustration and protectiveness. He wasn’t angry—no, this was something else. He needed to know who had put these thoughts in your head, who had made you doubt him.

Your mouth hung open, caught off guard by the force of his words. He wasn’t going to let this go. He wouldn’t just sit there and let these rumors fester. And now, you couldn’t stop wondering—what would he do if you said their names? What would happen if you told him it was Sharon and Leah who had whispered those poisonous words into your ears?

For a brief moment, the idea of saying their names lingered on your lips. But you hesitated. Would telling him only make things worse? Would it lead to a confrontation you weren’t ready for? What if he confronted them, and everything in court shifted?

His gaze remained locked on yours, unwavering, waiting.

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice softer now, “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter who said it,” you murmured finally, shaking your head before looking back at him.

He blinked, surprised by your words, by the mercy you had just shown—choosing not to name those who had tried to plant doubt between the two of you. Most people in the court would have been eager to point fingers, to seek revenge or justice. But not you.

It doesn’t matter who said it. Your words echoed in his mind, and he realized just how different you were from the others. You weren’t driven by spite or the need for retribution. And that stunned him, amazed him in a way he hadn’t expected.

A slow breath escaped him as he continued to watch you, the vulnerability in your eyes clear, yet there was a strength there, too. A strength in choosing to let go of the pettiness of court gossip, in refusing to let others’ words dictate your path.

God, you're unlike anyone I've ever known.

But even as that admiration filled him, Bucky knew one thing for certain: he would find out who had whispered those lies to you. He wouldn’t let this slide. Not for the sake of revenge, but because those people—whoever they were—had tried to tarnish what was growing between you and him. And that was something he couldn’t forgive so easily.

Still, he wouldn’t push you now. He wouldn’t force you to tell him. You had shown mercy, and he respected that. But he would find out in another way. Quietly. Without involving you any further.

“You’re right,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “They don’t matter.”

You nodded with a fleeting faint smile. Your eyes flicked to his gloved hand, the leather dark and smooth, always present, never explained.

“The glove. . .” you trailed off hesitantly, “Why do you always wear it?”

Bucky’s gaze followed yours, landing on the glove that covered his left hand. His face shifted, the softness hardening into what seemed like pain, and you thought he might not answer.

He flexed his fingers beneath the glove, his jaw tightening. “It’s... not something I speak about often,” he admitted quietly, his voice rougher now. “But since you’ve asked, and since we’re to be... married, I’ll tell you.”

You held your breath, your heart pounding as you waited for him to continue.

Bucky turned his head slightly, the tension in his posture growing. “I was injured. A long time ago,” He paused, his eyes flicking to you, gauging your reaction. “The glove hides the... reminder.”

He was holding back, guarding himself. You could feel it, sense it in every strained breath he took. Whatever lay beneath that glove—whatever part of him he hadn’t revealed—it was something that still haunted him, something he wasn’t ready to share to its full extent.

“I’m... sorry,” you said quietly, the words feeling inadequate. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Bucky offered a small, strained smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There’s no need to apologize. It’s just a part of who I am now.”

“I see. You are very brave.”

His fingers twitched, aching to close the small space between you. But instead of reaching out, he curled them into his lap, trying to keep control. Because if he touched you now—if he let himself give in even for a second—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

But the fear... the fear that you wouldn’t want this—wouldn’t want him—kept him silent. For now.

“You surprise me, you know,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.

You blinked, “I do?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, almost tender smile. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. You ask questions no one else dares to ask.”

“I want to get to know you. .” You said without missing a beat, “You gave me a choice at the garden—whether to run or stay while knowing who I was—I chose to stay.”

The warmth in Bucky's gaze sent a flutter through your chest, making it hard to think clearly. You could feel the weight of his stare on you, the way his eyes traced every curve of your face, every movement you made.

"I feel the same way," Bucky said, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the space between you. His eyes lingering on your lips before slowly moving to look into your eyes.

You felt a pull, an unspoken invitation hanging in the air. You smiled and straightened yourself, “Good, I’m glad we both ag—”

Before you could finish, his hand cupped the side of your face and captured you into a kiss. His touch electrifies every fiber of you, and you froze, your heart hammering in your chest.

It wasn't a tentative kiss, nor was it hesitant. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours, gently nibbling on your bottom lip. He kissed you like he'd been dying to do it, like he'd been holding back for far too long, and now he couldn't help himself.

Your breath hitched, your mind going blank as you melted into him, your hand instinctively gripping the sleeve of his coat. The taste of him, the feel of his body so close to yours, was intoxicating.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes searched yours, filled with an adoration you had never seen before, and it took everything in you to catch your breath.

“I've wanted to kiss you since that day but I had to let you go," Bucky whispered, his voice rough with need.

His gaze was heavy, half-lidded with desire, and just as he was about to lean in to taste you again, a knock at the door cut through the moment, shattering the fragile bubble of intimacy.

You jolted away from him, creating a hasty distance between you, while Bucky remained unusually calm, though his eyes still burned with the heat of the moment.

“Enter,” Bucky called out, his voice steady despite the tension lingering in the room.

The door creaked open, and Steve entered, his gaze flickering between you and Bucky before settling on his friend.

“Your Majesty, Are you ready to leave?” Steve asked, his tone casual, though you didn’t miss the brief glance he gave you.

“Oh,” Bucky muttered, his posture relaxing as he slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Is it that time already?”

You busied yourself, trying to smooth down your gown and regulate your breathing as you stood up, your heart hadn’t quite slowed.

Bucky stood slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he straightened his coat, a small, teasing smile curling at the corners of his lips. He took a step toward you, the warmth of his gaze made your heart flutter all over again.

He reached for your hand, taking it gently on his own, and brought it to his lips, his touch soft and reverent. The kiss he pressed to the back of your hand was tender, but the heat of his breath sent a shiver racing up your spine. When he pulled away, his fingers lingered, tracing the delicate skin of your knuckles.

“I enjoyed my time with you tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, and you could feel the sincerity in his words. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

He leaned in ever so slightly, his voice dropping even lower, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “And Princess, don’t think about climbing any more walls,” His lips tugged into a smirk, “I won’t help you, if I find you.”

A soft laugh escaped you despite the warmth in your cheeks, and before you could respond, he stepped back, releasing your hand with a lingering touch.

Turning toward Steve, Bucky’s expression shifted back to his usual composed self. “Steve, walk her to her chambers, I’ll meet you outside.”

Steve nodded, stepping forward as Bucky offered you one last look, his gaze softening again. “Rest well, Y/N. For tomorrow I shall be yours, and you mine.”

And with that, he left the room, his presence like a shadow lingering even after the door closed behind him. You stood there, still reeling from the touch of his lips on your hand, from the quiet promise in his words, as Steve approached, clearing his throat gently to pull you from your thoughts.

“Shall we?” Steve asked, his voice calm as always, though there was a knowing edge to his expression, as if he had sensed more than he let on.

You nodded, your heart still racing, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as Steve offered you his arm. As you walked together toward your chambers, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had changed everything. And no matter how much you tried to calm your racing heart, the warmth of Bucky’s kiss stayed with you, long after you had bid him goodnight.

× × × ×

The heavy velvet drapes lining the walls absorbed much of the noise, leaving the soft echo of your footsteps the only sound that filled the space.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice gentle, as though he didn’t want to intrude on whatever was lingering in your mind.

You gave a soft, tight-lipped smile, your heart still not quite calmed down after what had transpired with Bucky.

“I find myself with much to contemplate,” you murmured, your voice carrying the weight of the evening. You stole a glance at Steve, who seemed to nod, understanding more than you expected him to.

“Bucky often has that effect upon people,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, though his gaze remained forward.

The comment caught you off guard, and despite yourself, a soft laugh escaped. “Does he?” you asked, your tone teasing, but there was something in Steve’s smile that hinted he knew exactly what had happened between you and Bucky.

Steve chuckled, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve noticed by now, haven’t you?” He gave you a sidelong glance. “He is not an easy man to understand, I grant you that. But when he chooses to care for someone…” Steve’s voice faltered slightly, as though choosing his words with care, “…he does not do so in half measures.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the implication, but you didn’t respond. Instead, you kept walking, the candle lit hallway stretching out ahead of you, each flickering light casting long shadows on the stone floor.

Steve’s words hung in the air, and as you walked in silence for a moment, you couldn’t help but replay Bucky’s kiss in your mind—the way his lips had lingered on yours, the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the teasing warmth of his final words.

“Bucky’s lucky to have someone like you,” Steve said after a while, breaking the silence again. His tone was sincere, almost protective, and when you looked at him, you could see the loyalty in his eyes—not just to his friend, but to you as well.

The comment took you by surprise, and you blinked, unsure of what to say. “I’m lucky to have met him,” you replied softly, your voice carrying more weight than you had expected. It wasn’t just a formal response; it was the truth. In the short time you’d known Bucky, he had drawn something out of you—something deeper than you were prepared to admit.

Steve’s gaze softened, and his lips curved into a small, approving smile. “I’m glad you think so.”

As the walk continued, the palace walls seemed to narrow slightly, the corridor leading toward your chambers now dimly lit by only a few flickering torches. You could feel the end of the evening approaching, and with it, a certain reluctance to leave the comfortable quiet that had settled between you and Steve.

“Tell me, Captain,” you began hesitantly, “do you believe that His Majesty ever... doubts himself? Given the weight of the responsibilities he bears?”

Steve’s expression grew thoughtful, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. “He bears more than most could comprehend,” he said slowly. “But one thing I know with certainty—once his mind is set, whether it be upon a matter or a person,” his gaze flickered toward you meaningfully, “he does not question his resolve.”

As you approached the door to your chambers, Steve slowed, and you could feel the shift in the air, the end of the conversation nearing. He let go of your arm and turned to face you fully, his expression serious but kind.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said simply, as if promising something far greater than just his presence. “If you need anything.”

“Thank you,” you replied, meaning it more than you could express.

He gave you a small nod, stepping back slightly as you reached for the door handle. “Goodnight, Princess.”

You paused, the door half-open, and gave him a warm smile before slipping inside. “Goodnight, Captain.”

As the door closed behind you and you backed against the door, your heart still racing, you realized that tomorrow your life will be changed drastically.

× × × ×

Captain Rogers descended the grand staircase, he adjusted the hilt of his sword, his gaze scanning the courtyard for Bucky.

The king was waiting by the fountain, leaning against his white stallion, Alpine, his silhouette almost ethereal under the silvery moonlight.

“Ready to head out?” Bucky asked, his voice low and casual, as if they were merely discussing a routine ride instead of what lay ahead.

Steve mounted his own horse, the leather creaking softly beneath him as he settled into the saddle. He glanced at Bucky, then asked, “You kissed her, didn’t you?”

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips, but he didn’t turn to face Steve. “Wouldn’t you?” he replied smoothly.

Steve let out a sigh, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not going to answer that.”

A soft laugh escaped Bucky, the sound surprisingly light given the tension that clung to the night. They nudged their horses forward, the steady clop of hooves the only sound as they made their way along the moonlit path.

“You know,” Steve began, his gaze drifting to the silhouette of the palace behind them, “I have to wonder… Why do you want to be in Annecy tonight? Your wedding is tomorrow, Buck.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed slightly, and he let out a low, rueful chuckle. He flexed his left hand, the movement barely perceptible but unmistakable to Steve’s watchful eyes.

“You know why,” he said softly.

Steve nodded, understanding flashing across his features. He knew Bucky’s struggle—the ghosts that haunted him, the weight he carried that went far beyond a king’s responsibilities. There was always a part of Bucky that seemed to be at war with himself, the part that made even the simplest things—like sharing the same roof with his own future wife—feel like an insurmountable task.

They rode in silence for a few more minutes, the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves lulling them into a semblance of calm. But then, Bucky shifted in his saddle, his gaze flickering to Steve.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Bucky said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm. “I need you to show a little interest in the princess.”

Steve’s head snapped around, his eyes widening. “What?” He blinked, incredulous. “Have you gone mad? Are you trying to get my head chopped off by the Queen Dowager?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes were serious. “It’s important, Steve.”

“No,” Steve said flatly, shaking his head. “I’m not doing that. It’ll cause a scandal. It’ll make you look like a fool and make me look even worse.”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky urged, his tone almost playful.

“No,” Steve repeated firmly, his jaw set. “Why? Why would I do that?”

“Because I need some gossip,” Bucky said with a grin, though his eyes held a hint of something deeper. “Just enough to keep people talking.”

Steve let out a begrudging laugh, shaking his head again. “That’s worse, Bucky. Do you know how bad that would look? I’ll look like I’m trying to swoop in and steal the queen. The court would eat us alive. And besides—” he narrowed his eyes at Bucky, his expression hardening, “you really want to make me look like that?”

“Just trust me on this,” Bucky insisted, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “I’ll have your back, like I always do. You know that.”

Steve held his gaze for a long moment, suspicion mingling with concern. Bucky had that look in his eyes—the one that said he was up to something, something he wasn’t sharing.

“What are you really up to, Bucky?” Steve asked quietly, his brow furrowing. “What’s this really about?”

Bucky hesitated, the playful glint in his eyes dimming. He looked away, his gaze turning distant. “I need to find out who’s making up stories about me.”

“So, you want to use me to flush out whoever it is?”

Bucky’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. ��Something like that.”

“Bucky…” Steve’s voice held a warning edge. “You’re risking a lot by playing these games.”

“It’s not a game,” Bucky shot back quietly, his voice tight. “They’re trying to undermine her, and I can’t stand by and watch.”

Steve stared at him, a mix of disbelief and reluctant understanding on his face. “And you think feigning interest in the princess will make them reveal themselves?”

Bucky shrugged, his smile strained. “Jealousy’s a powerful thing. If I act indifferent, it might embolden them. If I get you to show some interest in her, they might think they have more of an opportunity to turn her against me. The more they reveal, the more I can do.”

Steve let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Bucky’s expression softened, the steel in his eyes giving way to a gentler determination. “I know. But I can’t let them manipulate her. I can sense that Y/N is strong, but she’s alone here. She needs to see I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe—even if she doesn’t understand it yet.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment, his gaze searching Bucky’s face. “And what if it backfires? What if she thinks you’re encouraging me because you don’t care?”

“Then I’ll have to fix it.” Bucky’s voice was resolute, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll make her see. But first, I need to know who’s been feeding her lies.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, a sigh escaping him. “You’re asking me to throw myself into the lion’s den.”

“Just for a little while,” Bucky said softly, his voice almost pleading. “Just until I get to the bottom of this.”

Steve shook his head, but a small, resigned smile tugged at his lips. “You owe me a lot for this, you know that?”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “I know. I always do.”

They continued riding in silence, the moon casting long shadows along the path. Steve’s mind raced, weighing the risks and consequences, but beneath it all was a steady resolve.

“Fine,” he murmured after a long pause. “But don’t blame me if this blows up in your face.”

“I won’t. Thank you, Steve.” Bucky smiled, his expression grateful and laced with relief.

Steve nodded once, the resolve in his eyes mirroring Bucky’s. “Let’s hope this works. For her sake.”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered, his gaze turning distant as his thoughts drifted back to you. “For her sake.”

× × × ×

The morning of your wedding dawned with a soft golden light filtering through the tall windows of your chamber, bathing the room in its warmth. You sat in front of the grand vanity, your reflection staring back at you, almost unrecognizable in its regal splendor. The maids had been working tirelessly to prepare you, their hands deftly weaving your hair into an intricate style, fastening the delicate tiara onto your head—a symbol of the new life you were about to enter.

Your gown, a masterpiece of lace and silk, shimmered in the soft light, its heavy skirts spreading around you like a cascade of moonlight. The bodice fits you like a second skin, the embroidery of gold thread intertwining with pearls, adding to the weight you already felt in your chest. You could hear the faint noises of activity from the palace below, the preparations for the ceremony well underway.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Lady Rambeau entered, her usual composed expression softening slightly as her gaze settled on you.

“Princess,” she said, bowing her head, “the carriage is being prepared. It will be time soon.”

You nodded, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. Your heart was a storm, the events of the past days swirling together with the impending reality of the ceremony. This is it, you thought. There was no more time for questions, no more time for doubts.

Lady Rambeau approached, sensing the nervousness in you. “You look every bit the queen,” she said quietly, offering a rare, almost motherly smile. “His Majesty will be pleased.”

You swallowed, your heart stuttering at the mention of Bucky. Bucky. How strange it felt to think of him as both the man you had kissed, the man whose touch had ignited something deep within you, and the king you were about to marry. The man who was still so much of a mystery to you, though the connection you felt with him was undeniable.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft, your mind too tangled with emotion to say more.

The doors of your chamber opened again, and in walked Captain Rogers, looking as composed and stoic as always, but when his gaze landed on you, he froze, his eyes widening with something akin to awe.

For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, and then his expression softened, his voice coming out quieter than usual. “Princess…” He cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over you once more. “You look... radiant.”

His compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a faint blush creep up your cheeks. “Thank you, Captain,” you murmured, unable to suppress a small smile. There was something endearing about seeing the usually composed Captain Rogers momentarily taken aback.

He gave you a small, respectful nod before regaining his usual composure. “It is time,” he said, though his voice was still tinged with admiration.

Lady Rambeau stepped back, allowing you space, and Captain Rogers extended his arm toward you. “Shall I escort you?”

You hesitated only a moment before placing your hand in his. His arm was strong and steady, a rock amidst the storm that churned within you.

Captain Rogers led you down the grand staircase and out to the courtyard where the carriage awaited. Its intricate design was fit for a royal wedding, adorned with fresh flowers and draped in soft velvet. The horses were restless, sensing the energy of the day, and the servants moved with ease, making final adjustments.

As you reached the bottom step, Captain Rogers assisted you into the carriage, his hand still steady as he helped you settle into the seat. Lady Rambeau followed behind, ensuring everything was in place before stepping aside.

Captain Rogers gave you one final look before closing the door. “You will be magnificent, Princess,” he said, his tone filled with quiet confidence. “And His Majesty will be waiting.”

You smiled softly, trying to calm the flurry of nerves that danced in your chest. “Thank you, Captain.”

With a nod, he stepped back, and the driver clicked his reins, the carriage lurching forward toward the abbey where your future awaited.

The ride was quiet, the only sounds were the clatter of hooves against the cobblestone streets and the soft rustling of your gown as you shifted. Through the windows, you caught glimpses of the city—banners flying high, people lining the streets to catch a glimpse of the royal procession. Their cheers and waves were a blur, but their excitement was palpable, filling the air with a sense of anticipation.

As the carriage approached the abbey, your heart began to race. The towering spires of the grand stone building loomed ahead, casting long shadows across the cobbled courtyard. The doors of the abbey were open, revealing the grand aisle that stretched toward the altar where Bucky would be waiting.

The carriage came to a slow halt, and you took a deep breath, steadying yourself as the door opened. Captain Rogers appeared once again, offering his hand to help you down.

“Are you ready, Princess?” he asked, his tone as steady as his hand.

You nodded, though your heart felt as if it were about to burst from your chest. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Captain Rogers smiled softly, and as you stepped out of the carriage, he guided you toward the abbey’s entrance. The distance between you and the altar felt both infinite and fleeting. The weight of your gown, the gaze of the crowd—it was all overwhelming, yet the thought of Bucky waiting for you at the end of the aisle gave you strength.

The inner doors of the abbey slowly creaked open, revealing the breathtaking sight before you. The soft sound of music swelled through the vast stone hall, a hauntingly beautiful melody echoing off the towering pillars. As you took your first step inside, delicate flower petals, pale pinks and whites, drifted down from the ceiling, falling like a gentle rain around you, each petal kissing the floor at your feet.

The entire kingdom seemed to be watching, every gaze fixed on you as you stood framed by the grand doorway. Your heart raced, each beat thundering in your chest as you took in the magnitude of the moment. The aisle stretched out long before you, lined with noblemen and women from across the kingdom, their eyes wide with anticipation. But none of them mattered.

Because at the end of the aisle, waiting by the altar, stood James.

His regal form was clad in the finest ceremonial attire, gold embroidery gleaming against the dark velvet of his tunic. He looked every bit the king he was, tall and powerful, but his gaze—his gaze was solely on you. As the flower petals fluttered down, his expression softened, his lips curving into the smallest, most tender smile. His blue eyes, usually so guarded, were filled with warmth, a quiet awe that sent a rush of emotion surging through you.

You inhaled deeply, gathering your strength. You were walking alone, without an arm to hold, without anyone to guide you. This moment was yours to face. And with each step you took, you felt the weight of the gown, the tiara on your head, the delicate lace of your veil—all of it settling over you like a mantle of responsibility and power.

The crowd whispered in reverent awe, but their voices seemed like distant echoes as you walked forward, the petals beneath your feet crinkling softly with every step. The aisle felt both endless and too short, time stretching and compressing. But you kept your head high, your gaze locked on James, the silent thread between you pulling you closer with every heartbeat.

As you drew nearer, you could see the way his eyes shimmered, as if he, too, felt the enormity of the moment. His posture was regal, composed, but there was something in his expression—something that told you he was as affected by this as you were.

With each step, the world around you faded. The grandeur of the abbey, the watching crowd, the petals—they all became background to the electric pull between you and James.

Finally, you reached the end of the aisle. Your breath hitched, heart pounding, as you came to stand before him. For a moment, everything else fell away. It was just you and him.

James’s hand extended toward you, his touch warm, his smile soft and full of something deeper than words. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re captivating.”

A flush crept up your neck, you were about to become his queen. You were about to take your place at his side—not just as a bride, but as his equal, his partner.

You gazed deeply into the most bewitching blue eyes, in the way his hand held yours so carefully, you knew that whatever doubts you had carried—about the kingdom, about him—they had no place here. Today, there was only you and Bucky, standing together at the threshold of something far greater than either of you could have imagined.

Bucky’s eyes never left yours, as if he were searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or some unspoken promise. His fingers, warm and steady, curled gently around yours, grounding you in the midst of your racing thoughts.

The officiant’s voice cut through the air, ceremonious and strong, pulling you back to the present, though Bucky’s gaze still tethered you in place.

“Today, we bear witness to the union of our King, James Buchanan Barnes the third and his chosen bride, Princess Y/N of Zienna, a bond that not only joins two hearts but solidifies the foundation upon which this kingdom shall flourish.”

The words washed over you, powerful yet distant, as if they belonged to someone else’s story. And as you stood there, facing Bucky, you realized that while this was the culmination of the court’s expectations and the kingdom’s future, it was also more than that.

It was about him.

And you.

Bucky’s thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand, a small, intimate gesture that sent warmth flooding through you. You met his gaze, and in that moment, something shifted. The doubt, the fear that had haunted you for weeks, seemed to dissolve under the intensity of his silent promise.

“Princess Y/N,” the officiant’s voice drew you back, “do you take King James as your husband, to honor and stand by him for the good of this kingdom and for all the days of your life?”

Your heart stilled for a fraction of a second, and then, with a steady breath, you nodded.

“I do,” you said softly. It wasn’t just a vow to the kingdom or its expectations; it was a vow to Bucky, the man beneath the crown, the man you were beginning to see more clearly with every passing moment.

The officiant turned to Bucky. “And do you, Your Majesty, take Princess Y/N as your wife, to cherish, protect, and honor her, for the good of this kingdom and for all the days of your life?”

Bucky’s gaze never wavered. His voice, low and steady, seemed to echo through the hall, even though he spoke just for you. “I do.”

As the officiant began the final blessings, you barely heard the words. All that mattered was Bucky’s hand in yours, the gentle press of his thumb against your skin, the warmth of his presence. And in his eyes, you saw it clearly—this was not just duty for him either. There was something deeper, something neither of you had fully acknowledged yet, but it was there, undeniable and magnetic.

“By the power vested in me,” the officiant declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The abbey seemed to hold its breath. The world, once again, shrank to just the two of you.

Bucky took a slow step closer, his hand still entwined with yours. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again, something flickering in his expression—anticipation. He leaned down, his movements careful, as though savoring the moment, and pressed a kiss to your lips.

It wasn’t a ceremonial kiss. It wasn’t for show.

It was the kiss of a man who had been waiting, yearning for this moment. His lips were warm, his touch tender yet filled with a quiet passion that left your heart racing all over again. The crowd faded away once more, the applause distant and faint, as you melted into him, your hand tightening around his.

When Bucky pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re mine now,” he whispered softly, just for you. There was no arrogance in his voice, only a raw honesty that sent shivers down your spine.

“I am,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible, but the words hung between you, carrying a promise that went far beyond this day.

Bucky’s lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes alight with something warm, something real. And as you both turned to face the crowd, ready to walk back down the aisle as husband and wife, you knew—whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever doubts or fears still lingered, you would face them together.

× × × ×

The grand hall was alive with music and laughter, the sounds of celebration echoing off the high ceilings. Glittering chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow across the room, illuminating the hundreds of guests who had gathered to celebrate the royal union. The air was filled with the scent of fresh flowers and fine wine, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

You stood at the edge of the dance floor, a glass of champagne in hand, watching as couples twirled in elegant dances, their gowns and suits a blur of color and movement. The weight of the tiara on your head reminded you of your new role, but it felt strangely lighter now, after the vows had been spoken, after the kiss that still lingered on your lips.

Across the room, Bucky stood among a group of nobles, listening to their conversation with polite attentiveness. But his gaze kept drifting back to you, his watchful eyes never leaving your figure for too long. There was a tension in the way he stood, a quiet possessiveness in the way he observed you, as if even from this distance, he wanted to be sure you were safe, that you were comfortable.

You could feel his gaze burning on you, and it sent a flutter through your chest. He hadn’t been far from your side all night, his presence a constant reassurance, a steady anchor amidst the whirlwind of festivities. And though you hadn’t had much time to speak since the ceremony, every glance, every brief touch of his hand against yours, felt like a promise that this night was only the beginning.

A soft voice at your side drew your attention back to the present. “Your Majesty.”

Lady Rambeau appeared at your elbow, her expression as composed as ever, through her eyes held a hint of warmth. “There are a few ladies I’d like you to meet,” she said, her tone formal but respectful.

You nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Of course.”

She gestured toward a small group of women approaching from the other side of the room. As they drew nearer, you recognized them from their noble houses, each of them a prominent figure in the kingdom. But there was something more about them—an air of confidence, of grace and power—that set them apart from the other courtiers.

“These are some of the finest ladies in court,” Lady Rambeau continued, her voice lowering slightly as they approached. “They will be valuable allies to you, my Queen.”

The first woman stepped forward, her striking red hair catching the light as she offered you a small, respectful curtsy. “Lady Natasha Romanoff, Your Majesty,” she introduced herself, her voice smooth and controlled, though her sharp eyes seemed to take in everything at once. “It is an honor to serve the queen.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of her words and the strength behind them. “The honor is mine, Lady Natasha. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Next, a woman with dark, piercing eyes and an aura of quiet intensity stepped forward, offering a graceful curtsy. “Lady Wanda Maximoff,” she said, her voice soft but filled with a certain gravity. “If ever you have the need for my skills, my Queen, they are at your disposal.”

You nodded, sensing something deeper in her words, though you couldn’t quite place it. “Thank you, Lady Wanda. I appreciate your support.”

Finally, a woman with an air of calm authority and intelligence stepped forward, her blonde hair elegantly styled. She smiled warmly at you, her eyes twinkling with a quiet humor. “Lady Virginia Potts, Your Majesty. I oversee many of the palace affairs, so if you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You returned her smile, feeling instantly at ease with her. “I will certainly keep that in mind, Lady Virginia. Thank you.”

Lady Rambeau stepped back slightly, allowing you to take in the moment, surrounded by these powerful women who had now become your allies. There was a sense of reassurance in their presence, a reminder that while this role may be daunting, you were not alone.

As you exchanged a few more pleasantries, you felt Bucky’s gaze on you once again, a protective and possessive energy that seemed to radiate from him even across the crowded hall. You glanced over your shoulder, catching his eyes from across the room.

He gave you a small, knowing smile, his eyes flicking toward Lady Natasha, Wanda, and Pepper as if to acknowledge their presence before returning to you. There was a promise in his gaze—a promise that he would always be watching over you, no matter where you were or who you were with.

You turned toward Natasha, who was observing the room with sharp, calculating eyes. "It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?" you asked, your voice soft but holding a hint of amusement. The grandeur of the evening, the weight of the crown on your head, the people all watching—it was overwhelming, and yet, there was a certain thrill in it.

Natasha’s lips tugged into a small smile, her gaze flicking back to you. “It is. But I imagine you’re used to holding your own.”

“I’m learning quickly, I suppose.” You smiled back, appreciating the compliment.

“I don’t doubt it,” Natasha replied smoothly. “You’ll find the court can be... an interesting place. But if you play your cards right, you’ll have allies in all the right places.” There was a sharpness to her words, a subtle warning about the political nature of the people around you. But beneath it, you could sense her offering her support—her expertise.

Pepper leaned in slightly, her tone warm and filled with humor. “What Natasha means is that while the court can be a bit of a battlefield, there’s no need to navigate it alone. The three of us, well,” she gave a small shrug, “we’ve had our fair share of skirmishes.”

Wanda nodded, her dark eyes studying you with quiet intensity. “The court is full of whispers and schemes. People will say anything to sway your favor.” Her voice was soft, but there was a firm resolve behind it. “But when you surround yourself with people who have your back, the noise becomes just that—noise.”

You took a sip of your champagne, letting their words sink in. It was comforting, in a way, to know that these women had been through the same games you were just beginning to experience. You had already seen the sharp edges of the court with Sharon and Leah—how they used rumors and backhanded comments to try to shake you.

Pepper glanced at you, her eyes twinkling with understanding. “I’m sure you’ve already had a taste of how competitive some of the women can be.” She raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Sharon and Leah, I imagine?”

A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and you nodded. “You could say that. They’ve been… welcoming in their own way.”

“Welcoming. . .That’s one way to put it.” Wanda exchanged a glance with Natasha, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“Don’t worry about them. They’re just... testing the waters. Seeing if you’re as strong as you look.” She paused, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I have a feeling they’ll be disappointed.”

“I certainly hope so.” You couldn’t help but grin at Natasha’s confidence in you.

Pepper leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping slightly, though there was still a playful edge to it. “If you ever need a little extra... assistance in handling those types, just let us know. We’ve got plenty of experience dealing with difficult people.”

Wanda’s gaze softened, sensing your internal struggle. “Don’t let them intimidate you. You are the queen now, and that holds power. But more importantly, you have us.” She gestured to the women around you. “We’ve all been through our own trials. We know what it’s like to navigate these treacherous waters.”

Natasha nodded in agreement, her voice quieter now, more sincere. “And we’ve made it through to the other side. You will too.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at their words. It wasn’t just the alliance they were offering—it was genuine friendship, the kind of support that went beyond titles and formalities.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice laced with gratitude. “I didn’t expect to find this kind of... connection here.”

Pepper placed a gentle hand on your arm, her expression kind. “We look out for each other. That’s how we survive.”

They exchanged glances, their shared smiles filled with a mixture of amusement and affection, and you felt a deep sense of belonging in their presence. It wasn’t just about surviving court anymore—it was about thriving.

Pepper gave a mock sigh, shaking her head with a smile. “Honestly, I’m surprised there hasn’t been any drama tonight. Though, with Sharon and Leah, it’s only a matter of time.”

Wanda chuckled softly. “Perhaps they’re waiting for the right moment. You know they love an audience.”

Just as the laughter between you and the ladies began to fade, a warm presence approached from behind, sending a shiver of awareness down your spine. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The subtle shift in the air, the quiet command of the space—Bucky.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart giving an unbidden flutter as his deep blue eyes met yours. He wore that easy smile, the one that made it seem like he was perfectly comfortable with the world, though you knew there was more to it than that.

"Ladies," Bucky greeted smoothly, giving a small but respectful nod to Natasha, Wanda, and Pepper. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important." His gaze lingered on you, a playful glint in his eyes.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Nothing you couldn’t improve upon, Your Majesty.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes flicking to each of them before settling back on you. “In that case, I wonder if I might steal my wife away for a dance?”

You could feel the amusement radiating from the women beside you, but it was Pepper who spoke first, her tone light and teasing. “By all means, Your Majesty. Just don’t keep her too long. We were just getting to the fun part.”

Wanda smirked, adding, “We wouldn’t want her to forget where her real loyalties lie.”

“I’ll do my best to have her back before you can miss her.” Bucky chuckled again, his hand extended toward you, palm up, his gaze softening as it locked onto yours.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through you as you placed your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, firm yet gentle, and the simple touch sent a wave of anticipation through you.

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised the ladies, though your attention was already fully on Bucky.

Bucky gently led you away from the group, to the dance floor, you felt the world begin to fade away, leaving only the two of you.

The music swelled around you, the soft notes of the waltz filling the air like a gentle breeze, but it was Bucky’s presence that consumed you. His hand was warm and sure at your waist, the other cradling your hand as he guided you effortlessly across the floor. His touch, the closeness, made your heart race with an unfamiliar but welcomed thrill.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and the corners of his mouth lifted into that boyish smile that always made your pulse quicken.

“You seem deep in thought, Y/N,” he teased lightly, his voice a soft rumble, the glint in his eyes mischievous.

“I was thinking,” you replied, feigning seriousness, “how lucky I am that you haven’t stepped on my gown yet.”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and warm, and without warning, he spun you, pulling you back to him with a flourish that made you gasp in surprise. You stumbled slightly, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you against his chest.

“I’d never let that happen,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “You’re far too precious for me to misstep.”

Your laughter bubbled up, light and carefree, filling the space between you. It was strange how easy it was to laugh with him, how quickly he could disarm your nerves, making the weight of the evening feel like nothing.

As the music slowed, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your temple, the tender gesture sending a wave of warmth through you. His hand, still at your waist, slipped slightly lower, pulling you closer as he whispered, “I think you owe me a dance every day for the rest of our lives, don’t you think?”

You grinned up at him, your heart soaring. “Every day? I thought kings were supposed to be busy ruling kingdoms.”

Bucky’s eyes gleamed with affection, his lips brushing your forehead this time. “For you, I’ll always find the time.”

Before you could respond, he spun you again, your skirts flaring out around you as you twirled. You giggled, completely caught up in the moment, in him. When you came back to him, he caught you easily, his grip firm and strong, and you couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped you.

“There’s that laugh. You should smile more often. It suits you.” He smiled down at you, his gaze tender, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, the butterflies in your stomach refusing to settle. His eyes held something deeper, something that made you feel as though you were the only two people in the room.

Without another word, he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Then, as if unable to resist, he placed another kiss on your cheek, then one at your jaw, and finally one just below your ear.

“James!” you gasped, though your laughter betrayed you as you squirmed in his arms, the playful affection catching you off guard.

He laughed, a low, rich sound, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “I can’t help myself. You look too alluring tonight.”

You couldn’t stop the blush that crept up your neck, but you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest for just a moment, allowing yourself to melt into the warmth of his embrace. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that matched the sway of your bodies as you danced.

As the music slowed to a gentle hum, Bucky’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the soft skin there. He tilted your chin up, his eyes soft but filled with that same playful affection.

“Have I told you tonight how lucky I am to have you by my side?” His voice was a low whisper, meant just for you.

You smiled, feeling your heart swell. “No, this is the first.”

“I’ll make it a hundred before the night is over.” He grinned, his thumb gently tracing your jawline.

Before you could reply, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss slow, tender, and full of unspoken promises. It wasn’t the hurried, stolen kiss from before—it was on purpose as if he were reminding you that despite all the eyes watching, this moment was just yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “I’ve been waiting all night to be with you.”

“And now you are,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his breath against your lips.

His lips brushed yours again in response, a feather-light touch that left you breathless. And as the music faded and the evening stretched on, the two of you swayed together, the rest of the world melting away in the warmth of his touch and the quiet, intimate moments you shared.

For the first time all night, you weren’t just the queen and her king. You were simply Bucky and Y/N—two souls bound by something far deeper than titles or crowns.

× × × ×

From your position on the dance floor with Bucky, you caught glimpses of the other guests enjoying the festivities, but it was Captain Rogers who caught your attention. He stood near the edge of the room, his eyes drifting—not to the crowds or the dancing couples—but to Lady Natasha.

For most of the evening, you had noticed him, his gaze lingering on her with a quiet, almost tentative intensity. Steve Rogers was many things—brave, honorable, and steadfast—but when it came to matters of the heart, it seemed he was not as confident. Natasha, for her part, appeared entirely unaware, laughing and speaking with Wanda and Pepper, graceful as always.

But then there was Sharon, standing not far from Steve, her eyes on him, watching his every move. You could see it in her posture, the subtle tilt of her head, the way her fingers gripped her glass—she thought his attention was on her. It wasn’t difficult to guess where this was heading, and the tension of it made your heart race for reasons entirely different from the dance.

Beside you, Bucky must have sensed your distraction, because he leaned down and murmured, “What’s caught your eye, my Queen?”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly toward Steve. “I think Captain Rogers is about to make a move.”

Bucky followed your gaze, his lips quirking into a knowing grin. “About time. He’s been staring at her like a lost puppy all night.”

You chuckled softly, watching as Steve squared his shoulders, his resolve clearly building as he took a deep breath and started toward Natasha. The room seemed to slow, the moment stretched out as he approached her, his expression carefully composed but with a hint of nervousness beneath the surface.

But just as Steve was a few steps away from Natasha, Sharon stepped forward, a bright smile lighting up her face, clearly under the impression that he was coming for her. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm in what she must have thought was a gentle, flirtatious gesture.

“Captain Rogers,” Sharon greeted warmly, her voice lilting. “I was just wondering if—”

Steve, clearly caught off guard, blinked at her in confusion, his eyes flickering quickly from Sharon to Natasha, who had just turned and was watching the interaction with a raised eyebrow.

Sharon’s smile faltered slightly, but she pressed on, her tone hopeful. “Would you like to dance?”

Steve's gaze flickered toward Natasha, who stood not far from him, her expression composed but with that ever-present sharpness in her eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then his eyes caught sight of Sharon’s father, Lord Carter, watching the scene unfold from the corner of the room. The older man’s gaze was piercing, his posture stern and authoritative.

Steve hesitated, his throat tightening. He was well aware of the power Lord Carter wielded within the court, the weight of his opinion, and how much sway he held over many matters—both spoken and unspoken. His glance darted back to Sharon’s expectant expression, her eyes wide with anticipation.

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hold its breath. Steve’s jaw clenched, his shoulders rigid as he fought with himself internally. And then, as if a decision was made for him, he forced a smile and nodded.

“Yes, of course.” he said simply, offering his hand.

Sharon’s face lit up with a brilliant smile, and she slipped her hand into his, her gaze flickering triumphantly to Natasha for just a fraction of a second. Lord Carter nodded approvingly from his spot, his face easing into a look of satisfaction.

But as Steve led Sharon to the dance floor, his eyes found Natasha one last time. The disappointment in her gaze, so well hidden behind her cool demeanor, pierced him deeper than any wound ever had.

Bucky’s hand remained steady on your waist as you moved together, his gaze focused on you. But your attention wavered, drawn back to where Steve and Sharon now stood together on the dance floor. The way Sharon’s lips curved into a self-satisfied smile made something coil unpleasantly in your chest.

You kept your expression serene, eyes trained on them with the same polite interest expected of a queen surveying her court. The facade was perfect—no one would guess that beneath the surface, your feelings toward Lady Carter were far from friendly.

“Everything alright?” Bucky’s low murmur brought your focus back to him. He was watching you, his eyes filled with curiosity. He hadn’t noticed the brief flicker of disapproval in your gaze, hadn’t caught the way your fingers tightened slightly against his shoulder.

You smiled up at him, soft and unassuming. “Of course,” you replied lightly, matching his steps with effortless grace. “I was simply observing our Captain. It’s not often we see him… in such a position.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted briefly over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “No, it’s not,” he agreed, amusement lacing his tone. “Poor Steve, stuck dancing with Lady Carter when it’s clear his mind is elsewhere.”

Your smile grew a touch tighter, but you nodded, letting out a soft, almost indifferent laugh. “Yes, quite the predicament,” you mused, keeping your voice light and even.

You knew Bucky wasn’t probing further—he was simply sharing an observation, unaware of the way Sharon’s presence grated against you like nails on silk. And you intended to keep it that way.

He spun you gently, your skirts sweeping elegantly around you, and you caught sight of Sharon’s face once more. She was speaking animatedly, leaning just a bit too close to Steve, clearly basking in whatever illusion she’d spun for herself.

You looked away before Bucky could follow your line of sight, turning your gaze to meet his instead.

“Do you think they make a good match?” you asked the question casually and laced with just the right amount of interest.

Bucky shrugged slightly, his grip on you unwavering as he guided you through another smooth turn.

“Steve can decide for himself,” he replied, a neutral smile on his lips. “But it’s obvious where his heart lies.”

You hummed softly, nodding as if merely considering his words. “I suppose so,” you murmured, then shifted the topic with ease, guiding the conversation away from Steve and Sharon.

As Bucky’s attention shifted fully to your words, your expression remained the picture of calm. Yet inwardly, your gaze flickered back to the dance floor, watching as Sharon leaned in, whispering something into Steve’s ear.

Your smile didn’t falter, not even for a second. But the disdain simmering beneath it was a quiet, insistent thing, buried beneath layers of grace and composure. Sharon could have her little victory tonight—it didn’t matter.

Because you knew exactly where Steve’s gaze would turn when the music ended, and it wouldn’t be on the lady currently in his arms.

× × × ×

The carriage wheels creaked softly beneath you as they rolled over the gravel path, the only sound filling the heavy silence between you and Bucky. You sat across from each other, the space that had once felt warm now stretched and distant. Bucky’s gaze was fixed out the window, his profile bathed in the soft moonlight, but his expression was unreadable. You had tried to break the silence once or twice, but each attempt had fallen flat, met with a polite nod or a quiet murmur. The joy and excitement from the wedding already felt like a distant memory, replaced by the weight of unspoken words and something heavier that lingered between you. The estate loomed ahead, but instead of excitement, a growing unease settled deep within your chest.

The estate stretched out before you, magnificent and imposing. The manicured gardens glistened in the fading light, and the grandeur of the manor seemed to stretch endlessly, its windows glowing like embers. As the carriage halted, Bucky disembarked first, extending a hand toward you. His touch, though familiar, carried an unusual stiffness that unsettled you.

As you stepped down, you glanced at him, uncertainty swirling in your chest. "Where exactly are we?"

Bucky’s lips curved slightly, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. His gaze drifted to the manor. "Well, what do you think?"

You took in the estate’s breathtaking beauty, momentarily distracted by its splendor. "It’s magnificent. Who resides here?"

Bucky’s gaze softened as he turned back to you. "I had it refurbished just for you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, a warm flutter of surprise catching you off guard. "This is our home?" you asked, hope threading through your voice. "James..."

But Bucky’s expression faltered, his tone more measured. "It’s your home."

Confusion washed over you, your brow furrowing. "My home? What does that mean?"

"This is where you will live." Bucky’s eyes flickered briefly, avoiding yours.

A chill ran through you as his words sank in. "I’m not sure I follow," you said slowly, your voice laced with uncertainty. "If this is my house, then surely it is ours as well?"

Bucky’s face remained impassive, though his tone was distant. "Technically, St. Vincent’s Palace is our residence. But here, this is where you will stay."

Your pulse quickened. "And where will you stay?" you asked, feeling the weight of his reply before he even spoke.

Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly. "I have an estate in Annecy."

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "So, you intend to live in Annecy?"

"Yes."

"And I’m to live here?"

"Yes."

Your chest tightened as you stared at him, disbelief clouding your thoughts. "But it’s our wedding night."

"It’s late," Bucky said, calmly, almost too calm. "You’ve been traveling. You should go inside, meet the staff, rest. You’ll need your strength for the coming days."

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "No, James. It’s our wedding night. We’ve just been married." Your voice dropped, your cheeks flushing slightly. "Aren’t we supposed to spend the night together? Is that not what married couples do?"

Bucky’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you asking me to perform my marital duties to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "I’m not asking anything," you replied, your voice wavering. "I just thought... Isn’t this the night we’re meant to spend together? My governess always said that’s how it’s done. . . That it’s important."

He let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders palpable. "Very well," he muttered, turning abruptly toward the entrance. "I’ll stay then."

"James!" you called, quickening your pace to follow him.

"I said I’ll stay," he repeated curtly, his strides long and deliberate. "Are you coming or not?"

The staff clapped politely as you entered the grand foyer together, but your mind was elsewhere, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"James, slow down," you pleaded, your voice rising as you hurried after him. "I can’t keep up with you."

He came to a sudden halt, turning to face you, frustration etched into every line of his face. "You wanted me in the bedroom. Isn’t that what you were asking for?"

You froze at his words, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. "No."

His brow furrowed. "No?"

"Not if you’re going to act like this," you said, your voice trembling. "You’re upset. What have I done? If I’ve offended you in any way, I’m sorry—"

Bucky’s expression softened, but there was still tension in his stance, his left hand flexing. "You haven’t done anything wrong," he said quietly, though his voice carried the weight of something unspoken. "It’s just... I’m comfortable in Annecy."

Your heart clenched. "Then let’s go to Annecy together."

Bucky shook his head. "No. You’re staying here."

"Why?" you asked, searching his face for answers. "You don’t want me to go with you?"

"This is your home," he said firmly, his tone final.

You felt the distance between you grow with every word. "My home. . ."

"Yes."

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. "I see."

Bucky exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he nodded. "Good. Then everything is settled."

But nothing felt settled. Not at all. "No. No, it is not settled." you said, your voice cracking in utter confusion. One moment he couldn’t get his hands off you, this sudden change was too difficult to let go. "James, is this what our marriage will be? Us living separately?"

"Yes," he replied, his voice steady but detached.

"Why?" you whispered, tears threatening to well in your eyes.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, "I thought it would be... easier this way."

"For whom?" you asked, the pain in your voice evident. "For you? Or for me?"

Bucky’s patience frayed, his tone sharpening. "I’m not having this discussion with you."

You stepped closer, your voice pleading. "I just want to understand. Please, tell me why—"

"I don’t need to explain anything!" Bucky’s voice thundered, his frustration boiling over. "I’m the one who decides, and I have decided. Are you forgetting that I am your KING?!"

His words hit you like a physical blow, your heart shattering. You stepped back, your voice trembling as you dropped into a low curtsy.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," you said quietly, your head bowed in deference. "I thought you were just James."

Bucky’s expression fell, regret flickering across his face. He reached out for you, his voice softer now. "Y/N, please—"

But you pulled back, avoiding his touch. The guard you thought you’d lowered, the tentative trust you were building—everything slammed back up, a fortress around your heart. You were foolish enough to think you were getting to know him better.

It was clear now how wrong you were.

"May I take my leave, Your Majesty? Or do you have more to say?" Your voice was brittle.

Bucky’s hand dropped to his side, a look of defeat crossing his features. "Y/N... you don’t understand, this is for the best."

You swallowed hard, forcing a brittle smile as you nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever you wish. I shall rest now. I wish you a safe trip to Annecy."

With that, you turned and walked away, the echo of your footsteps haunting the grand hall as you left him standing there, the distance between you stretching wider than ever.

Love always blew up in your face, shattering whatever good you’d dared to believe in. You were a fool to believe that it wouldn’t go south in the worst way this quickly.

Each step you took, you buried the yearning, the desperation to reach out and demand more from him—from what you could be together.

Instead, you rebuilt the walls. You raised the drawbridge.

And you vowed to tread carefully with your emotions when it comes to him.

354 notes · View notes

1-49 · 3 months ago

Text

burnt orange, #CC5500

╰► A Smoky Night, or an evening that smoulders forever

pairing: jaehyun × f!reader

❝ A burnt orange aura reveals high ambition and a strong desire for change, driven by practicality. Individuals with this shade may display a touch of selfishness, pride, or aggression. Its brown tones introduce a negative energy aspect, indicating potential challenges, lack of energy, or feeling stuck.

tags: this my fav type of angst. tense energy laced with pain with an undercurrent in flirting lol. wc. 10k

jaehyun’s too fine & unreadable. lots of messy signals and an overall fogged atmosphere. think both of them are toxic in their individual style lmao.. pining. implied fevered moments.

Whichever burns brighter ─── the orange flame rising from the evening lamp in the corner , or the view through the windows as the sun sets over the horizon ── you dont know. Each affects your feelings, but primarily it ’s the way it all reflects on him. The warm glow that has accumulated in his harsh eyes from both simply signifies that the journey is coming to an end. The day is almost over, and so are you two.

────── Slanderous comments were made, and accusations were traded. There is now nothing left to cling to. The only truth beneath all of Jaehyun’s painfully continuous smoothing and touching of his baseball cap, which he seems to be pulling in despite the fact that it’s already on his head, is his intense anxiety and uneasiness.

There is no longer any chance to salvage this; everything is in terminal decline, so there is no point in saying you’re sorry or taking back what you both said. Moreover, this should be easy to conclude because if there is anything you have learned from him, it’s how to develop stronger character.

... But the truth is very different from your wish that it is simple.

& you hate the truth! You hate finding yourself in this predicament. You hate that there’s no turning around. But the worst part of it all is that you hate that you lo—

His eternally soft hair, which has grown slightly, peeks out from under the cap, concealing the majority of his nape. An intimate place that was once kissed, bruised, and then kissed again—but now, his hair is just pushing you away from all of that.

Even his neck is contributing to the sand pile of memories because his oversized, washed brown shirt is too loose around the collar. His silver oli ball chain necklace, which you used to roll around your finger and play with endlessly, now sits glumly in the hollows of his collarbones. That this person was once a close person to you, it’s now a fever dream.

“Please—please stop talking! You-you’re only making this worse!”

“So…”

Giving room for the raging argument to subside, Jaehyun rubs his jaw, debating what to say next. “...so that’s it? We-we are really doing this? Cause we’ve been here before, an—”

You let out a groan of frustration at his pathetic attempt to stop him from talking more. Of course, it’s easy for him to say that, you think, holding that forsaken question under your breath once again as though you want this, as though it’s simple. The way he poses it too, while wearing nothing but skepticism on his face as if he didn’t see this coming after so many meaningless arguments, angers you even more. He’s beautiful, but at times like this, all you want to do is slap all of that beauty straight out of his face.

But perhaps that’s exactly what’s bothering you—your obsession with his nonchalanc-y, which you used to find sexy, now seems to be eating away at your feelings. Stoic expression, a face, and a clenched jaw is all that’s meeting you, so maybe, finding him attractive during these fights does make you crazy.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before answering, realizing that you’re never going to get anywhere by dragging your eyes along every contour on his delicious face anyway. Surely, it has kept you running back to him. A moment of weakness. And for some stupid unknown reason, he has always tasted even better after every fight. How? But also no! Not this time. You promise!

“What do you want from me, Jaehyun!? Since there’s no telling where we’re going, and it’s been like this for months! I think you’ve been under the impression that I’d wait forever, holding on- and on to what you’ve never said and never will. But I’m not trying to do this anymore! I am seriously not! I’m sick of getting only half of you. I’m done playing open cards. I’m done! Whatever this is… it’s-it’s over.”

Jaehyun scowls at you and ceases his pacing in the middle of the room.

There! Finally, a sign of disturbance. Though you two have been together long enough for you to learn through his impassiveness and all those small, tangible details that guard his innate tender, it’s still difficult to shake an emotion out of him—a real, deep-seated emotion that takes your ‘situationship’ into account.

Simultaneously, perhaps that will help explain why he ‘might even have’ a reason to dislike you, given that you were the only one who witnessed him at his most vulnerable. The only person who truly knows him; nevertheless, he has been growing increasingly aloof lately, so maybe that’s not something he’s into anymore. Maybe all he’s doing is just returning to his former self, the one who existed before the shattered shell you met. And maybe at last he has put his every piece back together and realized that sensitivity is the devil’s bitch and that in this ring, he’s a dog on his own.

Right… Too many ‘maybes’, but he doesn’t give you much to go on for you to consider any other options anyway.

Instead, he smoothes the cap over his head for the forty-ninth time, then flips it back so the bill is in front of his eyes and covers them slightly. Like this, his jawline adopts an even more defined shape. His lips...

The aura of mystery he exudes boots right back in. Given the esoteric shadow cast over his cheekbones, he seems even more prepared to walk out of the door at any moment. Or else you can anticipate more of his wicked smiles, lies, and games if he chooses to stay.

Ironically, he really knows how to wear the cap’s logo, which befits his unserious dead humor. ‘Hysteric’ remains blasted on his head in Times New Roman, but there’s not a trace of hysteria in his character at the moment, as much as you’d like him to have.

Though you wish he were, because if he were, it’d mean he still finds significance in this and that he’s prepared to fight. But that’s not the case at all right now; his voice is as calm and collected as ever, lacking any incline.

Bizarrely enough, the thing that, sort of, falls under that statement are, in fact, your nerves. They rave as you watch him. They fry at the edges. You start to sound even more irate as you think he’s not losing anything, while you seem to be the only one.

Though the words are loaded like a gun, you don’t want to come across as foolish or desperate. But as he offers you no other option, you believe that to be the only picture you paint at this point. And you don’t care if it’s an ugly one.

You’re also having a hard time with your thoughts because they seem to go on forever and it takes you a long time to organize them into something to say. So you just take a moment to ignore him and turn your head away from him, giving the fight another breath, but once you’re ready to go again, he’s somehow closer to you. Significantly closer to you, and only you know how dangerous that is.

You go on, continuing to rant, but all you can seem to focus on are his lips and how they shape with each little thing he says. He’s really of little words in deep tones if you must say so, and—

Well-Fuck! You are caught touring his lips again!!

You’ve no idea how he manages to keep them so balmed and dreamy at all times. Tangerine dusk pours through the windows and contrasts with the same shade of the lamp, making his lips look like melted wax, beckoning you. So sticky, sweet icing-coated, enticing you to lick... Oh, he’s making you sick.

You wave your head, shaking the nasties that have accumulated. Jaehyun doesn’t move an inch. If anything, the fucker knows!

He then makes a move toward you, only this time you’re unsure of whether to regard these steps as your victories or defeats.

As you go on, you find yourself stumbling over your words more and more, observing him removing his cap off of his head once again and running his fingers through his hair, just like he has done countless times before, except this time he doesn’t put it back; instead, he throws it down on the sofa.

Needless to say, there’s something innately dangerous, something deeply unbalanced and maniacal in the way he tilts his head to one side and slowly brushes his hair back as his jet strands catch inside the gaps of his knuckles. Their drag… The glare he gives you... Working his eyes out in the most possible way to make a wreak out of you... He has to, how could he not? You’re a delight to enjoy.

A rabid. The charm of his masculinity surges up as he watches you from the tilted angle. Something deep inside of him transfers esoterically inside your soul. You want him to get deeper into your anger, realizing you’re both just as toxic.

You should tell him to walk away! That he has ruined the evening! That—

But then… he’s looking at you like this... with the absolute right amount of fucked up...

and maybe that’s why you can’t escape,

and maybe that’s exactly why he can’t escape either, as he knows how much you love this.

It’s sick. Absolutely. Entirely. As it backfires all over again; as it all burns up and the orange bathes in the dull black of his eyes. No doubt, he’s your top choice trouble.

But-But you’ve had enough of that cup! You’ve had enough of trouble! You don’t want more! You—

You won’t be shaken. He won’t have an effect on you this time.

Step by step, you move away from him in an attempt to create a space that he keeps closing. You’re conscious of the fact that your eyes dart all over the place and are never focused on his, which gives away the fact that you aren’t really serious about ending this, but you manage nonetheless.

“Sure,” There’s poison in your voice as you begin your closing argument, oblivious to the fact that it’d become just another rant and soften from its vicious substance.

“I-I was lonely when I met you, but so were you! I knew you were lonely too. And it worked... Rather somehow…”

Hesitating, you cast a sidelong glance at your feet, as though trying to remember something, but in the end, failing.

“I don’t know. Maybe we talked more?” Posing the questions to yourself, you pout. “Or? Maybe not? I don’t know. I really don’t know!”

Even though you’re feeling extremely tense, rattled, and frail in your own skin, you look up to him as you proceed. What more is he capable of doing? He’s nothing but a pretty face—It’s your preferred perception. What’s currently more believable. The simpler way out. That he’s not at all complex; and is just as blunt and empty as he wants to make the impression. That the few words birthed from his soft, pouty, supple, unkissed sunkissed lips are nothing but futile, meaningless, and devoid.

However, there appears to be a deep crease developing between his eyebrows, so perhaps your impression of him is inaccurate(?) You aren’t sure why, but all of a sudden you get scared at the possibility that it could mean something. Hell! Looking at him drains you immensely. But-but you-you have t—

“Our fights have stripped us of all our beauty… I’m just left watching you drift farther away.”

As his brows knit, so do yours. You’re debating whether or not to acknowledge your emotions, but in the end, you do.

“To be honest, it’s hurting me. But regardless how ugly the experience is, it’s made me realize how much you mean to me. But still… I know that’s not an excuse to stay with you. I tried to play it cool at first because we were never really stable, but— Not anymore!”

“I don’t know... I feel like there’s nothing I can do anymore. And yes! We’ve already had this conversation. It seems that you particularly like bringing up that fact... Except nothing has been fixed since the last time we fought, J. I wouldn’t be so proud to mention it. It’s merely there to serve as a reminder that we are constantly failing. You say it as though there’s some reason we shouldn’t end this right now, and I’m not sure why you’d even bring that up. I really don’t... We’re no fit for each other.”

Your tone rises at ‘That’s the truth!’ implying that you’re still not prepared to think about it and that you don’t want to accept it, for it to only become more painfully sad and subdued in the following affirming, “That’s the truth…”

You hesitate a moment more before saying the next thing, as it feels like daggers are stabbing into your heart, but you do it nonetheless. Breathing also becomes more difficult as your chest begins to feel constricted, but you force yourself to swallow the fear ball stuck in your throat. Feverous, a shiver of cold runs up your spine as you watch him with your final words. “We failed to save each other. I you… you me.”

With his teeth ground down, Jaehyun rolls his eyes. Your words just feel like a smack. It’s like your attitude has just now put him in a bad mood as if you’re trying your best to leave a permanent crease in between his brows.

You know he’d rather be numb than angry, but the feeling boils within him. You feel that he’s on the verge of just snapping, but he won’t do it outright. In a way, you almost kind of admire that ability of his—to be so patient, as he secretly harbors passive-aggressive tendencies.

Catching a glimpse, you notice his nails scrape through layers of palm flesh as his fingers ball into fists. He continues to clench and unclench them as though he’s encouraging blood flow, but there’s more to the action than that.

And as though he’s suddenly transformed into an animal, he moves his jaw a bit before locking it and pressing his teeth into a dense snarl.

Maybe it aches; maybe he’s in excruciating pain, but he doesn’t show it. The skin collapses in his cheeks, leaving them sunken. His face has the power to kill. It’s deadly... Sexy.

You’re expecting to hear some mean words from him too; and they’re possibly waiting on his lips, hanging in the air between you two like a thread waiting to be cut.

And so, he finally speaks up. “You’re so easy to give up,” his voice as deeply warm as it can get—contradictory in and of itself, just like he is.

The word choice?? It catches you off guard. Even shocks you. Suddenly? Abruptly and seriously? Just like that!? Of all the words and expressions conceivable, and after you’ve been berating him for so long, all you get back is that? Really!? You find them so unbelievably funny that you can’t help but smirk miserably and accept their presumed grim sarcasm.

Asking rhetorically, you follow their ironic trajectory, “So easy to give up!?” playing it off cynically at first until you’re no longer able to. Then, as you continue, your voice grows huskier; he actually provides the reason for you to do so, encouraging you to take things seriously when he won’t.

“How am I so easy to give up!? Tell me! Tell me, do I give up easily? Or-uh-do I hold on too long, Jaehyun!? Cause I gave us—This… enough time and realized what I want will never be enough… I need to take care of myself.”

Saying, “You are selfish,” he takes another step. His eyebrow arches subconsciously as he says the word, which is also repulsively beautifully formed by his lips. But what does it mean? What does he mean!??

“Wow,” you’re left sneering and scoffing in disbelief. “And can you blame me!? For wanting to protect myself? For wishing better for myself!? Because you—” In the heat, you even step over a boundary as you take a step towards him too, pointing and pressing your index finger at his chest. “You are so distant! You hardly express what you feel. I can’t get through to you. It’s like I have you but I don’t-really…” Almost as if it had finally drowned in sorrow, your voice becomes faint and gentle. “I’m tired, Jay.”

Your eyes say the same thing, there’s a sudden despair in them. A vision that perpetually sinks. Eyes of ‘the conquered.’ Glossy. Your tears are asking for permission as you say, “You-you are like something I can’t really have... And-and every time we have this conversation, you-you love to-to change it,” you feel your lips quiver. “To-to stop it. To—”

“Stop!” Jaehyun interrupts your delirious thoughts as he takes the last step and closes any gap that may exist between you two.

“Don’t!” You shout back at whatever move, aim, or objective he may have. But remain still, resolute, and maintain your ground. Not yet waving the white, even though he’s so close—so excessively, painfully close—that he’s able to feel the quivering waves coming from your body. So awfully close that his scent is gnawing at your nose. It’s insistent, just like his perpetually clenched jawline. His jawbone might shatter from such thightness.

The stimulation all comes in spasms. Your walls crumble on themselves, gripping, tightening, constricting... Your body begins to prepare for a fit of sobbing. Hot. Quaver. Fever. Literally, you writhe in agony under his intimidating breath that seeps beneath your skin and sinks its daggered claws within. However, you gasp for air as your own breath slips from your fingertips.

Whispery, “I wish I—I could be true…” intimately, “to you, Jeong…” vulnerably, “I really do… But it’s plain to see I’m not the one.”

Silence.

A profound sense of loss spreads through the room and meditates on the lifeless air. Despite the body closeness, there’s a lingering emptiness that feels like the quiet of a hall on a cold winter night.

The sun fades to shadows, chasing the sunset away. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, bluish-dark inks the sky. Duplicates of the two of you on the walls due to the lamp’s remaining orange. The only thing left after such a confession is that the ground appears really lovely and that you ought to concentrate on it till he separates and walks away.

It nearly stops your heart when Jaehyun’s pensive, icy fingers circle around your chin and lift your face to pull you closer.

His slightly black mullet trickles along his earlobes. With a furious look, he rolls his lower lip between his teeth. In thought, though, there’s still resoluteness residing on his face at which you want to scream, ‘SAY SOMETHING TO ME.’

But why? Why would you want more, knowing it’d only prove a disaster and cause more misery?

Thus, you grab his wrist angrily, forcing him to stop controlling your face and eyes so you can only focus on his. You’ve also had the best teacher in him because he has always been so competitive. Two can therefore grit their teeth at each other.

There’s also a lot of resistance initially due to his strength. You both lose a little bit of balance as he counter-grips your wrist, and you briefly rustle as your bodies come into contact. What matters is that his hand does, in the end, get ripped away from your chin.

With his empty hands by his sides, Jaehyun gently blinks multiple times, and all of a sudden, everything changes—the energy, the atmosphere... him… you.

His lips flat into a bread-shaped smile, causing lovley holes to sink at his cheeks. You hear nothing but a cry of help through his tiny, adorable smile, which may indicate that he refuses to offer a piece of his heart because he doesn’t think it’ll be kept unbroken. His almond eyes liquid with anxiety as you expect his voice to soften again and tell you another pretty lie.

Lacking specificity, you ask sharply, “How do you do that?” squinting cynically because you find it incredible. What you’re referring to, though, is the way he transitions between such extreme emotions in such a tranquil, almost graceful, manner. It astounds you. You’d never see him in total distress. He won’t show it.

A little perplexed, Jaehyun asks, “Do what?”

There’s no way that he’s oblivious to it, so you feel compelled to lash out once more, but all you do is shake your head a little and roll your eyes, which is the equivalent of ‘nevermind.’ This way, you restrain yourself from repeating the same things over and over. Besides, what would be their point?

A second moment of silence ensues.

To release some of his tension, Jaehyun lifts his chin and purses his lips, adjusting the loose collar of his shirt, and continues in the same manner, bending his neck side to side while hooking his fingers to his chain necklace and moving it around.

Not knowing so, or rather so, he’s easily creating very frustrating hypnotism, teasing you in with each twist of his finger around his necklace. His veins are throbbing and protruding, and his tense neck cords are drawing the majority of your attention. His bare neck seems to be begging you to desert your lips on the scent of his perfume. At the same time, if your fingers had a chance, they’d also trace the familiar lines of his collars…..

Yikes! You seem to be clinging again, so Jaehyun bites his smile a couple of times and drags his tongue across his teeth before beaming widely. You shake your head but are unable to resist the invitation to smile yourself when his puffy eyes curve up. His flirty dimples seek your thumbs. This motherfucker…

Altering between hotness and sweetness should be considered a crime. Jail time is due for him. No way are you flirting back.

There seems to be an addiction to space, so proximity is key. But if he gets any closer with this newfound, unfair energy, you fear that you won’t be able to let him go.

In fact, Jaehyun does just that. Being quite competitive, he’d not want to finish second in a game where the person who keeps reaching closer wins.

Naturally, time slows down on itself. And yet more is said now—in the space, between the breaths, and after all those mean words. Could it be that you are becoming a fan of the hushness he so preaches?

His brow lifts again, but this time it’s more like a test, with his slightly blown-out, intrigued eye asking, ‘Why is it so hard for you to believe that I like you?’ It’s playful, but it manipulates you by raising doubts in your mind, making you wonder if he really means, ‘Do I like you?’

Feeling a little roused on the inside, you look at him with the same intensity that he does, and really the only thing separating you two at this moment is your willingness to reach out.

In spur, eyes, lips, and notions are all involved in the play. Jaehyun’s sensuality is just accelerating on top of your angsts. And every playful bite of his lips telepathically leads you in soft-spoken: Open your eyes; Open the keys; Open the mind. Just senses pleading with you to open them. Sight and smell are relatively easy to cross off the list, but taste and touch are a tad bit more tricky.

Lingering just at the tip of your nose, the weight of his perfume raptures you even more so now than previously. It feels as though you’re allowing him to reclaim control over you by allowing his magic to work.

And it does, elevating you to an unexplainable height. If perfume can offer a little sense of who somebody is, his attests to the warmth of his character. Pricey but never pretentious, you assume there seems to be a depth behind his tendency to favor musky scents. As they settle into the skin of each person differently, they have a unique, layered appeal. This intricacy speaks to Jaehyun in a way that’s similar to him and the various facets that comprise his identity. He’s the mild heat of spring—subtle but all at once intense.

That, plus the fact that you’re tipping more to your toes, more to his nose. Again, balance becomes a wavy thing as you’re beginning to lose to the chemical waves.

You overheat, and there’s this ecstatic tingling in your toes—this burning sensation!!

Cooling you down, the wooden floor feels surprisingly nice and cold under your feet. Melting. His lips are steering your emotions, making you loathe the remaining distance between you. And finally, finally, losing yourself- as you descend into the depths of his eyes.

Jaehyun is just smoothly succeeding in wrapping himself around you like the night...

Your crazed heart makes your chest dance to such a heavy rhythm. Your breaths are shallow, and your eyes are—

Pretty malicious, Jaehyun reaches out and slowly runs his knuckles down your cheek as to worsen it all.

With an even more seductive tone and a teasing smile, he asks softly. “What’s the deal, baby?”

Oh god...

A long, trembling sigh escapes you.

He knows! He knows he has to do so little... As if the electric vibrations weren’t already enough, he causes more!! Ghoosbumps begin to form houses along your skin. A powerful, uncomfy warmth ascends from your throat and becomes embedded in your cheeks. Well, this is what happens when a person’s voice becomes your favorite auditory hallucination.

A deep, velvety tone, a voice that belongs in a museum. Best when he’s used it to read you. Valentine warm after he’s led you in a song. Carnal, and in shady hues when he whispers. Such a wild thing, how your thoughts won’t stop romanticizing it. It’s all that you want to hear—as if everything ever stemmed from these id-driven impulses—is to ask for only his voice… Only his voice! And you CAN be greedy…

Once he nuzzles your nose and presses his tample against yours, your body sinks. Your closed eyes are a final measure of restrain as his breath mingles with yours. Thoughts race past like speeding cars. How in the world are you supposed to stop them? Your mouth gets clumsy in the end, it betrays you.

“I-I shouldn’t want you.” You blurt.

Jaehyun smiles in front of your lips and confirms in a flirty, “No-pe.” Just steering your comment in the direction of something good... Because yes, you should—

As you lie, your eyes open. “I really shouldn’t shouldn’t want you!”

Which makes his smile widen even more. His whiskers creasing invisible lines in his cheeks. An artist, indeed... On sinister thought, an angel’s grin.

To say you don’t love him is a lie. To say you love him is an understatement. To say you love him, you can’t. To say you love him now, you arn’t allowed to. It’s basically hell.

You’re doomed. You’re screwed with this magical person standing in front of you.

Yes! Exactly! HOW DOES HE DO THAT?

“How can something so wrong feel so right, then?” He tases in a low voice, dragging his nose across your cheek like a scar. It’s irrelevant if he’s referring to ‘this’ thing or himself. The final point is, he does things to you, and he knows it.

You groan a soft “Jaehyun,” with a mixture of protest and pleasure.

Contrarily, Jaehyun puts his hands around your waist and begins climbing. His lips start to brush under your ear and against your neck.

Shit-SHIT-

Are you going to fall all the way into his hands, or what?

What the devil kind of communication are you supposed to give? What does he expect you to answer? He’s the most bitter sweet, sweetness, heaven sent—

“You are... so...bad,” you drag as his lips rediscover the most delicate spots on your neck, and his muffled hums and moans accompany each kiss.

He acts to support the statement that was meant to be the general response to your question, so it gets a little derived and distorted with what he does, and you find yourself tossing your head back.

He ascends back up, rubbing a nasty “Yeah?” in your face and planting a smiley-boyish kiss to the side of your cheek next to your ear. His damp, choked breath on your skin; his whisper filling your ear; his smoky energy... “So are you, babe.”

FUCK. Awful! Foul. But your body listens. Your wants are left twisting up in knots, and you know only one thing will unlace...

But your mouth...

Your mouth can’t stop sabotaging and pointing out the nonexistent problems, which almost always become problems later on. This might get you the ‘big mouth’ rep but there’s a lot of good coming out that just gets interlaced with some bad. So, yes. True. You’re bad. But so are you both.

There’s a fireside of warmth he has aroused inside you and your lips are almost touching, but but—

“That’s… That’s why the outline of this is wrong.”

—you’re a little stubborn... so if he thinks your brain can take a backseat and let you be so easygoing, then he’s got it wrong. It’ll take longer.

Jaehyun’s fingertips, though, continue to trace along the length of your arm, calling you his with every line while his nose lightly rubs against yours, prompting you to—

“Is it?” he asks.

But maybe that’s what gets him. The ‘longer’. The far more difficult route to the goal. The much larger build-up. Love that bites. Love like war... Sometimes necessary quiet like love in a hunt. Love like the end of the world.

They warned you about him…

You breathe out the air you’ve been holding in your lungs and slip away from him. Depressed by his lukewarm replies, you respond coolly, “Of course, that’s how you’d answer.”

Sincerely, you want to stop; you want to be able to raise your chin, extend your chest, lift your shoulders and project strength, but the situation is so sad that all of its burdens fall upon you, causing you to slouch and feel its full weight once more.

For a hot minute, your tongue stays tied around your throat, as if it were forming an unbreakable noose around your neck. You two exist in this quiet, as all that keeps coming to mind is how beautifully his dark hair frames his face.

And after living in it briefly, you ask quietly, “What happened to you? What happened to us, Jaeh—”

He cuts in, “Oh, come on!” pointing a finger at you disapprovingly and raising his voice a bit, if not for the first time. “Don’t minimize us!”

However, as he goes on, his mouth mirrors his anguish, almost taking on a very faint, repulsive, sick look as he blurts out the words. It moves in disgust, but it hardly opens at all. Like he’s repelled by what he’s hearing or because he’s speaking back in a similarly offensive way(?)

“It’s rather insulting and beneath your design... To drive me away... When-when I’m not.”

The comment so easily revolts you back that just—

“I don’t have to drive you away, Jaehyun! You are away by definition... You are so away, you’re unavailable!”

Fuck!

You pause when the bobbling sensation inside of you rips at your throat, burning your eyes and causing tears to well up like water in a den but other than that you try to hold onto whatever crumb of strength you have left and continue. What does it matter if a hot tear rolls down your cheek and bruises it like a sharp diamond edge?

“I wait for you... I-I fucking watch for you, Jaehyun. The look on your face controls every feeling I have. I can’t fucking breathe because I’m waiting for you. It’s sick! It’s making me sick. I’m sick by it! I’m—I’m sick while all you do is cut my wrists so there’s no love for me- to- reac—”

Love???

Struck that the word left your mouth, you shut your eyes. Stupid! But then again, what did you expect? It can only surface in circumstances this excruciating. And no one has ever said the word up until now. It has never existed in the dictionary you share.

And you may blame your fuzzy vision on the tears that have welled up, or you can blame the small space separating you, but neither of these arguments can discount the fact that the word also takes Jaehyun by surprise and is left doing something to him too.

It’s impossible to miss the red that quickly built up in his ears—it’s not been there all evening. It looks so out of place against his ivory skin. Though nuanced, the action is very telling in itself. Something so intense and visceral that even his mind is powerless to stop it. The slightest clue that only you and he understand its significance and how unsettlingly intimate it is.

Or maybe you’re projecting again? Maybe you just want it to mean something(?) Maybeee… May—

You—You shouldn’t have used that word so carelessly! You—

In truth, you feel crushed by its weight. You feel like you’re ripped bare in the middle of the room and you can’t dress up your feelings again. But there’s also this bizarre solace in the fact that you don’t have to anymore. As the tears begin, your voice, cadence, and delivery are all off. As if they haven’t been already... But you can’t stop now; you’re inside the flux.

“Offer me a promise. Some people carry them in their back pockets, Jaehyun, why can’t you? Can’t you just make one?” Imagine how ironic it’s that you look down to the side pockets of his cargo pants, hoping he’ll pull them from there. But zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. As you go, you’re ugly and desperate. “Even-Even if it doesn’t get fulfilled. Even if it’s just a lie. Please, please just-just say something.”

Jaehyun rubs his temple before combing his hair back, at last giving in to this hour-long argument.

“You know I don’t do that. I have never! I’ve never given false promises and I’ve never lied, even though you enjoy using that against me.”

You know it carries a lot when he calls your name, “.........., this victim blaming has become so casual that—that I somehow always become the spectacle.”

With each painful heartbeat, those pitiful butterflies that occupy the pit of your stomach evolve into bees that sting. The room keeps closing on you as you cry one of the hottest tears you have ever cried, which, to put it simply, causes you to lose the plot. Your words begin to drag on and on, as if you’re barely sewing them together.

“See, you-you can’t… You aren’t willing. No, it’s pretending that you care. You don’t! And we’ve promised to fix—and-and we haven—”

Right now, everything is flying over your head, and it’s too much to try and process whether by getting closer to you again he’s trying to tell you that he’s won the argument or.......

but he does. Jaehyun closes your distance from each other.

You keep your eyes at your feet when his tone softens to one of tenderness again, like the aggressive one isn’t his choice and will never be his choice. It’s only you who can’t make the distinction if he’s speaking with pangs just now or just plain—

“You don’t trust me. You’ve never, in fact.”

“I don’t? … I haven’t?”

You suppress a sob, but your body makes it obvious. But you decide to lift your head and confront him; this is what he’s made of you… A mess—from the ‘home’ he’s constructed around himself. What hurts you is every brick he placed there for protection.

You try again, completely torn. Even your voice is defeated. Long-suffering and tender, “How have I not, Jaehyun? How have I not?”

That leaves you staring into the deep brown abyss. His eyes have become very glossy; perhaps he’s tired. Streaks of moonlight gold and fragments of stolen sunsets appear every time the corner light strikes them ‘just right.’ For a moment, you’re grateful that you have a warm place to return to…

However, one minute you’re on fire, the next you’re burned. That’s just how it works. Initially, you believe it to be the dead petals from the dried rose that have fallen onto your candle next to it and caught fire, but it’s actually the entire thing. This entire thing stinks. It stings.

You dab away the tears in your eyes and smother out the flame, which is cutting off the air and the charring stench is making you ill. Whatever, anyway, on a long enough timeline, you’re bound to get burned; everybody is flammable.

You take a deep swallow and then say what’s already been on your mind for most of the evening.

“I won’t say anything more... I-I think… you should walk away. You ruined the evening.”

…Right. Enough playing house with each other’s feelings.

Be that as it may, all of the ‘distance’ between you and him can be summed up in a single word that right now just so happens to be on your tongue. It’d also be easier if one of you could say it, but it’s hard to swallow pride when you’re prideful on both sides.

At first, the way he squints and rolls his tongue suggests that your words have surprised him. But somewhat, gravity shifts quietly, gently. Something heavy, almost out of balance, is in his dark eyes. You think they’re absorbing as they walk from yours down to your lips and back to your eyes again, and perhaps for the last time. Like as if he’s penetrating your doubt with his last seductive stare, the one that touches you without touching.

Breathing in moisture from abstract feelings, love on fire, and mischief well-hung onto his lips, Jaehyun asks softly, “You want me to leave?”

Your gut is in knots as you rip off a breathy, “You don’t want to stay.”

………

He gives you a deeply mistrusting look and then his thumbs dig into your cheeks as he yanks you tight towards him.

Not even time for you to—BLANK—you’re in clutches of uncontrollable desire; your heart lunches into your throat. It feels like a ship crashing as your lips meet.

Your impulsory senses too betray every right you spent the entire night fighting for, as your hands rise to his face, grasping it firmly to do the exact same thing Jaehyun is doing to you: keep him in place for you.

Except for his velvety lips, nothing about the kiss is gentle. Yanking, pulling, and gasping. And the more you hold him in, the more your hands become careless and he makes you bleed as your palms nearly cut at the sharpest, softest edges of his jaw. You’re cut up, down, and in between.

His tongue thrusts its way inside your mouth, savagely sucking away the transparent nectar that has just about begun to mingle. Fervor and tingling sensations shoot from up your spine and into your head and back down your chest as you moan at the heavy, wet sighs that come from his mouth. The spiraling of your energies is causing your noses to crash constantly.

Continuous, continuous crashing. He’s a type you want to fully devour simply because he’s too ambitious to just let you get on top of him. It’s a dog-eat-dog right now. Just this insistent, indecent sound of lipsmacking, him cramming his feelings in through the gaps when they allow, his scorching cheeks under your palms, and him crushing you with energy.

And Jaehyun hardly ever initiates kisses like this on his own. He’s often siding with soft, caressing kisses and daisy touches. So perhaps you do bring out the worst in him? Maybe you do mistake his gentleness for a lack of trust after all. Considering that your attitude during these arguments usually results in this pattern of kissing.

Still, you’d be pleased to learn just how much he likes them too. How much he enjoys a little dominance race for it only to get so disproportionate and borderline that, by the end, surprisingly, somehow both of you come out same. Just... you’d be surprised to know how much, at his worst, he wants to triumph through passive control but secretly needs more of those who confront and challenge this behavior in him. And that’s either soothing each other’s fire or adding more. And while neither of these are evidence of perfection, love also lacks perfection. So it’s why he’s constantly gatekeeping; it’s safer this way and more easier.

But here’s you—who constantly likes to demand these rawest gatekeeps out of him—that are his love, feelings, and vulnerability, and those are things that can be unnervingly frail and fracturable, so no wonder you terrify him.

Things that ought to be handled with care. Which leads you both to the issue of a lack of mutual trust. While your ingrained insecurity makes you not trust him because he’s not cooperating, his ingrained doubt that you can handle those things with care makes him not trust you. Ultimately, the situation stems from a case of miscommunicated love and belief, which allows uncertainty to creep in.

But with the way you fight him in this kiss—in all such kisses, in fact, it’s as if you’re installing faith that you mean to get to the bottom of him,

just as he’s doing the same to you, with the force with which he’s kissing you

But occasionally—sometimes it might be too late. Possibly too late if you don’t—

You moan, “Jaehyun,” hot, dazed, and frenzied, but trying to let him know it’s gotten so much as your hands stray from his stunning face and move to his chest in an attempt to push him. The kiss is but a bruising power struggle between you, with neither emerging victorious. It feels like a struggle for a final touch—your love on a battlefield. And the gore of it engulfs you as you’re drowning and sinking deeper.

It’s a kiss that isn’t like the ones either of you’d eventually forget. It’s a bite, greedy, and all too real. And it seems to he’s forgotten how to stop. It carries on and on until you find yourself submerged in his hands as he sinks you to the sofa with his grip on your waist.

At a sudden, violent fall, the couch gives way to a horrifying screech, and that’s about the only moment he pulls back for you both to catch a breath. In any case, you’re the most you’ve ever been under his possession—in his arms…

Yeah? And what about his waist… being strangled between your knees and in your mercy?

Right... Silence.

Sat-up Jaehyun is pressing up against yours and his hands are pulling you closer still. However, the loss of balance slightly gives you a tad bit of a domineering look since, from this position, you look down at him, which is what both of you are all about—a hot mess of a dynamic. Something unanalysable.

Opening your eyes to confront Jaehyun’s after what just happened is an obvious fright.

Certainly, it’d be yet another serial reminder that you’ve completed a full circle and are back at square one, failing yourself. But, as soon as you open your eyes, and you do open your eyes, all that helps give you the impression that now you two are coming in a full cycle is him and his dumbass dimples. Like, ‘Yes, We are so back!’

Yes… they’re very much sooo back. For someone who indeed makes it hard for you to make out if there’s velvet beneath all of that Rock or all rock under that velvety beauty, the majority of the time his dimples do blow away his cover. Their means is to say that he’s one tender being; more so, not everyone is blessed with dimples; this’s not to say that only special people have them, but it’s a fact of life. And he’s been entrusted to carry this gift, and he’s special, and you know this… and—is just—

That he’s made to contradict; it’s just a side quest of the whole scheme. His eyes seem to shimmer with a fleck of flame, one that feels inextinguishable but all the same kittenish and playful. Of course, you can expect him to get naughtier and act more roguish after a kiss like that. It’s as though someone has finally let him in like a cat through a door.

In case your heart wasn’t in a coma before, it is now.

There’s a faint rose on his cheeks, but what’s of explosive color are again his ears. Needless to say, you can also expect him not to want to address that, as it’s yet another cute, sinister way his body is designed to fail his mysterious self.

In the kiss, you were pretty much the worst enemy he has ever had, and now he’s back to being cute and wagging his tail around you. His angel-filled eyes and sinfully intoxicating, sweet lips effortlessly elicit a smile from you, which means he has overpowered your thirsty lips. Except now you do live along the coast surface of his exploited lips, even past them and inside, and that one fact is doing everything it’s supposed to do, turning you hot and bothered.

The kiss in itself has a strong, lingering aftertaste, just like his scent, and your fingers, nose, waist, and even your knees are the places where you can still feel him. Practically every area of your body has a throbbing pulse—one behind each ear, one on the left side of your neck, one on your right wrist, near veins, inner thighs, arch of your left foot, under your jaw... too many places… You feel like dying. Fuck…

It’s as though the kiss carried his potency, which now floats from neuron to neuron getting lost in your space until it’s drawn you into an empty corner; And you remain there, as sick in the head as you are for him, with your body being hotter than fire for him. You’re losing you again, piece by piece and second by second exactly the way he knew you would.

For a moment his lips slightly part as if he were going to speak, but he stays silent. You too. Even if you were able to form a thought, it’d be buried in your throat, making it impossible for you to say anything. Rather, you allow this corrupted sensuality to speak for itself as it transmits between your tied bodies.

Your hand trembles a little as you let your fingers approach his face. And when they do land, it’s like touching morning dew; he’s as light as a summer mist.

Feeling his skin, your eyes follow your fingers with precision as you take in every detail for the thousandth time, like a first time. His silken hair is in disharmony from the makeout so you go to fix that before moving your thumb along his brow to smooth out the mess there too. A plethora of bristly hairs, give or take, submit to your touch. And you look at them as though under a microscope, like a geek with a slight brow fetish, wishing to lick them. You’re obsessed with his eyebrows; if essence is everywhere, it’s also overwhelmingly there too.

But it’s true that you rather concentrate on anything tiny than give Jaehyun your undivided attention… All while he’s watching you and letting you do as you please. Though a heinous smirk does start to flicker across his lips, shifting from one corner to the other, and as soon as you finish adjusting his brow and perhaps are ready to proceed to something else, Jaehyun grabs your wrist, robbing you of your next action.

Bringing your hand lower, and adopting a much comfier, in truth, arrogant position by tilting his head back and resting it on the sofa, he separates your same ‘so generous thumb’, and slowly takes it inside his mouth.

Heyyyyyyyyyyy—No warning, no fucking not—

You hiss, ready with your “F-” to cuss but bite and swallow the rest of it. Way louder ‘Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!’ stay rippling in your head though, as he takes the finger deeper and deeper and his eyes and lips share the same smile, and

This m—

The man is too motherfucking happy to stop! That’s what it is. Causing you to frown and tie your brows fucking forever...

As he coats your thumb in wet, your mouth feels incredibly parched. With every successive push forward to pull you back again, his cheek muscles contract, tense, relax, and hollow out, sucking you in.

Your vision gradually goes haywire, like sugar that has just begun to boil from clear to burnt. With every sensual fluff of his lashes, your heart caramelizes to a deep, rich brown. Between every pull, spit slides, feeling slimy on your skin and sticking like candy. You’re all soft inside, melted and gooey.

Pleasure mounts, and your body is fighting an awful war to stay strong but really it’s giving in. You swear he can feel every nuance of this self-conflict, down to the smallest tingle with each wrap of his tongue round your thumb. All the way down to your pounding heart and bouncing thoughts; All the way—

If it’s of consequence, you know that there’s a hard mental play going on, but now aren’t even in the right frame of mind to consider how much of one.

Not when his other pair of digits slip beneath your shirt. Not when they trail down your spine like he’s trying to break it, pushing you into an arch. Not when—

You finally manage to drag out your finger from his mouth, sighing and pouting as you say, “J,” ready with something more to say but eventually it gets ripped off your head like anything else.

Is this beautiful aware of the number of heartbreaks he has caused you?

No—No, can’t! Can’t be thinking about th—you shove aside that thought also and start lowering onto his face and feel his arm wrap tightly around you just below your ribcage, arching you even more into him. Your shirt gets caught in the same way as a theater curtain riding up, exposing more of your skin and he’s the only one seated for the show. A private poetry.

His fingers graze each hollow space in your ribs, and the rest of the fabrics in between conceive a roughness that drives your skin into tears. The brain-twister is this: Are you tough and resistant, like the denim you wear?

Hmph, definitely not! That success you scripted, though, is over…

Motion generates friction; friction generates heat... your head is filled with smoke. There’s nothing you could possibly use in your head. All it’s made up there now is of abominable thoughts and smoke.

Clinging to his lips by only a few millimeters, you refuse him or yourself to let them come into contact still. Rather let yourself feel his breath on your face and get bruised up because of it. A pain of pleasuring in the company of pain. Yes, this is your self-inflicting prison. This prolonged, delayed intimacy, this sick turn-on... It’s just his rock falling into your heart again, like an ice cube that scuttles past grasping hands and obnoxiously skates into a whisky glass, making a splash out of you.

Regardless of how crazy or subdued the evening gets, it’s all fucked eventually. It’s fucking messy. However, that’s just the way life is—he’s the only one who has ever told you, ‘It’s okay to be messy, baby… I’m on your side.’

Fucking irony…

Dimly lit, the room is a depressing sight. Little red wine specks cover the couch, appearing to have fallen apart like the holes in some of his shirts. A silver zippo next to an empty ashtray that’s always left with just dust in it. Smudges stain the coffee table, and a pool of melancholy is created at the base of the candle, marking another stain as wax oozes and seeps down the sides. Its honeysuckle scent is so invasive, spreading like a disease in slow motion.

You’re worn down completely and irrevocably. Throwing your head back, a sigh rips from the pit of your stomach. The sound of your ribs snapping in half is like the cozy crackling sound of his record player, taking you back to the vinyl he played for you two weeks ago.

Warm. Pressing at the dip where your collarbones meet, his moist lips feel warm against your skin. And he’s taking his time this time around; his tongue is tamed along your collar line, if not overly lazy. It clings fragilely to your throat, choking you until breathing starts to feel more like a chore than a necessity—until you’re drowning from the carbon dioxide that’s swimming in your veins.

You pull away for a second just to sail back into the black oily sea of his eyes, saving the sight for later in the week when it’s going to get tough. You both secretly tie to stave off the night for as long as possible but time is a human construct and will spill its numbers on the floor.

Petty, his fingernails dig into your waist on each side, and the tiny, pointy scrapes that pierce your flesh, accidentally trigger your inner underdog.

Mad! You’re not just mad, you’re furious. Angry at having to let him go. Selfish to lose him. You been knew… But, dear god, how are you to do you without him? How are you to subsist without measuring the cosmos in his hands every night before going to bed? And how are you to wake up without his warmth next to you every morning? Or rather that was the idea of you two(?) A dream you’ve constructed…

You seem pretty sincere in your uncertainty about what lies ahead for the two of you in the long run. What’s worse, you’re aggressive with it, agressive in your once again glossy eyes and directing them at him to harm him emotionally, physically... psychologically. Then again Jaehyun is repressing his anger internally and handling it as usual. Will deal with it later. He’s so polite with it. Elegant. Or as much as the circumstances permit.

Lightning strikes lightning again, and your entire body starts to tremble as if you’re under a high tide that the ocean has saved for this exact moment. This power he has over you... you call it love. One day, you’ll blink and he’ll be back. And you’ll be sure to wait for that day just like a moon in the sky that waits for nightfall. Is that foolish? It doesn’t concern you because nothing’s fair in love and war anyway. You loved him then, you love him now and you’ll love him forever. But the fact you have to store such lightning in a jar right now is a load of crap.

You dig your finger into his cheeks and lift his jaw in force, causing a slight twitch in your wrist that soon becomes a boiling fit of lust. With a tight jaw and a raised voice, you ask, “What next!!?”

A receipt, please!?

-Double entendres.

A fleet of insinuations.

What’s next for you two? Where are you headed? But truthfully… For rea—

Smiling lazily in your palm, Jaehyun rolls his lower lip in confidence, and then, all of a sudden, you’re holding bread with scrumptious, detailed dips on both sides.

Feeling a sense of accomplishment in advance of what he’s going to say, his eyes remain fixed on you as he hooks his fingers into the black hair tie that’s been lonesomely hanging around your wrist all this time. Your hand is then gradually forced away from his face so he can take it as he yanks sensually and slowly at it. Dark, luscious flirtation loads every agonizing drag. There’s a crazy calm in his eyes.

‘What’s next?’

The timbre in his voice is enough to smoke you.

Smirking, “Anything I want.”

A silencer that makes a whisper of the gunshot. A gun which no hunter has it at all… Yeah, there’s not a gun whose sound sounds kind, but there is—

his voice, he

Your face goes momentarily expressionless, and your nostrils flare at the comment. Not only do you not believe what you’re hearing, but you find him puzzling to the point of offense. You give a mild shake, press your lips to your nose in annoyance, and reach over the left side of the couch to retrieve the ‘Hysteric’ cap he tossed earlier, intending to really smack it of his face.

But when you do swing it, blurting, “Sometimes, I hate both of us,” Jaehyun lets out an adorable laugh and clutching your wrist in time.

Warming your cheeks, the sun shines straight in your face. His laugh is everything good in this world. In his puffy-eyed smile, comfort springs eternally, much like light. This man alone starts spring.

He teasingly remarks, “Sometimes…” meaning… not alw—

His hands reach over your shoulders and he pulls you in again, gathering your hair at the back for ‘no other’ reason than to use that hair tie...

In the newly created intimacy, his eyes dart over every feature of your face as if he’s soaking it all in like the last golden hours of summer, and in gratitude, his smile gently strokes over each of these details with attractive happiness. He’s a generous artist, and you know this too… Is just—

Quickly, your noses start to collide with every failed attempt he makes to deal with the hair because the more he tries, the more he—

Lip-cuts over cheeks and incessant whines of ‘I can do it. No, you— I can!’s muffled behind ears like long-kept secrets.

“Just give up,” you smile.

“Nuh-uh…” he fights as he tries and tries, “I can’t,” and sporting a damped smile in the bends of your neck.

To get you where he wants you, every one of his failed ‘hair tie’ attempts is the most phony innocence ever imagined. His lips leave a trail of light, giggly kisses along the ridge of your shoulder, compelling your own hands to work their way up his shoulders, into his nape, and then into his hair.

Eventually, his hands become less firm and give up, causing his fingers to thread down your hair, yet he still assures you, “Mmmmh… I can do it...

… For real, though.”

It aches the way he does that! His low voice whispers… Marking you for disaster. A feral panic. The urges his voice alone has conjured up in you long to break free.

Tracing his eyes connect the dots between your goosebumps, your eyes, and your brain, strips you of your body. He’s touching every nerve ending, every inch, and every brainwave. Intimacy is a weird state to be in—too much of it and it ruthlessly takes out everything but the moment.

The calmness that follows an anxious fury.

The holy restoration of what remains untainted.

You are connected—you and him. Now. Just now, in the history of time itself...

And if you’re going to kiss him next, it has to unpeel. It needs to undress. It has to lay bare every feeling he fears and strip any hard shell he wears. It has to burn from muscle to bone. A tongue that maps out any doubt, lets it stick to it, and then crushes it under its weight. Exhaust every bad memory. Even so powerful to kill every terrible remembrance. His defenses have to go. They could crawl beneath the sofa and hide there like defeated demons.

Sure, art is hiding behind one pretense or another, but surely it can’t be for all times?

Hidden feelings, like hidden things, can’t stay hidden, for finding them is where all the whole beauty lies.

You know Jaehyun loves watching you watch him. But sometimes, that’s really difficult.

You’re at your last grasp for air but still manage to do that; reaching through your hair to his still-tangled hand, you bring it to your lips and gently plant a long kiss on the veiny outer palm.

The unusualness of it; your eyes on his; your mouth there lingering...

Although Jaehyun’s expression suggests it’s something he didn’t expect, it’d be mild to say he’s shocked. When he doesn’t smile for the first time, you want to smile because you find the confusion in his running, empathetic eyes adorable.

It came with no warning. He had no idea it’d tingle and rush to his center as it does.

Feeling with your other hand on his chest, the ‘silent word of truth’ races his heartbeat.

Let’s stop the complications. Let’s do that...

No more wrong, no more selfish, no more too stubborn to keep it a secret…

Let’s

You’re left stroking the space between his thumb and index finger, and in your eyes, this far into the night, your love is the only act of violence. The way he actually robs you of yourself should be studied. Your ‘whole purpose of earlier’ seems to be being yanked out of you and placed neatly in the ‘For later’ compartment.

Jaehyun’s looking at you, aroused in the right place, your head—The smoke’s not cleared, and guess what—he loves to go there,

… But perhaps you have your own sneaky way of doing the same…

After the hand kiss, his eyes are narrow... wary, like when he can’t read something from a distance. As if he’s in a slump. Spacing out… Comprehending… Perhaps he’s too late to realize...

To help him ‘see’ better, you brush the strands out of his way. Along with the way you subtly rip the corner of your lip, it makes it sound a little shady when you softly ask, “What is it?”

He smiles shyly as he says, “Coome oon,” dragging the word a little and even breaking eye contact, looking downward.

Huh, what is it? Is his shirt print suddenly so interesting!??

Just like he won’t sometimes, you won’t elaborate now either. Not saying anything, the time has come when you get to raise an eyebrow. Getting back his attention, you run a finger down his shirt, feeling the fabric give away to some hard, toned abs. They serve him nothing now...

He’s visibly altered, something you can clearly fucking see.

‘What is it?’ —

The question hangs over him, forcing a deep, deep breath out of him. He then takes hold of your face. His fingertips tap firmly, like an anchor to the sea, landing the skin behind your ear. You can’t be moved by anything other than him. Just-

him.

Flowers sprout from his palm immediately. Their vines snake their way up your legs. And those sweet notes in his voice!?

Nothing quite compares...

“I know you know...”

“Know what… Yun-o?”

195 notes · View notes

pajarinwrites · 2 months ago

Text

中秋节 | Wen Junhui x Reader

➳ fem!reader x jun

➳ wc: 6.1k

➳ TAGS: idol!au, established relationship

➳ WARNINGS: omg um, cunnilingus, jun is a SIMP, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it, my dudes), praise, just general adorable lovey dovey softness, but like medium rough sex? ig, not really rough?, i never know how to write warnings, just like i don't know how to write smut woops sorry

➳ AN: HAPPY MID AUTUMN FESTIVAL BITCHES and 女王们; this is only moderately edited bc i actually meant to publish smt for 中秋节 last year but i didn't finish it in time so here it is now (I’m sure it’s still autumn festival somewhere in the world…)! I LOVE WEN JUNHUI

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE SMUT I HATED THIS AHHHH i don't think i'll ever be able to write any smut in which the man isn't a simpering, whimpering, submissive, cowering, crawling, obsequious little simping piece of trash; it's just how i like my men, but i kinda wanna challenge myself some time, not this time though :P also i'm low-key proud of this smut? i used miraclewoozi as an inspiration bc their smut is literal art...

also, literally three pieces in one week??? WHO AM I??? this is more than in the entire year before combined, i fear lmao. sorry. i'm off to return to hibernate in my bog for another six months now thx bye, RIN OUT *drops mic

masterlist

Jun stepped out of the airport into the sweltering heat, but had to find that merely knowing the weather conditions was quite different from being prepared for them. Luckily, he had left enough space in his carry-on to take off the jacket and sweater that he had needed in chilly Seoul and during the flight – airplane ACs were notoriously unpredictable. Despite this, Hong Kong never seized to amaze him with its constant warmth. At least the eternal sunshine gave him a good excuse to wear a cap and sunglasses at all times.

He flagged down a cross-border cab because, frankly, he didn’t feel like taking the crowded metro all the way home. This way he saved himself from a lot of heat, hassle, and the potential of being recognised, even if it delayed him. As expected, the traffic in the city was a nightmare and he did make it home later than strictly necessary. He paid the fee, dodging the driver’s interested gaze, and mumbling a small “mh gōi” before dashing into his building.

When he was finally standing in front of his apartment door, Jun felt ready to just lock himself in his room for the rest of the night. That was, until the door opened to reveal his parents and little brother. Immediately, his frown softened and he dropped his bags to engulf them in one enormous hug.

“I missed you guys so much,” he exclaimed to groans from his little brother and a soft smile from his mother.

This was most likely going to be the last chance he got to spend more than a day or two with them. With their world tour and his busy filming schedule just around the corner, he wouldn’t have time for months.

Jun had spent years of Zhōngqiūjié apart from them. It wasn’t easy to watch most of his members be able to visit their homes and spend Chuseok with their loved ones. Some years it was only him, Minghao, and Joshua in the dorms. But he wasn’t going to dwell on that. Not when he could finally hold the people he loved the most in his arms. Well, most of them at any rate. He would never get used to having to choose between his biological and his chosen family.

His mother peeled herself away from him, squeezing his cheek and insisting that he had grown even more handsome over the last few weeks. His step father clapped him on the shoulder and asked him about the flight; his brother asked if he had brought him anything cool. Unable to stop smiling for even a second, Jun assented to both questions. He was led to the living room by his mother to sit and relax after the ‘strenuous journey’, giving him a moment to fish the presents out of his luggage, handing one off to his little brother.

“Thanks, gē!” YangYang exclaimed and bounded off to his room to open it in peace. Their mother called after him, “Don’t forget to do your homework before playing! Dinner will be ready in an hour!” Jun smiled, handing his parents the other one.

“You shouldn’t have! I keep telling you we don’t need anything.”

“But I want to get you guys nice things, mā.”

She looked trapped half-way between smitten and resigned, but accepted the present gracefully. With a kiss on the top of his head she stated, “You can rest a little before I call you boys for dinner. I’m making your favourite.”

He thanked her, foregoing the idea of retiring to his room in favour of joining his mother in the kitchen. Most of the ingredients were already laid out on the counter, but when she bent down to pick up something from the bottom shelf, she gasped, “I can’t believe it! Where did all of our rice noodles go? I don’t think this is enough. And I also forgot to buy bamboo shoots earlier!”

She turned around, apologetically, and murmured about having to go to the market real quick to get some. Jun held out his hand to stop her in her tracks.

“Don’t worry, mā. I’ll go get the missing ingredients, and you can get started on the other dishes.”

“No let me go, Jun. You’ve just had a taxing flight and—“ His step-father tried to intervene.

“It’s absolutely no problem!” Jun insisted, not paying his parents’ protests any mind. He grabbed his sunglasses from the side table by the entrance and was out the door before either of them could stop him.

Jun had missed their shèqū, its homely atmosphere, the bustling of the people on the street, and hence didn’t mind the opportunity for a late-night stroll. The closest super market was just down the short road at the main square, and he stopped by quickly before continuing on his way to the live market.

There was a certain nostalgia in going to the market like this, just the way he used to with his mother when he was younger. The stalls didn’t even seem to have changed at all. There was the same group of old ladies dancing in the small park to the side, and a little further down the road, a small group of children was taking turns, performing on a gǔzhēng. Jun watched the windows of his old piano school pass by, still partially lit as students practiced inside. At the corner of the next street was the second-hand book store they had often visited, next to the pharmacy in which he used to sit on the kiddie rides for ages, singing along to jiātíng chēnghu or liǎng zhī lǎohǔ.

Still lost in nostalgia, he stopped by one of the vegetable vendors to acquire the bamboo shoots. Jun enjoyed strolling the aisles leisurely, taking a look at all the things that were being sold. As he rounded one of the displays, someone else was cutting the corner in the opposite direction. Jun barely managed to dance out of the trajectory of them, murmuring an immediate, “Sorry, are you okay?”

He pulled down his sunglasses and looked at the person in front of him in worry. They looked up, locked eyes with him and whisper-screamed, “Oh my god! Wen Junhui?”

Jun was taken aback for only a split second, which he spent worrying he had been recognised, before he could place your face. He hadn’t seen you properly in years, just another name on the long list of people he had to leave behind. The last time you had run into each other had been during Rock With You promotions, when Minghao and he had taken time for their own schedules in China. His eyes crinkled in the corners but he still didn’t dare to take off his mask.

“It’s been so long!” He said instead. You had pulled him into your arms within a second, just a quick squeeze before remembering where you were. You pulled away, pouting, “You didn’t tell me you’d be back.”

“Sorry, it slipped my mind. I also didn’t think I’d have enough time to meet you. Not properly…”

You wiggled your eyebrows, “What does that mean?” Jun blushed, making you laugh. “I’m kidding, A-Jun. But I’m glad we ran into each other. I mean, what are the odds!”

“I didn’t even know whether you still lived here,” he admitted, sheepishly. But Jun wished profoundly that you could feel how earnest he was being. You didn’t actually seem to mind his failure to alert you of his arrival, despite your history. Instead, you continued in your usual chirpy manner, “Yeah, I managed to find work close by so I could stay here. But I’m here here just for the holiday. Staying at my parents, you know.” Jun nodded, accompanying you to the register under more animated chatter.

“Do you have to get anything else?” You asked after you had stepped out the open market. He negated, returning the question.

“Me neither,” you replied, hesitating shortly before continuing, “I guess that means we’ll have to part ways again…”

The way your voice trailed off and your eyebrows knitted together made Jun reply before thinking better of it, “Actually, I think my mā can wait for these bamboo shoots a little longer…” You face lit up with such intensity and immediacy that Jun had to chuckle.

“In that case let’s take a stroll through the park. I’ve been keeping up with Seventeen obviously, but I want to hear from you, personally, how you’ve been doing.”

Falling into step beside you felt so easy. Together, you walked the same paths you did when you were teenagers, talking about everything and anything – back before he had to leave for Korea. He talked a lot about the shoots, dorm fights and misunderstandings, and how much he had missed his mother’s cooking. You winked, asking whether he hadn’t missed you at all, and he couldn’t string together a coherent sentence in reply. Instead he sputtered for a few seconds before you let him off the hook.

“It’s fine. I was joking, Jun. Oh, look!” Jun was glad for the distraction as he watched you hurry of to the pavilion down the path. If you hadn’t changed the subject he might’ve said something stupid. But when you spun around to face him under the colourful roof, with the small pond and the bamboo in the background, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t say something stupid yet.

He was sitting next to you, listening to you rant about your catty co-workers, absent boss, and the general annoyances of adulthood, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot at the familiarity, the ease of the whole situation. At some point he shot his mom a text to let her know that he ran into you and to eat without him. She simply replied that he should take his time, but he felt like she was secretly glad to have the two of you reconnect. Your conversations veered from family to old memories together until eventually, when the sun had set almost completely, you got up abruptly.

“I should get back. My mom wasn’t expecting me back immediately but at this point she’s probably wondering if I’ve gotten lost.” Jun nodded, getting up with you and stepping out of the pavilion. You threw one look back over your shoulder before smiling down at your shoes.

“I don’t know if you remember but… this is where you said goodbye…” Jun blinked slowly before the memory registered. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t immediately thought of the day he went to Korea, the last day he spent with you, the day he missed his chance to say so many things he had wanted to say.

“Oh,” he breathes softly, “yeah, I remember. But it’s not a very fun memory.”

Jun decides to look anywhere but you, at the trees lining the road home to his apartment building, the birds flying overhead, the children playing across the street.

“I have to agree. But I’m glad to have you back now. Even if it’s just for an afternoon.”

“Actually, you should visit tomorrow! If you want, of course. I don’t think my family would mind seeing you again after such a long time, and…”

He stops in his tracks. The two of you have reached the intersection at which your ways part. Jun turned to face you. The words were still stuck in his throat, just like all those years ago, just like every time he’s seen you since. But this time, with your hopeful eyes looking up at him, he takes a deep breath. This time will be different. He takes the leap.

“… and I’d also love to spend more time with you.”

You smile in reply, and agree to visit tomorrow. To say goodbye, you hug him again, and he feels like he’s floating all the way home. Maybe tomorrow he’ll gain the courage to tell you everything that he’s been keeping in his heart.

Their dorms were quiet, the shared living areas swallowed in darkness as Jun excited his room. He had been talking to his family via video call for the past hour or two, catching up and trying their best to celebrate Zhōngqiūjié together, even when they were physically apart. You had initially planned on joining the call, but there had been last minute plans that had kept you from it. Even though Jun understood, he had been able to help feeling a little crestfallen when you had told him about it. The two of you had made it work since he confessed to you a year ago, talking almost weekly on the phone because both his and your commitments kept you from visiting all too often. And since this year he couldn’t visit home because of the impeding comeback, he would’ve at least enjoyed talking to you on the holiday proper, instead of just during one of your regularly scheduled calls. Especially with how long it had been since he’d last seen you in person in June. To him, an eternity.

Vernon, Dokyeom, and Chan had returned to their families for the evening to celebrate Chuseok together, leaving the dorm deserted, save Jun himself. They’d all met up for lunch as a celebration before most left to go home. It was an effort by the Korean members to ease the homesickness of those that wouldn’t be able to see their families over the holiday. Seungkwan had ended up accompanying Vernon, while Joshua and Minghao decided to simply celebrate with each other, even though they hadn’t been lacking in invitations either. Jun had made the same decision. They had let him know they’d be out until the night but that he could join them at their apartment later.

Especially Dokyeom had had a hard time simply leaving Jun behind, but the older man had insisted that he was going to be fine, and that it would give him a chance to call his family in China. But coming out of his room and being greeted with a cold, dark apartment, made Jun question his decision. He sighed, contemplating for a second whether he should simply return to his room instead of feeling the hollow emptiness of their shared dorm. But before he could make a decision, the doorbell rang.

He wasn’t expecting anyone, so the sudden shrill of the bell surprised him. Maybe it was one of the members, back early. Maybe Minghao and Joshua had decided to surprise him at the apartment. But when he looked at the screen of the camera system, he was greeted with a sight wholly unexpected. His breath hitched as he looked at you, your eyes staring straight at the camera, a warm smile on your face. Jun buzzed you in, jittery with nerves as he worried you might disappear or he might wake up. You had been talking about your crazy workload and extra assignments for the past few weeks, how on earth were you here?

This has to be a dream, he thought, standing in the open door and waiting for the tell-tale ping of the elevator. When he heard it, he couldn’t even wait for you to round the corner. In slippers, he sprinted down the hallway to the lift, coming face to face with you as you were trying to heave your luggage out. Jun cast it aside, picking you up and spinning you around. He buried his face in the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume and your skin.

“How are you here?” He whispered after a good few seconds of spinning and listening to your tinkling laugh.

“Well, you know, I bought a plane ticket, went to the airport in Hong Kong, I got on a plane—“ Jun interrupted you by picking you up again, proclaiming his happiness while you insisted that he finally put you down. If he had been a better man, he might’ve listened immediately. As it stood, it took the two of you several minutes to make it the short way from the elevator to his apartment door, Jun stopping every few seconds to give you another spin or a kiss.

Once you had finally made it safely inside, he brought your luggage to his room, before returning to the shared space and staring at you in fascination. There you were, right in front of him, leaning onto the counters of his dorm’s kitchen as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“How did you know I’d be home?” He asked and you giggled, presumably at his flabbergasted expression.

“I kind of asked the members for help…”

“What? Who?”

In hindsight, he thought he should’ve expected this. There had been a curious lack of invitations extended to him this year. Especially considering that Joshua and Minghao were still invited everywhere. And, thinking about it now, the fact that the two of them had insisted on spending the evening ‘outside’ without Jun had also been more than a little suspicious.

“Almost all of them helped coordinate it, actually. They all had to be in on it to some extent.”

“When did you start planning this?” He asked, making his way over to you. One last time, he picked you up, setting you down softly on the counter. This time you let him do as he pleased without protest, choosing to answer his question instead, “Like a month ago or so. When it started becoming clear that you’d have no chance to make it home this year.” Jun hummed in response, stepping closer to stand between your legs. His arms found their place around your waist.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmured, resting his head on your shoulder and sighing deeply when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He wished you could stay like this forever, or at least for a very, very long time. You turned your head, whispering that you had brought yuèbǐng from Shenzhen with you and he nodded automatically. Mentally, he was still focused only on your presence, the fact that he got to hold you in his arms and use his thumbs to draw absentminded circles on your waist. If he hadn’t been so focused on your body, he would’ve missed the small hitch of your breath as he exhaled against the column of your throat. He smirked lightly, murmuring something along the lines of ‘we can eat them later’ before attaching his lips to the place where your shoulder and neck met. You gasped, more audibly this time as he sucked on the sensitive skin, following the line of your collarbone. You tugged at his t-shirt, whispering that you should move to his bedroom but Jun smirked against your skin, slowly pushing up your shirt. As he tossed it over your head, he whispered, “Don’t worry, we’ve got the apartment to ourselves all night.”

He smoothed his hands under your thighs, grabbing onto your plush flesh and cursing the layer of your pants for stopping him from feeling your skin. Jun pulled you closer, to the edge of the counter, so that he could finally feel you pressed to him again, making his hands wander back up. He placed them on your waist, gingerly at first, as if you were going to vanish into thin air if he didn’t handle you with enough care. He still wasn’t sure you weren’t a figment of his imagination how you were sitting in front of him, hair and clothes messy from your flight, but your eyes shining so brightly he thought you were the most ethereal being on this planet. But when you bucked your hips forward against his, all that restrain flew out the window. He slid his hands lower from your waist, relishing in every inch of skin he got to touch along the way, before he settled them on your ass, encouraging your motions even further. Your arms tightened around him, one hand finding its way into his hair, the other toying with the collar of his t-shirt before slipping downwards and below the fabric to caress his back. He groaned, moving one hand - albeit reluctantly – away from your hips to tilt your head to the side. He was overwhelmed with your nearness, the swell of your breasts pressed against him, the smell of your skin filling his senses, spreading through him, expanding into every corner of his consciousness until all he could perceive was your presence, your breath, your skin on his.

You kissed him with so much vigour that he felt light-headed, the sparkle of your eyes encapsulated him, as if he was floating in space, surrounded by innumerable stars, twinkling around him. In his weightlessness, your hands were caressing him, still. You dropped them to the hem of his t-shirt, tracing along the exposed skin there as the rhythm of your hips never faltered.

You broke away, Jun following your lips with a whine. He wasn’t yet ready to leave your cosmos, but you pressed a soft hand against his chest, tugging his shirt off. Jun, personally, would have preferred to resume kissing you breathless right away, but you had other plans. Your hands returned to his chest, covering the expanse of his pectorals, gliding over the ridge of his shoulder, caressing every centimetre of skin while tracing the muscles across his torso. Every touch left a tingling feeling, pulling him deeper and deeper into your gravitation. His head was thrown back in pleasure, his eyes screwed shut while he tried (and failed) to even out his breathing under your attentive ministrations. When your hands returned to his chest and you flicked against his nipples tentatively, his head dropped forward in defeat, colliding with your shoulder.

He was breathing more heavily than he’d like to admit, as if he really was slowly rising through the atmosphere, the air becoming thinner and thinner. His cock was painfully hard, you grinding against it deliciously with every roll of your hips. Separated by way too many layers, Jun thought dimly before tapping against your ass, signalling for you to lift your hips off the counter.

You complied easily, leaning back in a way that allowed him to strip you of your comfy leggings. He watched you shudder at the feeling of cool marble under your skin, goosebumps forming at the sensation. Reverently, he let his hands glide up and down your legs, watching you shiver again, just from his touch. He hadn’t even realised that he had lowered himself down until one of your hands grabbed for his hair and tilted his head back.

Ripped out of his reverie, Jun stared up at you, towering over him, backlit by the kitchen lights. If it hadn’t meant leaving your reach, Jun would have fallen to his knees right this second. In this light, you looked like a higher being, come to cast divine judgement on him, a final reckoning. Jun found he would have taken any verdict, as long as it meant preserving your attention. He would have obliged any command, taken any punishment with equanimity. He would have taken Prometheus’ place, if it meant he could bask in your presence for another moment. He would suffer any acrimony, any scorn, any tribulation, if it meant your gaze would continue to rest on him like this – zeroed in on his face, your expression soft with adoration. He didn’t have to fear any judgment. The only thing written on your face was love. It was mirroring his own, he was sure, from where he was pleading for you attention from between your legs. You wouldn’t let him out of your sight, your fingers tugging at his hair with purpose. He angled his head, a miniscule movement, just enough to allow him to breathe a kiss against the inside of your thigh, a fluttering promise of continuation. If you let him. You loosened your grip, and Jun took it as the invitation that it was. His path mapped over the fat of your thigh, spilling over his kitchen counters, up one leg, down the other. All the while, he didn’t break eye contact, watching your expression crackle and slip, pleasure and frustration mixing in even measures as you breathed a plea, “Qīn'ài de, you’re teasing.”

His breathing became uneven, for just a second, at the term of endearment. You didn’t need to spell out your request. He could see it in the rise and fall of your chest, the sounds sneaking their way past your lips, the shifting of your hips – almost involuntary. The vision of you before him blurred as he tried to hear the rest of your declaration over the rushing in his ears. Your legs twitched under his hands; he didn’t remember when he had moved them there. But now they were here, holding your legs apart, leaving imprints in your flesh where they pressed against you. Jun searched your face for any sign of hesitance, any doubt, but he found none. All he could find was a sense of desperation clawing its way up your throat, leaving a blooming blush in its wake.

He still continued holding your gaze when he pressed his mouth to your core, pushing his tongue against the wet spot on your underwear. You gasped a little, hands twisting in his hair, the slight pain grounding him in this moment. His hands continued kneading your flesh, wandering, in feverish haste, across every expanse of skin they could cover. Above him, you writhed and moaned, his name leaving your lips as if you were now the one praying. Your head had tilted back slightly, breaking eye contact. But Jun’s gaze never left your face, drinking in every expression as he pushed your panties to the side to gain proper access to your sopping core.

“OhmygodJun,” you breathed, head lolling to the side when his tongue swirled around your most sensitive spot. One hand moved from your ass to your core, probing at your entrance just to feel you clench around him, hear the sharp intake of your breath. You tipped backwards, resting on your elbows as his name continued to tumble off your lips into the still air of the apartment. Jun’s other hand moved upwards, taking no care in pushing your sports bra out the way to grab at your breasts, pinching your nipples intermittently. He watched your chest heave as he slipped two fingers past your entrance at once, his tongue lapping between them, desperate to taste as much of you as possible. Your hands kept pushing him closer and closer, until his every sense was filled with you. Your taste on his tongue, your panting breath in his ears, the plush feeling of your thighs around his head. He moaned against your core.

Jun felt your high approach, maybe knew it was coming before you yourself even did, the way he could read your body in this moment, with how every fibre of his being was honed in on you and your pleasure.

“Jun, bǎobèi, I’m…”

His hand slid down to your waist, squeezing reassuringly. Jun felt you constrict around his digits, your moans growing louder and more desperate. He kept pressing his fingers into that spot that had you squeeze around him, kept his mouth sucking on your clit, humming at the flavour of you, until you peaked. You came with a cry of his name that made his chest swell with pride. Your thighs shut around his head like a vice, your hand evidently torn between wanting to pull him away and push him closer. Jun remained pressed to your core, lazily lapping at your release until your legs relaxed and he gained enough freedom of movement to lean back and search for your gaze.

Even though he had spent minutes staring at the ethereal picture of you earlier, he was still taken aback by your beauty: your hair even messier, your face blushed, your eyes glazed over in the hazy afterglow. He pressed another kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

It took you a few moments to answer him, calming your breath. A moment of which he took advantage to return to his full height, leaving kisses up your body on his way there. Once he was face to face with you, he brushed your hair out of your face, looking at you with devotion. You smiled back, softly, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and immediately causing a warm shiver to run down the length of his body. There you were, in his arms, gazing at him with love, bestowing him with whatever divine favour slumbered in your presence.

You leaned in closer, letting your breath ghost over his skin for a second before whispering, “I need you.”

Jun was sure he was about to malfunction. The way his body reacted instantly, unbidden, must have been proof of your power. He couldn’t suppress the groan that rose to the surface, betraying his helplessness in the face of you. But you only smiled, sliding off the counter, tossing your bra to the side, and leaning into him.

“I know you need me too, baby,” you susurrated against the shell of his ear, your hand falling to his crotch, smoothing over the outline of his cock against his sweatpants. Jun gasped when you gave his balls a squeeze, trailing your fingers back up, pressing them into his slit, already oozing with precum and staining his pants. He felt like melting, like he was Icarus and you were the sun, with the notable exception that your radiance was warm and welcoming. It didn’t burn him, it only made him feel soft, welcome, malleable. He melted at your touch, moulded himself to the shape of you.

Although Jun felt it was very much stating the obvious, he conceded, “I want you so bad.”

You smiled, discarding your panties in a swift motion, before turning around and bending over the surface.

“Then come get me.”

He only stared, transfixed by the way your muscles moved under your skin, how the warm kitchen light of his home cascaded over you, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief when you turned around to smirk at him. Jun’s mind was still fighting with the fact that you were real, you were here, and you were his. You cocked an eyebrow, watching him like a cat watched its supper. When he still continued to stare, your eyes darkened, beckoning him with intensity. You wiggled your ass at him, pushing it back so it grazed his throbbing dick. As you threatened to pull away again, Jun’s hands flew to your hips. You yelped at the sudden strength with which he gripped you, pulling you back against him once more, grinding down against your ass with such verve that your head dropped forward. A long groan escaped you as Jun crowded you against the counter, pushing you down and leaning over your back.

“You need me, huh?”

You nodded your head enthusiastically while meeting his thrusts, moaning his name again and again, and growing more breathless by the second. Jun wanted to tease you, he really did. He wanted to ask you how bad you needed him. He wanted to force you to be more specific, to hear you say how you needed to feel his cock inside you, hitting that spot over and over again. He wanted to make your pretty lips form all those filthy words, say his name, beg for him. But it had been months since he had seen you in person, it felt like an eternity had passed since his skin was last allowed to touch yours, a lifetime since he heard you whimper and moan and pant for him like this. So, he forewent any more teasing. Instead, Jun simply shoved his sweatpants and underwear down his legs, freeing his cock.

You whined at the sound of it hitting his abs, wiggling your ass again and breathing out his name in that way he would never grow tired of. He grinned, sliding his dick through your slick, nipping its tip against your clit, once, twice, three times. So many times that you whimpered, an indistinguishable string of supplications, whines of baby, please please please leaving your lips. Your forehead was pressed against the counter now, as if the cold, hard surface helped ground you in reality while Jun had his way with you.

When, finally, he slipped into you, both of you sighed. You voices mixing in the air of the kitchen that seemed to have been growing thinner by the second. Jun’s breathing was growing ragged, and he could tell you weren’t faring much better than him. He started moving, slowly at first, testing the waters and, yes, possibly also to rile you up a little more. But when you clenched around him, any self-control was thrown out the window. His hands on your lower back were shoving you down against the ice-cold surface, making you hiss. His hips snapping against your ass as he searched for that spot that would make you drool over the marble countertops.

“Fuck… yes! Baby, right there,” you groaned when he found it.

Jun leaned back down over you, his front pressed against your back, his hot breath by your ear, whispered prayers of your name escaping him. He drove into that spot relentlessly, repeatedly until you lost all function of speech, reduced only to swears and his name. Jun mirrored your vocabulary, one hand sneaking around your body to find your clit again and rub punishing circles. With the added stimulation of his hand, the pressure of his weight, and the way his cock was hitting that spongy part inside you again and again, you felt your pleasure crest alarmingly fast.

“Junjunjunjunjun,” you breathed, but, again, he somehow had known before you what was coming. His groans surrounded you, your perception narrowed to just the feeling and sound of him.

“Hold on a little longer, baby,” he breathed, and you barely registered it. Just nodding for the sake of nodding, praying his own release would find him fast.

“Doing so well, baby. So good for me,” he continued, almost to himself, baiting your release even more.

A few agonising, timeless moments passed until, “That’s it, let go. Come for me, baby. Come with me.”

Immediately, you released a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper, you head falling forward again as your whole body tensed up. Jun followed your example, his head dropping against your shoulder as he drove his cock into you, prolonging both of your releases as much as possible, until the sensitivity forced him to pull out. He remained folded over you, so close that he could feel his cum drip out of you, landing on the kitchen floor with a small splat. The air felt too thin for any movement, so he remained draped over you, his thumb drew circles on your lower back until you returned to him, mumbling his name.

“Are you alright, qīn'ài de?”

You nodded almost imperceptibly, your hair sticking to the nape of your neck. Jun brushed it to the side, leaving a small peck where it had been.

“Nooo,” you whined, “I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” he replied, matter-of-factly, smoothing his hand down your back one last time before peeling himself off you to get some tissue. His heart tore a little at the weak whine you let out in response to his absence.

“Don’t worry, I’m just trying to take care of you.”

You only whined more when he wiped the rest of your combined release from between your legs before also cleaning the floor. He caught your eyes from over your shoulder, smiling softly, and leaving another kiss on your back. After getting rid of the tissue, he pulled you off the counter, wrapping you up in his arms.

“You were amazing. I love you.”

He could hear the smile in your voice when you replied, “So were you, bǎobèi.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here…”

“I missed you something fierce,” you said by way of explanation.

“Me too. I miss you every day. Every hour.”

To his confusion, you smiled warmly at his pout, one hand caressing along the side of his face until it came to rest on his collarbone. You leaned in, lips ghosting against his in a silent promise, “Then let’s make the most of right now.”

Jun grinned, bending down to pick you up, laughing at the surprised yelp you let out.

“What on earth are you doing, Wen Junhui!”

“I think it’s time for a bath.”

“That is not what I was trying to insinuate!”

He wiggled his eyebrows, feeling his heart sore at your scandalised expression. Resting his forehead against yours, his eyes searched for yours, holding their stare for a few moments. With a smile on his lips and in his voice he murmured, “I don’t care what exactly we do in the bath, as long as we do it together.”

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