#no he exists in my heart and mind it’s fine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lividstar · 1 day ago

Text

UN CHEVALIER AIMANT

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤChapter III: Unraveling

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ < previous | next >

── .✦ masterpost.

── .✦ wc: 21.3k

── .✦ fantasy, knight!yunho x princess!reader, slowburn, fluff, angst, forbidden romance, royal politics, prince!woosansang, knight!mingi, duty vs. desire, power struggles, themes of misogyny and sexism, in no way does sanʼs character in this fic represent his ideals!

── .✦ playlist.

── .✦ The world weighed heavy on a woman’s shoulders—pretty things made to be seen, not heard. Promises of freedom dangled like jewels, only to be locked away the moment fingers reached out to claim them. Every breath, every smile, every step was measured—crafted to please, never to want. Men watched with hungry eyes, carving out futures in their minds—futures where your heart was never yours to hold. But he was different. His gaze did not strip, nor did it conquer. It lingered—gentle, reverent—as if you were something meant to be understood, not owned. His silence was a rebellion in itself, a quiet defiance against the world that sought to bind you in silk and expectations. Yet even he could not hold back the ache that bloomed between you—slow and aching, as if desire was a crime neither of you could name. To yearn was to betray. To touch was to fall. But in the hush of shadows, where no eyes could reach—what was a woman if not something meant to be free?

to all the women who grew up hearing the phrase “a womanʼs purpose must only be decided by a man” and all of its other variants, know that your worth is way beyond the limited perception of men. to all the women who have been spoken over in rooms they deserved to lead, who have carried brilliance in their minds only to be met with doubt—know that your voice is a storm waiting to break. to all the women whose worth was measured by how much they could serve, how gentle they could be, how quietly they could endure—know that your existence alone is defiance against every hand that tried to shape you into less. you are not fragile for wanting more. you are not difficult for demanding respect. you are not asking for too much—you are asking for what should have always been yours. happy womenʼs history month, and may your light continue to shine bright beyond this month 💌

tags: @wolviejex @owlsfeatherpen

Morning arrived in the form of golden light spilling through the tall windows of your chamber, but no warmth could penetrate the heaviness in your limbs. The moment you stirred beneath the silken sheets, a deep, aching soreness radiated through your muscles, a cruel reminder of the night before. Every inch of you protested as you shifted, your arms leaden, your legs stiff, the effort of rising from bed a battle in itself. You gritted your teeth and swallowed the discomfort, willing yourself to move.

You had asked for this.

A maid entered just as you sat up, her hands already reaching for the drapes to let in more light. You schooled your face into something neutral, unwilling to let the strain show. But the stiffness in your posture must have been evident, for the girl, young and keen-eyed, hesitated before setting the tray of warm tea and fresh bread beside your bedside.

“My lady,” she began tentatively, hands clasped before her apron, “shall I prepare a warm cloth for your shoulders? You seem rather fatigued this morning.”

You shook your head. “I am well. A mere restless night, nothing more.”

Another maid, already setting out your garments for the morning, turned at the words. “My lady, your gait—”

“—Is fine,” you interjected, rising to your feet with forced ease, though every muscle in your body screamed in protest. You would not let them fuss over you. You could not.

So you moved through the morning preparations as if you were no different than yesterday, allowing them to lace up the bodice of your gown, comb through the tangles in your hair, and press a warm towel to your face. You willed yourself not to wince when they smoothed ointment over your arms, covering what they assumed to be marks left by the edge of your sleeves rather than bruises from training.

A lady of Elythria did not bear wounds of battle.

By the time you stepped into the dining hall for breakfast, you had perfected the art of walking without betraying the dull ache that followed your every movement. But your father, sharp-eyed and scrutinizing, caught something amiss the moment he laid eyes on you.

“You look unwell,” he remarked, not even bothering with a greeting. He sat at the head of the long table, fingers lightly tapping against his goblet. “Paler than usual. Have you fallen ill?”

The words were not laced with concern, only with disapproval.

Your mother sat beside him, her hands delicately wrapped around the stem of her teacup. Though she said nothing at first, her gaze lingered on you for a fraction too long, a silent question in her eyes. She was perceptive. Too perceptive. But unlike your father, she did not accuse.

You lifted your chin. “I am quite well, Father. The evening air was simply colder than I anticipated last night.”

Your mother’s fingers tightened around her teacup ever so slightly. “Did something happen last night, my dear?” she asked, her voice as soft as ever, yet it held an unmistakable weight.

You met her gaze. “Nothing of consequence.” She held your stare for a moment longer, as if searching for the truth in your words, but she did not press further. She never did.

Your father, apparently satisfied with your response, exhaled through his nose. “It must be ensured that you look your best later,” he declared, reaching for a piece of bread from the silver platter before him.

You frowned slightly. “Later?”

Your father barely glanced at you as he spread butter over the bread with slow, deliberate strokes. “The Prince of Tharian shall be arriving shortly.”

Your hands stilled against the handle of your spoon. Your lips parted slightly, but you hesitated before speaking. “May I ask why, Father?”

He finally looked up, his gaze as impassive as ever. “The prince had to take a sudden leave due to urgent matters in Tharian last time, do you not recall? He had been expressing his “need” to redeem himself since that day, so I figured Iʼd bestow upon him a chance.” Ah, right. You remembered now.

Suddenly, a deep voice rang through the grand dining hall, echoing off the marble pillars and gilded arches.

“My lord, a message.”

Mingi stood at the threshold of the main hall, his towering presence framed by the morning light seeping through the high windows. His armor gleamed, the emblem of Elythria catching the soft glow of dawn. He bowed his head slightly, his right hand pressed over his chest in reverence before he continued, voice steady and firm.

“The Prince of Tharian and his royal advisor are expected to arrive within the next thirty minutes. Their convoy is approaching from the eastern road.”

A murmur of approval left your father’s lips as he leaned back in his chair, seemingly satisfied with the timeliness of the visit. You, however, barely heard his response. Instead, your gaze flickered toward Mingi, and beneath the table, unseen by all but him, your fingers curled into a subtle wave—a small, quiet gesture of familiarity.

Mingi caught the movement in an instant. He did not smile, nor did he break the mask of formality etched into his features. Instead, he gave the smallest nod, an acknowledgment so faint it could easily be mistaken for mere decorum. To anyone else in the room, it was nothing more than a knight paying proper homage to his princess. But to you, it was something else entirely—an understanding, a silent exchange stuck between the lines of duty and friendship.

Your father, unaware of the brief interaction, turned his gaze back to you.

“You must make yourself presentable.” His tone left no room for argument. “The prince arrives soon, and I will not have you appearing unfit for such an occasion.”

Madame Forestier stepped forward from her place near the far wall, ready to escort you to your chambers. But before she could reach for your arm, your mother moved. Her fingers curled around Madame Forestier’s wrist, halting her movement. It was a delicate touch, but firm nonetheless. The older woman hesitated, looking between your mother’s calm expression and your father’s unreadable face.

“I shall tend to my daughter myself,” your mother said. Her voice was soft, yet the weight of it was undeniable.

Madame Forestier did not argue. She only bowed her head in quiet compliance before stepping aside. Your father, after a brief pause, merely exhaled through his nose, offering a single nod of approval—though you suspected he cared little either way, as long as you were no longer seated before him. And so, with a gentle press of your mother’s hand against your back, you were led away.

—

Your mother’s hands were delicate yet firm as she adjusted the folds of your dress, her movements precise, almost methodical. The silence in the chamber was thick, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of fabric. You sat stiffly on the edge of your bed, hands clasped over your lap, waiting for her to speak—knowing she would, knowing she must.

Finally, she sighed, a soft, weary sound. “You are not yourself,” she murmured, her fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary before she pulled away. “There are things I do not ask, for I know I will not receive the truth.”

The breath you had been holding stilled in your chest. “But a mother knows,” she continued. “Even when her child keeps her lips sealed.”

Your pulse quickened. Was this a mere observation, or had she seen? Had she caught sight of you slipping back into your chambers last night, breathless, shaken, your body bearing the quiet ache of training?

“I do not know what troubles you,” she continued, though her voice carried the weight of certainty, as if she did know. “But I fear you are treading a dangerous path.”

You swallowed, carefully keeping your expression neutral. “I do not know what you mean, Mother.”

She hummed, unimpressed by your deflection. Her gaze was knowing, piercing in the dim light of your chamber. “There are whispers in these halls. Small things. Shifts in the air. Secrets being kept.”

You looked away, your fingers tightening against the fabric of your dress. “If I were keeping one, would you wish to hear them?”

A pause. Then, softly, “Only if you wished to speak them.”

For a moment, something inside you wavered. You had spent years perfecting the art of restraint, of keeping your thoughts carefully veiled behind the mask of a perfect princess. But your mother had always been different. She was no fool, nor was she merely a silent figure at your father’s side. She had seen more than she let on, endured more than anyone could fathom.

She sighed again, her fingers grazing the edge of your vanity, tracing the grain of the wood. “I know you are not weak,” she said suddenly, her tone distant. “Though many would claim you are.”

Your head snapped up. She was not looking at you, her expression unreadable as she studied her own reflection in the mirror. “But strength,” she continued, “is not only in the body. It is not in the way one wields a sword or stands unshaken before their enemies. It is also in knowing when to step back. When to yield. When to guard oneself against dangers unseen.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You could hear the unspoken warning beneath her words, the veiled caution woven between them. “I do not ask where you have been,” she said, finally turning to meet your gaze. “Nor do I ask why your hands tremble when you believe no one is watching.”

You inhaled sharply. Her expression softened, just a fraction. “But I will ask you this—do you understand what it is you are inviting into your life?”

You did not answer. Could not.

She exhaled, stepping closer, lifting a hand as if to touch your cheek—but she hesitated, letting it fall to her side instead. “There was a time when I, too, thought myself untouchable,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “When I believed I could shape my own fate, regardless of expectation.”

A slow, bitter smile crossed her lips.

“You see how that turned out.”

The weight of her words settled heavily upon you. She had never spoken like this before—not with such raw honesty, not with such an air of quiet resignation.

“You are my daughter,” she said, voice steady now. “And I love you far too much to watch you follow a path that will only lead to heartbreak.”

You kept your face still, unwilling to let even the faintest flicker of guilt betray you. “I do not know what you mean, Mother,” you repeated, your voice softer now, more careful.

She merely hummed, tilting her head as she studied you. “No? Then tell me, my dear, how is it that you grow paler by the day?”

Your fingers tensed.

“How is it that your hands shake when they think no one is watching?” She reached out, gently taking one of your hands in hers. Her thumb brushed over the faint callouses forming near your palm. Not the hands of a princess, the touch seemed to say. Not the hands of one who has only ever held quills and silk.

“How is it that each time someone asks if you are well, you smile and say ‘it is nothing’—yet your eyes tell another story entirely?” Your lips parted, but no words came.

Your mother sighed, squeezing your hand once before letting it go. “Do you think I have not noticed?” she continued, voice gentle but unwavering. “That I have not seen the way you drift through the halls, as if lost in some terrible dream? That I have not heard the quiet scrape of your door shutting long past midnight, or the hurried steps of a girl trying too hard to return unnoticed?”

Your chest ached. She had seen. But what frightened you more was the possibility that she understood why. Your mother turned away then, moving toward the window. She touched the velvet drapes lightly, gaze distant, as if looking at something far beyond the palace walls. “You know of my marriage to your father, how it was arranged to unite two powerful bloodlines.” A humorless smile touched her lips. “But what you do not know is that I once loved another.” A sharp breath caught in your throat. She did not turn to look at you, but she must have sensed your reaction, for she chuckled softly—though it held no mirth. “I was young,” she continued, fingers tightening slightly around the drapes. “Naïve. I thought love alone could protect me. That if I only held onto it tightly enough, I could escape the life that had already been written for me.”

She exhaled, her breath fogging slightly against the cool glass. “But love is not enough, my darling. It never has been.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest ache, as if she were not merely speaking to you but to the girl she had once been—to the foolish, hopeful thing she had long since buried. “What happened to him?” The question left you before you could stop it.

Your mother closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were unreadable. “He is gone,” she said simply. “Not dead, no—but gone, all the same.”

“He was a man without power, without status. No matter how fiercely we dreamed, there was no place for us in a world that values blood and duty above all else.” She finally turned back to you, eyes searching. “Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?”

“I have made my peace with it,” she continued, stepping closer once more. “But I have never forgiven myself for believing, even for a moment, that we could have been more than a fleeting whisper in time.”

“This… this has nothing to do with me,” you whispered, though the words felt weak even as you spoke them.

Your mother’s lips parted, as if to argue, but after a moment, she only sighed. “Perhaps not.”

Yet you both knew it was a lie.

She stepped closer once more, lifting a gentle hand to brush your hair away from your face. “My sweet girl,” she murmured, voice laced with something akin to regret. “You are so much like me…”

“—and that is what terrifies me most.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and it lingered in the space between you and your mother. Her words had settled deep, carving themselves into the very marrow of your bones. But still—there was one thing left unspoken.

“…Do you know where he is now?” Your voice was quiet, but it did not waver.

Your mother’s fingers, which had been absentmindedly tracing the embroidery of your bed’s coverlet, stilled. She did not answer at first, as if weighing the cost of her reply. Then, with a slow inhale, she spoke.

“I do not.” A pause. “At least, not anymore.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “You sought him out?”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh but carried no joy. “Once, yes.” Her gaze was distant, as though looking not at you but at something beyond. “A foolish endeavor, for what could I have possibly done? My place was here. It has always been here.”

There was something in her tone that made your heart ache. A resignation so deep, so ingrained, that it felt like a part of her very being. “But had you found him…” You hesitated. “Would you have left?”

Her expression did not change, yet you could see the flicker of something in her eyes. “I do not know.”

It was the only answer she could give. And perhaps, in another life, it would have been different. Perhaps there existed a world where love was not a chain, where duty did not suffocate, where the choices of a woman did not belong to men. But that was not the world you lived in.

She reached forward, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “Do not mistake my words for regret,” she murmured. “My path has led me to you. And for that, I would not change a single thing.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly, though the feeling in your chest remained. The conversation lulled, stretching into a silence that neither of you felt the need to break. Instead, your gaze drifted to the window, the light of morning casting long shadows upon the stone floors. Your mother followed your line of sight.

Without a word, she stood, her movements as graceful as ever, and made her way toward the balcony doors. A flicker of confusion crossed your mind, but you did not question it. Instead, you followed.

The doors opened with ease beneath her touch, the morning breeze slipping past and caressing your skin. The scent of the gardens below mingled with the crisp air, the distant hum of castle life carrying softly to where you stood. And then, your eyes fell upon it.

The training grounds lay just beyond the gardens, the expanse of land well within view from your balcony. It was still early, and few knights were about, but that was not what caught your attention.

There, resting against the post where the training dummies stood, was a sword—yet not just any sword. It was very one Yunho had pressed into your grasp the night before, its blade unfamiliar in your hands, its weight a silent promise of the pain it would demand. It had not been left there carelessly. It stood in waiting, an unspoken message only you were meant to see.

Your fingers curled against the stone railing. “He expects you,” your mother murmured, her voice unreadable.

You exhaled slowly. “It seems so.”

“Will you go?”

You did not answer immediately. Instead, you stared at the weapon below absentmindedly. Because whether or not you wished to, you already knew the answer.

Your mother did not turn to leave. Instead, she remained beside you, her gaze lingering on the sword below, but something in her demeanor shifted. There was no longer a veil between you, no longer the careful restraint that often colored her words. Then, she spoke.

“Since when?”

You blinked, startled by the abruptness of her question. “Since when?” you echoed, frowning slightly. “Since when what?”

She did not answer right away. When she finally turned to face you, there was no trace of impatience, nor was there amusement. There was only quiet knowing, the kind that made your pulse quicken.

“…Do I truly need to explain further?”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Because she was right. She did not need to explain. You knew.

The realization settled like a stone in your chest, heavy and cold, yet burning at the edges. It was a question that had long been waiting to be asked—one that you had spent years avoiding, perhaps even longer. And yet, to answer it… To answer it would be to stop pretending. To step beyond the comfortable barrier of denial and acknowledge what lay beneath. But were you ready?

Your grip tightened around the railing as memories stirred.

You thought of Wooyoung, of the way he was teasing you with that ever-present smirk of his as he spoke of his insights, watching you with an amusement that held too much insight for your liking. You had scoffed at him then, rolling your eyes as if he were being ridiculous. But Wooyoung was nothing if not relentless. You had dismissed him then, shoving the thought away as nothing more than idle teasing.

Yet, standing here now, with the sword below as undeniable proof of an unspoken understanding, you found yourself unable to brush it off so easily.

Your motherʼs hand brushed against your arm. She was studying you, her expression unreadable, though there was something in her eyes—something soft, something sad. Then, she chuckled. It was quiet, barely a breath of laughter, but it carried something weighty, something that made your chest ache.

“My dear,” she murmured, “denial is a cruel companion. It will whisper to you that there is still time, that there is no need to acknowledge the truth just yet. That perhaps, if you ignore it long enough, it will fade.”

Her fingers traced lightly over your sleeve, a gesture more for herself than for you. “But time is merciless,” she continued. “And one day, when you finally gather the courage to stop pretending… you may find that it is already too late.”

Suddenly, the arrival of the Prince of Tharian was announced with a resounding echo of horns, their deep, commanding notes reverberating through the vast stone halls of the palace. From the balcony, you and your mother watched as the grand procession made its way through the castle gates, a display of power and prestige that left little room for doubt—Prince San had not come alone.

The banners of Tharian, woven in rich scarlet and adorned with their sigil—a black wyvern mid-flight—fluttered in the wind, carried high by his standard-bearers. Rows upon rows of royal guards, clad in armor that gleamed like polished obsidian, marched in perfect unison. Their formation was tight and disciplined.

And though the presence of such an entourage could easily be dismissed as the simple precaution of a royal accustomed to his own importance, something about it unsettled you. It was excessive.

Even you, the beloved and fragile princess of Elythria, were not granted this many knights when you ventured beyond the palace walls, despite your father’s insistence that the most delicate treasure of Syelviore must be guarded with an iron grip. No, this was not mere vanity. This was caution.

Or perhaps, something more sinister.

Your mother seemed to sense it too. She said nothing, merely exhaling softly before turning to you, eyes unreadable. Without a word, she gestured for you to follow. It was time.

You descended the grand staircase together, your steps slow and precise. The halls had already been lined with nobility and high-ranking officials, each awaiting the moment of formal reception. The palace guards had formed two lines by the entrance, swords drawn in ceremonial salute. And at the threshold of the great hall, the King himself stood tall, adorned in his finest regalia, a picture of authority and composure.

The massive gilded doors were pulled open, and the Prince of Tharian stepped inside. From the moment he crossed the threshold, you felt it.

Malice.

It did not manifest outright—there was no outward display of hostility, no telltale sign of deceit—but it was there. Lingering. Cloaked beneath layers of practiced charm and effortless grace.

And, gods, he was charming.

San carried himself with an ease that could only belong to one who knew of his own allure. He was dressed in dark silks trimmed with silver, an outfit that accentuated his striking features—the sharp angles of his jaw, the subtle smirk that graced his lips, the weight of his gaze that seemed to settle on everything and nothing all at once.

His hair was swept back just enough to reveal the fine arch of his brow, and as he reached the end of the hall, he came to a halt, bowing in the elegant manner of a man well-versed in courtly decorum. The King acknowledged him with a nod, and at once, the formalities began.

The herald stepped forward, voice carrying across the chamber. “Presenting His Royal Highness, Prince San of Tharian, known throughout Syelviore as the Black Wyvern and the Bloodborn Heir.”

You had heard the titles before.

The Black Wyvern—named after Tharian’s sigil, but also for his nature. Wyverns were creatures of destruction, swift and merciless, feared on the battlefield for their sheer unpredictability.

The Bloodborn Heir—a name with a history dark enough that it was often left unspoken. It was said that San had been baptized in blood from the moment of his birth, his destiny written in the fall of those who had dared to oppose his lineage.

And now, he stood before you, smiling as though none of it mattered.

The exchange of pleasantries commenced, a dance of words and propriety. San spoke with ease, his voice rich, smooth—every syllable carefully measured. He complimented Elythria’s splendor, acknowledged the honor of standing within its halls, and spoke of his anticipation for the days ahead. Then, his gaze shifted.

And for the first time, it settled upon you.

There was something almost playful in the way he looked at you, a flicker of amusement lurking beneath the surface. But beneath it, deeper still, there was something else. Something unreadable. Something dangerous. And though you despised the weight of it, you could not deny—he deserved his titles.

The royal gathering took place within the grand hall, where the air was thick with the scent of polished oak, burning incense, and the lingering traces of fine wine. It was a setting designed for opulence, but beneath its grandeur, it was a battlefield of words and intent, where alliances were forged and broken within the span of a single conversation.

Your father, seated at the head of the table, exuded authority with little effort. Clad in robes of deep crimson, the crown atop his head glinting under the candlelight, he was every bit the ruler he claimed to be—commanding, shrewd, and perceptive. Beside him sat your mother, her presence quieter but no less significant. Her eyes, unreadable yet sharp, flickered toward you only once before settling upon the untouched goblet of wine before her.

And then, there was San.

Seated directly across from you, he had made himself comfortable, one hand resting lazily upon the table, the other swirling the wine within his goblet with an ease that spoke of familiarity. His posture was relaxed, almost leisurely, yet his gaze remained ever watchful, the flicker of amusement in his eyes betraying his awareness of the game at play. The conversation, as it often did in gatherings such as this, began with pleasantries.

“Elythria’s beauty never fails to leave an impression,” San remarked, lifting his goblet slightly in acknowledgment. “The gardens, the architecture… the people. There is a certain grace here that one does not find elsewhere.”

Your father smiled, the kind of smile that was practiced and void of warmth. “A kingdom is only as grand as its ruler’s will to shape it so. And Tharian, I hear, has flourished under your father’s reign.”

San hummed in agreement, though the slight quirk of his lips hinted at a deeper amusement. “Indeed. Though my father believes power is best wielded with a firm hand, I find that it is the subtleties of influence that determine true strength.”

Your father’s gaze darkened slightly, yet his expression remained unreadable. “Subtleties, you say?”

San leaned forward just a fraction, his voice smooth, effortless. “A sword can take a throne, Your Majesty, but only wit and charm can ensure it remains in one’s grasp.”

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your goblet. He was testing your father. And from the way your father studied him, the King knew it as well.

It was an exchange veiled in diplomacy yet sharp in intent, and it was not lost upon you how easily San maneuvered through it. He was not merely charming—he was calculated. Every word, every shift of expression, every lingering glance was deliberate.

And though his words were dressed in flattery, his eyes found you often.

Not in the manner that other princes had—where admiration was simple, a shallow acknowledgment of beauty and status. No, his gaze was heavier, edged with something unreadable, something that pressed against the boundaries of propriety without ever crossing them outright.

He was watching. And he knew that you knew.

“You have been quiet, Princess,” San mused suddenly, drawing the attention of the table toward you. “I must admit, I had hoped to hear more from the jewel of Elythria herself.”

Your father chuckled, though the sound carried an edge of expectation. “My daughter is a woman of few words, but those she does speak carry wisdom beyond her years.” A compliment, yet also a warning.

San only smiled. “Then I am all the more eager to hear them.”

Your fingers traced the rim of your goblet, the cool metal grounding you against the weight of his attention. “I speak when there is something worth saying, Your Highness.”

San tilted his head slightly, as though amused by your response. “A wise philosophy.” He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine once more before adding, “I do wonder, then, what would be worthy enough to hear from you?”

It was a challenge, veiled beneath the guise of polite intrigue. Your mother shifted beside you, her gaze flickering toward San before returning to the plate before her. She said nothing, but the slight movement did not go unnoticed.

And neither did the way San observed her. The moment stretched, yet you held his gaze. You knew what he was doing. He was not merely flirting—he was unsettling you, testing you.

And though he was charming, though the whispered tales of his silver tongue and effortless allure were not unfounded, you were not so foolish as to be drawn in. No, he was not here to court you in earnest. He was here for something else entirely.

He had set his sights on you, that much was clear. Yet it was not the admiration of a suitor seeking favor, nor the courteous pleasantries of a prince extending goodwill to another kingdom’s jewel. No, this was something different. Something far more deliberate.

“Tell me, Princess,” San began, setting down his goblet with a measured grace, “does the beauty of Elythria inspire poetry in your heart? Or have you grown so accustomed to its splendor that it no longer holds wonder in your eyes?”

His tone was light, casual, but the weight of his gaze did not match it. You regarded him carefully, noting how he leaned slightly forward, as if to close the space between you without truly doing so. As if testing whether you would retreat.

You did not.

“Beauty does not lose its wonder merely because one has known it for long, Your Highness,” you replied, keeping your voice composed. “But I have found that it is often those who speak of beauty so freely who seek to twist it into something of their own design.”

A flicker of something—amusement, intrigue—glinted in his dark eyes, and the corner of his lips lifted in a slow, deliberate smirk. “How fortunate, then, that I have no such intentions. I would never dare to alter what is already perfection.”

Your father chuckled lowly, his voice laced with approval at the exchange. He had always admired cleverness, even when it came with sharp edges. But you saw the way his fingers tapped idly against the arm of his chair, the slight narrowing of his gaze as he observed San. He, too, was watching. Measuring.

San turned his attention momentarily toward your father. “Your Majesty, I must commend you—not only on the splendor of your kingdom, but on the brilliance of your daughter. It is rare to find a princess who carries such wit and sharpness beneath her elegance.”

Your father inclined his head slightly, his expression betraying nothing but polite acknowledgment. “The blood of Elythria runs strong within her.”

San merely chuckled before turning his attention back to you, studying you as if you were something worth deciphering. “And what of knights, Princess?” he mused, resting his chin upon his hand. “Do they inspire poetry in your heart as well?”

The question struck something deep within you before you could stop it. Your grip upon your goblet tightened—you knew what he was doing. It was not a question asked out of idle curiosity. It was a probe, a gentle yet insistent pressure against something unspoken, something buried within the chambers of your heart.

You thought of Yunho.

Of the way his voice had sounded in the stillness of the night. Of the weight of the sword in your hands. Of the quiet patience in his gaze as he had watched you, guided you.

Had you been so transparent?

“I find that knights are often at the mercy of those they serve,” you replied evenly, refusing to let your voice falter. “Poetry is written of their valor, yet it is the hands of kings and princes that dictate their fate.”

San exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head as though considering your words. “A fair point,” he conceded. “Though, I would argue that knights have far more power than they are given credit for.”

Your mother, who had been silent throughout much of the exchange, finally spoke. “And what power is that?” Her voice was soft, yet there was an undeniable weight to it.

San turned his gaze toward her, offering a smile that was almost too perfect in its politeness. “Influence, Your Majesty. Knights are the trusted hands of their rulers, after all. And trust is a weapon sharper than any blade.”

A hush settled over the table at his words. Your mother’s expression remained unreadable, though you did not miss the way her fingers ghosted over the stem of her goblet, as if tracing the delicate pattern etched into the glass.

You knew what she was thinking. What you were thinking. The weight of secrets, of trust placed in hands that may or may not be worthy of it.

Yunho.

San’s eyes flickered back to you, his smirk deepening ever so slightly. He knew he had struck something. And you despised that he had.

Before you could respond, your father cleared his throat, effectively steering the conversation elsewhere. “Tell me,” he said, voice composed but firm, “what news do you bring from Tharian?”

San’s expression shifted instantly, the playful glint in his eyes dimming just slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Ah, but of course. I did not come merely for pleasantries.” He gestured subtly, and one of his men—who had remained stationed near the entrance of the hall—stepped forward, presenting a sealed scroll.

The sigil upon it bore the mark of Tharian’s royal house. Your father accepted it, breaking the seal and skimming the contents. His expression did not change, but you could sense the way the air grew heavier, how your mother’s fingers tensed ever so slightly upon her lap.

You stole a glance at San, searching his face for any trace of what he knew. But he gave you nothing. Just that same unreadable smirk, that same unwavering gaze.

You did not trust him. And he knew it.

Surprisingly, he had been playing his part well. Flirtatious, sharp-tongued, effortlessly charming—his words laced with a subtle venom that only those who knew how to listen would catch. And then, in a perfectly measured moment, he spoke.

“I must say, it is rather bold of you, Your Majesty, to assume the kingdoms of Syelviore would not see the strings being pulled behind these banquets and alliances.” His tone was light, playful even, yet it rang through the hall with an unmistakable weight. He swirled his wine lazily in his goblet, watching the deep red liquid coat the glass before meeting your father’s gaze once more. “After all, not all kings play blindly.”

The room tensed.

It was subtle—so subtle that, to the untrained eye, it might have seemed as though nothing had changed. The courtiers continued their chatter, the laughter did not fully fade, yet there was a pause. A flicker of hesitation in the air. Your father’s smile did not falter. Not even for a moment. But his eyes—his eyes darkened.

A silence stretched between them, so fleeting it might have been imagined. Then, like a well-rehearsed performance, the nobles chuckled, brushing the remark off as nothing more than playful political banter.

But you knew better. San knew better. And, most terrifyingly, your father knew better, too.

Tharian knew. They had known for some time.

The evening carried on, but the air had shifted. Even as toasts were raised, even as polite smiles were exchanged, there was something lurking beneath the surface now—an undercurrent of something dangerous. Something inevitable.

And then, at last, the gathering began to draw to a close. The guests rose, bidding their farewells, and the court slowly began to empty. The tension had not left. As you turned to leave, you felt a presence at your side before you saw him.

San.

A slow, knowing smirk curved upon his lips as he inclined his head, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. “Your Highness,” he murmured, “I wonder if I might request a moment of your time.”

Your father’s gaze shifted toward him, unreadable, but there was a moment of hesitation. San was a prince. And diplomacy dictated that his request could not simply be denied.

“Very well,” your father said at last. “But do not keep her for long.”

San placed a hand over his chest in mock solemnity. “You have my word.”

A lie. You knew it the moment he offered his arm, and you—bound by propriety—had no choice but to take it.

He led you through the castle halls, his grip light yet firm, his pace leisurely despite the cold air creeping through the stone corridors. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the walls, elongating his figure, making him seem more imposing than he already was.

Then, when the distant echoes of the banquet had fully faded, he stopped. And in an instant—his demeanor shifted. The smirk remained, but it was different now. Sharper. Crueler. Gone was the flirtatious prince, the charming nobleman who danced through conversations like a man who had never known fear.

What stood before you now was something else entirely.

“You do realize what your father is doing, don’t you? He has been playing a dangerous game for far too long.”

You held his gaze, unflinching. “And you believe your own father has not done the same?”

San let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no warmth to it. “Oh, he has,” he admitted, stepping closer. “But unlike your father, mine is no fool. Nor is he passive.”

The space between you seemed to shrink with every word. His presence was suffocating, a force that demanded attention, that demanded submission.

“You are the key, Your Highness.” His voice was almost gentle, yet it sent a chill down your spine. “Once your father marries you off to the kingdom easiest to control, he will use that as leverage. Then, another. And another. Until Elythria rules Syelviore in its entirety.”

His eyes studied you, as though he were searching for something beneath your composed exterior. And then, almost lazily, he smiled. “But you see… my father harbors the same ambition.”

The realization settled in your stomach like lead.

“So here is what is going to happen.” He exhaled, as if this were all so terribly simple. “You will be my betrothed.”

The words struck like a blade to the ribs. Your breath caught in your throat, your expression momentarily faltering—just enough for his smirk to widen.

“As my wife,” he continued smoothly, “your life will no longer be your father’s to control. It will be mine.”

He tilted his head, watching your reaction with quiet amusement. “And believe me, I will ensure Elythria’s ambition dies before it begins.” Then, he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or…”

The warmth in his tone vanished.

“You refuse.” His gaze darkened, and though he did not raise his voice, the weight of his next words pressed against your chest like an iron grip. “And we will declare war.”

The silence that followed was deafening. His smirk did not return. His expression did not shift. He simply watched you, as though waiting for you to realize the inevitable.

“Do not think for a moment that Elythria will survive unscathed,” he murmured, his tone chillingly soft. “Tharian is not alone in its cause.”

You knew what he was doing. You knew what was at stake. And yet—

“I refuse.”

The words were spoken without hesitation. Without fear.

San stilled. Then, slowly, his head tilted, something dark glinting in his gaze. “How bold,” he mused, almost as though he were impressed. “And here I thought you might have some sense of self-preservation.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. “I am not a prize for power-hungry men to barter over.”

The words hung in the air. San regarded you for a moment longer. Then, before you could react—

His hand snapped to your throat.

Your back hit the stone wall, the cold seeping through the silk of your gown. His grip was not crushing—not yet—but it was firm, unyielding, a silent reminder of who held the power in this moment.

He leaned in, so close that you could feel his breath ghost against your skin. “You will learn,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. “One way or another.”

You clenched your fists. You refused to tremble. You refused to let him see you crumble. But the truth was undeniable.

You were weaker.

Not just in strength, but in every way that had been forced upon you since birth. You were a princess—a delicate flower meant to be admired, not a warrior trained to wield steel. You were born to stand in silken gowns, to smile and curtsy, to be loved, not feared. And now, that same fragility, the very thing your father had cultivated for the sake of power, was being used against you.

San could do anything to you in this moment, and no one would come. No one would save you. Except yourself.

Your mind raced. You needed to act—to fight. But how? Your father never allowed you to train, never permitted you to lift a blade. The most you knew of combat were mere glimpses…

But then came a memory.

One night, long ago, you had watched from your balcony as Yunho trained beneath the moonlight. He had not known you were there. He had been alone, his blade gleaming silver as he moved through the courtyard with silent precision. You had been mesmerized—not by the violence of it, but by the fluidity, the control. You had memorized the way he moved, the way his body shifted, how he twisted at the last second to turn an opponent’s strength against them.

You remembered it now. The way he had shifted his weight. The way he had pulled free. Your body acted before your mind could catch up.

You turned into San’s grip, wrenching your arm upward to break the angle of his hold. With all the force you could muster, you stepped forward, twisting at the last moment, forcing him off balance. It was not perfect—your execution was nowhere near as sharp as Yunho’s had been—but it was enough.

San stumbled back.

For the first time since this conversation had begun, his expression flickered. Not with anger, nor with amusement—but with surprise. It was only then, only after the rush of movement, only after your breath came ragged and sharp in your throat, that you realized what you had done.

You had attacked him. A prince. You had raised a hand against a man.

San did not move for a moment. His gaze flickered to his sleeve where your forceful shove had rumpled the fine embroidery, and then back to you.

He then laughed. A slow, dark chuckle, rich with something you did not understand until he reached into the folds of his suit. The air between you shifted. The amusement did not leave his face, but his eyes—his eyes turned razor-sharp as he withdrew something gleaming from his pocket.

A dagger. Slim. Refined. Elegant, in the way a weapon should not be.

The silver glinted in the candlelight as he twirled it between his fingers, stepping forward before you could even think to move. His other hand snatched the collar of your gown, yanking you forward with a force that stole your breath.

The blade kissed your throat before you could react.

And then, the pressure. Not enough to slice deep—but enough for the edge to break skin. Enough for you to feel the first sting of pain. Enough for the warmth of blood to trickle down your neck.

San hummed, tilting his head as if studying a piece of fine art. “That,” he murmured, “was a foolish decision, my lady.” You stiffened, but you did not let your fear show. You would not let him see it.

“Did you think that would make a difference?” His voice remained light, almost… amused. “Did you truly believe that your defiance would change the outcome of this night?”

You did not answer. His grip on your collar tightened.

“You were given an opportunity,” he continued, his tone slow, deliberate. “A chance to secure peace—not just for yourself, but for your people. A chance to submit—to yield, as a princess should. I could have overlooked your foolishness, your misguided attempt at resistance. I could have given you another chance to reconsider.”

The dagger tilted, pressing just a fraction deeper. “But then, you did something far worse than simply saying ‘no’.”

He dragged the blade downward—slow, taunting, tracing the line of your skin without breaking it further. “You committed violence.”

The word dripped with disdain, as if it were something vile, something unnatural for a woman to even comprehend. “A princess,” he mused, “should know her place. She should be gentle. Graceful. She should accept the reality of her station. And yet—you struck me.”

The silence stretched, suffocating. “You are no longer just a stubborn girl refusing a betrothal,” he whispered, so close that his breath fanned against your cheek. “You are an insult.”

Your pulse pounded against your throat where the dagger remained poised. “I wonder,” San continued, “how it shall feel—to know that your defiance will be the cause of bloodshed.” The words felt like ice slipping into your veins.

He smiled, slow and cruel.

“War shall begin,” he said. ��Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps next week. But soon. And when it does, when your people fall beneath the weight of what is to come, I hope you will remember this moment.”

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “I hope you will choke on the guilt of knowing it is your fault.” Your breath hitched. “That by refusing to be a toy,” he said, voice almost thoughtful, “you have condemned them all.”

A pause. A moment of stillness. And once he let go of you, your knees hit the cold stone floor, the sudden loss of support stealing the strength from your legs. The blood from your throat dripped onto your gown, onto the pristine marble beneath you. Your vision blurred, but not from pain. Not from the wound.

From the weight of what had just been spoken into existence.

San did not spare you another glance.

He stepped back, adjusting his sleeves as if nothing had occurred, as if you were nothing more than a passing amusement. His footsteps echoed as he turned, the slow, deliberate rhythm of them fading down the corridor.

You remained where you were, trembling, blood warming the chill of your skin, breath ragged as the enormity of it all crushed you.

What have you done? No—what had he done?

And yet, it would be your burden to bear. Your father would blame you. The court would blame you. Your people would blame you. For daring to fight. For daring to say no. For daring to exist as something more than a pawn to be moved.

Tears spilled before you could stop them, silent and bitter, dripping onto the cold stone floor beneath you. You had tried to defend yourself. And now, war would come because of it.

The weight of it crashed down on you like an ocean’s tide, relentless and inescapable. The moment you had fought back, the moment you had dared to be something other than what was expected of you, the world had turned against you. You had been born into a life where your purpose was predetermined—not to rule, not to decide, but to be used. To be delicate. To be soft-spoken and docile, a thing to be admired rather than a force to be reckoned with.

And yet, you had defied that expectation. You had resisted. And now, they would make sure you paid the price.

Your fingers trembled as you pressed them to the wound on your neck, feeling the warmth of your own blood seep into your skin. It was a small cut. A warning. A cruel reminder that your body, your choices, your very existence was not your own to command. Even the pain was not yours—it had been given to you, inflicted upon you by a man who thought himself untouchable, a man who would suffer nothing for what he had done.

But you? You would suffer everything.

They would say it was your fault. That you should have known better. That you should have smiled, curtsied, and played your part. That you should have accepted his advances, accepted the fate that had been so generously chosen for you, because what right did you have to refuse?

What right did a woman have to say no?

The answer had been carved into your skin with the edge of a blade. None.

And yet, it was not the pain that suffocated you. Not the sting of the wound nor the lingering echo of San’s grip against your throat. No, it was something far worse. Something that clawed at your ribs and settled deep in your chest like a sickness. The guilt.

It wrapped itself around you, insidious and unshakable, whispering cruel truths into the hollow space where your resolve had once been. You had condemned them. Your people. The men and women of Elythria who had trusted in you, who had looked to you as their symbol of peace. They would not understand why you had done it. They would only know the consequences.

Because you had resisted, there would be war. Because you had refused to be used, your people would suffer. And wasn’t that the very thing you had sworn to prevent? Wasn’t that why you had endured everything before this moment—why you had smiled through the suffocating weight of expectation, why you had played the role of the gentle, fragile princess so flawlessly?

You had wanted to believe that, in some way, you could control your fate. That if you were kind enough, obedient enough, compliant enough, you could navigate this world without being swallowed by it. That if you endured quietly, the storm would never come.

But the storm had come anyway. And now, they would all drown because of you.

You could already hear the words that would be spoken in hushed tones through the palace halls, in the grand chambers where the fate of kingdoms was decided by men who saw you as nothing more than a bargaining piece.

“The princess should have known her place.”

“She provoked him.”

“If she had just agreed, this wouldn’t be happening.”

And worst of all—

“What else did she expect?”

Because no one would question San’s actions. No one would condemn him for threatening you, for pressing a dagger to your throat, for turning your resistance into a declaration of war. No one would look at him and think, he should not have done this. They would only look at you and think, she should not have fought. That was what it meant to be a woman in this world. To be held responsible for the violence inflicted upon you.

You wanted to scream. To weep. To claw at your own skin and rid yourself of the shame that was not yours to bear. But what good would that do? Tears would change nothing. Rage would change nothing. Even if you threw yourself at your father’s feet and begged for his mercy, there would be none. Because this was your fault. Even if it wasn’t.

And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? Knowing that the blame would always be placed on you, no matter what you did. Knowing that you had never stood a chance. That you could have submitted, could have let San have his way, could have smiled and curtsied and swallowed your pride whole—and it still would not have been enough.

Because your worth had never been your own to decide. It had always belonged to them. And you had dared to believe otherwise.

The sound of approaching footsteps jolted you from the abyss of your thoughts. Your breath hitched, panic seizing your chest as you hastily wiped at your face, smearing blood and tears alike across your trembling fingers. You could not be seen like this. Not like this. Not broken on the cold stone floor, a disgrace to the very image of grace and composure Elythria had forced upon you.

Your hands shot up to your neck, pressing against the wound in a feeble attempt to conceal it, as if your very touch could erase what had been done. Your gaze darted upwards, prepared to meet the merciless stare of yet another vulture eager to feast upon your suffering—only to be met with something far worse.

Yunho.

He stood before you, a fair distance away, his figure rigid as his eyes scanned your face. His gaze, sharp as steel yet somehow softer than anything you had ever known, drifted downward, settling upon the hand that desperately covered the cut upon your throat. His expression darkened in an instant.

The moment you moved to stand, your body betrayed you—your limbs, weak from the weight of what had just transpired, faltered beneath you. Before you could fall, Yunho was there.

He crossed the distance in an instant, his hands firm against your arms as he steadied you, his warmth a stark contrast to the suffocating cold that clung to you like a second skin. His grip was strong but careful, as if he feared you might shatter beneath the slightest pressure.

“What happened?”

You shook your head. You refused to meet his eyes, refused to let him see the ruin in yours. If you did, you knew you would crumble completely. His grip did not tighten, did not demand, but it remained. Unyielding.

“Look at me.”

You kept your gaze to the ground, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape.

“Look at me, Your Highness. Please.”

This time, his voice was softer. A plea, not a command. But you could not. You would not.

Your head shook weakly, another fresh wave of tears slipping past your lashes. The wound still pulsed beneath your palm, a reminder of your failure, of your weakness, of the destruction you had wrought upon those who had placed their trust in you.

Yunho exhaled sharply, and before you could react, his fingers curled gently around your wrist—the very wrist of the hand that so desperately tried to hide the truth from him. “Who did this to you?”

His voice was low, controlled, but there was something simmering beneath it. Something you had never heard before. You did not answer. You could not.

Yunho’s hold on your wrist tightened just enough to ground you, but not enough to cause pain. His patience, however vast, was wearing thin. “Tell me.”

Still, you said nothing. Instead, something inside you broke. A strangled sob tore from your throat as your body gave out completely. You collapsed against him, your grip on his tunic tightening as your cries broke through the fragile walls you had so desperately tried to maintain.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice was barely a whisper at first, muffled against the fabric of his uniform. Then, again—louder, more desperate, more broken. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

The words spilled from you, frantic and unrelenting, as if speaking them enough times would somehow erase the irreversible damage you had done. Yunho did not move, did not speak. But his arms—his arms encircled you, pulling you against him with a carefulness that was almost painful. He held you as you wept, his warmth shielding you from the suffocating chill of your own grief.

Yunho held you carefully, his arms steady despite the way your weight pressed against him. Your sobs had lessened, though your breaths still trembled against his chest. He paid no mind to the way his vest had become damp with your tears, nor did he shift uncomfortably at the way you clung to him with such fragile desperation. The thought of pulling away from you never even crossed his mind.

Thankfully, the gathering had lasted long into the night, and Yunho had already rid himself of his armor. Mingi had insisted on taking care of everything else, allowing him to step away from the exhausting politics that had filled the great hall for hours. For once, Yunho had been grateful to relinquish his duty—he never could have predicted that it would lead him here, holding you in his arms as you trembled from something he had yet to understand.

His large hands moved gently against your back, tracing slow, careful circles in an effort to soothe you. His touch was hesitant at first, as if unsure whether the motion would bring comfort or simply remind you of the hands that had hurt you. But when you did not recoil, when you only pressed yourself further into his hold, he let himself continue.

“Would you care for some air?” His voice was quiet, coaxing, barely above a whisper. “The royal garden is empty at this hour… We could go there, if you wish.”

For a moment, you did not answer. Yunho waited patiently, his fingers never ceasing their gentle motions. Then, after what felt like forever, you spoke, your voice so faint it barely reached his ears.

“…Take me anywhere.” Your hands clutched at his tunic, your grip weak but desperate. “Anywhere… just as long as it is outside these walls.”

Yunho understood. The castle, once a place meant to protect you, had become a prison of gilded lies and suffocating expectations. Whatever had happened—whoever had done this to you—it had happened within these very walls. The longer you remained here, the heavier the weight of it became.

But… you were still holding onto him. Tight.

He exhaled quietly, tilting his head downward so that his lips were near the crown of your head. “Princess,” he murmured, careful with his words, “I will take you wherever you wish. But… you must allow me to move.”

Before he could say more, you stirred against him, as if sensing what he would say next. Your fingers curled into his tunic, holding him tighter than before, and when you spoke again, your voice was barely above a breath. “Then… carry me.” A weak, quiet plea. “Please.”

Yunho’s chest ached at the sound of it. You did not want to let go.

A quiet sigh left his lips, and then, without hesitation, he adjusted his hold on you. His arms shifted beneath your legs, lifting you effortlessly from the cold stone floor. You did not resist, only pressing your face further against his chest, your exhaustion evident in the way your body sagged in his hold. It was familiar—reminiscent of the very first time he had carried you, though this time, there was no playful resistance, no lighthearted jest about knights and their formalities. This time, you simply clung to him, trusting him entirely.

“I know just the place,” Yunho murmured, his voice gentle as he began walking. “Far from the chambers of Elythria, away from all that burdens you. But first… we must tend to your wound.”

You did not respond. Whether it was from exhaustion or resignation, he could not tell.

His jaw tightened as he glanced downward at the blood staining your skin. Whoever had done this… they would pay. He did not know the name yet, but when he found out, there would be no mercy. For now, however, his focus remained solely on you.

The corridors of the castle were silent as he made his way towards the knight’s quarters. The night air was crisp when he finally stepped outside, the cool breeze brushing against his face. He adjusted his grip on you, his steps careful and steady, ensuring that not even the slightest movement would disturb you further.

As he approached the headquarters, a familiar figure stood waiting. Mingi had remained outside, leaning against one of the stone pillars, his arms crossed as he gazed up at the sky in thought. The moment he noticed Yunho approaching, however, he turned, lifting a hand in greeting.

“Ah, there you are—” Mingi’s words faltered the moment he took in the sight before him. His expression shifted instantly, the faint smile on his lips disappearing as his eyes landed on you. Concern overtook his features, his posture straightening. “Yunho—what happened?”

Yunho did not slow his steps as he reached him. “I do not know,” he admitted, his voice lower now, mindful of your half-conscious state. “I found her like this. She refuses to speak of it.”

Mingi’s brows furrowed, his gaze flickering between you and Yunho. “That wound…” His voice dropped, his concern now laced with something darker. “She did not do that to herself, did she?”

“No.” Yunho’s response was immediate. “Someone did this to her.”

Mingi’s jaw tightened, but he did not push further. He knew Yunho well enough to recognize the quiet storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. “What do you need?”

“She wishes to be taken away from Elythria for the night. I will take her somewhere safe.” Yunho’s grip on you remained firm. “I need a carriage.”

Mingi nodded, already stepping away. “Consider it done.”

As Mingi busied himself with preparations, Yunho turned toward the headquarters. He had no intention of letting you travel without tending to your wounds first. Carefully, he carried you inside, heading straight for his quarters, where he kept his supplies.

Yunho moved with the utmost care, cradling you in his arms as he approached his bed, mindful not to jostle you awake. Your weight was light against him, fragile in a way that made something deep within his chest ache. The moment he lowered you onto the mattress, his touch delicate yet firm, he withdrew his arms ever so slowly, ensuring you remained undisturbed.

Even in your exhaustion, you stirred faintly, a quiet sigh slipping past your lips as your body settled against the sheets. The sound was soft, barely there, but it held him still. He did not move for a long moment, merely watching, as if afraid that even the slightest shift would shatter the fragile peace that had momentarily enveloped you.

A sigh left his lips as he finally turned away, his hands reaching for the bag of supplies he kept stored within the confines of his quarters. His movements were practiced, efficient—he had tended to countless wounds before, seen more blood than he cared to admit, and yet, as he pulled out the tools he needed, his fingers faltered.

This was different. This was not the aftermath of a battlefield, nor the consequence of a training session gone awry. This was not the wound of a knight who had accepted the dangers of war.

This was you—his princess, the very embodiment of Elythria’s gentle heart, marred by cruelty that should never have touched you.

His grip tightened around the cloth in his hand. He forced himself to exhale, to steady the quiet rage that simmered beneath his skin. Later. He would find out who did this later. For now, he would tend to you.

Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he shifted closer, his gaze locked onto your resting form. The wound upon your neck was shallow, but still, the sight of it unsettled him. He reached forward, dipping the cloth into the warm water he had prepared, wringing it out before carefully dabbing at the dried blood. His touch was light, cautious, yet even as he worked, his gaze drifted.

The flickering lamp beside his bedside table cast a soft, golden glow upon your features, illuminating every delicate curve and gentle slope of your face. He had always known you were beautiful—Elythria’s beloved princess, the envy of neighboring kingdoms, the one whose very presence turned heads in admiration.

But now, as he sat so close, as the shadows danced across your face, as the faint rise and fall of your chest filled the silence of his quarters, he realized that your beauty was something else entirely.

It was not merely the elegance you carried, nor the softness of your skin, nor the way your lashes rested against your cheeks. It was not just the way your lips parted ever so slightly in sleep, or the way your hair cascaded against the pillow, strands spilling like silken threads over the fabric. It was more than that.

It was the strength in the way you bore your suffering, the resilience in the way you carried yourself even after the world sought to break you. It was the fire he had glimpsed in your eyes, the determination that burned even beneath layers of gentle grace. It was the way you had endured, despite the weight of expectations crushing down upon you, despite the cruelty that had sought to silence you.

He had always thought you were delicate—fragile in the way a glass sculpture was, precious yet breakable. But now, he realized that even if you had been shattered, you would have pieced yourself back together, sharper than before. Your fragility was not a weakness, nor was your gentleness a flaw. You were strong in ways that defied reason, in ways that made his chest tighten with something he could no longer ignore.

And perhaps, that was what frightened him most of all.

For so long, he had kept his distance, convincing himself that his duty to you was just that—a duty. An obligation. A command from the queen, a role entrusted to him as a knight. He had sworn his loyalty to Elythria, to you, and yet… somewhere along the way, his devotion had begun to shift.

No longer was it just loyalty that tethered him to you. No longer was it just honor that compelled him to keep you safe.

It was something else entirely—something he had refused to name, something he had tried to cast aside, and yet, now, as he gazed upon you, as he tended to your wound with a gentleness he had never afforded another, he realized that denial no longer served him.

His resolve was fraying. His walls were crumbling. And for the first time, he did not know what to do with himself.

His fingers moved before he could stop them. Absentmindedly, without thought, without hesitation, he reached forward, his touch featherlight as he traced along the curve of your cheek. His hand cradled your face, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness he could not put into words.

He had not meant to touch you so freely, had not meant to let his guard slip—but when you stirred, when you leaned into his palm, nuzzling into his warmth as if seeking comfort even in unconsciousness, he felt his heart stutter.

A firm yet measured sequence of four knocks echoed through the quiet of Yunho’s quarters, the rhythm unmistakable. His head lifted slightly, and without needing to ask, he knew who it was. Only Mingi knocked like that—a distinct pattern they had both memorized through years of camaraderie.

As expected, the door creaked open moments later, revealing Mingi’s towering frame. He stepped inside just enough to deliver his message, his voice kept low in consideration of the resting figure upon the bed. “The carriage is ready,” Mingi informed, his gaze flickering briefly toward you before returning to Yunho. “Iʼll be waiting outside.”

Yunho inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. There was no need for further words—Mingi understood. With a nod, the knight turned on his heel and exited, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a brief moment, silence reigned once more. Yunho remained seated at the edge of the bed, gaze settling upon you as you lay peacefully, the rise and fall of your breathing even and steady. But he could not afford to let you rest any longer—not when the night stretched ahead with miles to traverse, not when he had promised to take you far from the suffocating walls of Elythria.

Gently, he reached forward, his fingertips barely ghosting over your shoulder as he gave the lightest of taps. “Princess,” he murmured, his voice a low, steady timbre. “It is time to wake.”

You did not stir. He tried again, this time with a firmer touch. “Your Highness.”

A faint shift. A subtle twitch of your fingers. And then, with the softest flutter of your lashes, your eyes slowly blinked open.

Disoriented, you gazed around, your brows furrowing in confusion as you took in your surroundings. The dimly lit chamber, the unfamiliar weight of a blanket draped over you, the scent of something vaguely crisp and clean lingering in the air—it was different from the suffocating perfumes of the palace, different from the lavender oils your maids often used. It smelled like steel, leather, parchment, and a hint of something distinctly Yunho.

Your eyes found him. He was watching you closely, his expression unreadable yet patient. “You are awake,” he stated, more an observation than a question. “I trust you are feeling better?”

You blinked slowly, as if processing his words, before you found your voice. “…Better than before.”

Yunho nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Mingi has prepared the carriage. We must depart soon.” He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before adding, “I have tended to the wound upon your neck.”

At his words, your fingers instinctively lifted, hovering just above the sensitive skin of your throat. You hesitated before making contact, and when you finally did, you felt the firm press of bandages securing the injury beneath them. The touch made you wince—less from pain, more from the unfamiliar sensation of it being there at all.

“A bandage…” you murmured, the words barely above a whisper.

He inclined his head. “To keep the wound clean and undisturbed.”

You lowered your hand slowly, then glanced back at him, your expression searching. “Where will you be taking me?”

“To Aunvoeir,” he answered without pause. Aunvoeir. The kingdom of the northern highlands—Yeosang’s land.

Your brows knit together slightly, and though you did not question his decision outright, curiosity tinged your voice as you asked, “Why there?”

A faint glint of something unreadable flickered in his eyes, but his answer was simple. “You shall see.”

It was not an answer that satisfied you, but the finality in his tone left little room for argument. You exhaled softly, feeling the weight of exhaustion still clinging to your limbs.

Before you could question him further, he gestured toward the side of the bed. Following his movement, your gaze fell upon a neatly folded set of clothing—a stark contrast to the silken gowns you were accustomed to. A crisp white shirt, a fitted vest, durable trousers. Practical, functional. A stark difference from the opulent attire forced upon you within the palace walls.

“It would be wise for you to don those before we depart,” Yunho remarked, his tone even.

You reached out hesitantly, fingertips brushing against the fabric. It was finely made, sturdy yet comfortable—clearly tailored for movement rather than mere display. You glanced back at him, curiosity once again sparking within you. “These garments… they resemble your own.”

He nodded once. “They were purchased from the merchants of Masreathen just yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I had them made for you with the intent of using them when you became more skilled in combat.” His gaze flickered over you briefly before he added, “I had thought they would be of use to you in time. I did not anticipate you would require them so soon.”

Your fingers curled slightly around the fabric, absorbing his words. “You had these made… for me?”

“I did.” He paused, then added, “One of the maids provided me with your measurements.”

There was something odd about hearing those words from Yunho, something strangely thoughtful beneath the practicality of it. He had planned for this—not tonight specifically, but for the day you would no longer be confined to delicate gowns and ornamental silks. He had prepared for the moment you would stand on even ground, ready to wield strength in place of fragility.

A strange warmth settled in your chest, but you said nothing of it.

Yunho rose to his feet, his presence towering yet never imposing. “I shall take my leave whilst you change,” he announced. “You shall find me just beyond this door when you are ready.”

With that, he turned away, stepping toward the exit. As his fingers brushed the doorknob, he hesitated for only the briefest moment, as if there was something more he wished to say. But whatever it was, he left it unspoken. The door shut softly behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet of his quarters.

—

The carriage rattled softly as it rolled along the dirt path, the sound of its wheels groaning against the uneven terrain blending with the steady rhythm of hooves striking the earth. Beyond the small window, the world stretched endlessly beneath a sky of liquid onyx, where stars flickered like distant beacons, indifferent to the chaos that had unfolded mere hours ago.

Mingi guided the reins at the front, his silhouette barely visible through the thin veil of fabric that separated the driver's seat from the enclosed space within. Though he remained silent, his presence was felt in the gentle yet firm way he maneuvered the carriage, ensuring each movement was smooth despite the road’s occasional roughness.

Inside, you sat still, gaze lost upon the vast expanse of the night, yet your mind was anything but quiet. The weight of your thoughts pressed heavy upon your chest, the echoes of your father’s scheme still ringing through your skull, each detail sharpening into cruel clarity the longer you let them fester.

Perhaps now was the time.

You did not wish to speak of it, did not wish to relive the words that had bound themselves like chains around your ribs. But Elythria—your home—stood on the precipice of destruction, and silence was no longer a luxury you could afford.

With a quiet inhale, you turned away from the window, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your cloak. Your gaze lifted, intent on seeking out Yunho, only to find that he was already watching you.

A faint breath caught in your throat.

He had been staring, his dark eyes unwavering, a depth of unreadable emotion buried beneath their surface. But as soon as your eyes met his, he cleared his throat and shifted slightly, as if caught in the act of something he had not meant for you to notice. He made to look away—but before he could, your hand moved on its own.

You reached for him, your fingers settling atop his own, halting whatever intention he had of retreating into silence. “…Yunho.”

The weight of his name upon your lips was enough to still him completely. His gaze flickered downward, toward the point of contact, where your smaller hand rested upon his, warm and steady. Though his posture remained composed, you did not miss the faint tension that rippled through him, nor the way his fingers curled ever so slightly beneath yours.

He looked back up at you, his voice quiet, yet firm. “What is it?”

For a brief moment, the words tangled in your throat. But you steeled yourself. There was no turning back now. “…I must tell you something,” you began, your voice softer than you intended. “Something I should have spoken of far sooner.”

His gaze remained steady. “Then speak it.”

You hesitated for only a breath before you finally allowed the truth to spill forth.

“It is about my father,” you admitted. “And his plan for Elythria. He—he means to claim Syelviore in its entirety, not through war, but through carefully constructed alliances. He arranged for noble families to swear fealty in exchange for power, and he seeks to secure the remaining kingdoms by means of… marriage.”

Yunho did not move, but you could sense the shift in his presence, the sharp focus with which he now listened. You pressed forward, unwilling to falter now.

“This evening, I spoke with Prince Choi of Tharian,” you continued, voice steady despite the weight of the words. “He came to me with a proposal—an engagement sanctioned by my father. If I accepted, Tharian would have stood beside Elythria. If I refused…” Your fingers instinctively tightened against Yunho’s hand. “…Elythria would be at risk.”

Silence. Then, his voice, quiet and measured. “…And what did you choose?” Your throat felt dry.

“I refused.”

Yunho exhaled slowly through his nose, though whether in relief or anticipation of what followed, you could not tell.

Your grip upon him tightened further. “San did not take my refusal well. He—he grew enraged. He claimed I was throwing Elythria into peril, that I was being selfish, blind to the greater good. And then…” You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the faint sting at your throat. “Then he struck me.”

There it was. The truth, bared raw in the open. At first, Yunho did not speak. He did not move. But you felt it.

Beneath your palm, his hand had gone rigid, the veins upon his skin becoming more prominent as his fingers curled inward, as if restraining himself from something unseen. His jaw clenched, a slow inhale filling his lungs, but no exhale followed—not immediately. It was as if he were holding himself together through sheer force of will, as if any break in composure would send the entire dam shattering apart.

Your voice softened. “Yunho—”

“He hurt you.”

It was not a question. It was a statement. Cold, absolute.

“He sought to claim Elythria by force, and when you denied him, he laid his hands upon you.” His grip beneath yours was tight now—not upon you, never upon you, but upon himself. His free hand had curled into a fist upon his knee, knuckles taut with restrained fury. His voice, though leveled, held an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “And your father was complicit in this?”

Your heart clenched. “Yes.”

A long silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. But despite the storm that you knew brewed beneath Yunho’s exterior, he did not lash out, did not break into anger. Instead, he exhaled—slowly, steadily—before finally speaking.

“You made the right decision in telling me this tonight.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Why tonight?”

His gaze flickered toward the carriage window, where the landscape of Elythria was gradually beginning to fade into the distance, the night swallowing the familiar terrain whole. Then, his eyes returned to you, sharp with certainty.

“Because it is perfect timing that we are headed to Aunvoeir.”

Your confusion deepened. “What do you mean?”

Yunho did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his hand beneath yours, shifting so that he was no longer simply resting beneath your touch, but instead, holding onto you in return. His grip was firm, reassuring, grounding.

“Aunvoeir will be the key to diffusing the threat before it escalates to war,” he said at last, voice laden with meaning. “And before your father’s ambitions destroy everything in their wake.”

The weight in your chest grew heavier with each passing second, pressing against your ribs like iron shackles tightening with every breath. The air within the carriage felt thick, suffocating, as though the very fabric of the night sought to close in around you, swallowing you whole.

This was only the beginning.

Defying your father’s rule, rejecting San’s proposal, choosing to flee instead of bend to the will of men who had long dictated your fate—these were not mere acts of disobedience. They were acts of defiance, the first stones cast upon the still surface of a lake, ripples stretching far beyond your own reach. What you had done tonight was not a mere misstep to be forgiven. It was a spark.

And fire would surely follow.

Your fingers curled weakly against the fabric of your cloak, the reality of your actions tightening its grip around your throat. You had been so selfishly considerate of yourself, so naively hopeful that your resistance could be justified. But the truth was far crueler, far colder. Your kingdom was now at risk. Because of you.

The thought struck deep, twisting through you like a blade. You had let yourself believe, even if for a moment, that you had a right to refuse. That you had the right to choose for yourself. But what had that belief earned you? What had it given Elythria? Nothing but war. Nothing but ruin.

“A woman who speaks when she should be silent is a woman who brings destruction upon herself.”

You had heard it all your life, whispered behind closed doors, uttered in warning by those who sought to keep you safe from a world that would never show you mercy. And yet, you had ignored it, believing you were above the very laws that had governed women since the beginning of time.

And now, you had doomed yourself. You had doomed Elythria.

A shuddering breath escaped your lips, your vision blurring as your chest tightened painfully. Your hands, once steady, trembled against your lap, and before you could even attempt to rein in the storm, you felt it—the sting of hot tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“Yunho…”

His name left you in a whisper, barely audible beneath the rattling of the carriage, but he heard it. He turned to you immediately, his brow furrowing as he took in your trembling form, the barely-contained turmoil spilling from your very being.

“What is it?” His voice, though steady, held an edge of concern, his attention now fully drawn to you.

You swallowed, but it did nothing to ease the knot in your throat. Your lips parted, quivering as the words finally broke free. “I am afraid,” you admitted, voice cracking beneath the weight of it all. “I do not know what to do.”

His eyes remained locked onto yours, unwavering, waiting for you to continue. And you did.

“I feel as though I have damned my kingdom with my own foolishness,” you whispered, each word trembling as it left you. “Had I accepted Prince Choi’s proposal, Elythria would not be at risk. Had I obeyed my father, none of this would be happening. I—I was reckless. I acted out of selfishness, and now my people shall pay the price for my defiance.”

Your breathing grew uneven, your pulse quickening beneath your skin. “All my life, I have been told that a woman’s place is to obey, to be silent, to accept what is given to her without question,” you continued, voice growing weaker.

“Iʼve always wanted to defy that belief. Iʼve always wanted to show the people of Syelviore—from royalty to townsfolk—that women are more than obedient dolls with sewn mouths. That we have the right to stand up for ourselves, that saying “no” must not be something that will push us towards the gates of harm. I thought I had done it tonight… but I was wrong. So, so foolishly wrong.”

A tremor wracked through you, and you clenched your hands into fists in a desperate attempt to still the shaking. “I should have known better,” you whispered, the tears now spilling freely, tracing hot lines down your cheeks. “I shouldnʼt have forgotten the cruel reality—that a woman who refuses a man’s will is a woman who invites ruin upon herself.”

Your body felt cold, your skin prickling as a deep, suffocating dread coiled within you. “Yunho, I—”

Before you could finish, warmth enveloped your hands. Strong, steady.

Yunho’s hands had closed over yours, halting the tremors in their wake. His grip was firm, grounding, his fingers curling over your own with the certainty of an anchor amidst a raging storm.

“Look at me.”

His voice was low, yet resolute, carrying the weight of command without force. And despite the chaos in your mind, you obeyed. Your gaze lifted, meeting his. There was no anger in his eyes. No disappointment, no judgment. Only certainty, sharp and unrelenting.

“You were not wrong to choose for yourself,” he stated firmly. “And do not let a world ruled by men convince you otherwise.” Your breath hitched, lips parting slightly in surprise. But he did not stop.

“You speak as though you have doomed Elythria by acting upon your own will,” he continued, voice unwavering. “As though you have committed some grave sin by refusing to be bartered like a mere possession. But hear me, Princess—this is not your doing.”

His fingers tightened around yours. “Your father’s ambition, San’s violence, the greed of men who seek to claim power through control of others—these are the true culprits of the war that looms ahead,” he declared. “Not you. Never you.”

Your throat constricted, your heart twisting painfully within your chest. “But if I had simply agreed—”

“Then you would have lived in a cage, shackled to a man who sought only to use you as a tool,” he interrupted, his voice carrying the weight of an undeniable truth. “And even then, peace would not have been guaranteed. Power-hungry men do not cease their conquests simply because they have been momentarily sated.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but no words came. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

Yunho exhaled, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “I will not tell you that the path ahead will be easy,” he admitted. “I will not offer you empty reassurances that all will be well. But I will tell you this—standing against the tide is never wrong. And though you may feel alone in this battle, you are not.”

A pause.

“You have me.”

A bitter laugh slipped past your lips, quiet and trembling, as you lifted your free hand to wipe away the dampness clinging to your cheeks. The other remained trapped in Yunho’s grasp, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold spreading through your veins. You could not bring yourself to meet his gaze any longer, so you turned away, averting your eyes toward the darkened window, watching as the vast, unknown land stretched endlessly beyond the glass.

“You must think I am pathetic,” you murmured, voice laced with self-derision. “No different from what the whispers inject into your ears.”

From the corner of your vision, you saw him stiffen slightly, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What whispers?” he asked, his voice low yet laced with genuine curiosity.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You know of what I speak.”

His silence told you that he did.

Your fingers curled against your lap as you continued, each word heavier than the last. “I have always been pictured as a delicate flower,” you muttered, the bitterness in your tone undeniable. “A porcelain doll too fragile to withstand even the gentlest touch. All my life, men and women alike have looked at me and seen nothing but fragility. And though I thought I had proven them wrong—though I believed persuading you to become my personal trainer would rid me of that image—what has become of it now?”

You let out a humorless chuckle, the weight of your words pressing down upon you like a crushing tide. “I was foolish to think I could ever be seen as something more. Now that I stand before a real battle, I crumble like the very doll they have always claimed me to be.”

The carriage was silent save for the faint creaking of the wooden wheels and the rhythmic sound of hooves against the earth. Yunho said nothing. Not immediately. But then, a ghost of warmth brushed against your chin.

It was not a touch, not quite. His fingers lingered just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from them, hovering, hesitant yet deliberate. A silent question. A waiting command.

Your breath caught in your throat. Slowly, uncertainly, you lowered your head just enough for your chin to settle against the space he had left open for you. And the moment it did, his fingers closed gently around you.

The touch was not forceful, nor was it demanding. It was careful, considerate—almost as if he feared you might pull away. With delicate precision, he tilted your face back toward him, guiding you until your gaze had no choice but to meet his once more.

His eyes, dark and unreadable in the dim candlelight, bore into yours with a quiet intensity that sent something sharp twisting in your chest.

“How offensive,” he murmured at last, his tone laced with something unreadable. “How utterly offensive it is for you to believe I would see you in such a manner.” Your breath hitched, your fingers curling weakly against the fabric of your dress.

“You believe me to be a man so easily swayed by the murmurs of those who know nothing of you,” he continued, his voice steady, unwavering. “But I know you, Princess. I have seen you. I have witnessed your resolve, your defiance, your strength.”

His thumb ghosted over your skin, light as a feather. “I do not think you are weak,” he said firmly. “Nor do I believe you to be some delicate flower wilting at the first sign of hardship. If anything, you are the storm that dares to uproot the very soil upon which such flowers grow.”

Something in your chest twisted violently, raw and unrelenting. Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of his voice—the warmth of his touch—the way he was looking at you now, as if you were not some frail thing to be pitied, but rather something far greater.

And in that moment, your mind betrayed you.

It dragged you back to the very thing that had led you here in the first place. To Wooyoung’s teasing words about your supposed preference for knights. To his assumption that a particular knight had caught your favor. To the moment he had confessed to seeing Yunho watching you from afar, eyes lingering with something unspoken, unreadable.

Your breath shuddered.

Everything concerning Yunho had happened because of you. Because of the mere notion of your affection. And now—now that his hand was upon you, now that he was speaking such words, gazing at you with such quiet intensity—

You did not know what to do.

It was not as though you had forgotten. No, you had never forgotten. Your feelings for him had been lingering for far too long now, buried beneath layers of propriety, hidden beneath carefully measured words and stolen glances.

But you had always known it to be an unlikely pairing—one that the world would scoff at, one that would never be permitted under the ever-watchful eyes of those who dictated your fate.

More than that, you had always been careful. Careful to never let it show. Careful to never allow anyone, not even him, to notice. You had always feared the consequences of your own emotions—not for yourself, but for him. The last thing you wanted was for him to suffer because you could not control your heart.

But now? Now you were far from Elythria. Now, there were no prying eyes, no chains of duty, no unrelenting whispers dictating the rules of your existence. Now, there was only you. And him.

You swallowed, your lips parting slightly, though no words came. You did not know if you could control it anymore. Your breath trembled as you parted your lips, voice so soft it barely reached the space between you. “Yunho…”

His name alone felt dangerous upon your tongue, like a secret not meant to be spoken aloud.

The weight of his touch still lingered against your chin, his fingers careful yet unwavering. The warmth of them seeped into your skin, a silent anchor tethering you to the moment—yet you knew you were slipping. Slipping into thoughts you should not have. Slipping into a desire you had spent years locking away in the deepest chambers of your heart.

A slow inhale, a hesitance that trembled between longing and restraint. Then, your voice, no louder than the whisper of leaves in the autumn breeze. “You make me wish to tread paths I should not walk.”

The carriage rocked gently as it moved along the uneven path, the night outside pressing in, silent but heavy, as though even the darkness itself wished to eavesdrop on what was unfolding within. The dim glow of the lantern cast elongated shadows across the space, flickering across Yunho’s face, highlighting the sharp angles softened only by the way he looked at you.

And oh, how he looked at you. As though you were something untouchable yet within reach. A contradiction he could neither grasp nor turn away from.

Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, heart hammering against your ribs, though you could not tell whether it was from fear or from something far more dangerous. His fingers still lingered just beneath your chin, unmoving, barely there, a ghost of a touch that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

You should not have said it. And yet, you had.

And now, Yunho was looking at you as though he had seen past every carefully crafted wall, every attempt to conceal what had long since burned beneath your skin. “What do you mean?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of something far heavier.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Then, quieter still, “Do not look at me like that.”

His brows furrowed ever so slightly, confusion flickering across his expression. “Like what, Your Highness?”

You clenched your jaw, but it did nothing to steady your trembling pulse. “Like I hung the stars up the sky,” you murmured, gaze flitting away, though you could still feel the intensity of his upon you, “and you are the moon who wishes to grant me a reward for it.”

Silence. You had expected him to scoff, perhaps to shake his head, to dismiss the notion entirely. But he did none of those things. Instead, he simply watched you, the weight of his gaze like the heat of a flame against bare skin. “I did not know the moon was one to grant rewards.”

A breath hitched in your throat. “It is not,” you admitted. “But should it ever… I fear I would be unable to refuse.”

His hand flexed against his knee, his other still hovering near your face, undecided, uncertain, caught in the space between propriety and desire. The air between you grew heavier. Tighter. More suffocating.

“And what is it you seek, Princess?”

Your lips parted. You could not answer that. No—rather, you could. But to do so would mean threading past the line neither of you had dared cross before. To speak of it would mean solidifying something that could no longer be taken back.

Yunho waited, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… they spoke of something else. Something restrained. Something that burned. A thousand words tangled themselves at the tip of your tongue, but only one managed to slip free.

“You.”

The word was barely above a whisper, barely anything at all, but Yunho had heard it. You knew because his grip on his knee tightened. You knew because his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking ever so slightly. You knew because something in his gaze darkened, softened, something unreadable and yet utterly, devastatingly clear.

“Would you have me turn away?”

His voice was steady, as it always was, yet there was something beneath it, something straining, something bordering on a breaking point. You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, your thoughts spiraling, crashing into each other like waves in a storm.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Then, softer still—

“No.”

A flicker of a smirk ghosted his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “You waver.”

“And you do not?” you shot back. For the first time since this conversation began, Yunho hesitated. It was slight, barely perceptible, but you caught it.

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he watched you, searching, as though weighing his next words, as though treading carefully over a thread so thin it could snap at the slightest wrong step.

“I am a knight, Your Highness. It is not my place to waver.”

You scoffed, but it was breathless, almost incredulous. “Then why do you look at me as though you do?”

He did not reply. Not in words. But in the way his gaze fell to your lips, the way his fingers nearly—nearly—brushed against it before pulling back, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed whatever war raged within him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating in the most intoxicating way, drawing you further and further into something neither of you should have been venturing into.

“I should not be feeling this way,” you whispered, voice trembling.

“Nor should I.” His voice was just as strained. You exhaled shakily, fingers twitching as if itching to reach for him, but you held yourself back.

“Then why…” A swallow. A hesitation. “Why does it feel as though I would not mind being lit by the fire between us if it meant you would be the one to set me alight?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Then, Yunho exhaled, long and slow, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before opening once more, darker, heavier, more tormented than before.

He leaned in—not close enough to touch, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough that the mere thought of leaning forward would close the space entirely.

“If that is the fire,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “then tell me, Your Highness… do you wish for me to burn as well?”

Your heart stilled. He was giving you the choice. He was leaving the decision to you. Because despite everything, despite the tension, despite the unspoken yearning that hung thick between you, he would not cross the line first. It had to be you.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palm, your entire body trembling with the weight of your next move. Yunho remained still, waiting, though the torment in his gaze was undeniable. The silence that settled between you was thick—too thick—choking on the weight of everything left unsaid.

Then, after a minute had passed, he let out a sigh. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know, Your Highness,” he whispers, the sound of disappointment so subtly apparent in his voice.

“No—wait.” Your voice came before you could stop it, barely louder than a whisper, yet it sliced through the quiet like a blade. Yunho halted.

Your fingers, light but firm, curled around his wrist, stopping him just as his hand lifted from your chin. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his pulse steady—too steady for a man who had just been staring at you as though you were both salvation and ruin.

His eyes found yours. Searching. Questioning.

You inhaled sharply, heart hammering against your ribs. “There are things I wish to say,” you murmured, voice softer now, almost hesitant, as though speaking them aloud might make them unravel into something you could no longer contain.

“But if you choose to listen, know that you will not be able to pretend these words were never spoken.” Your grip on his wrist tightened ever so slightly, not in force, but in quiet desperation.

And then, you leaned closer, the space between you collapsing once more, your free hand finding purchase on his thigh, a subtle yet undeniable act of seeking something—stability, reassurance, him.

Your fingers barely pressed into the fabric of his trousers, and yet the reaction was immediate. Yunho tensed beneath your touch, a sharp inhale slicing through the silence. His jaw clenched, his gaze dropping, flickering—to your hand, to the space you had closed, to the way your eyes, heavy with something raw, bore into him.

Then, with a quiet, exasperated sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers raking through the dark strands in a show of barely contained restraint. You watched him. Watched the way his chest rose and fell, the way his shoulders seemed to hold the weight of something unspeakable, the way his entire body remained rigid, as though any slight movement might shatter the last remnants of his composure.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “What troubles you?”

His hand stilled in his hair. A long silence stretched between you, the air thick with something neither of you could name. Then, he exhaled, slow and measured, though there was nothing steady about the way his gaze flicked back to you, storm-dark and heavy with what seemed to be unspoken desires.“You have absolutely no idea what you are doing to me.” His voice was low, edged with something dangerous, something barely restrained. Something curled in your chest, something burning, something desperate, something that only grew when he spoke again.

“Gods, Your Highness.” He shook his head, his jaw tightening, his hand flexing against his knee. “You make composure seem as though it is something impossible to grasp.”

Your breath hitched, fingers twitching against his wrist. “What do you mean by that?” Yunho did not answer. Not immediately. Instead, he looked at you—long, searching, as though debating whether to speak the truth that lingered on his tongue. And then, just as you thought he might answer—

“Tell me what it is you wished to say.”

You frowned. “You are avoiding the question.”

His expression remained unreadable. “Let it be.”

You hesitated, your grip on him tightening for the briefest moment. But then—

Then you exhaled, long and shaky, and you let go. Not of him. Not of this. But of the fear that had kept your words at bay for far too long. “I have fought it,” you whispered. “For so long, I have fought it. I have locked it away, buried it beneath duty, beneath reason, beneath every argument I could muster against myself.”

Yunho did not move, did not breathe, did not even blink. But you did not stop. “I have drowned myself in denial, in every rational thought that told me I must not—cannot—feel this way. I have sought distraction, have tried to tame the fire that threatens to consume me whenever you are near.” Your voice trembled, but you did not waver. “And yet, it remains.”

“I have… wanted you,” you whispered, voice breaking under the weight of it all. “Gods, I have wanted you, Yunho. Not just in passing, not just in fleeting moments of weakness. I have wanted you in ways I do not know how to contain. In ways that terrify me. In ways that make me wish I had never known you, for perhaps then I would not have to endure the torment of wanting something I cannot have.”

His breath was shallow now, his entire form rigid, but still, he did not interrupt. So, you continued.

“I have wanted to know what it would feel like to not have to swallow this feeling whole. To not have to keep my hands at my sides when I long to reach for you.” Your fingers trembled against his thigh, but you did not pull away. “I have wanted to know what it would be like to let go. To allow myself to fall, just to see if you would catch me.”

Your voice broke, and still, he said nothing. Still, he only watched.

“I have imagined it,” you admitted, the confession spilling from your lips like something that had long since been aching to escape. “I have imagined a world where I was not bound by duty, where I was not a princess, and you were not my knight. A world where I could love you without consequence.”

“But that world does not exist.”

A silence. A pause. A moment stretched too thin, poised to snap beneath the weight of your words.

“Say something,” you whispered.

Yunho exhaled. And when he finally spoke, his voice was lower, rougher, filled with something you could not name. “You are cruel, Your Highness.”

Your lips parted, but before you could protest, he continued. “You say these words, you bare your heart to me, and yet you tell me we cannot have it.” His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching where they rested against his knee. “You carve the wound open, yet you offer me no means to mend it.”

Your breath shuddered. “I did not mean to—”

“But you have.”

He leaned in now—closer than before, closer than what was safe. And then, in a whisper, in a breath that barely bridged the space between you—

“Tell me,” he murmured. “If I were not your knight, if you were not bound to duty—would you still hesitate?” Your heart stilled. Because you knew the answer. Because it was the only thing you had ever been certain of. Because hesitation had never been the problem. Not when it came to him.

Not when, in every moment you spent by his side, you felt the battle within you waging war against restraint, against duty, against every rule that had been etched into your bones since birth. Not when your heart, reckless and desperate, had long since abandoned reason in favor of him. Not when the only thing that had ever held you back was not doubt—but fear.

Fear of what it would mean. Fear of what it would cost. Fear of what would be left of you if you allowed yourself to fall, only to find he would not be there to catch you. And yet, as you sat there—his breath mingling with yours, his presence suffocating and intoxicating all at once—you found that fear to be utterly inconsequential in the face of the reality before you.

Because the truth was that you would never hesitate. Not with him. Not with the way his voice sent tremors down your spine, not with the way his eyes devoured you whole, not with the way his mere existence had rewritten the very fabric of your being.

So, you answered.

“No.”

Yunho’s breath hitched. Your fingers curled against his thigh, grounding yourself. “I would not hesitate,” you whispered. “Not if the world did not stand between us. Not if I had the power to choose. Not if the gods themselves descended and demanded that I think twice.”

Your lips parted, trembling, but you pushed forward, voice raw, unguarded, desperate. “I would run to you. I would run to you, Yunho. I would not stop. I would not look back. I would not question, nor falter, nor let a single sliver of uncertainty linger.” Your throat tightened. “I would choose you.”

Yunho let out a breath, uneven and shaky. His hands, which had remained motionless for so long, clenched into fists atop his knees, as if restraining the impulse to reach for you. And for the first time since this treacherous conversation had begun, he looked torn.

As though your words had not only struck him but had shattered something within him entirely. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “You wound me, Your Highness.”

Your chest ached. “Then wound me in return,” you whispered. “If I have sinned in speaking this truth, then let me bear the punishment of your silence. Let me suffer the weight of your rejection. Let me be the only one who carries this burden, if you so wish it.”

Your voice broke. “But do not—” Your breath stuttered, hands trembling as they curled into the fabric of your gown. “Do not look at me like this and say nothing.”

Yunho let out a quiet, broken laugh, but there was no amusement in it. Only agony. “Gods,” he muttered, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, something burned within them—something untamed, something restrained only by the barest thread of control. “You are cruel.”

Your heart ached. “Then hate me for it.”

“Hate you?” Yunho let out a breathless, disbelieving chuckle. “You ask the impossible of me.”

Your pulse thundered. “Then what is possible? Tell me.” You swallowed, searching his face. “What do you want to do?”

Yunho inhaled sharply. For a moment, his gaze flickered—down, just for a second, to your lips. Your breath caught. His jaw clenched. “Do not tempt me.” His voice was raw. “Do not ask of me what I cannot give.”

You exhaled shakily. “And if I do?”

His expression darkened. “Then you will not like the answer.”

A shiver ran through you. “Try me,” you whispered.

Yunho let out a slow, ragged breath, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible, like a confession meant only for the night to hear. “If I were a lesser man,” he murmured, “I would kiss you.”

Your entire body stilled.

“I would throw every consequence into the wind.” His hands, still clenched, trembled at his sides. “I would take what you offer me without hesitation. I would show you exactly what you do to me, exactly how much you have unraveled me, exactly how much I have suffered beneath the weight of this.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came. “But I am not a lesser man. And I will not—cannot—be the one who drags you into ruin.”

A sharp pang of pain shot through your chest. “Then what do I do with this, Yunho?” your voice broke, fingers curling into his sleeve. “What do I do with all of this… yearning?”

His hand, hesitant yet firm, reached up to your cheek. His thumb, calloused and warm, brushed along your skin. A touch so light, so fleeting, that it might have been imagined had it not left fire in its wake. His gaze, storm-dark and full of something unreadable, met yours. “You endure it,” he whispered.

You shuddered beneath the weight of his touch. “And if I cannot?”

His thumb brushed your cheek once more, lingering just long enough to make your breath stutter. “Then gods help us both.”

“Then kiss me.”

The words spilled from your lips like a plea, barely more than a whisper, yet carrying the weight of every aching moment spent in restraint. Your fingers curled against his thigh, desperation threading through every fiber of your being.

Yunho froze. His breath hitched, his body going rigid beneath your touch, as though your request had shattered whatever fragile thread of composure he had left. His gaze, wide and dark with something perilously close to surrender, locked onto yours.

“No.”

Your chest caved. Your brows drew together, confusion flickering across your features as your fingers twitched against his leg. The rejection stung—sharp and unforgiving—but before the wound could settle, Yunho exhaled, his own expression twisting with something raw, something pained.

“I wish I did not have to give you that answer.” His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges, like it hurt him to say it as much as it hurt you to hear it. “But this is dangerous.” His fingers curled into his palms, a flicker of torment passing through his gaze.

“You know this,” he murmured. “I know this. I—” His throat bobbed with a swallowed breath, and when he spoke again, his voice had quieted to something almost remorseful. “I am the captain of Elythria’s royal knights. If there is anyone who should understand the consequences of these desires, it is me.” Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

“Liar.”

The single word cut through the air like a blade. Yunho’s expression flickered, frustration tightening his jaw. His hands twitched at his sides, his breath coming shallow. “I am not—”

“Yes, you are,” you interrupted, voice unwavering, eyes burning with conviction. “Your lips can tell as many lies as they please, Yunho. They can speak of duty, of honor, of restraint—but your eyes.” You leaned closer, gaze never once wavering. “Your eyes never lie.”

His breath stilled. His grip on control wavered. And when he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “And what do they tell you?”

Your lips parted, your heart beating itself into ruin against your ribs. “They tell me,” you whispered, “that you want this just as much as I do.”

He then cursed under his breath.

His throat worked around words that did not come, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. For a fleeting moment, his lips parted as though to protest, to fight back against the truth you had laid before him, but you did not allow him the chance.

Before a single syllable could escape, you lifted a finger, pressing it gently against his lips. His entire body locked into place, his breath caught somewhere in his throat as he stared at you with wide, unreadable eyes.

You leaned in. Slowly. Deliberately. Yunho barely had time to react before his back met the plush seat of the carriage, his elbows bracing against the surface for support. You hovered over him, close enough that he could count the delicate flutter of your lashes, close enough that your warmth seeped into his very bones.

The air was thick. Electric. A trap spun entirely from longing. For a moment, Yunho could not think. He could only drown in the way you looked like this—gods above, no, you were always beautiful—but something about you now, with the glow of the moon casting hues over your skin, with the weight of yearning pooling in your gaze, with the way your lips parted as though made to fit against his—

It was devastating, ruinous, and a sight that would be etched into the depths of his soul for all eternity.

He had spent his life surrounded by beauty. The flowers that bloomed in the royal gardens. The golden halls of the palace, kissed by morning light. The ethereal glow of Elythria beneath the stars. But nothing. Nothing compared to this.

To you.

No wonder they called you a flower. You were delicate, yet untamed. A gentle thing, yet brimming with the strength to carve paths where none existed. You were soft, yet—somehow—utterly lethal to his sanity. And gods. Gods, he wanted to kiss you.

He wanted to taste every word that had ever graced your lips, wanted to know if they carried the same sweetness as the longing in your voice. He wanted to memorize the way you sighed against him, to feel the warmth of your breath melting into his skin. It was maddening. You were maddening.

And just when he thought he could keep resisting—just when he thought he could hold firm against the fire consuming him, you whispered his name.

“Yunho.”

Soft. Pleading.

It snapped him out of his thoughts like a blade pressed to his throat. His breath hitched, his fingers curling into the fabric of his trousers in a last-ditch effort to anchor himself. But how could he? When you looked at him like that? When you were so close, so devastatingly close that he swore he could feel your heartbeat echoing against his own?

Your fingers ghosted over his thigh, a mere whisper of a touch, but it burned. “Give me an answer,” you murmured.

Yunho swallowed. Hard. “Two choices,” you continued, voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “Yes or no.” He felt his pulse thunder in his ears.

“If it is a no,” you went on, “then you shall push me away.” A pause. A heartbeat of hesitation before your next words. “And we shall pretend none of this ever happened.”

His jaw clenched. You leaned impossibly closer, your nose nearly brushing his. Your breath ghosted over his lips, igniting a wildfire in his chest. “But if it is a yes…” The air between you was suffocating now. “… then you must do what you so clearly wish to do.”

A sharp exhale left him. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers tightening into fists before releasing again, caught in the war between logic and longing. For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed. And then, Yunho lifted his hands.

Your breath stilled as his palms came to rest on your shoulders, his grip firm yet featherlight. The heat of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of your garments, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. For the briefest second, fear crept into your chest.

Would he push you away? Would he choose duty over desire? Would he pretend none of this ever happened? But then, one of his hands drifted downward. Slowly. Deliberately. Fingertips grazing over your arm, your side, before settling against your waist.

The other lifted, brushing the curve of your jaw before sliding back—gentle, hesitant—until his fingers tangled into the strands of your hair at the nape of your neck gently, making sure he wouldnʼt lay a hand on the bandaged wound at the area.

Yunho inhaled sharply, his grip tightening just slightly—like he was grounding himself, like he was fighting the last remnants of restraint threatening to pull him away. And then, in a voice so low it barely reached your ears, he finally spoke.

“… Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?”

His words were ragged. Frustrated. Desperate. You blinked, caught off guard by the sheer helplessness in his voice. “You make composure feel like something impossible to grasp,” he muttered, his breath warm against your cheek. “You make restraint seem like an illusion.”

Your fingers trembled where they rested against his chest. “You speak of dangerous paths,” he murmured, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist, barely there, yet searing. “But you are the danger, Your Highness.” The title rolled off his tongue like a sin.

“You are the abyss itself,” he breathed. “And gods help me, I would gladly throw myself into it.” A shiver coursed through you, your entire body trembling in his hold. Your next words came out in a whisper, barely audible beneath the hammering of your heart.

“… Then what is stopping you?”

And then, it happened. You saw it—the precise moment Yunho finally let go. The storm in his eyes quieted, not in surrender, but in decision. A decision made not with logic, nor with duty, but with something far stronger, far more reckless. It was the moment he chose not to fight it anymore.

His fingers, which had been resting lightly against the nape of your neck, stiffened—firm, yet trembling, as if he had only now realized just how much he had wanted this, how long he had yearned for it.

His hand in your hair, his fingers threading through the strands, coaxing you downward until your lips met his. The world stopped.

No. The world ceased to exist.

There was no kingdom. No consequences. No title weighing upon your shoulders, nor the duty shackling his hands. There was no war in his mind, no voices whispering restraint, no need to think, or doubt, or breathe. There was only this. Only you. Only the unbearable warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he kissed you like a man starved, like he had been drowning in an ocean of restraint and only now had found air.

The carriage swayed beneath you, but neither of you noticed. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, gripping so tightly your knuckles ached. Yunho's other hand slid from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer, eliminating the last inch of space between you until you could feel every breath, every shudder, every silent confession neither of you had dared to voice until now.

But even as his lips moved against yours, desperate and insatiable, even as his hands roamed, grasping, claiming—it was not enough. It would never be enough. Yunho parted from you just slightly, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between. His fingers trembled where they held you, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Tell me to stop.”

His voice was hoarse, heavy, laced with the remnants of restraint still clinging to him like the last threads of a fraying rope. “If you tell me to stop, I will.”

His hand cupped your face now, his thumb ghosting over your cheekbone, as if memorizing the shape of you, the feel of you beneath his fingertips. Your lips parted, but no words came. He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Say the word, and I shall stop.”

“… Don’t.”

Your whisper was barely audible, but it shattered every last remnant of his resolve. His eyes darkened, and a quiet, almost pained sound escaped his lips. “Please,” you added, the word slipping past your lips like a prayer. “Don’t stop.”

A deep inhale.

Gone was the hesitation. Gone was the careful restraint, the desperate attempt at holding back. Now, he was consuming your entire being.

His lips moved against yours with a fervor, his hands grasping at you as if you were something sacred, something he could no longer bear to be apart from. A small gasp escaped you as he pulled you fully onto his lap, his arms encircling you, his hands splayed against your back, pressing you so close you could feel the rapid beating of his heart against your own.

He kissed you like he was unraveling. Like you had reached inside of him and undone every last knot of restraint he had ever tied around himself. Like he had been waiting lifetimes for this.

Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, tugging just slightly. The reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening, his fingers pressing into your skin through the fabric of your gown.

He broke away just long enough to murmur your name, voice low and wrecked. Then his lips were trailing—along your jaw, down the column of your throat, slow and reverent, his breath searing against your skin.

“You will be the ruin of me,” he whispered against your pulse.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders.

“Then let me be,” you breathed.

His hand cupped the side of your face, tilting you back toward him, his gaze burning into yours. His lips were slightly parted, his breath uneven, his pupils blown wide with something unspoken, something raw and desperate and so utterly helpless. There were words in his eyes. Words he dared not say. Words neither of you were ready to speak aloud.

So instead, he kissed you again. And again. And again. Each kiss deepening the hunger. Each touch feeding the insatiable need neither of you had the strength to resist anymore. The world outside continued on. The carriage wheels still turned, the wind still howled through the trees, the distant sounds of the kingdom still echoed in the night.

And then, your lips parted.

A breath, sharp and shallow, slipped past Yunho’s lips as he lingered just a moment longer, his forehead still so close to yours, his hands still cradling you like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. His body remained tense, like he was fighting some unseen battle within himself—like he knew he had to regain composure, yet loathed the very idea of it.

But eventually, duty won over desire.

With a heavy breath, Yunho closed his eyes, swallowing back whatever war still raged inside him. Slowly, gently, he guided you off his lap, his hands steady but reluctant, like he was afraid you might shatter upon leaving his arms. He straightened you in your seat, smoothing out the folds of your gown with meticulous care, his touch lingering just a little too long at your wrist before he finally pulled away.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. But you saw it. The flicker in his eyes. Was he…?

Your breath caught as the realization struck. His eyes were red-rimmed, shimmering faintly in the dim candlelight of the carriage. He turned away, blinking rapidly, but not before you saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his jaw clenched as if to stop himself from feeling.

“Are you…”

Your voice was barely above a whisper as your hands found his face, cupping his cheeks with the same reverence he had held you with mere moments ago. He stiffened beneath your touch, but did not resist. Gently, you tilted his head back toward you, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“What is wrong?” you asked softly.

For a moment, he said nothing. His lips parted, but no words came. His brows furrowed, and his gaze wavered, as if he was fighting to keep himself together, to hold back whatever was threatening to spill forth. Then, at last, his composure shattered.

“I wish—” His voice faltered, hoarse and thick with something he could no longer suppress. “I wish we were but common folk.”

“I wish we were naught but an ordinary man and woman, free of duty, free of war, free of the chains that keep us apart,” he continued, his voice trembling. “I wish I did not have to look at you and wonder if this moment is to be our last. I wish I did not have to love you in silence, to watch from afar, knowing I can never reach you. I wish we could run away—leave all of this behind and start anew where no one knows our names. Where I do not have to be your knight, and you do not have to be a princess bound to a kingdom that does not deserve you.”

You felt something tighten in your chest, a sharp ache that spread like wildfire through your veins. “Yunho…”

“I am a fool,” he whispered, shaking his head. “A fool for entertaining such thoughts. I know they are naught but a fantasy, and yet—”

“And yet, they do not have to be.”

His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, and you saw it—the glistening of unshed tears, the flicker of hope he tried so desperately to smother. You smiled softly, reaching up to brush your thumb against his cheek, wiping away the tear that had managed to escape.

“When this is over,” you murmured, “we shall run away. We shall do as you wish. We shall leave this kingdom, find a place where we are free to love without consequence, without fear.”

His eyes searched yours, filled with something you could not name. “This is but wishful thinking,” he whispered.

“No.” You shook your head. “This is hope.” He swallowed hard, his grip tightening against the fabric of his tunic.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. “Aunvoeir is our ally. You said so yourself. We are not alone in this fight. The path ahead may be treacherous, but it is not a dead end.” Your voice was firm now, unwavering. “My father and Tharian are formidable adversaries, but they are not invincible. Victory is not as impossible as you believe it to be.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “And what shall become of us now, Your Highness?”

Your heart clenched at the way he said it. At the quiet vulnerability in his voice, the way he stripped himself of the unwavering knight, the protector, and revealed something far more human. You smiled, brushing your fingers along his cheek once more, grounding him.

“We hope,” you said, voice gentle yet resolute. “We hope for a better tomorrow. And even if tomorrow brings nothing but despair, we shall hope still. For no darkness lasts forever. And someday, tomorrow will be kind to us.”

Unbeknownst to both of you, Mingiʼs ears have caught every word you whispered to one another. Now, he was running the carriage with a small smile on his face, his eyes boring amusement.

“Tomorrow will be kind to both of you, Iʼll make sure of that,” he whispered to himself.

🕰️ — lividstar.

#౨ৎ﹒ノ﹒lividstar．#ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez angst #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho ateez #yunho angst #yunho fluff #jung wooyoung #song mingi #kang yeosang #choi san #ateez fic

58 notes · View notes

logansdoe · 2 days ago

Note

Will trying to focus working but reader is under the desk edging him 😭

im ovulating

y'all are planning to kill me with these.

"stop that", his voice echoes the empty classroom. Someone passing by the open door would think he has gone completely mad after the cases he worked on.

His handwriting keeps messing up. Spelling mistakes or letters that don't even exist. He should have never agreed to this. Never let you sit under the table and torture him.

But how could he refuse? You begged so pretty. "I'll be good, I promise", devils words, he believes. Your eyes looking at him. Brows furrowed with such desperation. He was a weak man for you.

Pushing his chair back a bit as he looked down. On your knees as she continued to press kisses on his cock. Your dark lipstick now faded across your lips. Imprints of it, darker to lighter, littered his cock.

That's what you have been doing. For the last 30 minutes. Kissing it, sometimes occasionally licking the tip to taste his precum. Bitter, but you never complained.

He wants to take your name, tell you to quit it. But he can't. It's too risky. Agreeing with you was always risky.

Still, your name falls from his lips as he leans back in his chair. The pencil dropping on the page he was writing. He can't even catch a break with you. Letting out a deep hum as his hand tucks your hair behind your ear.

Your eyes looking up at him as you pulled off, still having your hand around his width. He knew what you were doing. Teasing him, tormenting him until he gave what you wanted.

He felt ashamed of himself. Having a pretty thing like you on your knees, nearly half his age. And still getting hard like a teenager who is about to cum in just a few minutes.

His hand goes to the back of your head as guides his tip to your lips. "Open", he jests. You did. The tip brushing against your tongue making him part his lips. Fuck, he's sensitive.

It hitting the back of your throat. Making you breath in through your nose. You looked so pretty, Will groaned. His lips parted, like it was getting harder for him to breathe.

The hand at the back of your head now guided your head. Will could cum just at the sight of you. Making him buck his hips. Was it because you teased him for so long, because he is too close to cumming.

"oh— baby, agh—", he looked down at you. Brow creased. Lips parting before he licked them. Taking his bottom lip in-between his teeth to muffle his groans.

Your head moving faster. Saliva escaping from the corner of your lips and to your chin. Trying to breathe through your nose but choking, making your splutter around him. Gagging.

But he didn't care, not right now. You're fine. His hips bucking up as he breathed heavier and heavier. Pushing your head all the way, your hands grabbing his thigh and hip.

Not even a minute later he whimpered. The hot cum sliding down your throat. Not even tasting it before it went down. His eyes closed, hand shaking around your hair. Feet kicking at the ground before it passed in waves.

Finally, letting you go as he pulled you off. His softening cock slipping out of your mouth. His shaky hands brushing your hair away as he took a tissue from his table. Wiping away the spit and some of his cum from your lips and chin.

You smiled as you looked up at him, "are you less stressed?", you asked. Teasing. He looked at you before humming.

You'll give him a heart attack one day. But he'll make sure its when he is between your legs, while being suffocated from your pretty cunt.

a/n: Will shakes like crazy when he cums and you can't change my mind.

77 notes · View notes

timethehobo · 9 months ago

Text

Had the sudden urge to doodle a Tech post-S3 (because I can and will).

#the bad batch #Tbb tech #my art #how do I even tag s3 tech when he doesn’t exist #no he exists in my heart and mind it’s fine #he’s chilling on pabu because I said so #ahaha #oh tech I miss you

332 notes · View notes

synthshenanigans · 1 year ago

Text

I find it hilarious that like, most popular headcanons/ideas of HMS come from something that's in the actual album. Whether its the cover art or from a lyric, it makes sense with context or a metaphor. Then there's just a random ass chicken that came from nowhere.

#i mean like yea its more from the chicken song but like #there's a whole separate character that's been made & is so widely accepted that CJ has nothing to do with #like hearts wings. minds voice mod. minds mech parts. them having halos. soul having multiple sets of arms. them all having names #like they all have a reason as to why they exist. like something hints or is a metaphor or whatever from the album #soul 2 even #and then there's Darrell #like CJ finished Vol 1 & left for like 10 minutes #and now there's a chicken with its own character traits & life with HMS that is so widely accepted that to anyone new it'll look canon #how did we get here #blame sky its her fault/j #im here for it tho ofc #vol 2 could only be about darrell & id be fine with it #best CCCC character #also love the idea that if whole can meet HMS in whatever space they exist he sees Darrell & is like #<why is there a chicken in my head what>#chonny jash #moss post

130 notes · View notes

loadsofcats · 2 years ago

Text

Have a feeling that, if more of you read Riders of the purple sage by Zane Grey, you’d be going mad over Lassiter

#the puns with his surname would be insufferable it sometimes sneaks up on me #i love him very dearly #both him and jane #Jane for being exactly who she is; stubborn kind welcoming and seemingly dumb but actually quite clever #she has a ranch all to herself #and for lassiter…… his name is Jim. I was not expecting that #secondly he’s from texas and now i had to figure out how texans speak.#this one also sneaks up on me because i did not earlier have a) a realisation that texan accent Does Exist so i remembered that’s a thing #too and b) i did not ususally connect texan accent with cool people (sorry but i only ever heard it once in a blue moon from tv)#anyway I love him very much because in the first chapters he comes all like “Yes. The Black cowboy it is me. I am very dangerous.#Jane I will protect you and your friend.” and then he does and #Jane later invites him for dinner and the man just… dissolves into a puddle with heart eyes on it like “oh i… really miss #it is a-a-alright; you don’t have to invite me for dinner [insert that emotional crying cat] Lassiter can survive just fine”#He’s twirling his hat all that time in his hands like a nervous teenager #I mean he comes there all strong and brooding and whenever Jane speaks he just. Melts. Babygirl really #he goes to retrieve Jane’s cattle he loses his horse in the process!!!#and he still stays! Even when Jane tries so hard to deter him from killing who he came to kill hes like “oh well. Guess I’ll stay here unti #you… change your mind” and Jane’s like “I will not change my mind”. And he goes #“Oh well ill stay anyway you need help managing a farm on your own” and he just stays to “help”#i could write paragraphs about Jane as well but this is a Lassiter appreciation post <3 #book #books #it talks #tag edition #riders of the purple sage #zane grey

5 notes · View notes

moonlight-prose · 3 months ago

Note

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedrostories #my writing

1K notes · View notes

fairy-angel222 · 1 year ago

Text

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃, 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—a day with your favorite person on earth leads you to a fancy hotel for one weekend.. where you finally give yourself to your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru.

content: college au, fluff, biker gojo, nerdy fem! reader, rich boy gojo (he spoils you bad bad), loving gojo, popular boy shy girl trope, smut, virginity loss, gentle sex, pussy eating, a lot of praise, petnames, reassurance

Friday, marked the calendar on your phone. You stood outside your house swaying lightly on your feet as you waited for your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru. He refused to let you get to school any other way.

You were clad in a simple white sweater and a black skirt, which blew up at the gust of wind created from your boyfriend’s speeding bike. You smiled, fixing your glasses on your face before giving him a pretty smile.

The tall man getting off with a grin on his face. Shaking his hair back into place as he took off his black helmet. Gojo walked towards you to embrace you in a tight hug, his hands around your waist lifting you off of the ground making you giggle. “Hi baby.”

Gojo placed a short kiss to your lips, “Hello princess,” his eyes filled with adoration as he walked you to his bike with his hand still on your waist. Putting on the helmet he made you choose out before helping you onto the seat. “Hold on tight.”

You always enjoyed morning rides like this. The cool wind on your skin as Gojo maneuvered through countless vehicles. Always making sure to not go too fast for your sake.

Your hands rested on his abs from behind, your vision being blocked by his back which you didn’t mind one bit. Gojo turned to ensure that you were alright, something he did every morning. And although you kept telling him that you were fine, he insisted on keeping himself reassured.

You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, your smile still on your face even as you approached campus. Your boyfriend quick to park in the spot that everyone knew belonged to him.

Girls gawked as Gojo removed his helmet, once again fixing the white fluff of hair on his head before he was getting off the bike. Helping you do the same and removing your helmet for you, pushing your glasses further up your face since they had began falling. “God you’re so beautiful.” Gojo breathed.

And your heart beat sped up as you looked down shyly. Compliments.. you still weren’t very used to those. Gojo’s fingers found their way under your chin to lift your head up, “You’re really cute when you’re flustered you know that?”

He intertwined his fingers into yours, “Plus, there’s no need to be shy around me princess.”

You could feel eyes burning into you as you walked with Gojo, burying your body into his side at all the stares. “Are they ever not gonna stare..” you mumbled, looking up at him as he looked down at you. “They’re just jealous my love, don’t worry.”

You nodded, lips pulled into a tight line at the girls sending dirty looks your way. This was university for goodness sakes.. were they ever going to grow up. Noticing your discomfort, Gojo scowled in the direction of the girls, “The fuck are you looking at?” Watching as their eyes widened before scrambling off.

It was no secret that your boyfriend was popular, every teacher and every student knew his name. He was kind, a little mean and protective when it came to you, but he really was kind to everybody.

You however, you were just a girl who was non existent until you started dating Gojo. How did you two start dating? No one could phantom it.

—

Sitting on one of the bleachers, you were deep in a book. Your lunch sitting uneaten next to as you scanned through the words on each page. It was a romance, which you usually didn’t read but this one was just.. interesting.

Losing track of the time, your eyes widened when you saw that you were minutes late to your lecture. Hurriedly scrambling up your belongings and making your way inside.

You internally cringed when you pushed open the double doors to your class. All heads turning to look at you while your professor simply ushered you to take a seat. He knew you were never late, so he was very understanding.

Taking a random seat, you were quick to pull out your books and highlighters to take notes. Concentratedly jotting down important points and details, using your middle finger to sit your black framed glasses higher onto the bridge of your nose.

“Mind sending me a picture of those later today? I forgot my materials at home.” a familiar face smiled innocently, his bag hidden near his feet as he waited for an answer.

Gojo Satoru. A name that you obviously knew. He was extremely handsome up close, and his cologne smelt great. And he.. was talking to you? You tried your hardest to act neutral when you focused your attention onto him. “Oh, uh sure. No problem.”

“Great, let me put my number in your phone so you can text it to me yeah?”

You nodded, handing him the device and watching as he typed his number in. Saving it as Satoru. With a heart.

He finished just in time for the lecture to end. Slinging his bag over his shoulder with a wink, “Thanks princess.”

Ever since that interaction the only thing on Gojo’s mind was you. He began texting you for every little thing and talking to you every day. You guys became somewhat of friends.

Then he was holding your hands all day, saying that they were so much smaller and softer than his. Or wrapping his hand around your waist when you two walked. He told his friend Suguru about you, and though at the time you did not know the other male who attended a different school, you’d assumed he was a pretty great person.

Whispers started to float around the school about your relationship. None of which Gojo ever shut down despite knowing he had the ability to.

You and Gojo made it official after he took you on multiple dates disguised as hangouts. And you couldn’t even deny it, you had already started to fall for him by then. So when he pressed his lips to yours, pulling you impossibly closer to him with his hands on your waist. You melted. That was your first kiss, and it was perfect.

There should not have been a difference in Gojo’s behavior considering he treated you like his girlfriend from the get go. But he somehow proved that statement wrong. He was the best thing anyone could ever ask for. And he was most certainly the best thing that happened to you.

He got you used to early morning and late night bike rides. To the point where you began to love them just as much. You two were polar opposites, but he made it work.

One thing you never got used to, were the never ending stares and whispers directed your way. Even though Gojo was always there to put the person or people in their place.

You loved Gojo Satoru, and Gojo Satoru loved you.

—

The day went by very quickly, you snd Gojo did not share any classes. But you spent every minute in between together. Especially since you both had only morning classes.

Gojo smiled as you two walked towards each other. Happy that he would be able to spend the rest of the day together. Until..

“Hi Satoru!” she smiled sweetly, purposely blocking his movements when he tried to walk past. You bit your lips as you watched the scene, not finding it in you to tell her off.

Gojo sighed in annoyance, “What the fuck do you want.” his voice was stern, she had been bothering him for over a year now, and it only got worse when he started dating you.

She tilted her head, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Oh you know.. just wanted to say that if you ever got tired of that ugly slut of a nerd i’ll be right—“

Her high pitched voice was cut off by Gojo holding her roughly by her neck. Something that was way out of character for him. He was just so sick and fucking tired of people talking about you like you weren’t a person. His person.

Backing her roughly into the lockers, Gojo voice was low and aggressive, “If you ever fucking talk about my girl like that again, i swear i’ll fucking-“

“Gojo..” you called out, the man’s eyes softening when he caught sight of you. “It’s fine, let’s just go.. please?”

Gojo nodded, giving the girl another dirty look, “I'd pick her over your ass any day.” Letting go of her and walking in your direction. The girl glaring at you before she stomped away.

Gojo’s hand was in yours once more, your head on his side as you two made your way out of the building. Gojo sighed, “I’m sorry love, got a little pissed off there.”

You smiled, “No, don’t be. I’m.. i’m glad you care so much.”

“Of course i care, you’re my girl and i love you.”

Your heart fluttered, “I love you too.” And you truly meant it.

Gojo got onto his bike after helping you on, both your helmets on your heads with your hands around his waist. Making sure you were secured before taking off. Except it was in the completely opposite direction from your house.

“Baby, where are we going?” you asked curiously.

Gojo only grinned cheekily, “You’ll see.”

You trusted him. Enjoying the ride to wherever he was bringing you. Watching as day turned into night from the long ride.

Your eyes widened when Gojo pulled over at some fancy hotel. His smile never faltering as he got off.

“Annnnnd we’re here.” he spoke, looking intently at your reaction.

“Baby why are we here?” you questioned curiously, still marveling over the beautiful tall structure.

“Giving you a weekend off of school, of course. Gotta take your mind away from all that work somehow.”

You were speechless, “Satoru, you really didn’t have to.” Gojo’s hands grabbed your face softly, tears welling in your eyes at the him going this far for you. Especially when one night alone was almost 400 dollars.

“Hey, look at me. I’m more than happy to do this for you.” He reassured, pressing his lips softly onto yours before chuckling, “Plus, when life gives you this much money, spend it on the person you love the most.”

“B-but i don’t have any clothes,”

“I’m taking you shopping tomorrow.”

Gojo lead you through the grand doors of the building, giving his keys to the valet on his way in. Making your way to front desk, you glanced nervously around you. Everything was white and gold, and you gelt so out of place with the clothes you had on.

“Satoru Gojo.” Your boyfriend nodded to the receptionist who smiled knowingly when she handed him the keys. “Enjoy.”

You waited in anticipation for Gojo to open the door. Your jaw dropping when you took sight of the rose petals making a walkway to the room’s bed. Which had the words ‘I love you’ in a heart spelt out from petals.

There were rose scented candles near the bed, but what really caught your attention was the mini backyard the room seemed to have. “Satoru.. you didn’t.”

He hummed, “Oh yes i did,” leading you outside to a large blanket set up. Candles surrounding it with roses scattered all over. A small picnic basket and a bottle of wine in the center as the moonlight shone down of the most beautiful gift you had ever received.

You wanted to burst into tears. It was so perfect, turning to Gojo with a trembling lip before embracing him in a tight hug. “I don’t even know what to s-say.. it’s so beautiful. I-“ you sniffled, “words cannot even begin to express how happy i feel right now. I love it. And i love you even more.”

Gojo smiled, wiping your tears with the pads of his thumb. “Anything for you love. Anything.”

After freshening up, you wore your boyfriend’s oversized sweater, giggling softly when he extended a hand. “Join me for dinner m’ lady?”

“I’d be delighted to.”

You sat next to each other on the wide blanket. Gojo opening the basket to reveal all your favorite foods and deserts. Your eyes practically sparkling under your lenses at the countless options.

You both dug in not long after, laughing with each other as Gojo messily attempted to feed you a slice of cheesecake. The cherry sauce staining the tip of your nose, and you yelped when Gojo licked it off.

It was amazing, you felt at peace. Especially as you two finished eating, each drinking a glass of wine before laying together. Watching the stars with satisfied hearts as you cuddled into your boyfriend. His arm around you as he held you almost on top his chest. Your legs tangled with his long ones as you matched your breaths to his.

Gojo couldn’t help it when your scent alone started to drive him crazy. The feeling of you on him, your skin on his. It was getting to him.

You could feel his cock growing hard underneath you, poking at your flesh making you heat up. Unsure of what to do, you ended up shifting on top of him. The man letting out a groan before holding you still. “Might not wanna move like that love.”

You playing with his shirt as you contemplated what to say next. You were a virgin, but.. you were ready to give it away, to him.

“Satoru.. I um.. I want.. I want you to f-fuck me.” You stuttered out. And Gojo’s eyes widened at the way you worded it. Fuck, huh? You wanted him to fuck you.

“Love, don’t think that you have to do this because you can feel me hard.” he started, “it’ll go away soon, you don’t have to worry.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “No, I.. I want it, want to do it with you tonight. Please.”

Gojo swallowed hard, his boner straining painfully in his pants. “Are you sure princess?”

“Mhm, i’m ready.”

Gojo smiled, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before he was gently turning you onto your back. The stars seemingly only shining down on you in that moment. “You’re so perfect.” he whispered, his eyes stuck on yours as he peeled the sweater off your body.

Finally breaking eye contact to kiss down your neck and onto your chest. Allowing his tongue to swirl around your pert nipple before kissing his way down your stomach. “Whole body’s so perfect.” he spoke against your skin. And you whimpered when he pulled your panties off. “Fucking beautiful.”

Gojo kissed down the smooth skin, kissing your clit which made you shiver, his tongue licking a teasing stripe on the small bud. Gojo continued his way down, kissing both your folds before his tongue made contact with your wetness. He groaned. “You taste so sweet love.”

Your breathing sled up before he could even start anything. Bringing himself up and stripping out of his own clothes. The moon shining onto his back as he hovered over you. His blue eyes bright and beautiful while lining up with your hole.

“You sure about this princess?”

You whined, “Just do it.”

Gojo chuckled, taking your hand in his before slowly pushing into you inch by inch. “It’s gonna sting a little,” he said right before you winced, feeling your tightness stretching to accommodate his girth. “That’s it.. there we go.. good girl.” Gojo soothed.

You let out a moan, a pleasurable sensation raking through your body when his cock grazed something inside of you. Gojo smirked when he got all of his length in you, your pussy tight on his stilled cock. “Tell me when to move okay?”

You wasted no time, wanting that amazing sensation back. “You can move.”

Gojo abided, slowly easing you into the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you. Your lips parting in loud mewls when he gained speed.

“O-oh Satoru, f-feels good.”

Gojo grinned, his pace gaining more speed with each passing second. Rolling his hips into yours until you were moaning uncontrollably. Feeling your boyfriend’s cock fucking into that same spot before making its way deeper.

Your hands reached up for your boyfriend’s hair. Tugging lightly at white strands with short whimpers which matched his thrusts.

Gojo grunted, “You like that?”

You nodded with a shaky cry, your stomach pooling with heat as your body was rocked back and forth. “Ahh— Satoru.” you mewled, Gojo’s mouth latching onto your breasts with a groan, sucking and licking at one while his hand squeezed the other.

Gojo began kissing up your neck. Littering your skin with small love bites as he made his way to your chin. Kissing your cheeks, your forehead, then finally your lips. Capturing all your cute noises while his hand moved down to your clit.

Your back arched with a cry when Gojo began rubbing small circles. Your toes curling with your moans becoming high pitched loud.

“Nnhg— haah— so g-ood,” you breathed, your eyes closing as your body began to tremble. An unfamiliar coil feeling ready to snap.

“Look at me when you cum.” Gojo husked, watching as you look up at him through your lashes. Your hips arching into his hand before you were involuntarily shaking. Your pussy clenching down on him with a short scream.

“There you go beautiful, let it all out.” he cooed, your pretty pussy gushing messily onto him

“Nngh— feels weird,” you mewled, your legs threatening to close around your boyfriend.

“Just let it happen, it’s gonna feel great. I promise.”

You took Gojo’s word, allowing the newfound feeling to wash over your body before your eyes rolled back, squirting harshly onto Gojo’s cock and thighs.

Gojo could feel his ego swell, “I made you squirt princess. My first time in you and i made you squirt.” he boasted, a lazy smile gracing his features as his thrusts got sloppy. Your moans never ceasing as he got closer to his release.

Gojo groaned, “Hmm— i love you so much. Love so you fucking much.” Burying his head in your neck as his abs tensed, quickly pulling out of you to spill onto your stomach. Your chest rising and falling in soft pants as you both came down from your highs.

You smiled shyly, “That was amazing.”

Gojo tilted his head, “Was it now?” Pressing a kiss to your lips, “I’m glad.”

Gojo took you back inside, running you a bath before settling in the tub with you in between his legs. His chin on your shoulder as he let you relax while he cleaned you up.

The weekend went great. He took you shopping, you ate a delicious breakfast, lunch and dinner. Visited the many pools and buffets. And had sex. Twice. It was better than anything you could ask for. And you wouldn’t give it up for the world.

No school, no ‘friends’, no bothers, no worries. Just you and Satoru. Exactly how it will always be.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo x reader fluff

6K notes · View notes

jeonginsleftcheek · 4 months ago

Text

Need a hand?

pairing: fuckboy!felix x afab!reader

genre: smut, enemies to ???

word count: 4.7k

synopsis: you need help assembling your new computer and the only available person is the guy you can't stand.

warnings: dom!felix, lots of teasing, protected sex (go figure), spanking, hair pulling, lots of 'good girl', fingering, oral (m), cum swallowing

a/n: enjoy🫶🏻 wrote this in a day, again, felix is my muse💕

~ divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

~ Masterlist

"What's in it for me?" he leans on the wall with that stupid smirk of his and those big stupid sparkly eyes.

Anger is already bubbling up inside you and your hand twitches, the image of you slapping him across the face and wiping that stupid smirk off runs through your mind.

"Can't you just do something out of decency?" you scoff and he chuckles deeply.

"Maybe I'm not decent." he shrugs nonchalantly, flicking his cigarette carelessly on the floor.

"You're littering." you cross your arms on your chest.

"And you're stalling. Do you want it or not?" he leans in closer to your face, his freckles on display for you to count.

Not that you care, of course.

Your nose scrunches up at the smell of cigarettes permeating off of him, mixed with his cologne and something distinct about him.

"Fine." you spit and he laughs, leaning away.

"No." he answers and your jaw drops.

"No?" you blink confusedly.

"Ask me again. Nicely. And I might consider it." he says, smirking again.

The urge to slap him out of existence comes back.

"I'll find someone else." you turn around, gritting your teeth.

"No, you won't." he calls behind you. "I know you're embarassed to ask for help. I wonder how you even managed to come to me."

"Shut up." you groan before turning to look at him again.

Instead of a smirk, there's a soft smile on his face and you curse yourself for feeling your heart flutter.

"Come on, dove. I know you're a nice girl and you can ask politely." he smirks again with his tongue in cheek.

You know he's not gonna give up until he gets what he wants.

"Please, come help me assemble my new computer?" you bat your eyelashes a few times for good measure and Felix chuckles.

"See, that wasn't so hard. I'll help you. But it comes with a price. I don't do things like this for free." there's a mischievous glint in his eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his plump lips.

You're totally not looking at them.

"What price?" you ask, your heart beating fast, partly in fear and partly in excitement.

"Oh. Don't worry about that, dove. I'll help you first, and then you'll help me." a shit eating grin spreads on Felix's face.

What did you even agree to?, you think.

He was your last resort, after asking seven of your other close friends (who were sadly close to him), they all turned you down with different excuses leaving you with no options but to ask the guy you hate.

"Whatever." you scoff and turn around. "Tomorrow, 7pm at my apartment. Don't be late."

"Sure thing, dove." he calls behind you and you wish you could curse him out.

Lee Felix.

The campus notorious fuckboy.

Everyone talks about him and his 'conquests', all the girls he slept with and then ghosted, but still every single one of them was obnoxiously crushing on him.

You'd hear them talk, how they wish he'd pick them next and a scowl would form on your face.

Do they not have any respect for themselves?

Though everyone talked about him, you never saw him with any girls.

You figured it's probably because you never attended any sort of parties, only keeping up with your studies and a few close friends.

Sadly, your close friends were friends with Felix and that meant you had to endure his presence.

Whether it was your go-to cafe, or a study session in the library, that asshole had to come and ruin your day.

He flirted openly with you and you'd always tell him to fuck off which only served to make him even more persistent.

He could have anyone he wanted and yet whenever he had the chance, he would throw a suggestive comment your way.

It was ticking you off constantly, and you knew he was playing a game, just trying to add another girl to his ever-growing list of fucks.

You weren't gonna give in.

But as much as you hated him, what you hated even more was the fact that his voice made your stomach flutter and his smile made your heart beat faster.

You'd be damned if you let that affect you, though.

That's what you thought, as you waited for him to arrive to your apartment.

Why are you nervous?, you think as you pace back and forth in your living room, biting on your nails.

Hopefully, he actually knows what he's doing since he brags about being a computer geek or else he'll just be wasting your time.

You frown when you notice that he's almost 20 minutes late.

What an asshole.

A series of knocks break you out of your thoughts and you make your way to the door slowly, letting him wait.

You peek through the peephole and see him standing there, in a tanktop, his hair messy, an unlit cigarette stuck behind his ear and shivers run through your body.

Why does he look so good?

He fidgets around as if he's nervous and you raise your eyebrow as he knocks again and runs his hand through his hair a few times, his plump lips pursed.

You stifle a laugh and decide to open the door.

"Took you long enough." he says with a straight face, obviously giving you the elevator eyes.

You hug yourself with your cardigan and squint at him.

"You're the one who's late!" you scoff in disbelief as he pushes past you and walks in like it's his place.

The audacity.

"Where is it?" he asks, grabbing the cigarette that was on his ear and taking out a lighter.

"You're not smoking in my apartment." you snatch the cigarette out of his mouth, throwing it right into the trash and he looks at you before his face breaks into a smirk.

"Bossy, are we?" he licks his lips.

You're totally not looking...

"Let's just get this over with." you say and turn around but notice he isn't following you.

"What is it now?" you look back at him as he crosses his arms over his chest, intentionally flexing his biceps and you gulp quietly, your eyes raking over his frame.

"What kind of host are you? You didn't even ask me if I wanted something to eat or drink." he says.

"You are insufferable." you scoff, but your cheeks heat up.

"Why, thank you." he bows a little. "I'd like some water, please."

"Fine." you all but stomp your way to the kitchen, contemplating for a moment to bring him literal ice in a glass and make him wait for it to melt.

But, you decide to be the bigger person and not get his arrogant teasing get to you.

"Here." you bring him a glass of water and he sips as he stares at you, and you know he's making sure to drink extra slowly just to get on your nerves.

"The computer parts are in my room." you say and Felix finally follows you.

As soon as he walks in, you can see him analyzing your room as he looks around.

Only then you realize how intimate it is to have someone in your room, taking a glimpse at your inner world and comfort place.

"Nice bed." he smirks, his eyes lingering on your soft baby blue blanket and a few plushies leaning against your pillows.

"Anyways. Here it is." you ignore his little comment, pointing at your table.

"Damn. You need this computer for what?" he asks as he looks over at the parts.

"I wanna start making games on Unity." you say and he chuckles.

"What's funny?" you think he's about to mock you, call you stupid for not knowing how to assemble your own computer yet wanting to do something so intricate like programming and 3D modeling.

"Nothing. I think that's cute." Felix's eyes travel all over your body again and you hug yourself.

"You're weird." is the only thing you can think of to answer, nervousness washing over you as the fact that you're alone with Felix in your room finally settles in your brain.

"This is gonna take a while." he hums.

"Alright, I'll just be on my bed then, catching up with my studies. Let me know if you need something." you say and he snorts.

"I thought you'd like to see what I'm doing so next time you don't have to call me if you hate me so much. It'll be like we're hanging out." Felix smirks and you let out an exhale.

"I'd rather not." you reply shortly before turning your back to him, deciding to ignore him.

You can hear him sigh, and for a while it's quiet, only some lofi music playing from your phone before you hear Felix handling the computer parts.

You concentrate on your book, highlighting the important sentences, and as you fall into a comfortable headspace, you almost forget about Felix.

Almost.

"Hey dove, you got something sweet to snack on?" his deep voice breaks your concentration and when you turn to look at him, he licks his lips suggestively and you have to roll your eyes.

He chuckles at your expression as you get up.

"I'll go see what I have."

You rummage through your kitchen cabinets and find some chocolate cookies which you serve on a plate and bring it together with a glass of juice.

"Thank you, dove." he smirks up at you and you just shake your head, making your way back to your comfy bed.

You're deep into your book when suddenly you feel your bed dip.

"What the hell are you doing?" you squeak when you turn around and see Felix leaning on your pillows, laying on your bed.

"Takin' a break." he closes his eyes with a smirk.

"You can't take a break on my bed."

"Why not? Am I making you nervous, dove?" Felix stares up at you and your heart starts hammering in your chest.

He has no right to look this pretty.

Wait, what?

"Hm?" he grins when you stay quiet.

"You have no effect on me whatsoever."

"Keep telling yourself lies." his voice dips lower as he sits up.

"Besides, it's rude to just lay down on someone's bed." you swallow nervously as Felix reaches towards you.

For some reason you can't move as you think he'll touch you but he doesn't, instead he picks up one of your plushies and looks at it.

"Do they have names?" he asks and you stare at him for a few moments before you start laughing in disbelief.

"What? It's a legit question." he shrugs, still holding the teddy in his hands.

"Why are you here, Felix?" you ignore him.

"To assemble your computer?" he bites on his lip.

He really should stop doing that.

"Yeah. So go do that."

"Damn, you're playing hard to get." he chuckles, leaning towards you.

"What is your problem?" you snap suddenly. "Didn't you like fuck half the campus? Why are you trying to get into my pants?"

His eyes widen a little, his lips falling open as he stares at you.

"I did what?" he chuckles.

"Don't act innocent. Everyone knows you're a fuckboy and you're just trying to fuck every girl here so you can have your list of conquests." you cross your arms over your chest, your mood becoming sour.

"Wow, people here really have a knack for telling stories." Felix chuckles again as he leans back on your pillows.

You frown as you turn to look at him.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"Nothing." he gets up suddenly. "I'll finish what I started." Felix adds, not looking at you as he sits back at your table and continues working.

You can feel the shift in the air, the atmosphere becoming heavier than before and you sigh as you stare at his back.

You get back to studying, trying to ignore the weird feeling stirring in your stomach.

"I'm done." Felix announces after some time and you stand up slowly, making your way to him. "Do you want me to install Windows and stuff?"

"If you don't mind. I mean, not that I can't do it, it's just since you're here, you know..." you start babbling nervously and Felix chuckles.

"Relax, dove." he says with a smirk.

"I'm relaxed." you quip.

"Sure you are." he nods, his lips pursed.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss them.

What is wrong with you? You hate Felix, you think, mentally slapping yourself.

"Okay, it'll take some time to install." he leans back in your chair, his legs spread and just then you notice the sweatpants he's wearing and how they look kind of tight.

And how you can kind of see the outline of him.

"Want something? Just ask." Felix snaps you out of your thoughts.

Oh my god, you panic. You were openly staring at his dick.

He's wearing that shit eating grin on his face as yours becomes red.

"N-no." your throat is dry suddenly.

"Did I do good?" he leans towards you suddenly, making you jolt and almost trip backwards, the back of your thighs hitting the table behind you.

He smirks up at you as your cardigan slides off your shoulder, giving him a better view of your tits in the flimsy top you had on.

"I- yes. I think." you try hard to remain normal but nothing is normal about Felix standing up and trapping you between the table and his body, as his palms lay flat on the wooden surface and you gulp.

"Now you gotta help me, dove." he says, his eyes traveling from yours to your lips.

He looks as if he wants to devour you and you feel like your entire being is on fire when he's close to you like that, the warmth of his body radiating onto yours.

"W-what do you want?" you try to sound normal, but your words come out shaky.

Felix smirks proudly, knowing the effect he has on you.

"You." he answers simply and you sputter a little.

"Excuse me?" you look at him with your eyes wide.

"I want you." he repeats, his face serious, his dark eyes seem even darker, filled with lust and your knees buckle a little.

"You're crazy if you think-"

"Just one kiss. And if you hate it, I'll stop bothering you." he smirks.

"You're insufferable." your heart beats fast, your core throbbing as you feel your arousal drip on your panties.

"So you've told me, dove." he whispers, his lips dangerously close to yours.

"Fine. One kiss." you give in and before you can even utter anything else, his lips are on yours.

It's not what you imagined, you thought he'd kiss you hungrily and sloppily, but his kiss feels more desperate and slow, like he's been living and waiting just for this moment, just to have you under his spell.

You know everything about him, or you think you do, you know he's just a fuckboy, and you're the same as those other girls who fell under his charm but his lips are so addicting.

You're cursing yourself on the inside but you can't stop kissing him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, your hand on the back of his neck, fingertips tangled in his dark hair.

Felix responds with a quiet hum, his hands flying to your waist as he presses himself into you and you gasp, giving him the opportunity to push his tongue inside your mouth.

He tastes like chocolate and cigarettes, like Felix.

You can't believe you're letting your sworn enemy kiss you.

His tongue explores your mouth, savoring the way you taste and swallowing the little moans you make as you pull at his hair.

Felix whines into you, biting on your lower lip before releasing it and leaning back.

His eyes are filled with lust and you're sure that you mirror his gaze.

"I take it you enjoyed that." Felix's voice is even more deep and husky as he observes your perky nipples poking against your flimsy top and your thighs subtly rubbing together.

His hands slide down to grab at your ass and you squeak, jolting and grabbing onto his arms.

"I- I..." you try to come up with some kind of witty answer but all that's running through your mind is letting Felix have his way with you.

You feel his hard cock pressing into you and he chuckles deeply when he realizes you have nothing to say.

"Cat got your tongue, baby?" he smirks, puffing his chest out and it runs right through you and lands into your core, more arousal pooling on your already soaked panties.

"You want more?" he asks as your lips tremble.

"Y-yeah." you say weakly, angry at yourself for being like this but at this point you were ready to throw everything out the window just for him.

You guess that he was just that good, and every girl fell for his charm and let him take her, and now you're going to be just another number on his list.

"Ask nicely, dove." his hand wraps around your neck and you gasp a little, leaning into his touch.

"P-please, more." your voice is almost unrecognizable and Felix laughs before grabbing you and turning you around quickly, his hand pushed into your upper back, making your front collide with the table.

You whimper as he slides off your cardigan, tossing it aside and pressing his middle into your ass hard.

"You're so sweet, my dove. Such a good girl." he holds you down, his other hand caressing your ass as he grinds into you slowly.

"Oh - shut up." you groan, feeling frustrated and needy.

"Don't be a brat." he warns with a little pinch on your flesh.

"Or what?" you challenge and he lets out a low chuckle before hooking his fingers in your shorts and pulling them down quickly, leaving you just in your panties, white with little pink flowers and he groans at the sight.

"So cute." he says and without warning his hand collides with your flesh as he gives your ass a hard smack.

"Ah! Felix!" you grip at the table, your eyes wide.

"Yeah, dove. Yeah. Say my name." he smacks you again and you wiggle, trying to move away.

"I warned you." he holds you down, pressed against the table. "Just be a good girl and take what I give you." he adds, landing another smack on your ass before his fingers slide on the wet patch on your panties.

"A-ah!" you whine as he plays with you.

"All this for me? I thought you hated me." he smirks.

"I- I do." you pant as he slides his fingers into your underwear, touching your wet lips and dipping his fingertips into your hole.

"She loves me though." Felix whispers as he leans over you, his fingers pressed into your clit.

"Oh-" you moan, jolting back into him.

"I bet she will love taking my cock even more." he adds and you whine, your brain turning into mush the more he teases you and talks to you like that.

"Mm." you hear him moan and look up at him just to see him licking at his fingers that were just on your pussy.

"F-Felix..." you moan, wanting him, needing him closer to you.

"Tell me what you want, dove." his hands slide on your thighs, ass and lower back and every touch feels like he's setting your skin on fire.

"B-bed." you whimper as he runs his fingers over your panties again.

"I thought you didn't want me on your bed."

The bastard.

"Please. Please." you beg, wiggling your ass and pushing it into his pelvis, trying to persuade him to stop teasing.

"If you insist." he smirks and picks you up so fast that you barely registered he got you in his arms as he laid you down on your soft blanket.

You turned to your plushies, feeling a bit weirded out as you reached out to move them.

"Let them watch." Felix chuckles with a smirk and you look at him, letting out a small giggle.

"Alright." you shrug and he wastes no time as he slides his tanktop off and you very obviously drool at the sight of his abs and nipples.

"See something you fancy?" he teases.

"Yes." you nod and he laughs.

"You're gonna love this even more." he says, taking his pants off and of course, he wasn't wearing any underwear, the fucking whore of a man.

His cock is hard and it springs out, smacking against his abs, all wet with pre cum and ready to be inside you.

"You're drooling, baby." Felix says, almost in a mocking tone.

"Am not." you quickly answer.

"Mhm." the shit eating grin is back as he puts his hands on your waist and slides your top up, taking it off.

"Wow." he stares at your breasts and you chuckle breathlessly.

"See something you fancy?" you tease him back and he throws his head back in a fit of laughter.

"Definitely." Felix bites his lower lip as his hands grab at your tits, massaging them and playing with your nipples, pinching them and pulling on them before he leans down and starts leaving kisses on your breasts.

You whine, needing more friction, your middle lifting up towards his, where his cock hangs delicious and heavy.

Felix smirks as he sucks on your nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud, his hands sliding your panties off as he throws them to the side.

The tip of his cock presses on your clit and both of you whine as he detaches from your nipple and looks down, taking his length in his hand and sliding it against your wet folds.

"Hey don't- not yet-" you shiver and he shushes you.

"Don't worry, I'll put on a condom." he reassures you before diving down to leave kisses on your hot skin.

He gets up suddenly, picking his pants off the floor and taking out a condom and you roll your eyes at him.

"What?" he rips open the packet as he looks at you.

"You came prepared." you say as he kneels between your legs.

"I'm always prepared." he smirks as he rolls the rubber on his cock.

Is it too late to back out now?, you think as his fingertips dance on your inner thighs before settling between your legs and playing with your folds.

You can't believe you're about to let Lee Felix fuck you.

You fell for it after all, you whine as he slowly pushes two of his fingers in, your pussy sucking them in like she was hungry for him.

"I don't think you even need to be prepped." he smirks, sliding his fingers in your warmth. "You're taking me so well already."

You can only moan at his words, arching into his hand.

He keeps smirking, fucking his fingers in and out of you as slow as humanly possible, driving you insane with frustration.

"Oh my god, Felix just fuck me!" you thrash against the soft blanket and he laughs, the jerk.

"Beg for it." he grins, sliding his fingers out and your pussy clenches around nothing.

"You're an asshole." you whimper and he raises his brow at you.

"Am I?" Uh oh. The look in his eyes becomes darker.

"Let me show you then. How much of an asshole I am." he mutters before gripping your body and swiftly turning you around, his hand on the back of your neck as he pushes your face into the pillow.

You gasp as he smacks your ass, your hands grabbing at the blanket.

He grips your hip and without warning pushes his length inside you making you moan loudly as he bottoms out.

The stretch is painful at first but your body is burning up for him and as he fits himself inside you, you clench around him, the pain turning into pleasure.

"See how she fucking loves me? She's trying to keep me in." he chuckles behind you and you whine, pushing back into him.

"Please, fuck me Felix."

He laughs as he gathers your hair in his hand, holding it in a makeshift ponytail.

"See, you can be so nice. You just need someone who knows how to put you in your place." he leans down to whisper in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin before he leans back.

Before you can even catch a breath, Felix pulls your head back harshly and sets a brutal pace, fucking into you fast, the sounds of skin slapping skin loud as he rattles your body with his.

"Yeah. Take it. That's it." he spanks you as he bullies his cock deep inside you, the tip kissing your cervix with every brutal thrust.

You can't even speak as you hold onto the pillow for dear life, a string of moans and curses spilling from your lips.

You're already close and you feel so embarassed because you've never been fucked so good that you're close to cumming in a mere minute.

Your legs shake as Felix continues his onslaught, both with his unforgiving hips and his hand smacking your ass, leaving red marks on your flesh, his other hand pulling your head so far back that you feel like you can't breathe properly.

"Cum for me, dove." he smirks as he feels you clenching hard around him.

"Y-yes, Felix, ah!" you manage to whimper as you explode all over his cock, coating him in your juices.

"That's what I like to see. Good girl." he continues fucking you and tears gather in your eyes as waves of pleasure keep running through your body.

"No one ever fucked you right, hm?" he snickers at the state of you. "Don't worry dove. I'll make sure you can never cum from any other dick except mine." he adds and fucks you even harder, which you thought was impossible but he manages to knock all the breath you had in your lungs and make you cum once again.

"Shit!" his hips stutter and he pulls out quickly.

"Come here." he almost growls as he rips off the condom.

You turn around on all fours, dizzy and ears ringing, your body still shaking as your pussy leaks.

"Open your mouth." he orders and you stupidly obey, too fucked out to protest.

Felix shoves his cock into your mouth, making you gag as you choke on his length.

"You're gonna take it all." he fucks into you a few times before he explodes, pushing deep into you and making you swallow everything.

"Shit." he whines as he pulls out and you cough a little.

"Are you okay?" Felix asks as you sit up, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek and you look at him like he has three heads.

"Why do you care? I know I'm just a number on your list now so you can drop the act and leave." your eyes water for some reason and Felix frowns.

"Why don't you first tell me what you heard about me, dove?" he comes closer to you even though you try to push him away.

"That you slept with half the campus and ghosted every girl you fucked." you say bitterly and he has the audacity to laugh.

"What's funny?" you spit, anger bubbling up inside you.

"You really believe everything you hear? It's just a story, y/n. I did not in fact fuck half the campus." Felix continues giggling. "I'm kinda flattered people think I can pull that many girls, though." he adds, shaking his head.

"Oh." you're flabbergasted for a moment.

"I only have eyes for one girl." he says, his hand caressing your cheek and you cough, choking on your spit.

"W-what?" you ask, still not processing what he's telling you.

"It's you, dove. Why did you think I flirted with you?"

"I thought you did that with everyone."

"Oh, you are so wrong and I'm gonna prove it to you. Starting with a date tomorrow?" Felix says and you're still sitting in disbelief.

"Don't look so shocked." he chuckles and leans in, kissing you gently, his arms wrapping around you as he lays you down again.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"Dead serious." he presses his lips on your cheek.

"Alright. We can go on a date. You're still insufferable, though." you smirk at him and Felix laughs, his sincere laughter making you giggle too.

As he cuddled up against you, your bed a mess after your fun activities, half of your plushies forgotten on the floor, you're glad you had to ask him to help you.

"I think your Windows finished installing."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @jeonginslefthand @porangporangmeong @laughatdanger @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana

@lixies-favorite-cookie not me hearing your thoughts about fuckboy lix🤭

1K notes · View notes

k-hotchoisan · 6 months ago

Text

coming home with me

under the dim lights, Choi San realises that he just can’t keep this casual when it comes to you.

genre/warnings: pwp, smut, furcoat!San, is San being toxic??? I guess we’ll never know!, jealous dom! San, unprotected sex, reader is commando, car sex, fingering riding, breeding kink, spanking

a/n: ahoy!! y’alls gotta thank @bro-atz & @skteezcursed for the fic concept 😘 have been overwhelmed with life so I’m presenting this as my compensation ~

w/c: 3.1K

Under the dim lights, your eyes slowly adjust, and much to your delight, you spot the man you’ve been eye candying at a booth. Of course, you knew he was gonna be there considering you’ve been stalking his socials, and casually asking your mutual friends about his favourite hang-out spots.

He’s cute, you think, stealing glances at him from afar, wondering how you should approach him. A coincidence? Maybe stage an accident?

“And what’s the end goal for you with him?” You hear your friend’s voice piercing into your thoughts.

Well, initially, it was mostly a light-hearted flirty thing. You just thought he was cute. All romance sparks started off with the thrill of liking someone. It just hadn’t reached to that point with him yet.

“Maybe play around? I don’t know”, you reply.

Or maybe it was just a farce to keep a certain guy off your mind.

“You know, you don’t have to force yourself”, your friend reminds you, her palm on your hand comfortingly. “You should be direct with him.”

You force a smile back to assure her.

“It’s fine. I’m not gonna do anything foolish.”

You don’t notice the confused expression she’s making at your answer because now you’re thinking if you should just let things unfold naturally. Amidst your pondering, your friend’s elbow nudges you.

“And he’s looking at you”, she says. Your eyes glance up—and she’s right—your little eye candy has seemed to catch your gaze. He smiles even though he’s on the other side of the room. You give him a small wave and he waves back. Then he gestures for you to go down to the dance floor. You’re wondering if you should too as you watch him leave his booth and down the stairs to the crowded floor.

Unfortunately, you let the thought sit for a little too long because when you decide to leave the booth to the floor, you’ve lost him.

Letting the flashing lights and lasers with the decent music from the DJ doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

Soon enough, your eyes filter through the people and you catch your prey. He seems to be talking to someone but he also seems to have noticed your stare before he fully turns to you.

But as you’re steadily maneuvering the crowd to reach him, your eyes meet another man’s—sharp and all too familiar—and it seems as though he’s caught you too.

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn away, fishing your phone from your chest, opening your phone book to speed dial.

You bring your phone up to your ear, turning away from the approaching male deliciously styled in a black fur coat walking towards you, panic obvious in your tone while your friend picks up. You look up at her from the dance floor, eyes wide.

“Babe, you did not tell me that he was here?!” You whisper-shout. You watch your friend’s face widen her eyes before she shrugs.

“Who the hell did you think I was referring to just now? I was talking about Choi San!”

Choi San has had his eyes on you since you settled in your booth. He never thought he would see you out of all the clubs that existed in this town. But despite the slight scowl present on his face when he realises you’re flirting with someone else at the same level booth he is on, there’s a seed of desire that’s lodged in his heart, that maybe he has a chance.

But first, he has to get rid of your little eye candy.

San’s eyes trail your movements carefully—from the way you bat your eyelashes at the other male from the other booth, then to the way you stare after him as he walks down to the floor.

How have you not noticed him yet?

He stays put on the sofa, silently counting down how much longer it’d take for your eyes to rake over the rest of the booths to reach him.

Unfortunately, it only leaves him frustrated, and even tenfold when you leave your seat while your eyes search for him on the dance floor.

Guess he has to do it his way then.

He pushes past the wave of people, still locked onto you under the dim lights

The satisfaction that floods into his brain when your eyes meet his, his ears slowly tuning out the music, and he watches the way you eyes widen when you finally take notice of him from a distance.

And then you turn away. San cocks his eyebrow in confusion and irritation, and his footsteps towards you quicken.

Then he stops in his tracks once more.

Dear god, something might break today if he gets interrupted one more fucking time.

Your attention is stolen by your little eye candy. He got to you before San could.

You’re well-aware that you’re being stared down by a certain male from your peripherals, and that certainly wasn’t stopping you from pretending that he’s part of the air molecules, although not the easiest task when he’s boring a hole into your head.

You look back at your eye candy, plastering a pretty smile.

The both of you sink into small talk, leaning in closer in an attempt to hear each other over the music. You’re listening to him, but your attention remains on someone else. Someone who’s not hiding that he’s stealing glances at you.

“Do you wanna go somewhere private?” You hear him ask into your ear. His arm is snaking around your waist, and your interest is waning.

You’re ready to reject him, and you jolt slightly when you feel a bigger pair of hands slide across your back replacing the unfamiliar warmth.

“She’s got afterparty plans”, San answers curtly. It’s an automatic response that you swallow hard when let your eyes rake over San. His hair is slicked back, letting a couple strands fall past his eyes. He’s smug with the corner of his lips curled up. Maybe it’s the confidence that you hate about him, but like a moth drawn to a flame, you can’t seem to stay away from him.

You see the way the male tuts, then force a smile. “No worries. We’ll see each other soon, yeah?”

You nod, already losing him in the crowd, mostly because Choi San has your full attention.

Even under the dim lights, Choi San looks stunning. You realise you’re royally fucked when your eyes trail to the star of the show—the fact that San isn’t wearing anything underneath his fur coat. That piece of apparel somehow makes him look bigger, and it’s driving you insane. Well, if the tension escalates, he might get a surprise if you’re feeling generous enough. But right now, he’s eyeing you down like a predator, and it’s making you fall into his spell.

His arm isn’t leaving your back. He’s leaning in closer, making sure you hear his words loud and clear in your ear.

“That’s your type?”

You do your best to hide the effects he’s having on you—ignoring heat pooling between your thighs.

Your fingers play with the soft fur as he leans in and waits for your answer. He smells so fucking good.

You shrug, and that only bubbles his irritation further. His grip on your waist tightens slightly.

“Answer me, darling”, he pushes, his palm sliding lower down.

“Maybe. We had a nice chat before you cut in. Seemed like a decent person.”

San furrows his eyebrows.

“What if he’s not a good person? Does that mean any guy that has a nice conversation with you a good person?”

His other arm is snaking around the back of your neck and he definitely feels your goosebumps. He’s forcing you to look at him.

“San”, you huff, mentally bracing yourself from falling for his charms again. “And on what grounds do you have to be saying all of this?”

“As your best friend?”

You scoff, with a roll of your eyes. Painful to tear away from his chiseled body just peeking out.

San can’t seem to pinpoint it—for some reason, the interaction you had with your eye candy pricked him so much. But why? You and he have always been fooling around, leaving feelings at bay so it wouldn’t “complicate things”. But obviously after tonight, something clicked, and San is very sure he doesn’t like you to be around other men that aren’t him.

“I’m leaving, Choi San. It’s hard to hear you with all these people around”, you make up the excuse, smacking his arm away with much reluctance, only for him to snatch you back once more. San makes sure you hear him loud and fucking clear when he leans into your ears.

“We should go somewhere private then.”

Your moan in the kiss sets him off. Your hands trail up his bare body, and his hands are on your thighs.

Fucking you in his car wasn’t San’s preference—he prefers a little more space— but he’s not complaining when he has you slowly unravel right before him, forced to press yourself against him even with the seat reclined and his thick erection is just shameless pressing against your body con dress.

His fingers slip under your dress, and he groans when he feels your bare pussy—wet, puffy and just ready.

And for some reason, it pisses him off when thought of your eye candy being the one to discover this instead of him.

“Just how much of my buttons are you gonna push tonight, princess?” He asks rhetorically, his sharp eyes locked onto yours, trying not to snap from how wet you are.

You steady yourself on his lap, your mind slowly growing blank whenever his thick fingers graze your clit and past your sopping hole.

“You were just begging to be fucked, huh?” San asks with his fingers circling so close to your pussy.

“San!-“

“Tell me then: who were you hoping to fuck you stupid tonight?”

Your begs come in the forms of soft whimpers, and a sob rips from you when he plunges two thick fingers in, filling you up so fucking full.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His fingers fucking your cunt isn’t helping you think.

You know there’s no way around this. As much as you hated to admit, San always seemed to have the upper hand. Nonetheless, your unintentional plan had roused a side of him you’ve never seen before.

“I’m waiting.”

It takes almost all of your strength to focus on answering him, and it’s making you frustrated because he’s intentionally missing the spot that he knows can send you seeing the stars.

“You”, you answer meekly.

“Can’t hear you, sweetie.” His fingers press against your g-spot, and you lean closer to his body on reflex, your hands gripping his fur coat. You could just smack the smug look off Choi San if he didn’t have two fingers stuffed in you.

“You! Oh, fuck-” You cry out when he misses your g-spot on purpose once more.

“Right answer, sweetie. You deserve a reward for being a good girl, hm?”

You can’t even answer. His thumb is rubbing on your clit, it sends electricity all over in the best way possible on top of his fingers hitting your sweet spots over and over again. The wet sounds of your pussy squelching only bring up the thick tension.

“Look at you, tightening up like this. Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice drops an octave, lulling you closer to your impending orgasm. You hate the way he knows every nook and cranny of your body as if it’s his. You just really cannot escape him.

His words continue to edge you closer.

“Oh, that’s a good fucking girl. Keep squeezing my fingers like that. I’m the only one who makes you feel this fucking tight, right?”

You fucking hate Choi San.

Cream seeps past his fingers from your hole when your orgasm brings your vision to white. Your moans fill up the car when it wrecks your body in waves, your nerves flooding with pleasure over and over.

And San isn’t letting you leave the damn car, not until you’re screaming his name.

He’s not faring any better himself and he could just get off just by watching you cum all over him like that.

His fingers leave your soaking cunt, slightly pruning with strings of your cum in between his fingers. While you catch your breath, San forces you to watch him lick his sticky fingers clean while his free hand shifts your fingers to his bulging erection that’s just begging to be let out. He’s grown so fucking hard that you wonder if it hurts.

You unbutton and unzip his trousers, then push yourself to the side towards the car door to give him enough space so he’s able to fully remove his trousers. You can’t help but worry if the both of you would be caught, even though San assured you that he parked at a secluded spot. Your eyes dart to the windows, noticing how it’s beginning to grow foggy.

Oh. It’s about to get a lot more foggy.

San’s touch pulls you out of your thoughts. Although you’ve fucked many times, the sheer fucking size of his cock never fails to make you swallow hard.

Your hands wander up his tits as you settle back down onto his thighs. The realisation hits you then—the only clothing article Choi San has on right now is his fucking fur coat.

He catches onto your stare and smiles in response.

“Why? Is the thought of getting fucked by your favourite person wearing a fur coat getting you excited?”

You narrow your eyes at him, and you palm his bare, thick, and sticky cock, making San groan in reply.

“Favourite? What makes you think you’re my favourite?”

He chuckles and makes your heart flutter.

“Many things, sweetheart. Just as you’re mine.”

You’re really gonna end up losing to him, huh?

You lift your hips instead, lining up to his cockhead, and then letting San guide your hips down his fat cock, making you take him inch by inch. You bite your lip at the feeling of his cock filling you up so disgustingly good, and San has his eyes screwed shut, a strained groan leaving his lips when your warmth envelops him so fucking good.

“That’s it. You’re so fucking warm and tight for me”, San mutters in pleasure through half-lidded eyes.

Riding San sometimes feels too much for you, in the best fucking ways possible because he’s all the way in, and he knows that very well—how easily you get sensitive and squirmy just from sitting on his cock.

You slowly bounce off his cock, grabbing his shoulders for leverage. He likes that you have to lean into him while he fucks you from below so he can whisper the most dirty things into your ear just to make you clench around him.

His palms slide down your ass, following the momentum of you bouncing off his cock, then landing a tight slap against your skin to hear your gasp and feel you tighten on his cock.

The sting feels so fucking good that another slap has your pussy leaking cream all over his cock once more.

“S-San! If you keep doing that-“ you cry, another slap to your ass making you jolt, sinking even deeper into his cock.

“That’s your punishment for flirting with another man in front of me like that”, his voice buzzing in your ear.

Another smack.

Your thighs are trembling from the overstimulation.

One more smack.

Your mind is about to shut off. San’s cock is pressing against your g-spot with even more pressure than his fingers.

The windows have completely fogged up.

“San, please. Oh my fucking god. Gonna fucking cum”, you whine, arms tight around his neck, intoxicated with the smell of his musk mixed with his cologne.

San’s grunts fill your ears when your second orgasm drowns you again, your cunt pulsing uncontrollably around him, cream just pooling at the base of his cock. He groans and buries his nose into your neck, his mind fuzzy from how close his orgasm is.

“I’m gonna cum in you. Wanna plug your pussy hole full of my cum.

And you’re gonna take all of it like a good girl.”

“Yes, please”, you reply, much to his pleasant surprise. So his large hands hold your legs down, listening to you whine while his cock fills you up endlessly with warm and thick cum with moans escaping his lips every few seconds from how fucking good he feels.

He pushes you off his body gently, his eyes reflecting the hearts in your glazed-out eyes. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lips and he pushes his thumb past your lips.

“Such a good fucking girl, letting me fill you up with my load. Does it feel good?”

You nod, twitching slightly from the overstimulation since he still has you stuffed full of both dick and cum. San wants to keep this sight of you in his brain forever—sucking on his finger, sweating with him post-orgasm, staring down at him with watery eyes while his cum just leaks past your puffy pussy hole even though his cock is plugging your cunt.

San pulls you into a deep kiss, and you reciprocate it in between breathless pants and sighs.

“Fuck. I think I’m in love”, he mutters loud enough for you to hear.

You don’t know how to answer to that, but you feel your face flushing. He grabs the tissues stowed in the storage compartment and quickly cleans the both of you up after he lifts you off his softening cock.

You instinctively shift to the passenger seat, and San removes his fur coat to cover you. You watch him grab a black tank top from the back seat, then fit his trousers over his thighs.

He rolls down the windows despite the air-con running, just to rid the smell of sex.

You wrap his coat closer to you when the night breeze kisses your cheeks.

“So, are you gonna send me home?” There’s a strange tint of hope you have that he’d decline.

San stares at you with an expression that confuses you—one that makes you wonder if you had said something weird. Then he smiles after that.

“You’re coming home with me, sweetheart”, San tells you as he loops his tank top over his head before he switches gear to move out.

“It’s gonna be a long night for the both of us.”

taglist:

@bro-atz @skteezcursed @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @haleyjoy @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @jwnghyuns @everythingboutkpop @skz1-4-3 @minalizasworld @seomisaho @tunafishyfishylike @woojirang @yuyusgirl

2K notes · View notes

nanamis-angel · 7 months ago

Text

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 ♡︎

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ৹ you and megumi have been dating for nine months. you're happy. he's happy. you're perfect for each other. the only issue? he craves affection and he's not sure how to ask for it.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ৹ megumi x fem!reader, shy megumi, fluff, very very slight angst, cuddling, yuji and nobara mention (they share one braincell).

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ৹ 1.4k

𝐚/𝐧 ৹ sorry I haven't written in a while, i'm currently on vacation and haven't been writing. this was in my drafts so I figured I'd post it. I'll be back soon with some more. I hope you enjoy! hearts divider by @/s-h-o-w-y

You and Megumi had been dating for quite a while now. Just two weeks ago, you had your nine-month anniversary together and you were the happiest you had ever been.

The relationship was very low-key. PDA was almost non-existent—the most he’d ever do in public was hold your hand and even then, he kept his hands to himself most days.

Affection was present in your relationship but you mostly had to ask for it. He’d give it to you without a second thought but he rarely initiated any form of affection besides a few hugs or kisses here and there.

To be honest—it bothered you at first as you believed it was something about you that made him not want to be affectionate but then you realized it was just hard for him to show physical affection because he never really knew how. He was an amazing boyfriend—he just had some struggles.

You were fine with this now and it didn’t bother you, knowing that he still loved you very much.

But what you didn’t know was how badly this affected Megumi. His fear of initiating physical affection was eating him alive from the inside out.

Megumi had a lot of emotions—believe it or not—but he didn’t know how to handle all of it so he just shoved it all down where nobody could find it. He never learned how to deal with any of it so it seemed like the only quick solution.

His mother passed away at a young age and affection or even emotion (besides anger, disappointment, or his father being unamused) was not common from his father and stepmother. Growing up he got the occasional pat on the head or a hug from Gojo and his older sister Tsumiki tried her best to show her love for him when she could—but that had ended all too soon.

He would never admit it but he absolutely craved affection—specifically from you. The poor boy was so touch-starved. His heart soared whenever you asked for a hug or to lay down together. And it tore away at his heart how badly he wanted to ask you for love but for some reason, he was scared to do so.

But one thing about Megumi was that he was persistent and he was going to get through this and overcome his anxiety one way or another. After all, you were already his girlfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

Right now, you were on a walk with him, Nobara, and Yuji. Shoko had insisted on the four of you going out and getting some sun and none of you were about to argue with the intimidating school doctor so you all quickly got out there.

You walked alongside Megumi while Nobara and Yuji goofed off a couple of feet ahead of the two of you, not paying attention to either of you at all. Megumi quietly walked with a stoic expression, keeping his hands in his pockets. He had barely said anything but that’s because his mind was racing.

You didn’t mind it at all as long as you were with him. Megumi’s gaze kept flickering down to your hand, which was at your side as you walked. He wanted to just reach down and grab your hand tightly but something stopped him. Why? He had no idea.

You were his girlfriend, he had held your hand before and nothing happened. So why would it be any different now? Anxiety over simple things never made anyone think sensible thoughts. But it was enough to make him nervous to simply reach out and grab your hand.

And the worst part? You had no idea. You simply kept walking with a big smile on your face as the two of you walked together.

Before he could stop himself, he just took his hand out of his pocket and grabbed your hand rather abruptly, not saying a single thing as if trying to ignore what just happened.

You were a little stunned—just because it was so sudden. And he had just grabbed your hand rather than lacing his fingers together with yours or something like that so you looked at him with a little bit of confusion. “Megumi?” You asked.

Noticing your eyes on him, he just avoided eye contact, feeling his cheeks heat up for some reason. All he was doing was holding your hand! Well, more like gripping it at this point.

“You don’t have to grip my hand like that, I’m not going anywhere.” You chuckled, trying to make him loosen up a bit so you could intertwine your fingers with his. Really, you were just glad that he was holding your hand and had done it himself.

Megumi didn’t reply but his grip loosened up so you could intertwine your fingers with his, properly holding hands now. You gave his hand a little squeeze and a reassuring smile. To be honest, it was really cute to see him like this but you weren’t going to say anything about it and just decided to leave it as it was.

Holding hands—it was such a simple thing but Megumi’s heart felt like it was racing. He was proud of himself for initiating things but boy was his heart pounding.

But feeling his skin against yours was so nice; feeling the warmth of your hand against his, it was so comforting. Goodness, he loved you so much. He just didn’t know how to say it sometimes.

The two of you held hands until you got back to the school. Nobara and Yuji rushed inside, not wanting to be out in the heat anymore while you and Megumi took your time getting inside. Sometimes you believed Nobara and Yuji shared one brain cell between each other—and they probably did, to be honest.

Megumi’s hand fell from yours when you got inside, which was okay, you were going to sit down to cool off anyway.

You made your way inside and to one of the rooms, walking over to one of the couches. Thankfully you had nothing else going on for the rest of the day so you could just practically pass out on the couch for a little while.

Before you sat down, you looked at Megumi, who was just standing there looking at you. “You okay, sweetheart?” You asked, slightly confused. He had been acting odd all day and it confused you. What was going on?

Again, no reply. Instead, you felt his hands suddenly grab your waist and pull you close to him, his arms enveloping you in a big hug. You stood there stunned for a moment before wrapping your arms around him tightly. It was clear that he really needed this hug.

“Megumi—,” You spoke but he cut you off.

“Don’t say anything.” He said softly, “Just don’t say anything.” He breathed out, not wanting to be asked any questions right now. All he wanted to do was hold you.

With you still in his arms, he moved and sat down on the couch, putting you on his lap and burying his face into the crook of your neck. It was so comforting, so nice. He just wanted to stay like this forever, in the safety and comfort of your arms.

You were still stunned that he was doing this but you didn’t question a thing, continuing to keep your arms locked tightly around him. Eventually, your hand made its way up to his scalp, gently raking your nails through his hair. You could feel him practically melt into your touch and you let out a little chuckle.

“Cute,” You mumbled, your voice could barely be heard.

Megumi let out a little huff and just kept his arms around you, his cheeks warm from embarrassment.

You weren’t sure how long you two were like that and eventually, you had somehow shifted to where the both of you were laying down, still holding each other in your arms. Megumi had practically fallen asleep, comfortably cuddled up right in your arms.

And he would’ve fallen asleep—had Yuji not walked into the room and seen the two of you lying together on the couch. Poor, innocent Yuji who could physically never bring himself to be quiet. “Ooh, Fushiguro! Getting comfortable with [name] there huh?” He said lightheartedly, thinking nothing of it. He really was just teasing.

Within an instant, Megumi was sitting up with an unamused expression, reaching to grab the nearest thing he could, his face pink and flushed “Shut up!”

Yuji was out of that room within seconds, just barely dodging the magazine Megumi had thrown at him.

1K notes · View notes

star2fishmeg · 8 months ago

Text

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴡʀᴀᴘs

[4.4k] Pairing | bsf!Luke Hughes x bsf!afab!reader Summary | luke and y/n are tired of feeling left behind and help each other out…but in the company of their friends. but it makes a good story, right? Warnings | 18+ smut, kinda slow start, best friends to lovers, long haired luke!!! Bc I love long hair, umich!luke, (basically public) fingering, swearing, appearance and sex insecurities, tiny bit of angst but not really, mutual pining, making out Authors Note | im in such a luke brainrot it’s painful, this was supposed to be a blurb but I can’t control myself but anyway, this is my first hockey fic i hope its alright. Based on this after hours post! This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes

Luke felt like a creep. But she looked so at peace sitting on the lake's docks, feet dangling and toes skimming the water's surface. While she was nothing but a silhouette in the distance, the sunset cascading on the horizon complimenting her like a portrait in a museum. He also wasn’t sure on how long he’d been standing at the sliding patio doors, the UMich boy’s voices blended out into a white noise while his mind wandered to crevices of thoughts he’d been avoiding for months, but anything to escape Ethan and Luca’s conversations about girlfriend stories. Yes, he was happy for them, found it cute in fact, but when was it his turn to have that chapter in his life? He could have it if he didn’t panic and fumble at every party they threw, just a bit more alcohol and maybe he’d have a chance but like all victims of tragedy, no one would ever be her. Could ever replace her or even substitute her. So, while his curls bounced in the gentle breeze, Luke Hughes admired the only girl in the University of Michigan that’s ever made his heart ache and contort in bittersweet ways.

With a firm slap to his back, Luke’s daydream snapped back to reality, to Dylan Duke grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. The most painful thing Dylan had to endure since he met Luke was watching his friend follow y/n like a lost puppy begging for attention, and there was nothing more he wanted than for the two to just kiss already. They almost did, once, at someone’s birthday party when they both nursed a bottle of tequila. But Dylan never told them that, he wasn’t entirely sure if he dreamt it, if he was honest.

“Just go talk to her, be honest,” Dylan said with a light chuckle, nudging Luke towards the porch steps.

Luke’s legs stopped stiff, and spun to face Dylan in protest, “No! What do I even say? ‘Oh, hey y/n I know we’ve been friends for a while, but I’m in love with you haha hope this doesn’t make it awkward’? Like, come on.” With the way Dylan’s grin turned almost menacing, Luke felt his heart almost stop, his stupidity catching up with him, “This stays between us, Duker.”

He groaned and watched Dylan giggle his way back inside. Wingman or menace? Fine line, but at least he was better than Jack. Who quite literally tried trapping him and y/n in a closet when he found out, hoping for the best. Perhaps Dylan would actually help him get somewhere, he’d spent many parties coaxing Luke into making a move but Luke being the humble soul he took pride in, let her have her peace. Oh, how much he regretted it every time he heard her laugh because of another guy.

Thankfully the docks were at the far end of his garden, out of earshot and almost out of sight, if you weren’t spying. He stood silently, just taking in her very existence alone. If she weren’t wearing his hoodie so proudly, he would’ve sat down by now but the heat that flushed into his cheeks prominently just had to ease before he could show his face. Maybe she’d find it cute that his face flushed so easily, or maybe she’d think he was a fool for thinking he had a chance. Girls were hard to read, so many codes and hints, he couldn’t keep up with them all and God forbid you had an ugly code name. Watching her like that did raise the thought, what was his code name? Did he really want to know?

“I can feel you starin’,” her voice chimed, their eyes meeting as she craned her neck, “you gonna join or just stand?”

Luke’s lips pulled into his famous half-smirk, “I like lookin’ at pretty things, can you blame a man?” He sat next to her, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder like they usually did, the weight of his boldness lifting off his chest. “What’s runnin’ through that mind of yours?”

“Who said I was thinking about anything? Maybe I was finally catching a break from the zoo. Maybe I was thinking that you need a haircut.” Her laugh was like music to his ears, her voice his favourite song and every word that rolled off her tongue felt like ecstasy surging through him and freezing the world around them.

Spending a summer in a lake house was the only way y/n ever wanted to live. An oasis of serenity and laughs, endless memories, and an escape. But while she dipped her toes in the water, watching her reflection ripple, the everlasting thought that it was fleeting crawled its way back to the surface whether she wanted it to or not. The boys had been doing this longer than she had, it was her first time at the lake house and possibly her last. But there was nothing wrong with enjoying it while it lasted, being trapped under the same roof as the boys wasn’t as bad as she’d assumed. Except for the smells, they were straight-up disrespectful. Would she still love it as much if she was with other friends? Hard to say, if Luke was there, everything would be fine. Maybe a couple more girls would’ve been nice too, though.

“Please, you’re staring blankly, don’t try me.” Luke scoffed playfully, shoulder gently nudging hers as she rolled her eyes, unable to resist a gleaming smile. As much as she wanted to rebuttal, he was right. They’d met on the first week of university, Luke starting hockey practice and y/n starting as their new social girl and since then the pair of them had been two peas in a pod. Completely enamoured with each other, attached at the hip, where Luke went, he’d bring y/n, his person. “Wait, you think I need a haircut? Is it that bad?”

She laughed, Luke, stooping so she could thread her fingers through his unruly curls gently, something only she was allowed to do, “Nah, I like your hair long, cut it and I’ll cut you.” They pulled back, sitting in their original postures and watched the sun’s pinks fade to oranges, “I was thinking about how many girls you’ve brought here.”

He blinked twice, turning his head slowly to face her and to his surprise his eyes met hers. There was a gloss to them, illuminated brightly by the sunset but like glass as if she were about to break. Heart beating in his ears, he licked his lips, almost quivering when he began to speak.

“Just you.” His voice just above a whisper, husky, “Only you. Always you.” Their gazes lingered, and his eyes fluttered to her lips for just a split second before he found himself licking his lips again, feeling his throat dry at the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. His heart ached, he didn’t have half the guts the Fantilli brothers did, if he had then maybe he would’ve at least wrapped his arm around her. Instead, he sat like he was paralysed, just shoulder to shoulder as she rubbed her bare foot against his leg, their skins touching, lighting little fires up his body and his stomach gaining a warmth he’d only felt in the after-hours of his bedroom.

“Lu?” she rested her head on his shoulder, staring back out towards the horizon, “Do you ever feel like you’re so far behind the people around you? Like you’re missing out.”

Luke leaned his head against hers, almost nuzzling into it as he thought. It was a heavy question, one that’d been weighing on her for a while. Or he assumed, considering she’d never openly asked the group. That’s what made him feel special. Her feet hung still, ending their teasing game and just fell limp. He exhaled, could he let his pride go and agree? Or could he completely one-up himself and disagree, which made him braver? He loathed the storms she started in him, thoughts he never imagined he would think in his hockey brain. One girl could change his entire train of thought, change his heartbeat, change his mood. One woman he pined like a lost puppy over.

“Sometimes. What do you mean?”

“Like, all my friends have these insane hook-ups and embarrassing sex stories and I have nothing. Yeah, I’ve had boyfriends before, but I was younger and stupid then. I go out with my friends and I’m basically invisible to any guy who approaches us, just feel unlovable. And now here I am, twenty years old and a fucking virgin with little experience and no wild stories.” She vented, barely taking a breath as the words spilt from her mouth. Luke’s chest twisted, his face softening when she snuggled into his side. “I don’t know where I’m going wrong, Lu.”

He paused and bit his lip when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her body into his chest. She melted into his touch, getting a whiff of his woody, amber cologne, her favourite one at that, the one he always wore. She’d never had the chance to properly relish in his touch, was his chest always this firm? Arms always bring this much security? Fuck, when did his hand get so sexy when on her body, gliding down her arm to nestle in the curve of her waist. With her ear pressed to him, the thundering in his chest surrendered his cover entirely. Cool and collected Luke Hughes was secretly a bumbling mess.

“I get you.” he finally spoke, ears burning when her finger traced shapes on his thigh, “My entire life has been hockey, so not a lot of space for experiences either. Not enough time for relationships between practice and games, development camps and time with family. A lot of the girls who liked me didn’t really like that. That or they liked my brothers and friends more, they are a lot more attractive than me, so I don’t blame them. M’just average.”

Y/n pulled away almost instantly, her eyebrows knitted and jaw agape. For a moment she thought she heard him wrong, ‘a lot more attractive than me’, ‘just average’? Delving into Luke’s psyche turned out to be an entirely different road trip than she had thought, heartstrings tugged as her lips fell to a frown. Who in the world made him feel like that? Who did she need to hunt down? But then again, Luke’s blood boiled hearing how insignificant she felt and who exactly made her think that to start with?

“Luke Hughes you are not average! You’re the hottest guy I know!” she yelped, the hand that drew gentle patterns now clutching his thigh tight. Luke gulped but didn’t retract away from the noise. His brain was too busy short-circuiting over the fact her fingers were dangerously close to his crotch, doing his best to contain himself with slow breaths, “They just didn’t give you a chance, if they really knew you, they’d be heads over heels. You’re so fucking smart, and passionate. And-and if they saw you smile for real, not a half-smile, your full smile with your teeth, the one that feels like a warm summer’s day. It’s their loss, they’ll never know how sweet you are, that after a bad game, you want steak and head scratches, that you’re sentimental as fuck- like you wear that Yankees hat because Quinn got it for you when you fell ill and couldn’t make the game. You’re not average.”

Luke blinked, once, twice and thrice as her eyes bored into his, glazed with fire as the words tumbled from her mouth and circled his head. He watched the way her body rose and fell as she caught her breath, the grip on his thigh tightening and heat rising through his body. He felt the sweat building on the back of his neck, his collar suddenly becoming too tight. She thought he was hot? She remembered such little details about him like they’d known each other since they were kids. The hand around her waist slid to her lower back, his thumb rubbing the fabric of her (his) hoodie unconsciously.

He smiled, his warm smile she mentioned, where his eyes wrinkled and his chin tilted up triumphantly, “The hottest guy you know, huh?”

Y/n’s face dropped. Never in her life had she experienced her heart stop the way it did hearing those words. She stared like a deer in headlights, she slipped up and the heat rushing to her cheeks burned. This is what happens when you let your feelings take over, you make a fool of yourself in front of the one person who would never want to. She sighed, hung her head and hid her face in her hands, the butterflies in her stomach choking her when Luke let out a saccharine chuckle that made all the flowers bloom.

Large, warm hands wrapped around her wrists with a feather touch, and slowly pulled her hands away from her face and into her lap, soothing her nerves with a gentle rubbing of her knuckles with his thumbs. Although his hands felt clammy, the tingling in his stomach became too addicting to care about it too much anymore.

“Don’t hide,” she was radiant under what was left of the tangerine hues, eyes almost sparkling, “let me see that pretty face.”

She hesitantly raised her head, eyes meeting his and her body relaxed. She had no idea why she was so embarrassed, he hadn’t gagged, laughed in her face nor had he physically repulsed. Instead, he looked at her like she’d hung out the stars for him, wide eyes with rose-tinted ears.

“I think you’re very pretty too. Beautiful even, I-“ he hesitated, “you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about kissing you, asking you out. Honestly, the idea of you rejecting me is terrifying so I never did, plus, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

Her eyes fluttered to his lips, the world around them falling silent until it was just them in their own bubble. Luke gulped, his eyeline following the way she flickered between his eyes and his mouth before he found their bodies leaning into one another, noses ghosting. His hands released her wrists, one arm snaking around her waist sending an electric tingle through her veins and holding her firmly close. They’d been this close before, sure. Multiple occasions of having his arms around the back of the sofa they sat snug on, arm hooked around her shoulders because some guy couldn’t get the memo at bars, in fact, the root cause of their problem was undeniably because everyone assumed they were together except them.

Y/n’s palm held his cheek tenderly, the hot, carnal desire to devour the boy only being released from its cage when he melted into her touch as if he was opening his doors to vulnerability.

“I can teach you if you like,” she whispered, her thumb tracing across his bottom lip. Luke’s fingers gripped her waist as if she couldn’t be any closer than she already was, but he couldn’t risk letting her slip from his grasp again. He wanted to erase all those other guys who’d kissed her, he would be the last guy on Earth to taste the lips that words and giggles laced with a honey-like sweetness that cradled his heart.

“God, please-“ his heart beat twice as fast, y/n leaning in, closing the gap between them and pressing her lips gently to his. If he were to die right there, he’d die the happiest man alive. Her lips were soft and warm, igniting every firework inside of him and adrenaline shaking him back to life. He could do this for hours, drinking in her citrus fragrance, lips mimicking the way she moved hers against his. If she was a match, he was kerosene and he’d let her set him ablaze over and over if it meant he could feel like the only man in the world until the end of time.

They pulled away, eyes fluttering open to an exchange of giggly smiles. Despite it being a closed-mouth kiss, nothing extra, just soft and sweet, Luke’s thoughts raced at a million miles per hour. All the weight on his shoulders lifted and he nuzzled into her palm, placing a kiss on it.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, his puppy-like gaze almost distracting her from how his skin burned pink in her palm. But in a way, all her previous anxieties dissipated like dust in the wind, tummy flipping at the pathetically sweet and lovestruck expression spread on Luke’s face, “Your face is so red. Are you okay?-”

“-Can we do that again?” He pleaded, quickly, desperately, a certain yearning feeling on his lips that he couldn’t quite describe, except that he needed to taste her again. He needed more, so much more to quench his thirst, a kind of fuzziness he felt in his core.

“Uh- yeah, let me show you what a real kiss is.” No hesitation was needed, y/n’s hand slid from his cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers carding through his curls as she roughly connected their lips again, messier, teeth chattering from the impact. Luke’s other hand found comfort on her thighs, pulling them over his lap and giving gentle squeezes, moaning when y/n bit his lower lip. He opened his mouth with ease, failing to hold back another moan when her tongue lapped his. He wasn’t sure how to react, he’d never made out with anyone and it’s not like his brothers would’ve explained it well either. So, he repeated her movement, his tongue dancing with hers with saliva lubricating their lips each time they dove back in to devour each other. Y/n tugged his curls lightly, pulling him closer, savouring the kindling arousal leaking into her panties with the way he craved her.

Luke pulled away to breathe, his chest heavy but shorts becoming tight with the intense and fiery eye contact that screamed nothing but lust, “You,” he kissed her again, fervently, “taste,” another kiss, “amazing.” He mumbled into her lips and their tongues stirred again, whimpers drawing from the back of her throat when his hand travelled further up her thigh, under her shorts and found solace on the skin only he could touch. Any further and she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t pounce, her underwear was soaked through and sticking to her folds and even one measly brush on her clit would open the floodgates.

A foreign burst of confidence washed over him, and he detached their lips, a string of saliva between them and her hand still tugging at his curls and whether intentional or not, he discovered something carnal clawing away inside him. Wetting his lips, he dove into her neck, planting wet kisses along her column and nipping in the hope of hearing her mewl again. Y/n tilted her head to the side, giving him free rein over her skin and her jaw slacking, whining his name with her thighs clenching together for any kind of friction. As he began to run his hand along her thigh, his pocket vibrated continuously, earning a growl to rumble from his throat.

“Fuck, why’d you stop?” y/n whined, hand falling from his hair to his chest. Luke pulled his phone from his pocket with a disgruntled look, of course, his moment was ruined. Swiping the notification away, he clicked his tongue, sliding his phone back into his shorts.

His arms wrapped around her waist, and looked back into her adoring yet disappointed eyes, “Dylan wants to know if we’re joining them for a movie.”

“I’m quite happy staying here with you.”

“Who says we have to watch the whole movie?”

Silence hung over the living room, only the TV blaring and the light crunching of popcorn from different directions. The lights were off, just the TV and three boys crammed on one sofa, and three plus y/n on the other. Luke, y/n, Rutger and Adam on the sectional directly opposite the TV, Luke occupying the end with the chaise for his legs, and y/n sat between them and huddled under a blanket. Rutger sat in the middle with Adam on the furthest end. Dylan, Luca and Ethan huddled together on the sofa adjacent to the TV, popcorn littered between them from missing mouths and flinching.

Luke’s hands wrapped around her waist, keeping her snug against his chest while she slowly chewed Haribo’s, feeding them to him now and then. While his heart skipped beats, feeling like a meadow of tulips blooming in the Spring, y/n’s wiggling against his crotch lured all the heat and butterflies from earlier straight back to his stomach, sending it into twists and turns. Heat flushed to his neck when she pushed her arse back into him, in an innocent attempt to readjust. A deep exhale through his nose and his hands slithered to her thighs, fingers kneading the flesh like dough as his head dipped into her shoulder, breath hot on the skin and making her hairs stand on edge.

“Stop wigglin’, pretty girl,” he whispered into the shell of her ear, placing a kiss, “you’re drivin’ me crazy.”

She froze, body falling limp into his as he ran his hands under her hoodie, his stiffened cock poking into her backside as she caught on to what his problem was. The sex-deprived whore in her awakened with a jolt, his cock solid because of her, and there was nothing she wanted more than to feel him pressed up against her, unable to find his release and have the rasp of his voice reverberate through her being as her vibrator.

“And if I don’t?” she whispered back, as close to him as possible without being heard. Instead of answering, Luke dipped his fingers down her shorts, middle finger brushing against her clothed clit. His eyes locked to the screen in front of him, resisting the urge to smirk when her breath hitched but continuing to glide his finger – in what was a lucky guess – over her bundle. She squirmed, clamping her thighs together, only to have them pried open by his free hand.

“Be a good girl and keep quiet, unless you want to be caught.” His playful tone sent chills down her spine, goosebumps swarming on her neck but melting into his touch. She plopped another sweet into her mouth, chewing intensely when Luke drew his long fingers away, only for her to feel them caress over her skin, cold on her warm body, and down her panties. To describe the sensation that zipped through her when the pad of his middle finger reunited with her clit would be the same shock if you were to be struck by lightning: sudden and sharp, rattling up the spine.

Y/n placed the bag of sweets in her lap, tucking both hands under the blanket with the hope of seeming less suspicious, but her hand skimmed down his arm and placed itself on his, slowly guiding his movements on her nub until he got the idea. Firm yet gentle circular movements, the slick seeping from her warm on his fingertips, so inviting he wished he could have a taste. She pulled the blanket to her chin, not only to cover Luke’s sudden mood but to form some form of distraction from the fuzzy feeling rising to her head. No, she’d never had this before, so the experience itself embraced her tight, addicting like nicotine.

He kissed her temple, two fingers sliding into her cunt almost perfectly, too perfect that another Haribo was abused between her teeth as her breathing struggled to remain neutral. The moan that would’ve slipped past if she hadn’t been concentrating would’ve been embarrassing enough. Luke began languid plunges into her, relishing in the way her walls squeezed his fingers tight, keeping shallow at first. The more her pussy swallowed him in their wetness, the faster his mind spiralled in greed and his pace sped up, y/n’s nails digging deep into his leg, leaving crescent shapes on the skin. The heat pooling in her stomach was riveting, knowing she would finally have an insane story to tell even more so. No one could say that Luke Hughes’ tongue tasted theirs like it was the best meal he’d ever lapped up and that he’d watched a movie with his friends while pushing the limits of both his and their sanity publicly.

With a rush of adrenaline and her nails marking him, he buried his fingers deep into her cunt, driving swiftly and curling in places that made her wriggle against him, his free hand having to hold her hips still with a bruising grip and his cock begged for attention in his shorts. Y/n popped two more sweets in her mouth, relying on their gummy nature to suppress the moans that threatened to tear through her as the knot inside her came dangerously close to snapping with the way he bullied her pussy with his bare hands. His breathing fell deep and shuddered, his heart infatuated with the ecstasy of finger-fucking the woman of his dreams in front of an entire room of his friends hammered in his chest while his face struggled to stay indifferent and jaw tight like his cock isn't throbbing violently and straining against her arse. Like she wasn’t bucking her hips into his touch like he couldn’t tell that her heart was going haywire because of just him alone. If this was what foreplay was like, the idea of piledriving balls deep in her until she couldn’t remember her name was divine.

He dragged out his last pumps, the knot in her stomach snapping and coating his fingers in hot, sticky release, kissing her temple upon her body physically shuddering. Y/n pulled the blanket up to her chin as if she had shivered naturally, stuffing her mouth into the fluffy material. Luke pulled his fingers out, wiping the residue on his shorts, practically drooling over the image of milking her dry. His arms snaked around her waist, snuggling close. Y/n sighed, slumping back into him. On the outside Luke was his collected and cool self, his breathing stable and attention on the movie, the heat in his face and hands that rested on her stomach, soothing her heart rate screamed that he was the happiest guy in the room. With every gentle stroke of his thumb on the flesh of her stomach, her heart soothed and her eyelids became increasingly heavier.

"Was that story worthy?" He whispered, kissing her cheek sweetly.

Luke’s pocket buzzed and he tutted, carefully sliding it from his pocket and unlocking it, trying his best to prevent the screen from blinding everyone.

Duker idk if ur freaky or brave u dog

Luke closed his phone and looked up towards Dylan, who sat with a shit-eating grin. He smiled and shook his head, mouthing a subtle, ‘this stays between us’.

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

Banners & dividers belong to @/cafekitsune

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes smut #lh43 #nhl smut #nhl x reader #hockey smut #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fanfic #≡lh43

1K notes · View notes