#the want and hope that the painting was a gift from will (the one he wants to be with) yet dealing with the conflicting feelings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lxveuntold · 3 months ago

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happy ending, new beginning | hhj (m)

summary: when your friend gifts you an appointment for a massage, he fails to mention one critical detail. luckily, it turns out to be a pleasant surprise with a very happy ending.

pairing: hyunjin x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 8.3k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; mentions of the reader having a menstrual cycle; graphic sexual content; the “massage with a happy ending” trope; fingering; risky workplace sex; dirty talk; unprotected sex; pullout method

author’s note: i really cannot believe this is as many words as it is because there is seriously no plot here. i hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

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The cozy parlor smells nice, like powder and fresh linens.

The receptionist at the counter smiles. “Hello, good morning. Checking in?”

You smile back and approach them. “Hi, yes. I’m supposed to have an appointment at ten o’clock?”

You give them your name. They tap a few things on their screen and nod.

“All right, you are all checked in. If you want to have a seat, Hyunjin will be with you shortly.”

No sooner have you taken a seat and crossed your legs than the glass door behind the receptionist’s counter opens. Out steps a tall, thin man dressed head to toe in white. Thin, white short-sleeved shirt, loose-fitting white cotton pants, shiny white designer shoes. His blond hair is buzzed short. His ears are decorated with multiple golden piercings. His eyes are a deep brown, and there is a distinctly feline quality to his gaze.

He’s beautiful.

Of course Minho booked you a massage with the most beautiful masseur ever.

The man smiles brightly and says your name as a question. His voice is soft and rather pleasant. A lovely voice to match a handsome face. Of course.

You stand and manage to smile back. “That’s me. Hi.”

He extends his hand and you shake it. His skin is warm. Soft, too.

“Hi, I’m Hyunjin, nice to meet you. Please, come on back.”

He holds the door open and ushers you ahead of him. His hand grazes the center of your back, and your heart flutters for some reason.

“We’ll be in the last room on the right,” he says.

You walk down the short hallway and turn through the last door on the right with Hyunjin right behind you.

In your mind, you pictured a sterile white room. Instead, the walls are painted a beautiful shade of green with paintings of flowers and landscapes displayed upon them. There is a long counter along one wall with a round porcelain sink in the middle. Near the sink are a multitude of candles and small bottles and vials. Rolled towels are stuffed in the shelves beneath the counter. In the center of the room is the massage table, longer than it is wide. A white sheet is fitted on top of it. The smell of powder and fresh linen is stronger back here.

Hyunjin steps around you, and you catch the scent of him when the air moves. He smells of something rich and slightly sweet, like dark chocolate. He pulls a fluffy white towel out from under the counter and sets it on the edge of the massage table. Then he looks to you and smiles again. The groove of a dimple appears in his cheek.

“I’m going to step out for a few minutes,” he says. “I want you to undress entirely, please. Bra, underwear, everything. We don’t want to stain any of your clothing with the oils. Then I want you to lie face down on the table with the towel over you like it’s a blanket, please.”

You nod along to his instructions. When he is finished, you say, “Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

He leaves and gently shuts the door behind him.

You undress and pile your clothing on a nearby chair, sliding your shoes underneath it. Then you pick up the towel and shake it open before climbing onto the padded massage table and lying face down under your makeshift blanket.

It takes several minutes, but eventually there is a knock on the door. Hyunjin calls your name and asks, “Are you decent?”

“Yes. Come in,” you say, turning your head to see him enter.

He steps inside and closes the door again. You lock eyes for a second, then he moves to the counter. Music begins playing. A slow, relaxing piano melody. You hadn’t even noticed the speaker there. He also lifts one of the candles, but before he lights it, he turns back to you and asks, “Is it all right if I dim the overhead lights and light a few of the candles? They’re not scented.”

“Oh,” you say. “Uh, sure.”

He gives you a crooked grin. He really is incredibly beautiful. “It’s all right to say no,” he says.

“No, no. That sounds fine. Just seems kind of… I don’t know. Intimate, I guess. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Hyunjin’s face changes. His grin falls and his eyebrows dip in what appears to be confusion. “Is that not what you requested? When you made the appointment, I mean?” he asks.

You fidget with the sheet, plucking at an imaginary loose thread. “I didn’t set it up myself, actually,” you explain. “My friend did. As a gift.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders drop. It seems like realization is hitting him.

“Ah,” he says, turning all the way from the counter to face you fully. “I’m sorry, this is my fault. I should have confirmed everything with you before I left the room.”

He steps over to a screen the size of an iPad mounted face-high on the wall by the door. He pulls something up on it and nods to himself. Then he looks back to you and explains, “Your friend booked you with me for the full deluxe package. That’s a two hour session which includes establishing relaxing ambiance—the candles, lighting, music, et cetera—the massage of course, use of any and as many essential oils as you wish, and a… a��happy ending, if you’re familiar with the term.”

You nearly choke on the spit in your mouth. “O-Oh! Oh my god,” you stammer. “You mean…?”

“An orgasm, yes,” Hyunjin says. “To be clear. Which I should be and should have been from the start.”

Oh, you are going to fucking kill Minho when you see him. No wonder he had been so excited to give you this gift. He does like giving you things you would never buy for yourself, and this definitely fits into that category. Plus, the main reason he did this for you in the first place is because of the recent breakup you’ve gone through. ‘It’ll take your mind off it for a while.’ ‘You deserve to treat yourself.’

Full deluxe package, huh. That twisted fuck.

“No, you’re fine,” you tell Hyunjin, “it’s my friend who should have been clear from the start. Fucking prick.”

Hyunjin chuckles a little. “If you want to cancel, I totally understand. I’ll refund your friend.”

You chew on your lip in thought for a moment then ask, “You really offer that here?”

“Refunds?”

You laugh, loudly and genuinely. “No. You know what I mean.”

Hyunjin laughs too. “Yes, I get paid to massage people then make them come. Though not as many people book for that as you might think. You’d think they’d at least be curious, but I think they assume it’s a terrible joke. Anyway, I know this was a lot to spring on you. It’s all right to change your mind and decline. That goes for anything that happens in here this morning.”

You think for another moment. Another question comes to mind. “What if I had a partner?” you ask. “You wouldn’t offer this in that case, would you?”

Hyunjin consults the screen on the wall again, scrolling with the tip of his finger. He points to something and replies, “Your appointment form says you’re single, unless your friend lied about that.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, that’s correct. I was just curious.”

“Everything that happens here is private and confidential,” Hyunjin says, sort of dodging your original question at first, but then he adds, “but no. I wouldn’t offer this service to people in relationships. Unless they’ve lied on their appointment form, of course.”

“Huh. Well I guess that’s on them and not you then.”

Hyunjin gives a tight smile. “What other questions or concerns do you have?” he asks. He sounds patient and genuinely curious. You get the impression he is good at this. At his job.

“What if I was on my period?” you ask.

“We have tampons. Or if you wanted to put your underwear back on and wear a pad, we’d have to get you cleaned of all the oil first. I would also lay an extra towel beneath you.”

“So… you’d still do it?”

Hyunjin flashes an easier smile. “I would use gloves for sanitary purposes, but yes, I would. Are you on your period? Do I need to step out again or get you anything? Or would you prefer to reschedule?”

“No, no. I’m not. Just curious again.”

“These are good questions.” Again, he sounds genuine and kind.

Are you really willing to let this beautiful stranger give you an orgasm though? It wouldn’t be the first time, but this isn’t exactly a dating app hookup or picking someone up at the bar.

Still, if this is what his job entails and it is a totally normal occurrence for him, why not go along with it? What would it hurt?

You shake your head again. “I can’t think of anything else,” you say slowly. “And I… I’ll go with everything that was booked.”

“You sure? No hard feelings if you want to omit some things or reschedule or completely cancel. I promise.”

You swallow and nod. “I’m sure.”

Hyunjin flashes a brighter smile, bringing back the dimple in his cheek. You entertain the idea that he might actually be relieved by your answer, but surely that is not the case. This is work to him, and this is still a customer service type of job.

“All right. So, would you like me to dim the lights and light some candles?” he asks, easily picking up right where he left off.

“Sure. That would be nice.”

He does so quickly, lighting and placing the candles in various places around the room before dimming the overhead lights. You can still see him well enough to watch him move back to the counter and wash his hands at the sink. The faint light catches on the jewelry in his ears. After he dries his hands, he starts examining the bottles. He does not look at you when he speaks again.

“So, you’re booked for a full body massage. No pun intended,” he says, making you laugh. “But are there any specific areas you want me to focus on? And yes, you’re allowed to say something like your breasts or your glutes or your pelvis.”

Heat rises in your face. “No. Nowhere in particular,” you answer.

Hyunjin nods to himself and lifts a couple bottles. “Your form said no known allergies to any oils or lotions or skincare products in general. Is that correct?”

You sigh. “Yeah, that’s correct. Minho might be a prick but he knows me well.”

Hyunjin laughs again. You like that sound.

“All right, what about scent preferences? Dislikes?”

“Uh… what do you recommend? What’s your favorite?”

He looks at you. “Oh. Well, I like green tea and eucalyptus the most. Lavender is nice too, if you want to relax to the point of falling asleep, which a lot of people do. We also have rose oil, coconut, ginger, frankincense…”

“The green tea one sounds nice,” you decide.

“Good choice.”

Hyunjin sets both the bottles in his hands down and lifts another. He opens it and pours a healthy amount into his palm.

“These are all safe for even the most intimate areas,” he says, rubbing his hands together to warm and spread the oil, “but let me know if you feel any burning or unpleasantness at any time, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

He touches your arm that is closest to him. You automatically lift it because you think that will make his work easier, but he gently pushes it back down and says, “Just relax, please. No need to lift a finger. I’ll do all the work.”

Something in the way he says that has heat rushing south between your legs. How are you supposed to relax when you know what is waiting for you at the end? Maybe it would help if you didn’t stare at the handsome man touching your body the entire time, so you turn your face to fit it into the cutout in the table and mumble an apology to the floor.

“Don’t be sorry,” Hyunjin says, gliding a firm hand up your arm, coating it in the fragrant, pleasantly tingly oil. He starts making conversation by asking, “So what made your friend book this appointment for you? Work stress? Just for fun?”

It would be easy to answer with one of those choices, but he has been so kind, so you feel compelled to tell him the truth.

“I went through a… sort of a nasty breakup a few months ago. I’m getting over it, but I was pretty down about it for a while.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry to bring it up.”

Hyunjin kneads downward from your bicep to your wrist, then slots his fingers between yours to hold your hand and roll your wrist in a gentle circle. Somehow, that gesture feels every bit as intimate as if he was already touching between your legs.

“You’re fine,” you say.

He lets go of your hand and goes back to your bicep, repeating his earlier motions until he reaches your hand again. He rubs at your fingers, either intentionally or unintentionally popping a few of your knuckles in the process.

“We don’t have to talk at all, by the way,” Hyunjin says. “You can tell me to be quiet.”

You smile at the floor. “No, I… I like conversation. Better than sitting here in silence, I think.”

“Well, your emotional and mental comfort are as important to me as your physical comfort,” he says. His hand moves to your upper back between your shoulders, skirting along the edge of the towel. “Is it all right if I pull the towel down a bit? Just to the middle of your back for now.”

“Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

He folds the towel back just as he said. The air is a little cool on your bare skin, but his warm hands are there to soothe that problem in no time. The oil feels pleasant as he smears it along your skin. The scent of green tea envelopes but does not overwhelm you. The song changes in the background to a different piano melody.

Hyunjin hums in thought as he prods your shoulders with his fingertips. “You have quite a bit of tension up here,” he says. “Do you sit at a desk all day for work?”

You nod against the table. “Yeah, actually. And I’ve been told my posture isn’t great.”

He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to lecture you or anything, I swear. I was just curious myself.”

A couple quiet minutes go by as he works the knots in your shoulders. You’re the one to speak up and carry on the conversation this time.

“So how did you get into this job?”

“Oh, a friend of a friend thought I’d be good at it. It sounded fun. I thought it would just be a temporary thing but then I was actually going to school for it, and then I was doing hundreds of hours of training and getting my whole license, so I guess this is my career now. I like it though. It’s interesting, you know. Unconventional. Can’t imagine doing something like sitting at a desk all day.”

You both laugh again. You did not realize your legs were tense, but you feel them relax as you sink just a little deeper into the cushioned table.

“I feel like it could make relationships awkward though,” you say, then immediately wish you hadn’t. That was probably too personal.

Hyunjin hums but does not pause his work for a second. He pushes his thumbs up and down along the upper part of your spine and says, “I went through a rough breakup a while ago myself because of my career. I told her it was just work and there are other jobs out there that involve touching people’s genitals, but that was a mistake. I mean, I know it’s not the same. There’s definitely a difference between what I do and what a cerologist does. I get that.”

“A cerologist?”

“Sorry. A wax specialist.”

“Ah. Right.”

He sighs heavily. “Anyway, I’ve been hesitant to get seriously involved with anyone since then.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you say, shifting your weight a little. “It is just a job though.”

“Easy for someone who’s not my girlfriend to say,” Hyunjin jokes. The laughter in the room is more awkward this time. “Sorry,” he says after. “That was weird. I’m sorry.”

It takes more strength than it should, but you turn your face to look at him. He meets your eyes. The candlelight behind him gives his form a glowing outline. Coupled with his white clothing and golden hair, he looks positively radiant.

“It’s all right,” you say. “For whatever it’s worth, I think you’re really good at your job, Hyunjin.”

There are dimples in both his cheeks when he smiles this time. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

You shrug. “It’s true.”

He holds eye contact with you for a few seconds longer before looking away. He inhales deeply and clears his throat. “Is it all right if I lower the towel again? Down to your lower back this time?”

“Trying to see my tattoo?” you tease.

He lets out that warm laugh. “If you have a tattoo anywhere on your body, I’ll probably see it, don’t worry. May I, though?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

He folds the towel further and sees nothing but naked skin. He laughs under his breath and turns back to the counter to pour more oil into his hands. It squelches when he rubs his hands together.

You wonder how much time has gone by already. He still has your lower back, your legs, then your entire front to do, you assume. And that’s before you even get to the grand finale.

When his hands smooth their way across the small of your back, your thoughts dissipate. Your breathing slows after a while, until a particularly good press of his fingers on your lower spine elicits a moan from you.

“Sorry, I—” you start, then promptly shut your mouth. You should not have acknowledged the sound at all. That made it a hundred times weirder.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Hyunjin says again. “That’s a good thing. It lets me know it feels good, which is important, obviously. And the walls are soundproof, so don’t worry about that.”

You let out a tiny breath of laughter. “It feels really good,” you say honestly.

“The pressure is okay then?”

“You could go a little, uh, harder, actually.”

“No problem.”

He starts using the heels of his palms to rub outward from your spine to your sides, all the way from your lower back up to your shoulder blades. The oil is very slick, but his hands never slip or fumble in their movements. He does this over and over, moving up and down from the center outward. Another quiet moan comes straight from your throat.

“That’s it,” Hyunjin whispers. His voice is so soft you’re not even sure if he meant for you to hear that or not. A crazy part of you wonders if he ever gets hard during these sessions, but you’re definitely not saying that out loud.

After a while of Hyunjin maintaining a steady rhythm, you start to feel boneless, especially when he steps around the table to give your other side the same attention. He is probably running on auto-pilot mode by now, but your heart skips a few beats when he does the same hand-holding move on your other hand. If he notices the change in your breathing, he does not comment on it.

Eventually, Hyunjin says, “I’m going to move on to your legs now, if that’s all right.”

You hum in understanding. Your throat feels a little dry. Hyunjin carefully peels the towel off your legs and folds it upward. Only your butt remains covered at this point.

His touch feels softer when he lays his hands on the back of the thigh closest to him. For a second, it feels like his thumbs swipe back and forth with no real intention behind the movement, but then his hands glide all the way down to your ankles with the same pressure he was using on your back.

“Is the pressure still okay?” he asks.

“Y-Yeah.” You swallow through the scratchiness in your throat. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“Good.”

He squeezes down your leg repeatedly, as if he is trying to push all the tension downward and out through your foot. He keeps you in that boneless state, expertly working your muscles. After a while, you stop feeling embarrassed about your soft moans.

“Are your feet ticklish, or may I move on to those?” he asks. It feels like you have been floating, so it takes you a moment to register his words.

“I mean, they’ve never been especially ticklish?” you say. “Have at it.”

Hyunjin tickles his fingertips against the sole of your foot and laughs with you when you jerk it away. You turn your head to look at him. There is a mischievous glint in his eyes. Or maybe it’s the candlelight.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself,” he says. Could he possibly be flirting with you?

You swallow again and say, “You better watch it, mister.”

His eyes glimmer when he nods. “I’ll behave, I promise. Permission to continue the professional way?”

“Granted,” you say, giving him a smile before turning your face back into the cutout.

He takes your foot in a firmer touch so as not to tickle you again, even accidentally. For some reason, this part of the massage feels the best yet. His fingers really know the exact ways to release the tension in your body. You knew he was good at his job.

He steps around the table again and switches to your other leg and foot. It seems like he is focusing longer on your inner thigh this time around. Your toes curl at the thought of his fingers moving just a little higher. Of course he notices.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Relax.”

Hyunjin’s touch lingers on your skin after he finishes with your other foot.

“Would you like me to do your glutes before we move on to your front?” he asks. His voice is not only low but also deeper now.

“Sure,” you say, your voice hardly more than a breath.

It takes a second before the towel lifts from your butt. Hyunjin sets it down on the back of your calves, out of his way. It takes another second before you feel his touch. He starts with your hips rather than going straight for your butt cheeks. He kneads them gently. It takes all your willpower to stay relaxed.

His thumbs eventually inch their way onto your butt while the rest of his fingers remain splayed over your hips. He presses his thumbs firmly up and outward over your cheeks. Soon he goes from using only his thumbs to using his entire hands. He easily draws more moans from you this way.

What you don’t expect to do is curse under your breath. A tiny but still audible: “Fuck.”

Hyunjin exhales hard. On one upward stroke, you could swear he gropes your flesh more than presses it, and you find you don’t mind that at all. You were wrong — this part feels the best so far.

You would have been more than happy for him to continue this part for hours, but you are reminded of the limited timeframe when he stops his movements.

He lifts the towel off your legs, but one of his hands is still resting on the small of your back when he asks, “Ready to flip over for me?”

As if you aren’t putty in his hands to mold as he pleases.

You start to turn over but you are still floating and boneless and your arms give out. Luckily your fall is all of an inch and does not hurt at all, but you are embarrassed by the fumble nonetheless.

Hyunjin curls an arm behind your back and says, “Here, lean against me. I’ll turn you over.”

“Sorry,” you say as you do as he asks. He is stronger than you expected him to be. He eases your body back into the center of the table like it’s nothing. The towel settles over you again from your collarbone to your toes. You pull your arms out from under it.

Hyunjin keeps his eyes on yours when you settle on your back. “Don’t be,” he says once again. He smiles that beautiful, dimpled smile. His fingers trail down your arm. “Still feeling good?” he asks.

You nod silently.

“Good. May I massage your chest?”

Only when he asks do you become aware of your hard nipples standing against the soft towel.

“Yes,” you say.

His eyes drop to your covered breasts. He peels the towel down, folding it down to your belly button. Then he turns to grab the bottle of oil again. He only adds a little more this time. He purses his lips as he reaches for your chest.

He starts just below your breasts and moves upward, cupping them gently—briefly—before pushing up further. The tips of his thumbs barely graze your nipples, but it’s enough to send a pulse of desire between your legs.

You hiss and bite your lip. You might have gotten comfortable with your moans, but now he can see your every facial expression, so it feels embarrassing again.

His hands lift away from your body and his eyes flick to your face in concern. “Did that hurt?” he asks.

“No, uh. The opposite actually.”

“Oh. Phew.” His face relaxes. “Do tell me if it does hurt though. I know this area can be very… tender.”

You nod and take a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.

“That’s it,” Hyunjin says gently. “Breathe. Relax. Enjoy my touch.”

You close your eyes. You don’t think you want to risk eye contact with him while he is doing this.

His hands return to your chest. He gently pushes your breasts up, then smooths over your collarbone, again and again. This part feels the most like fondling so far, but as he said, this can be a tender area, so he can’t exactly be as firm as with your back or your legs.

You sigh when his fingers ghost across your nipples again, lips parting ever so slightly. Hyunjin makes a soft noise as well. You crack an eyelid to look at him. He is focused on your chest with his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed again in concentration. He looks so handsome you can’t help but blink your eyes open the rest of the way.

He smooths his face over and smiles when he notices you watching him.

“How am I doing?” he asks. “Still feeling good?”

“You’re really good at this,” you say. You sound somewhat breathless, which surprises you because you haven’t even done anything to get that way.

“Thank you. May I move the towel down a bit?”

“Sure.”

He tugs it down below your belly button, still leaving your legs and crotch covered.

“Is your stomach ticklish at all?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

He does not pull the same flirty stunt with your stomach as he did with your feet. He simply goes straight back to work, running his hands gently down your sides and across your stomach. It feels more like rubbing than pushing or pressing, probably because of all your organs just below.

His fingers frequently brush the edge of the towel when they move downward. Sometimes they dip right below the towel and skim just above your pelvis, briefly at first, then lingering for longer and longer.

Your heart kicks up when you realize what is next. Is it that time already?

Hyunjin notices the change in your breathing. You lock eyes with him again.

“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. His lips hardly move. His eyes are molten chocolate.

He stops dipping his fingertips beneath the towel. It surprises you how much you wish he would continue. You think you’ll go crazy if he doesn’t continue. You have to be honest with him.

“I want to,” you say.

You expect him to move the towel away—or ask to move it away, as he’s been doing—but he merely pushes beneath it again, this time with his whole hand. The hand not beneath the towel curls gently around your shoulder at first, then behind your neck, as if he needs to hold you steady.

“Is this all right?” Hyunjin asks. He has not broken eye contact with you.

You are not sure if he is asking about the hand holding your neck or the one teasing along your inner thigh, but you are enjoying both of them, so you nod and say, “Yes.”

“It will never be too late to change your mind and tell me to stop, okay?” he says. His hand rubs against the crease where your crotch meets your leg. He holds you there too.

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak clearly with words instead of moans.

“Try to relax,” he says. “Don’t undo all my hard work now.”

You giggle at his joke. He smiles down at you. His eyes still have not left yours.

“And tell me if the oil irritates you at all,” he reminds you.

With that, he cups your pussy whole. You both make a noise at the sensation. You can tell you were wet, even before the oil. He must feel it too, along with the heat of you radiating into his palm. You think you hear him swear under his breath, but he clears his throat immediately after and finally looks away from your face.

Hyunjin separates his fingers and drags them down each side of your slit, avoiding your clit and your hole. Your eyelashes flutter closed. Your legs twitch and one of your hands briefly balls into a fist on the table before you relax it again. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly through your mouth. Hyunjin lightly squeezes your neck.

“Very good,” he murmurs. His fingers slowly drag up the edges of your pussy, back down again. “Breathe. Relax. Let me do all the work.”

You lick your lips and keep your eyes closed, enjoying the steady rhythm he builds of gently rubbing you up and down, spreading the oil—and surely your own wetness—over your sensitive skin.

You nearly manage to relax again when the tip of his middle finger brushes the hood of your clit. Electricity forks throughout your entire body. Your eyelids scrunch tighter and your hips twitch against the table. Hyunjin does not say anything; he simply strums that fingertip over your clit every time his hand passes back and forth. His hand continues sweeping up and down a few more times before he rests it in place and uses that wicked fingertip to draw circles into your hardened clit.

“How’s the pressure?” he asks. His voice is low and deep again.

You let out a whimper before you can speak. “Good. S-So good, ah—”

“Should I go faster? Slower?”

“F-Faster, please.”

He does so immediately. Your hips buck an inch off the table at the rush of pleasure from the change of pace. Hyunjin chuckles under his breath, but again, he does not comment on your obvious lack of relaxation.

He does say your name, however, in that low, deep voice. “I want to make you feel so good,” he says.

You’re not sure if he says those words in that tone to all his clients, but you can’t follow that train of thought right now. A fresh wave of arousal takes you, shuddering through all the muscles he just massaged. The area beneath your backside feels wetter than before with the combination of oil and arousal beginning to pool there.

“Hyunjin,” you moan before you can stop yourself.

His breath catches in his throat. You look at him again and see his eyelids are heavy over his deep brown eyes. That glowing halo of candlelight is surrounding him again.

“Fuck,” he says, not loudly, but clearly this time. He bites his lip and skims his gaze down the length of your body before meeting your eyes again. “I swear I never say this to clients, but you are so fucking beautiful.”

You whimper again when his fingertip edges beneath the hood of your clit. When he shifts his weight, you notice the considerable tent in the front of his thin pants. You moan just from the sight of it. He notices that you have noticed his problem, but he does not remove either of his hands from your body to deal with it. Again, you wonder if this always happens, even if he does not call every client beautiful.

“Can I take the towel off you? Please?” he asks in a pleading tone.

You pull it off yourself and let it drop to the floor. Hyunjin immediately looks between your legs at your naked pussy in his hand and lets out a groan from so deep in his throat that you swear you have a tiny orgasm with the next flick of his finger.

He looks back to your face. His sharp cheeks are noticeably flushed. His sharp jawline flexes beneath his flawless skin.

“Tell me if I’m out of line,” he whispers.

You bend your knees and spread them apart, a clear invitation for him to keep going. He gets the message.

“Fuck, I’m going to make you come so hard,” he says. He adds his ring finger to the circles he is drawing on your sticky clit. It feels incredible, but you still feel horribly empty inside.

“Want your fingers in me, please,” you boldly murmur.

“Yeah? You want them inside you, beautiful?”

“Well, not just your fingers.”

You meant to keep that to yourself—you really did—but you must have said it out loud because Hyunjin sucks a breath through his teeth and stops drawing those maddening circles. His cock visibly bounces in his pants. You look up at his face. An almost pained expression crosses his sculpted features.

“I… can’t, I… I never…”

“Sorry,” you say, mortified, “forget I said that. I’m so sorry.”

“I want to,” Hyunjin says, quickly and earnestly. “Trust me, I really fucking want to. I just—my license… I can’t…”

You nod over and over. “I totally get it, I’m sorry. Please ignore me.”

The pained expression does not leave Hyunjin’s face. He bites his plump bottom lip again. His eyes drop in a straight line from your eyes to your mouth to your chest to your pussy and back up again. He dips his middle finger into your pussy, only up to his first knuckle. You automatically clench around it, trying to pull it deeper. It works. He slides his finger the rest of the way inside and curls it, drawing another moan from you. He adds his index finger and curls them both, then scissors them like he wants to work you open.

He breathes hard. He gives the back of your neck another tender squeeze then mutters, “Fuck it,” and moves that hand to the strings on the front of his pants to untie them.

Your heart races. You gasp when he pulls his dick out in front of you. The tip is rosy and thick. The wetness gathered at the slit looks delicious; your immediate thought is how badly you want to lick it up.

“This has to stay between us,” Hyunjin whispers, frantically tugging his pants down to his knees with one hand. His erection stands stiff in the open air.

“I know,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I swear.”

“Come here. Please…”

Hyunjin takes your hands and helps you scoot to the edge of the table in front of him. He stands between your legs and takes the back of your neck again, forehead propped against yours. You breathe hard and stare into his eyes until you notice movement below. You watch him take his cock in hand and guide the head right to your pussy. When he pushes inside, you both gasp over the tight, wet, smooth entry. He shoves his hips forward, easily bottoming out in one stroke.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders. Hyunjin stares at your face and tries to breathe calmly through his nose, but you are not making it easy for him with the way your warm pussy is repeatedly clenching around his throbbing dick.

“Tell me when I can—”

“Please.”

He starts rolling his hips into you. Gently at first, then with more desperation. Your head rocks back and you moan toward the ceiling at the rise of pleasure. He keeps his grip behind your neck, not letting you fall backward. His other hand has a firm hold of your ass cheek, keeping you steady against his frantic thrusts. His dick rubs against almost every sensitive part of you. You shift your hips a little; it’s enough to angle his tip into that perfect spot.

“Oh fuck, right there, right there,” you pant, bringing your head around to press it back to his forehead and look into his eyes again.

Hyunjin moans and holds you tighter, pounding that spot again and again and again.

You notice him staring at your lips, so you tilt your face and lean in. He meets you in a kiss far more gentle than expected for the way the table is creaking beneath you. He ends it too quickly for your liking, studies your face for a second, then he kisses you again, much deeper this time. As soon as you feel his tongue prod against your lips, you part them and let it swarm into your mouth. His tongue tastes of mint and sugar and he moans so prettily into your mouth. He’s perfect.

You voice your pleasure into the tender kisses. “Yes, yes, fuck, Hyunjin, yes—”

Hyunjin pulls away from the kisses with a low groan. He nearly pulls out of your pussy too, to your great dismay. His hips come to a shaky stop with just the tip of his cock left inside you.

“Sorry, I just need a minute,” he says, breathless and smiling sheepishly. “You’re so tight and you sound so hot and it’s… it’s been a while for me.”

“Take your time,” you say. You’re not sure how much time is left in your session, but you won’t complain if he wants to prolong something he shouldn’t be doing in the first place, and you certainly don’t mind being told how tight and hot you are.

Hyunjin’s fingers massage the back of your neck. He pulls you into another tender kiss. You clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his smooth skin, and feel his cockhead twitch inside you. He begins moving his hips again, but he only fucks you with his fat tip now. You whine and whimper because it isn’t enough.

“What about my ‘happy ending’?” you tease, pouting against his lips.

Hyunjin laughs and kisses you again, tongue briefly curling against yours, before answering, “I know, don’t worry. I’m still going to make you come so hard, especially now that it’ll be on my dick.”

He says that but he has the audacity to pull all the way out of you. Before you can protest, he takes your hands again.

“Here,” he says, tugging your hands. “Let’s turn you around.”

You slide off the table. He holds your waist in a strong arm to keep your oily feet from slipping on the floor.

Hyunjin turns you around and bends you over the massage table. He whips off his shirt and follows you, draping his warm body over yours. His wet cock throbs against your ass cheek.

“Is this all right?”

“It’s good, Hyunjin, please…”

He takes your hip in one hand and puts himself back inside you with the other. You moan at the stretch, the friction, the raw pleasure.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. Once he is secure enough inside you, he lets go of himself and runs that hand up the length of your spine. “I want to hear all your moans, pretty girl. Let me know how good it feels.”

When he bottoms out this time, he does not give you a moment to adjust; he builds up a relentless pace right away. It takes him a second to find the right angle in this position, but he eventually hits that spot inside you again that has you seeing stars. He hits it over and over, keeping you right there on the end of his pounding cock.

“Fuck—yes—Hyunjin, yes!”

“That’s it, baby, fuck, just like that. You’re so fucking hot, oh my god.”

The hand that is not holding you steady at the hip is making its way all over your body, the body he has had his hands on all morning. He holds the back of your neck again for a while, holding you down to take everything he gives you. He wraps it around your front, pawing back and forth between your heaving breasts, giving each of your nipples a few good pinches. He trails it down your stomach to stuff it between your legs where he finds your clit again. He pinches it the way he pinched your nipples, just to hear you squeal. Then he resumes drawing the circles that started this all.

Hyunjin gets you to come in only a few minutes with his talented fingers. He is like a man possessed, a man with something to prove with how quickly he unravels you.

“Hyunjin, fuck, I’m coming, I’m—” you gasp, though he surely feels it for himself.

He groans and folds himself over you, face pressed to your back, writhing and bucking with you through your orgasm. His hips do not stop bouncing against your backside. He keeps grinding his cock deep inside you, slamming his heavy balls against you. His fingers do not stop playing with your sensitive clit.

He eases the pressure of those fingers once the force of your orgasm wanes, but he never stops completely. His cock throbs hard between your silky, sensitive walls, but he manages to withhold his own orgasm.

“There we go—mmm, fuck—yeah, that’s it,” he says, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your slick, sweaty skin. “So fucking good. That’s just the first one, baby.”

You push yourself up onto your palms against the table, elbows wobbling just like your knees in the aftershocks of your intense climax. Hyunjin moves with you, leaning back to stand straight. He moves a hand against your collarbone to pull you into his chest. You turn your head. He is already there, ready to meet you in a kiss that leaves you even dizzier.

He already alluded to more, but now he asks, “Can you do another one for me, or are you satisfied?”

“You didn’t come yet, did you?” you ask in return.

He exhales a breath of laughter. “No. If you come again, I will. I won’t be able to hold out twice. But that’s not what I asked, pretty girl.”

“Then I’m not satisfied yet,” you say, grinning and kissing his smooth, pink cheek.

Hyunjin chuckles. “All right. Let me turn you back around then. I want to see your face when you come around me this time.”

He has to pull out again to sit you back on the table, which is tragic, but the sight of his veiny cock glistening in a layer of your juices is worth it. You reach for it, letting the weight of it simply rest in your palm for a second before taking proper hold of it in a loose fist. Hyunjin groans and wraps his hand around yours, guiding it up and down his length. The skin is smooth and velvety soft but stretched tight over his solid length and girth.

You only give him half a dozen guided strokes before he pries your hand away.

“I bet you’re pretty good with your hands too, huh baby,” he says, caging you in his arms by planting his hands beside you on the table. “I wish we had more time for you to demonstrate.”

You nearly forgot about the time constraint. You nod and spread your legs. Hyunjin grabs you under one of your knees to help hold you open and also tug you closer to him. He takes his cock and smacks the tip against your clit a few times, still taking the time to rile you up just a little more before sinking back inside you.

“God, this pussy,” he grunts. The grip he has under your knee tightens. His other hand returns to your ass, practically yanking you the rest of the way onto his cock. “It wraps around me perfectly.”

He fucks you again, deep and hard. The table starts creaking again. You hold each other close as he works you both to your highs. He has his face in your neck, kissing and licking and nibbling at your skin. You try to do the same, but all his neck receives in return is a babble of breathless nonsense drawn from your lips with every firm thrust.

His fingers slip their way between your legs again, feeling where his cock is moving in and out of your pussy. His thumb presses against your swollen clit and you lose a bit of your mind. He pulls his face out of your neck to look at you again.

“You first, baby, fuck,” Hyunjin pants. His sweet breath tickles your face. “Please come for me again. Let me feel it again. Let me see it this time, hm? Let me hear how good it feels to come all—over—my fucking—dick.”

“Oh fuck, Hyunjin, don’t stop, don’t stop, please,” you say, moaning it over and over again until your orgasm takes you. You go rigid and then boneless in a different way, trembling through the waves of your second climax.

Hyunjin groans triumphantly and watches it all. “That’s it, that’s it. Fuck yes, that’s so good, baby, oh, yes—”

He fucks you through your orgasm as long as he can but his own quickly catches up to him. He pulls out at the last second and frantically jerks his cock. His cum shoots out in long streaks, landing all over the place — your stomach, your thighs, the table, the floor. Part of your lust-addled brain hoped he would lose himself completely and come inside you, but the sensible part of you is relieved he didn’t.

He squeezes the last few drops out of his tip and lets go of his cock. It hangs heavy between his legs, flushed and spent. Your pussy is in a similar state; aching in the best way, swollen and throbbing after a thorough fucking. You think you can feel your heartbeat in it.

Hyunjin is as out of breath as you are but he reaches for you and claims your lips in another kiss. When he pulls away, you become aware of just how oily and sticky and sweaty you both are.

“Holy fuck,” you giggle, making him giggle too.

“Yeah. ‘Holy fuck’ is right.”

He clears the rasp in his throat but does not say anything else for a little while. He rests his forehead against yours while you both float back down to earth, waiting for your breathing to settle and your heartbeats to calm. One of his thumbs traces mindless circles into your hip. You absently massage the prickly hairs at the nape of his neck.

Finally, Hyunjin takes a deep breath and straightens. He fixes his pants and pulls his shirt back on. You watch him walk to the other side of the table and pick the towel off the floor. He helps get you cleaned up as best he can. You know you will still walk out of here smelling like green tea and sweat and maybe even his cum, which you help wipe off the floor. He tells you not to fuss over the cum stain on the sheet since he will have to strip it and sanitize the table anyway.

The feeling of his skin on yours lingers even after you have both been wiped and patted and dried off. Hyunjin gently takes your hands and meets your eyes again.

“I hope I—um—” he starts, then swallows and tries again. “I swear I don’t do that with clients. Ever.”

“I believe you,” you say. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

“I hope I didn’t mess anything up,” he goes on, “because it kind of felt like there was something between us, even before the sex. Unless I’m mistaken?”

Your heart flutters. “No, I… I agree,” you say, the hint of a smile tugging your lips. “Maybe I’ll make an appointment myself next time.”

Hyunjin laughs. “Well I was hoping I could give you my personal number. Maybe take you out on a date sometime. Then you’d never have to make an appointment again.”

“Oh! Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“You’ll have to thank your friend for me for booking you this appointment though,” he jokes.

You burst out laughing because you forgot Minho is the reason you are here in the first place.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to thank him earlier,” you say, making Hyunjin laugh again, “but yeah, I guess I will now.”

You smile at him. Hyunjin cups your face in his hands for another kiss before he lets you get dressed, puts his number in your phone, then walks you back to the waiting room. He bids you goodbye with a gleam in his eye that makes your heart flutter once again.

You hope this is the start of something happy and new.

---

#hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #happy ending new beginning #lxveuntold

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runa-falls · 10 months ago

Text

what a mess~

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader cw: smut, established relationship, superhuman stamina, overstimulation, cum EVERYWHERE, 'use a condom, it's too messy X(', 'bitch stfu i'll show you messy'..., so many sheets, reader is a pushover (bc I WOULD BE TOO) wc: 1k + a/n: i um... just take this and I'll go to a corner of a room and think ab what I've done.

---

Having a superhero boyfriend is great – he gets you discounts at your favorite restaurant, he easily carries you home after a long night out at the bar, he saves you from getting kidnapped by his arch-nemesis for the fourth time this month (though isn’t that his fault in the first place?....) – but there are aspects of the relationship that you didn’t consider before.

Apparently, with great power comes great… stamina.

To put it plainly, Miguel’s (sex) drive is unheard of. You better clear out your schedule for the whole day because he can go for hours. And most nights, you can barely sit up after he fucks you.

You like that – or you did when you could afford to be sore every other day. You like how enthusiastic he is – how much he wants you. It makes you feel desired and beautiful. But it’s not just the intense workout you risk every time you steal a kiss that turns into more – it’s the number of times he can…finish.

Every time you think he’s finished, he’s still hard and thrusting into you, overstimulating you until black stars start to fill your vision.

It’s a mess in the end.

You lay on top of him, filled to the brim, dripping all over his lower stomach and onto the sheets under you, breathing so hard you’re sure you’d rupture a lung. You feel like you’re barely conscious on the bed as your heart beats harshly against your chest from how hard you came. Hair sticks graciously against your forehead as your eyes struggle to stay open to see Miguel, who gently pulls out and watches his mess spill out of you.

He whispers sweetly of how well you took him, how pretty you look all fucked out, how much he loves that he can turn you into a blabbering – mindless whore. Being the possessive man he is, he attempts to shove it back in, using two of his thick fingers to gather and push his essence back into you, hoping that, against all odds, it’ll take, despite the fact you take your birth control religiously.

Of course, when he sees how your thighs shake and squeeze around his hand from the overstimulation of him fucking his fingers into you after you just came, he immediately gets hard again.

He gazes down at you with apologetic red eyes as he bites his lip under a sharp fang, “I can’t help it when I see how wrecked your pussy is for me…”

It’s nice – it’s hot – but you end up having to change the sheets 5 times a week. He’s insatiable… well ok, you’re just as thirsty as your boyfriend, but the amount of maintenance you need for each session is ridiculous. You basically gave up washing your sheets after every fuck, and instead ordered several identical sets of bedding to make the process easier.

Many sheets have been destroyed beyond recognition. Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but the amount of cum-stained sheets in your linen closet is insane. How are you supposed to hide this if you were to have guests over?!

After staring at the layers of folded-up and stained sheets that you’ve accumulated over the past few months, you decided you were going to do something about it.

You can still have fun without the mess.

…right?

—

Miguel has you on your back at the end of the bed with your legs resting on the crook of his arms. You have on a cute little nightgown – white to symbolize purity (though what you were about to do was far from pure) – with nothing underneath. It was one you bought just to get a reaction out of him – and now you got it.

He holds you open for him, regarding you like he would a special gift – though there’s nothing to really celebrate (unless you count his raging erection). He breathes harshly against your neck as he paints your skin with kisses and nips. You’re nearly folded in half with how closely he’s pushed against you, but you can barely recognize the mere tinge of soreness in your legs with how fluidly pleasure seems to travel from his lips down to the apex of your thighs.

Miguel O’Hara, the strong, independent Spider-Man, is truly a mess in front of you. His once neatly ironed tie now hangs loosely around his neck, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, and his hair a tangle of unruly curls. His fingers, now caressing your body, are already dripping in your slick from when he forced a couple of orgasms out of you right when he got home.

You find a sense of satisfaction in the disheveled state of his appearance, relishing how his once meticulously groomed demeanor has been disrupted – how his eyes transition from their usual chocolatey brown to a striking blood red, how his lips swell sweetly with lust.

Miguel groans deeply as he grinds his clothed hardness against your wet center, “Mm…I want you so bad.” He unbuttons and unzips his pants, sighing as he releases himself from the tight fabric. No underwear?

“Wait, Mig." he pauses his movements, waiting patiently – prepared to do whatever you want. “Get a condom.” …Except maybe…that.

“Condom?” He could barely hold back his sneer, but you could faintly hear the growl vibrate from his chest.

“Mhm, we’ve been too messy lately. We can’t just keep buying new sheets every week!”

“...We could…”

“Miguel!”

“I don’t see what the problem is… this is just how it is.”

“But it’s too messy.”

“I thought my baby likes to be filled up…”

“...I-I mean, I do sometimes, but –”

“Don’t you like it when I get you all messy?” He leans in close, distracting you from denying him. “Have you dripping with me for days?” He presses closer, and you can feel his hard cock slip against your wetness, dragging against your sensitive clit.

“Miguel.” You whine.

It’s so hard to deny this man.

“How about we just try to be more careful, hm?” He presses against you gently, nearly entering you, but not quite. It feels so good, the tip of him barely stretching past your entrance.

“Okay…j-just this once though…” You surrender with a whisper.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut

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miupow · 3 months ago

Note

beeeestie i am a new follower aaaand im just in love w ur blog 😩❤️

plllllsssss talk about husband!skz, i just cant go to sleep without this on mind 😫😫😫

you can include nsfw if you are comfortable with

˗ˏˋ ★ ― HUSBAND!STRAY KIDS HEADCANONS .ᐟ

╰┈⪼ ot8 x fem!reader ✦ fluff + smut , NSFW minors do not interact !

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 。。。public sex , unprotected sex , creampies , breeding kink , marking , public sex , spanking , bondage , dom/sub dynamics , brat tamer minho , sex toys , shibari , oral (f. rec) , squirting , voice kink , oral (m. rec) mention , orgasm control , pet play sort of

notes from lia。ouuu husbant. my favorite genre of skz.. hehe thank u for the follow!! i hope u enjoy this.. it makes me so happy to hear that u love my blog ^^

SFW :

husband!bangchan who acts like he's your sugar daddy on top of being your husband. you could ask for the entire nation of korea and he'd try his best to give it to you. anything you want and more, it doesn't matter the price; chan just loves spoiling his baby girl. designer bags and jewelry, pretty clothes and expensive dinners... you don't even have to ask.

husband!minho who loves to cook with you, even though he acts like he doesn't. when he's complaining about you being in his way and making snide remarks about your culinary skills, it's out of endearment instead of actual irritation. he just finds it so funny when you throw your own retorts back at him, pouting in that way he adores so much <3 he just loves riling you up

husband!changbin who loves to work out with you! he sees it as a bonding activity, something for the two of you to do together to spend time with eachother. he helps you with all of your stretches, you spot eachother when you need to, exchanging kisses inbetween sets <3 holding his feet while he does sit ups, kissing u every time he comes up hehe

husband!hyunjin who views you as his greatest muse. his favorite subject to draw or paint is your pretty face, your smile his favorite to photograph. he shows you some of it, but most he keeps for himself-- for his eyes only, to admire when he's away on tour and he misses you.

husband!jisung who has an endless amount of inside jokes with you from all of your years together, showing up in gag gifts and one-liners that make you double over in laughter. ji loves to make you laugh, it’s his favorite sound in the entire world <3 he’s always doing something silly in hopes that you’ll give him a pretty giggle, smile and roll your eyes, make his heart skip a beat in his chest ~

husband!felix who treats you like a princess, maybe even a queen— he all but worships the ground you walk on, forever gushing about how beautiful and amazing his wife is <3 the honeymoon phase never ends with him, you’re still as disgustingly in love with each other as you were when you first started dating. he calls you all sorts of sappy pet names, giving you kisses everywhere he can reach, always needing to be touching you even if it’s just holding your hand

husband!seungmin who still acts like a tsundere even when you’ve been married for years lol. he complains about you being lazy but he’ll never let you lift a finger, he groans about you being needy when he’s the one always reaching for you and demanding ur attention >< you love him just the way he is, and he loves you more than he’ll ever care to admit. it’s so obvious that he adores you cos he’s always looking at you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, eyes lit up like you hung the stars yourself <3

husband!jeongin who wants to spend absolutely every moment he can by your side, and he hates being away from you for any reason. a perfect day for him would be glued to your hip, from when you wake up to when you go to sleep, his favorite person and his partner in crime, his ride or die… he’d take you with him on tour if he could, but he’ll settle for being on facetime 24/7 while he’s away lol

NSFW :

husband!bangchan who can't wait to start a family <3 he figures that now you're married, it's only natural to start trying for a baby... fucks you hard and fills you up every night, fully intent on getting your belly all swollen with his babies… so much cum it’s spilling out of your hole down your hickey-marked thighs, chan pushing it back inside with his thick fingers talking about making sure it takes…

husband!minho who will put you back in your place when you’re being bratty. he will not tolerate his wife having an attitude with him!! he’ll put you over his lap and make you count in an instant, or tie you up and torture you with your favorite vibrator for hours, and he won’t stop until you’re crying and begging for his forgiveness <3 he doesn’t care if you’re out in public or out with friends, he’s whispering threats in your ear, and if you still don’t stop he’ll grab you by the wrist and drag you back home.

husband!changbin who can't help but find your workout wear incredibly sexy, the way your leggings hug your ass and curves, the way ur sports bra pushes up ur tits.. and he knows you find him sexy too, in his tank top and gym shorts, sweaty muscles all out on display.... he's drooling over you while you're drooling over him, and you can both only take so much... its not uncommon for the two of you to end up fucking in the gym showers or in the locker rooms, sometimes even getting touchy in the weight room if it's empty!! changbin slapping and gripping on your ass cos he can't stop himself from touching anymore, and you grind back onto his crotch to feel his erection... his fat dick splitting you open in the showers, his thick buff arms holding you up against the cold shower wall with your legs apart..

husband!hyunjin who loves to tie you up, more than any of the other boys. it’s like an art form to him and he takes it very seriously, buying expensive rope in pretty colors, taking immaculate care of it.. he loves to take pictures of his work, the intricate knots that bind you in place or suspend you from the ceiling— you look so beautiful like that to him, his perfect tied up angel for him to admire and destroy <3

husband!jisung who is an absolute pussy fiend… he could spend all day with his face buried between your legs, talented tongue making you cum over and over again until you squirt hehe <3 he’s not satisfied until his entire face is drenched with ur arousal, dripping slick from his nose and chin, and then he wants to fuck you until you can’t walk ! and you better believe he’s going in raw, because why would he wear a condom when his ring is on your finger? you better be careful, because jisung wants to fuck every day and every night… you wouldn’t mind if you got pregnant, would you? because he definitely wouldn’t

husband!felix who thinks it’s so cute that you find his voice so hot. all he has to do is whisper some dirty words in your ear and you’re blushing and squirming like a virgin… he just can’t help but do it all of the time. deep aussie accent mumbling about how he’s going to ruin your pussy when you get home, or about how hard and needy he is for you to take care of him <3 his hand on your thigh dangerously close to where you need him most… he loves to rile you up until you can’t take any more, till you snap <3

husband!seungmin who loves his wife submissive and needy <3 he won’t let you touch yourself without his permission, just because he loves to listen to you beg, so desperate and dependent on him … he’s trained you to be a perfect pup for him, down to the collar he likes to have you wear. you’d do anything to hear him say “good girl”, wouldn’t you?

husband!jeongin who loves to fuck in public !! getting head in the park, balls deep in your pussy in a bathroom stall, fucking under a blanket in the dorm living room, loud movie covering up your sounds. the riskiness of it gets him so hot, the idea of getting caught slutting you out in a dressing room, closet, break room… maybe it’s because he’s so possessive, that nasty freaky part of him relishing the idea of showing off to others how you belong to him… and he loves watching you stumble around with cum dripping down your legs from under your skirt, disheveled and redfaced desperate to hide what you and your husband were just up to…

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ikeuverse · 2 months ago

Text

safety point | pjs

pairing: jay x fem!reader genres: angst, fluff, smut wc: 18.6k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : some swearing, several mentions of cancer and chemotherapy. some mentions of food. kissing, dry humping, jongseong being extremely chivalrous and cliché. lmk if i missed anything.

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : you stopped your whole life to live for your mother and her cancer treatment. you wanted to do everything alone, without burdening anyone, of course… you could do it! but the unexpected happens when jongseong enters your life, sharing this task with you effortlessly and without asking for anything in return.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : it's my birthday, but i want to give a gift to those of you who always read my work. initially this idea was much bigger than what i wrote now, it would probably have to become a fic of almost 3 parts… however i tried to reduce it as much as possible because i really wanted to post it. it's an old plot that i thought about with affection and that i took inspiration from a book i read. hope you like it!

꒰ 𝅄 masterlist ꒱

“Don't you think you need to go out for a while?” your mother's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, making your eyes disconnect from the book you were reading and look at her slowly.

“But I've been out this week, mom” you mumbled, a small smile adorning your lips before returning to your reading.

Both you and your mother knew that a trip to the supermarket wasn't such a big outing, but she also knew that your concern and instinct wouldn't make you do more than that.

It was a forbidden conversation after your mother's diagnosis. You quit your job to live with her in the childhood home you lived in with your family since your younger sister had her own family now. Nothing would be lost for you without teaching the classes you loved so much. Just that.

It would bring you closer to your mother, to palliative care and everything she needed. But there would also be a hobby for you to read more books while she slept, knit some scarves that your grandmother had taught you, then passed on to your mother, and now she had taught you. And your great passion for painting.

Your mother had been against the idea from the start, with you dropping everything to move back in with her, always trivializing the state. However, you and your sister had seen the worst of her before the diagnosis was discovered. She was sure she'd raised two strong, independent women, and you, with your strong, rigid personality, wouldn't give a toss when you turned up with all your suitcases on her doorstep.

You had no reason to think otherwise; after all, she was your mother. You'd do anything for her, and you knew your sister would, too, if she hadn't just given birth to a beautiful baby boy.

That delicate moment had upset your family a little, especially since you all lived together and your mother decided to return to the old house where you and your sister grew up. Everything was so old, vintage, and nostalgic. There were still marks on the hallway doorpost where you and she marked the heights over time. Or the big stain on the carpet where you and she had spilled grape juice and ended up staining it a bit.

There, nothing had been changed to maintain the essence of when you two were little, even more so with the arrival of your nephew. You and your sister wanted to show him where you both grew up, how the tree house your grandfather made was still spotless, the wood looking like new. A good clean inside and you knew it might be habitable to take the little one there when he came to visit you.

“I mean really leave, Y/n” your mother sighed, bringing you out of your thoughts again. You closed the book this time, looking at her intently. Her hair was starting to thin, not completely falling out, but there were signs of it. You tried to smile, although the image always cut you to the heart “When was the last time you accepted a friend's request to go for a walk?”

“We've been over this, miss Dorothy” you tried to play it cool, knowing that the subject would always come up. Your ways of deflecting it always worked, but on that particular afternoon, your head was so immersed in the book you were reading that you didn't see it coming, you were just hit with countless questions.

“I'm going to die one day or another, and you won't have enjoyed anything” she seemed to be starting to get angry, you knew she was.

In those moments, your mother would say things that would cut your heart out, like a little – and unwanted – goodbye, ragging on you for not wanting to go out and stay at home with someone like her. That's what she used to say and you hated it. You hated the way she tried to trivialize it.

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the slight stinging in your eyes and the lump forming in your throat. This was a losing argument because you could never finish talking, leaving the place crying or hugging your mother and agreeing to leave next time.

“I—” you opened your mouth to say something, but your cell phone rang halfway through.

Your blurred vision gradually dispersed as you blinked hard to keep the tears at bay, lifting your body to the other side of the table to pick up the phone and answer it in a few rings.

“Hi, sis” your gaze was on your mother, who was analyzing the whole situation in a brief silence “We're fine. And the rest of you, how are things?”

As your sister told you about your nephew and her husband, and how things were going in the house, your mother got out of the chair in front of you on the balcony and entered the house. At that moment you let out a heavy breath.

“What's wrong? Tell me” she asked on the other end of the line. That simple question made you collapse in seconds. Although she was the youngest, your sister seemed to have the instincts of an older sister in every respect.

She was stronger in situations like this, more resilient, and much more rigid. Your sister could get around her mother when the heavy stuff started and she always helped you when you got into trouble at school. It couldn't be any different now. If she had been in your place, she would surely have made your mother stop talking about how she was going to die or that you were wasting your time with someone who was sick. Your sister would never allow that kind of thing.

“I have some good news to share” she was so excited and, at the same time, you could sense a hint of wavering in her voice. Your thoughts had already run wild about your nephew or something else that might have happened, but if that was the case, your sister wouldn't have spoken so excitedly like that. So you just sighed.

“Tell me they're not pregnant again” you joked, the first relaxed thing to come to mind after venting your frustrations for minutes on that phone call. Knowing that she would listen to you even if she didn't have time. Your sister was your haven after your mother and you felt grateful for that.

She laughed, making you laugh too as you frantically denied it.

“Not really, although Jake has already said he's expecting the second in a few years” you could imagine her rolling her eyes as she snorted. Maybe one hand on her waist while the other held her cell phone nonchalantly. You, on the other hand, were straightening your posture on the sun lounger and, from time to time, looking inside for your mother.

Noticing the comings and goings around the huge counter in the middle of the kitchen, now preparing something to eat. At least that's what she did on her own, since you didn't dare to cook, because you were so bad in front of the stove.

“But what I wanted to tell you is—” she paused for a few seconds, a mumble on the other end of the line and you knew that your nephew was waking up or awakening your sister's attention. She said a few words of comfort to him before returning to the subject: “Mackenzie and I are going to spend some time with you and mom.”

What? If you weren't sitting down, your legs would surely give way, because that wasn't supposed to happen. Your sister had only given birth to your nephew a few months before, so there was no way she could go there.

“Hazel, that's—”

“It's not crazy and I've already decided” she interrupted you, saving her little speech, “We'll talk about it later.”

“Hazel!” you called out again, wanting to understand the reason for the sudden idea.

You wanted your sister and nephew there, of course you did. Although they didn't live that far away, the commute took time and with a small child and a woman in palliative care, it was a bit more complicated.

She said goodbye briefly, knowing that no matter what she did, you would be against any of her arguments. So just letting you know that she was leaving was enough. Hazel still had the room from her childhood and it would be more than perfect to stay there for a while.

When the call ended, you were still trying to absorb it and think about what came next. Of course, you'd lecture your sister for hours, but you'd forget why you were angry soon after, after all, you and she never really got angry with each other. But what worried you was how your mother would react. If with you she was always more restricted, with your sister and nephew coming, she might be even more vulnerable.

But at least you'd have someone else to share the anguish with a little more closely. After, of course, cuddling your nephew and scolding Hazel a bit.

You went into the kitchen to get Jaeyun a glass of cold water, and a small silent thank you for taking your sister's and Mackenzie's bags upstairs.

His footsteps were right behind you, following you into the room.

“You're angry, aren't you?” he asked in a calm tone, entering the kitchen just after you. His eyes didn't look at you, but you knew the boy had those puppy-dog eyes your sister always talked about.

“Angry, me? Why would I be?” you tried to sound indifferent as you opened the fridge to get the jug of water, forgetting for a moment that, as well as your brother-in-law, Jaeyun was your best friend.

It was because of you that he started dating your sister. It was with your help that he asked her to marry him. Jaeyun knew you even before he met Hazel.

“Maybe because I know you as well as you think,” he let slip, humming softly after you turned to get a glass from the drainer. Jaeyun raised one eyebrow when you looked at him, the puppy-dog look having been abandoned for your best friend's shrewd gaze.

Pouring the water, you handed him the glass so he could drink. A moment of silence passed between the two of you as Jaeyun finished the contents, thanked you, and then handed it back to you.

“You know” he began, his hands still resting on the marble of the kitchen counter as he stared at you from across it, “it was my idea for the two of you to come here.”

“Yours? Why?”

He sighed softly, trying to ignore your exasperated tone and looking towards the kitchen door. At that moment, Hazel was talking to your mother in some corner of the house while asking her about her health and even trivial things. She must have been asking the same questions about the family, what it would be like with a baby in the house, and things like that. At least they were both too entertained to even think about going to the kitchen.

“Because I had to go back to helping out in the restaurant a few days ago, it's a mess there without her” Jaeyun began, his eyes now on you as he explained “The boys can manage, but you know, Hazel's the one who puts things in order” he smiled shyly.

You knew this because you had lived with your sister all your life, she was the one who made order happen in every respect. You also knew how organized she was in the workplace, even though you hadn't had a chance to visit the new address yet.

“And she was getting very lonely, so I thought I'd leave her here with you,” he kept looking at you, hoping that some glimmer of a smile or some praise for a good idea would come out of your mouth “Not to mention that the restaurant is a ten-minute drive away, so any of the guys and I can get here if you need anything.”

It was a good plan if you thought about it that way and wanted to give it a go. Jaeyun was right and you knew it, Hazel wouldn't be going back to work and what she liked to do any time soon, at least not until Mackenzie could go to nursery, and you knew that was a few months away. She must have felt lonely since Jaeyun, her only adult companion, had to go back to work.

From the glare on your best friend and brother-in-law's face, you knew he didn't want that. Not when his dream was to build a life alongside Hazel and now that his family was formed, being inside the restaurant was all he wanted at the moment. Not that he hated his job, on the contrary, Jaeyun loved what he did, but he loved his family even more.

“So you forgive me for going against your wishes and bringing the two of them here?” he asked after a while of rambling, knowing that his mind was running wild as countless assumptions ran through his head. How you would take care of Hazel and Mackenzie, how you would make Jaeyun less worried about his wife and son, and even about you and your mother. Because you knew that he worried as if he were her son. He called every night by video call to talk for hours with the two of you since you moved back in with your mother to take care of her.

“I swear to God, I hope Mackenzie doesn't bring out that puppy dog side of you, otherwise Hazel and I are going to be screwed” you muttered, looking away from him as you heard him laugh.

As with Hazel, getting angry with Jaeyun didn't last long. You and he had never had a serious fight since you met and became best friends. So it wouldn't be now, as an adult, that you and he would do that.

He knew how focused and determined you were to take care of your mother alone so as not to burden anyone, but you also knew how tiring it was and how much Jaeyun and your sister knew that. Little by little, they wanted to sneak in to help you and make you give in at least a little. Getting everyone to the house had been the first step that was working.

“There's just one condition, then” you muttered as you watched him cross the kitchen, stop beside you, and stretch out his arms towards you. You rolled your eyes at the small act of affection that was about to take place, but you still didn't deny it, moving closer to Jaeyun to hug him.

“You can ask me and I'll do anything, I hope I can” he said, hugging you as tightly as you hugged him, resting his chin on the top of your head as he slowly cradled your body.

“You can bring me a tasty meal from the restaurant at least once a week, can't you?”

Jaeyun laughed a little loudly, echoing throughout the kitchen as he felt you squeeze him even tighter, laughing along with him.

“I'll do that” he whispered.

“Look, did you two make up after all?” Hazel walked into the kitchen with her mother by her side, both of them smiling while the eldest held the baby in her arms, a little sleepy and grumpy. You and Jaeyun stepped aside and he smiled at his mother-in-law lovingly.

“Of course, Jake promised me meals from your restaurant” you hummed.

“I'm sure you'd ask for that” Hazel laughed, walking past Jaeyun and kissing him quickly on the lips. Then she walked past you, messing up your hair and going to the fridge.

This time with a full house, apart from you and your mother, could be good after all.

Having your sister and nephew at home wasn't so bad, not even Jaeyun's regular visits after work. Your best friend making a point of having dinner with everyone and still keeping his promise to bring some of the restaurant's meals for you and your mother to try.

“They're not the ones I make, but they're still wonderful” you knew Hazel would boast, and rightly so. She was an incredible cook and you were immensely proud of her.

Even more so in her strength and determination to balance Mackenzie's growth and development with hospital visits and appointments with her mother. Of course, she wanted to intersperse, so that she could also drive once in a while to a routine check-up or to pick up some medication for her mother. All of this was part of the companionship between you as a family, which you were learning to deal with.

Because before it was just you for your mother. Your car leaves the garage at least four times a day to chase things. Now you could rest and take a nap while your sister did it. Even if guilt consumed you, but… Guilt about what? Her helping you? Because that's what was happening.

A whole month passed with these thoughts hammering away in your head, Hazel and Mackenzie becoming more and more embedded in the routine of looking after their mother and now Jaeyun was sleeping there some nights too. A full house was always a good sign, but the extra help made you a little uncomfortable. You didn't want to burden their small family, especially with a small baby. That was absurd.

“In a few weeks I can put Mackie in nursery, so we'll have more time to do things for mom” Hazel said after leaning over the coffee table, picking up some sour treats you'd bought earlier in the week.

Just to settle your stomach before Jaeyun called to let you know he was coming. Your mother was upstairs fixing some hair scarves. She'd gotten way ahead of herself by buying a few pieces when the hair hadn't even fallen out yet, but you knew how anxious she was – and afraid of what lay ahead – so letting her focus on that was the best choice to make.

“But you're going back to the restaurant and your house is twenty minutes away, don't make it up” you tried your best big sister tone, staring at the side profile of your sister who was eating yet another acidic treat without trying to grimace.

She opened her mouth to say something, to try to protest and say that that house could house all of you with peace of mind. Jaeyun wouldn't mind spending some time living there other than in the apartment they had planned when they got married. Everyone knew that your mother's treatment would take a while, but your sister was worried too.

Not just about your mother – that was the main thing – but about you too. About the fact that you had quit your job with no foreseeable return date, abandoning your hobbies while creating new ones. Or at least some of which you could do at home with your mother, keeping her in your field of vision at all times.

“I think we can handle this very well as a big family, Y/n” Hazel turned, finally facing you. She ran the tip of her tongue over the corner of her lips to wipe away the remnants of jam that had remained there “You've done a lot on your own and—”

Suddenly your sister's speech was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone reverberating through the room. She straightened up on the sofa, picking up the device without even looking at the caller ID.

“Hi” from her smile, it was Jaeyun. You'd recognize it anywhere, because it was the same way, in this very house, that she used to answer his calls when she was in college.

You decided to leave the two of them a little more privacy and got up to go to the kitchen, eating those candies had left your throat a little dry, maybe sparkling water would help. Grabbing the bottle from the fridge, you let the fizzy noise invade the room with such pleasure as you turned the cap on the bottle before taking a long sip.

“Hey, sis” Hazel came into the kitchen a little while later. The phone was still in hand, but the screen was off and she looked at you expectantly.

“What?” you asked, taking another sip and feeling your eyes sting from the fizzy water going down your throat. It was a wonderful sensation that calmed all your previous thirst caused by the candy.

“You know…” Hazel placed her cell phone on the counter, glancing at you quickly “Jake said he was going to have a small meeting of the boys, a dinner between them, and he asked us to come.”

You were ready to protest, your mouth open to deny the invitation and repeat the same words you'd say to anyone who tried to get you out of the house, but your mother appeared in the kitchen long before you could even think.

“Of course she's going” she smiled slowly.

“Mom” you began, but she interrupted you again.

“I'm a bit tired from fussing with those scarves” she said, standing between you and your sister, alternating her gaze between the two of you “I probably won't be having dinner tonight if Jake brought something, so you'd better go.”

The protest was already on the tip of your tongue, a strange feeling of not having anything to say while two people, en masse and in force, were trying to get you out of the house.

“Besides, you need to go out with your sister and your nephew too, just staying in here will make you sick along with me.”

You wanted to be able to predict every time your mother made a comment that made the atmosphere heavy or made you ill, reminding her how sick she was. Making her sink further into ruin along with that damned disease.

She knew that you would say something, that you could scold her as you always have since she began to face a reality – a rather harsh one – in the face of that situation. Your mother approached you, kissed your cheek, and wished you goodnight. She passed your sister and did the same, leaving the kitchen and leaving the two of you there.

A moment of silence between you and her was enough to make your eyes sting, remembering the words that came out of the mouth of the person you love most in the world.

“I hate it when she does that” your laugh came out without humor, and you sniffled softly to try to keep away the tears that threatened to fall. It was your sister's turn to approach you in slow steps, testing the waters until she was finally standing in front of you.

“You know she's going to say that kind of thing because look at everything Mom's going through” Hazel held you by the shoulders, staring into your eyes with tense emotion. She took a deep breath at the same moment as you, feeling her eyes sting in the same way. “But we know that nothing bad will happen because we found out at the beginning, that this phase of degradation always happens to those who go through it.”

“It's just that— Shit” you cursed softly, feeling Hazel pull you into a hug.

“How about we go out for a while tonight, have dinner at the restaurant?” she proposed while still hugging you tightly “You can meet the staff, have a real chat, and try some more good food.”

Pondering for a while, you wanted to say no again. Even if the idea was too tempting and your stomach was rumbling, you'd never gone out like this before. Ever since your mother discovered cancer, everything around you stopped to focus on the woman who gave you life, and that was what had to happen. But not all the time.

You could also go out for a while and still send a message or wait for a call since your contact was your mother's emergency contact. You had all sorts of means of communication, so there was little way of depriving yourself of going out this time, and from the pleading look on your sister's face, after she pulled away from the hug, you knew there was no denying it.

“I'm just going to take a shower” you finished. She squealed with excitement, running into the kitchen as you walked slowly out of the room.

“I'm going to shower Mackie and get ready too, we'll be leaving soon. I'll let Jake know!”

It seemed that Hazel had won a huge prize just by agreeing to leave. You laughed at her excitement, realizing how important it was for her, even for your mother and Jaeyun, that you also took care of yourself. Because you needed to be strong and healthy to deal with the whole process together with everyone else.

You allowed yourself to take a little longer in the shower this time, taking a deep breath each time you scrubbed your body, thinking about how strange the feeling in your chest was that night. It could have been a bit of relief at finally getting out, or just a feeling of gratitude at having such loving and caring people around you.

Both answers could be correct, and that's what motivated you to get out from under the shower and look for a nice outfit to go out in.

The drive to the restaurant was filled with nostalgic conversations and a few mumbles from Mackenzie. The atmosphere in the car was light and you found yourself smiling a little more than usual as your sister talked as much as you did. About everything and anything.

The two of you were trying to make up for the time when you were too far away from each other while, in the time since Hazel's return, you and she have been closer than ever.

She announced quietly when she arrived at the restaurant, maneuvering into the parking lot while you got ready to leave. Grabbing your bag, hers and your nephew's while your sister parked to pick up the baby. A perfect team effort that you and she developed without even agreeing.

“We went through a renovation before Mackenzie was born, so I'm entering this new place together with you for the first time” her smile was so infectious that you couldn't help but smile back. Her excitement, her enthusiasm.

This place meant everything to your sister. You remember when she went to gastronomy school, something completely out of the ordinary that your family thought the youngest would follow. You had already been a total buzz studying to be a kindergarten teacher and majoring in fine arts as a second degree. Your sister doing something that wasn't geared towards medicine, law, or whatever your family thought, made you very happy. Hazel never followed any kind of pattern and that's what made her unique and a role model for you, even though she was the youngest.

After she graduated, she thought about opening a restaurant, but her savings were low and she had just been proposed to. Everything was being saved for the big day, even with the help of her family and Jaeyun's, Hazel wanted to have an important role in this as well, besides saying yes in front of many guests.

She was lucky to have friends in college, one of them in particular encouraged her to open a restaurant, even becoming her partner, where you heard very good things about it. All the people who did good to your sister were worthy of your respect and joy, even without knowing them. Until today, in fact.

You let her go in first, opening the huge glass doors while you marveled at the new decor. Since you didn't know what the old one was, you started to appreciate the place as being the way it was from your first impression, every detail being in very good taste while you could feel your sister's opinion of everything. There was a bit of her in everything in that establishment.

“I can’t believe my eyes” a male voice took you out of your thoughts. It wasn’t Jaeyun’s, so you didn’t know who was speaking “Our greatest love…”

“Mackie!” another voice interrupted the boy, who opened his arms to run to Hazel and pretend to ignore her while taking the little one from the girl’s arms.

“And I’m invisible in this place?” Hazel protested, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched the two drooling men playing with the little newcomer. He watched with curious and wide eyes, paying attention to the little noises they made to try to get attention.

“We’ve worked hard with you, we want to see our new mini-boss.”

“I think I’ll talk to Jay about layoffs when I get back” she hummed.

“Don’t scare them, love. We’ve had a busy day today, they deserve a distraction” Jaeyun finally appeared, the only one you knew so far.

The game with your little nephew lasted only a few seconds, as soon as they looked up to look at Hazel, they saw you behind her too.

“Oh, we have a visitor” one of them said, moving away from the one holding Mackenzie and walking towards where you and Hazel were. He smiled, greeting your sister first and then looking at you with a small smile “I’m Sunghoon, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, I’m Y/n” you lightly shook his hand that he extended after saying the name.

“Hazel’s sister? Poor thing, having to put up with her at home” the other joked “I’m Heeseung” he rocked Mackenzie lightly, giving small sniffs on the top of your nephew’s head. You couldn’t blame him, the baby smell was addictive.

“She’s more demanding than here, I bet” you joined in the joke, getting the first laugh from your sister’s friends and employees.

Hazel would even protest if it were at another time, maybe saying it wasn't like that or pretending to be angry. But seeing that you were comfortable in the first few minutes you were there made her heart swell with joy. That was what she wanted. That was what Jaeyun also wanted from his best friend.

“It's working out” he whispered to his wife, kissing the top of her head as he approached, pulling out a chair for Hazel to sit down.

“I hope you're all willing to help me bring the food to the dining room” the voice was loud enough to come from the kitchen and reverberate where you all were, but in a playful way. You could hear the effort the owner of the voice had to make to speak loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I'm busy” Heeseung shouted back, not wanting to let go of Mackenzie for even a second, but that didn't last long since Sunghoon also wanted to hold him. And that's what he did.

“Now he can, my turn to be busy,” he joked for a moment before the huge wooden door opened.

The steps that followed made everyone stare at the man who was approaching. He walked gracefully, carefree as he untied his kitchen apron and placed it on the table where you decided to sit. It had an identification plate, probably the number that was used during the time the restaurant was open, but that was no longer so important.

For a moment, all the conversation around seemed to go silent when your eyes met his. The expression of the man in front of you was of slight surprise, but he kept a small smile on his chapped and reddened lips as he maintained eye contact with you.

Your sister, your brother-in-law, and the other boys were still talking about something, but you and that man seemed not to want to break your gaze from each other. And you wanted to understand why.

Maybe it was his well-defined jawline, or his tanned skin and the way his neck was adorned with a silver chain. The top two buttons of his white shirt were open and his black hair almost got in the way of your vision, if it weren't for the hands insisting on moving them out of the way.

“Jay” Jaeyun's voice finally brought both you and him back to reality. “This is Y/n, my sister-in-law and best friend.”

He blinked a few times in understanding, a noticeable “oh” leaving his lips without much sound. He had certainly heard about you, as well as the other two you had met a few minutes ago.

You looked around to notice that your sister was now holding Mackenzie in her arms, he was whining – probably hungry – so that was the reason why she hadn't introduced you, but Jaeyun instead.

The boy with the perfect jaw took a few steps, looking a little less confident now. If you were a good body reader, you would say he was nervous as he got closer. But as soon as he stopped in front of you, he extended his hand towards you.

It was your turn to blink slowly, finding the greeting a little more formal than usual, but even so, it didn't stop you from reaching out and holding his hand too. You just didn't expect that, when you touched his hand, the boy would lean in and press his lips to your skin. Even though it was chapped, it felt strangely soft and warm against your back.

“I'm Jongseong” he said softly, his lips still close to your skin and his warm breath hitting it. This made a shiver run through your body and made your heartbeat accelerate in a ridiculously instant way. “But you can call me Jay.”

The words wouldn't come out of your mouth, you wanted to say something. Anything to not look like an idiot in front of him, but Jongseong seemed to notice your shyness and his act that had – probably – taken you by surprise. Even him, after all, why had he greeted you so intimately like that?

He wouldn't say it was because he was mesmerized by your beauty, or even that his heartbeat was almost in his ears because of you. Jongseong had never been nervous like that.

“Do you want help in the kitchen, man?” Jaeyun bit his tongue to keep from making any kind of joke, much less making a fuss about the situation since only he had seen everything. The others were busy talking while Hazel got ready to feed the baby.

“Please” Jongseong turned to him, thanking him with just a look since his friend was the great savior.

“Do you two need help?” your voice finally came out, and Jongseong swore he felt his knees weaken a little. Your voice was beautiful, just like you.

“Actually—”

“Don’t even think about it, miss Y/n” Heeseung appeared, placing himself between you and the other two who were gathering to go to the kitchen “Leave it to us, you stay with Hazel and hope for the best in this restaurant.”

“It’s only not better because I didn’t prepare anything,” Hazel said a little louder.

“How conceited” Jongseong joked.

“Tell me the truth, you miss our competitions” she said.

This man had all sides equally attractive. Whether it was the flirtatious side – unintentionally – that he showed you a few minutes ago, the relaxed side he was showing with his friends. You feared that he would be like that in every way, how could you stand it, after all?

When the three disappeared into the kitchen, you finally sat next to your sister and faced Sunghoon. The two quickly looked at you, a small smile on the lips of the only boy present there.

“Sunghoon, no…” Hazel started saying, leaving you completely confused.

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything” he tried to defend himself, but she interrupted him.

“I’ve known you long enough to know what you were going to say.”

“And what was he going to say?” you asked, almost regretting it the moment your sister closed her eyes and Sunghoon’s smile widened even more. Working with people for so long could sharpen a sixth sense of what they were thinking or what they were going to say next. Knowing someone so well that you could know what the other was capable of.

And that was how it was with your sister and Sunghoon. The two seemed to understand each other while she tried to tell him to be quiet with just scolding looks, but he didn’t seem to care. Shrugging almost every time before turning to you and smiling even wider.

“That someone finally brought our cliché Jongseong back” Sunghoon leaned over the table to say those words as if he wanted to tell you a secret. Hazel mumbled something, throwing her head back as she listened to him continue, “You two really fit together.”

“Sunghoon!” you protested, your cheeks turning red and hot, your face on fire. Your throat was dry and you almost ran away from there if it weren’t for the lack of a ride since you had gone with your sister to the restaurant.

“Tell me I’m lying” he turned around, speaking directly to your sister. She was focused on making Mackenzie burp, your nephew’s head resting on her shoulder as she patted his back lightly.

You thought your sister would deny it, say it wasn’t like that, and that Sunghoon was crazy. Everyone there seemed a little crazy, you could tell by your brother-in-law and your sister, that they weren’t normal. But what followed was a knowing smile and a slight nod.

“I knew this would happen” Hazel finally said, leaving Sunghoon to celebrate with fist pumps in the air.

“So… Did you guys plan it…?”

“Not at all” they both said at the same time.

The question hung in the air, if that had been something everyone had done for you to get to know him or if it had happened that way. That it was supposed to be that way. From their surprise, you knew that nothing had been planned, but at least the doubts were hammering in your head.

What did it mean to bring the cliché Jongseong back? Wasn't he the way he was showing? You looked at Hazel and then at Sunghoon, your mouth opening and closing a few times before being interrupted by the kitchen door opening again.

Your heart almost jumped out of your mouth when Jongseong appeared, a small smile on the corner of his lips and his gaze directly at Sunghoon.

“Hey man, enough talking, we need another hand here” he nodded into the kitchen, before closing the door and disappearing from view.

“Duty calls me” he stood up, waving to you and your sister before running the few steps until he opened the doors with less delicacy than before and went into the kitchen.

Hazel bit her lower lip to keep her smile from widening even more, while her eyebrows were still furrowed and her expression was one of complete confusion. But she knew you well enough to know what was going on in your head, so slowly her sister began to speak.

“Maybe in time, you’ll know what Hoonie meant” Hazel settled your nephew on her lap, now he was a little sleepy and mumbling. She gave him a little kiss on the forehead before looking back in his direction “It just depends on you getting out a little more.”

Part of you didn’t want to find out, simply letting it go and ignoring everything that had happened. Focusing only on dinner and the conversation that would come from there until you left. But another part of you was looking forward to it, maybe a very small one, because it meant you would see Jongseong again until you found out what Sunghoon meant.

The mental conflict made you even more confused, you just wanted to understand what had happened for a guy to mess with you so much in such a short time.

After that night at the restaurant, you tried to get back to your normal routine. Continue to focus entirely on your mother, taking advantage of the fact that your sister would be back home soon, but almost everything slipped through your fingers.

One night you were sitting on the porch of your childhood home, refusing to go out for anything other than your mother's appointments and the tests she needed to do. Another time you were sitting at the table in your sister's restaurant, having dinner and chatting animatedly with her friends and changing the course of your entire life.

You didn't imagine that that night Jongseong would sit next to you, start a conversation with you, and not mind joining in on the conversation his friends were having. He was just trying to fill Hazel in on what had happened while she was away, so it was much more interesting for him to talk to you and hear your stories.

This led to a long night in which you got to know a little more about him, and how charismatic and truly charming Jongseong was in every way. All the topics with him flowed naturally, engaging in one conversation after another without stopping and without the two of you having a single moment of silence. Save for the few seconds in which he listened to you talk, sipping some of the wine that Jaeyun had chosen or answering a question from the other group when directed to him.

You also didn't mind having only his attention, even with the provocative looks from Hazel and Sunghoon, and a giggle here and there from Heeseung and Jaeyun. That wouldn't make you so shy. And the redness on your cheeks you could blame solely on the wine you were drinking, so everything was under control. Until you started to feel strange.

A part of you ran from one side to the other as your mother's exams became more frequent, the discouragement she felt with each chemotherapy showing in the thinning of her hair and the thinness on her face. It was affecting her little by little. Another side of you, the small side that had little life outside of hospitals, longed to see Jongseong again. But you couldn't afford to leave your mother at home and go on a date with him, no way would happen. Not even the few hours you spent at the restaurant that day would be enough to repeat.

You brought the cliché Jongseong back, that only made sense when you realized that man was in your kitchen making dinner.

He asked your sister for your number, and Hazel certainly wouldn't object to that. If she did, Jaeyun wouldn't do it, so there was no way out but for him to send you a message. He knew what he was getting into, he knew what you were like from the countless conversations he had with your sister, who was his business partner and best friend. Family problems were shared between the two of you, and when Hazel told him that you at least did something for yourself, Jongseong didn't think twice.

If inviting someone to your house wasn't something he wanted to do, then he decided to talk to Jaeyun and propose a dinner for all of you. Maybe if your mother attended, if it was under your roof, you would at least be there. He could see you again.

And that's what he did.

Cutting the umpteenth asparagus and looking away at you, Jongseong gave a small smile when he realized your eyes were still on him. Arms crossed as he watched you prepare the ingredients before Hazel came back to help.

“Do you cook too?” he asked, breaking the silence that had settled for a short minute. Jaeyun had just left to put Mackenzie in the stroller when he fell asleep. Your mother was upstairs choosing an outfit a little better than the pajamas she wore, after all, it wasn’t every day that she had guests.

“Only my sister inherited this talent” you commented with a small smile, looking at Jongseong’s fingers that cut masterfully. He seemed to have a unique precision in each cut. If it were you, nothing would be asymmetrical and you would have hurt yourself by now.

“Come on, you have a talent for artistic things, or do you think I forgot?” he joked.

Your heart skipped a beat when he said that, and then Jongseong remembered the conversation you had at the restaurant a while ago. You two had talked about so many things, you just didn't know he would remember your speeches about college and graduation. Maybe it was irrelevant.

But for him, it wasn't. Jongseong remembered every detail and every word you had said to him that night, he could recite the most diverse subjects you and he talked about if it was to keep things lighter again.

“Y/n” he called you next, your eyes leaving his hands to go to the boy's face “Do you mind trying it and see if I put too much salt in the sauce?” he removed the dish towel from his shoulders and looked for the largest spoon he had on the sink next to the stove. Your throat dried, and you became slightly nervous.

“Me? Really?” your tone of voice almost betrayed you, if it weren't for the secondary noises of cutlery that Jongseong was spreading until he found what he needed.

“Hazel usually does this, but I think she and Jake are checking out the mini chef,” he said, making you laugh.

It wouldn’t be a big deal to try a seasoning on something you were going to eat sooner or later, and it was certainly just to put Jongseong’s insecurity aside. After all, he was a great chef. Getting the salt right was the least of his worries. Even so, you approached, still with hesitant steps, and walked around the kitchen counter until you were standing next to him. A few more steps and you were next to the boy.

“You can be honest if I’ve overdone it, okay?” he asked, trying not to waver in his tone of voice to convey confidence, but deep down, Jongseong was a little scared. He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to impress you with a sophisticated dish, he wanted you to admire him cooking in his kitchen. Even though the first time you two met, you ate something he had prepared. But it wouldn't be the same if he hadn't been watching from across the kitchen.

“I bet it’s amazing, I don’t know what you’re so scared of” you joked to lighten the mood, seeing that he was nervous. Wanting to believe your words, Jongseong took the spoon and ran it along the edge of the sauce, collecting some of the bubbling mixture.

You waited patiently as you were mesmerized once again. Jongseong’s lips formed into a pout as he blew out the smoke that formed under the red mixture, some leaves between the sauce and the smell lingered in the air. If your stomach could talk, it would scream to try it right then, but you were also delighted with his care before serving it to you.

It was something simple, your sister had already done it for you, and your mother did it too. Even Jaeyun once blew on a hot mixture before handing it to you to try, but no one had done what came next.

Jongseong brought the spoon to your lips, waiting for you to open it to try it. He didn’t hand you the spoon or let you take it yourself… He did it for you.

Your heartbeat was racing, your face was burning and you could at least say it was because you were so close to hot food. At least that would serve as an excuse. Not the fact that Jongseong had one hand firmly around a spoon in front of your mouth, while the other was against your chin.

“Open” he just whispered, so softly, but in such a seductive way at the same time. His fingers touched your skin like a feather, you saw him look away at your mouth as it opened, wrapping itself around the spoon to eat the sauce.

It tasted great and the salt was perfect, it couldn’t be any other way.

“It’s… It’s great, Jay” you didn’t even care about the stuttering due to nervousness at that moment, you were too focused on Jongseong’s eyes alternating between your eyes and your lips. Your tongue slowly ran over your lower lip to collect the remains of the sauce and at that moment you noticed his lips slowly part, an inaudible sigh leaving the lips of the boy in front of you. This made you nervous and unresponsive because you swear he leaned in a little. You also swear you leaned back, but before anything else, both of you moved away with Jaeyun's thunderous entrance into the kitchen.

“So, everything ready?” he asked nonchalantly, not looking at you and Jongseong much. Thank goodness, you both thought at the same time, without even knowing it.

“A few more minutes and we can have dinner” Jongseong composed himself, waiting for you to do the same before turning his attention back to the sauce.

The rest of the time passed in a blur, you followed the entire dinner talking to everyone who was there, picking up Mackenzie when he woke up to let your sister have dinner with a little more dignity too. Your heart raced when it was Jongseong's turn to hold the baby in his arms. That scene was unusual and so cute. You didn't know why you were like that.

Maybe it was because of the way he always acted, so naturally and so politely. How he talked to your family, or how he always interacted with you. Showing care in his words and showing that he cared about what you were saying, no matter how small.

Jongseong was the first person you let get a little closer after your mother's diagnosis. He was the only one who was able to talk to you for hours without making you mention your mother, or without making you look at your phone to see what time it was time to go home, or making you uncomfortable with something he said. He was always making sure you were okay or asking if you needed anything.

I need you to stop this, it's dangerous, you answered mentally every time. So dangerous that your heart already felt the possible effects that Park Jongseong was having on you.

“The dishes are on me now” your mother smiled after a long time of talking, denying it in every possible way as Jaeyun and Jongseong tried to run ahead to stop her. The two of them were seeing how stubborn she was, and where you and your sister had inherited it from.

“If anything, you can call me, okay, mom?” you asked.

“Sure, my love. Enjoy it” she smiled in your direction before disappearing into the kitchen. Jongseong and Jaeyun took all the dishes to the sink, at least helping with that while you and your sister still sat at the dining table.

“And I'm going to change someone's diaper because I think we have a surprise here” Hazel hummed as she saw the concentrated faces and expressions that Mackenzie was making. You laughed out loud when you saw your nephew's face turn red, then the farting noises he made.

“Good luck” you said before she left with the little one upstairs for a long diaper change.

“Your sister—” Jaeyun soon appeared.

“Upstairs changing the little boss's diaper” you heard his and Jongseong's laughter at using the nickname everyone was giving the little boy. Your brother-in-law and best friend didn't even wait or say anything else, he followed your sister upstairs, leaving you and Jongseong alone again.

“So…” he said, pulling the chair next to you to sit where you were before. You felt your body tingle when his shoulder touched yours, slowly turning towards the boy.

“So…” you repeated his words, biting your lower lip to keep from smiling so much. Or so he wouldn't look at your mouth again, making you nervous. Not that you weren't at that moment, but something in the air seemed a little lighter between you and Jongseong.

“I was thinking” he rested his elbows on the table, stretching his hands in front of his body and staring at his fingers. Anything to get the courage to speak instead of staring at you, because he knew nothing would come out coherently if he was looking into your eyes. “Would you be willing to have coffee with me sometime?”

You turned so abruptly towards him, that the shock in Jongseong's words caused you a certain panic, but as his eyes reached you, noticing a certain curiosity as he waited for your answer, you relaxed. He seemed as shy and vulnerable as you were at that moment.

“Jay…” you started speaking, noticing how attentive he was as he waited for you to speak “My mother… You know…” and then he smiled. A small, simple smile, but it didn't seem sad. You knew your answer, but you were surprised by his reaction.

“Jake told me you would say that, but I decided to try anyway” he laughed at your expression, and you noticed that your eyes were wide and still in shock.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey, it’s okay, I rushed” Jongseong interrupted you.

“No, Jay, you didn’t rush” you said too quickly, fumbling with your words and, most importantly, your actions. In a moment of desperation so that he wouldn’t feel upset or rejected – you didn’t want to reject him, nor were you crazy about it – you held his hands. Your fingers slowly slid between his and Jongseong just let it, feeling your soft skin come into contact with his “I’d love to have coffee with you, but it’s just—”

“We’ll find a way, okay?” he asked “I’ll wait, it’s okay.”

Hot, understanding, and patient. Did that man have any flaws?

You couldn't say anything at that moment, lost in your thoughts and in the caress he began to make with his thumb on your torso. Your eyes quickly met his, and then a smile drew your lips that he loved to see so much up close. Jongseong wanted to feel them too, but one step at a time.

And as he said out loud, he would wait. Jongseong, for sure, would wait.

Getting used to a full house would only be bad when your sister returned to her routine, working at the restaurant after she managed to put Mackenzie in daycare. You thought it wouldn't shake you, after all, it was always you and your mother. You were always the one who ran after everything so that your sister could feel calmer and less overwhelmed.

But you also didn't know that you would miss more laughter and voices in that house. That the antics of your brother-in-law and best friend would fill an environment that only had sadness and regrets. You also noticed how pale your mother started to get after the chemotherapy treatments were becoming more and more invasive.

The conversations with the doctors and nurses were more frequent, both because of your mother's complaints and for them to warn the two of you of what was starting to happen. The hair loss came gradually, and you thought you would be strong enough to deal with it alone. Seeing the clumps of hair in the bathroom and the older woman's teary eyes she tried to say that everything was fine.

It wasn't. And you knew this because you lost count of how many times you sat on the bathroom floor, hugging your mother's fragile body while she cried over the loss of more strands of hair. The scarves were now her best friends. At least something she had chosen a long time ago was helping to keep her a little happier.

Not as much as you would have liked, seeing Mrs. Dorothy crying around the house and staying quiet was worse than hearing her say atrocities. At least she talked to you, mumbled something or simply fought with you to leave the house. You just wanted to hear your mother's voice. But the few conversations you had were on the way to chemotherapy or at the dinners she decided to attend, not when she left you alone in the kitchen with the cold plate in front of you waiting for her to come down.

Not hungry. That was what she usually told you the next morning, and you swallowed it because you no longer had the strength to argue. Hazel would come by every day after work to check on you, talk to your mother – or try to – while bringing her a new hair scarf to wear at her next appointment. That made her smile, at least.

You just wanted it all to end, you just wanted to cry in peace and get all that weight off your shoulders while thinking about nothing but yourself. But thinking about yourself was as far away as you wanted, and opening up about it to your sister was a delicate subject. She would make you drop everything to take responsibility, and you wouldn’t forgive yourself for making her become an absent mother to Mackenzie while you went to take care of your mother. There was no escape.

“Are you hungry? I’ll make you something to eat…” you left the bag on the kitchen counter, waiting for your mother to come into the room after another appointment. She smiled at you, in a sad way that broke your heart even more, if that were possible.

“I think I just want to rest now, sunshine” she said quietly, but you heard enough. Her tone was sad, but she tried to encourage you as she looked and smiled in your direction. Your mother leaned down enough to kiss your cheek. “Don’t go without eating, I’m going to go to my room, okay?”

“Mom—”

“My door is open and my phone is fully charged, I’ll call you if I need anything. I promise.”

It was a promise she had never broken, at least. The few times your mother needed you, she called you to run upstairs and help her with trivial things, but she still called. So even though you hated leaving her alone, you decided to trust her and let her rest.

Sometimes it was good for her to be alone for a while to reorganize her thoughts. You were going through this as her daughter, while she was the patient with that damned disease. She was the one who was feeling everything, experiencing it – literally – on her skin and you couldn’t imagine the pain and anguish it was to live with that inside yourself.

Your eyes followed her figure up the stairs and, finally, disappeared from your field of vision through the upper floor of the house.

You let out all the breath you didn’t know you were holding, your eyes starting to burn as you didn’t know what to do. Would you call Hazel now? Would you leave the house to clear your head? You even thought about sending a message to Jongseong, but nothing that was going on in your head was coherent enough to be carried out. So the only lucid thing you could do was to grab a bottle of wine and drink it in no time.

The bitterness of the drink went down your throat for the umpteenth time, your body was curled up in the corner of the couch while your eyes flickered through the silliest channels without really paying attention to what was happening there. You just wanted to get drunk on wine and go up to your room so you could sleep. But the sound of the doorbell wouldn't let you do that.

Maybe it was time for Hazel to arrive and check on you and your mother, this could happen quickly because you started to get dizzy from a bottle of wine and your mother was already on her tenth sleep if she could be counted. So you got up from the couch to drag your feet to the front door. The speech was on the tip of your tongue because your sister would certainly scold you for drinking without eating anything, but what you found there in front of you didn't look anything like Hazel.

Jongseong had nothing to do with your sister. Only his worried expression and his eyebrows together could be said to be an expression you knew well: concern.

“Y/n… Are you okay?” he asked a little euphoric, but trying to relax little by little when you blinked a few times, trying to assimilate.

“Jay…”

“Gosh, I was worried” he moved his hands from side to side as he gestured and spoke, and you heard the sound of bags, but ignored it for a moment “Hazel said she would come here to check on you and I said I could come after work, she called you and you didn't answer so I—” little by little, Jongseong followed your gaze to his hands, where there were bags he was holding “Oh.”

“What is this?” you asked.

“Answer me first” he said back, looking at you this time. You straightened your posture, a narrowed look in his direction before softening and leaning against the door frame.

“I can’t deal with my problems so I drank an entire bottle of wine—”

“Did you eat, at least?” he interrupted you, seeing you shake your head. For the first time, you noticed a serious expression on Jongseong’s face, as if he was angry with you. And something stirred inside your chest when he walked past you without asking permission and entered your house.

Jongseong wasn’t a stranger, but he also didn’t consider himself an acquaintance to the point of doing this. But combining concern with several other feelings made him act on impulse. You closed the door to the house and simply followed him to the kitchen, where he placed the bags on the counter where you had placed yours a few hours before.

“Jay” you finally called out to him, and he looked in your direction. The same serious expression from before was still there, not softening for a single second. “What are you— What is this?”

Stop stuttering, idiot. Your eyes started to burn because he was mad at you, and you were too drunk to deal with that kind of thing.

“You said you’d have coffee with me, didn’t you?” he asked, waiting for your answer. You blinked slowly to keep the tears away and sighed, nodding positively to the question he had asked. “I decided to bring some things to make coffee here, since that way you wouldn’t leave the house and… Well…”

Now he felt shy enough to verbalize all the effort he was making. Of course, Jongseong had contacted your sister and Jaeyun to see if it was a good idea, especially since he was constantly listening to Hazel’s complaints about your mother’s situation. He didn’t want to demand attention from you, much less for you to go out with him. As he had said that day, he would be patient enough and wait. But nothing was stopping him from bringing the coffee to you.

“So you… You wanted to come have coffee with me?” Your voice was shaky, you felt like you could break down at any moment. No one had ever done that for you in your entire life: demonstrated. You had been around people enough to understand that not everything could be reciprocal, not everything people would make an effort, and that was okay. No one had that obligation.

And seeing that Jongseong didn’t treat it as an obligation, but because he wanted to do it, made you even more vulnerable. Sunghoon’s voice always hammered in the back of your head saying that you had brought the cliché Jongseong back, and if that was him, you were happy to rescue him somehow.

“I didn’t… Damn—” you heard a sob erupt from your throat, realizing you were crying the moment you felt the salty tears run down to your lips.

Everything happened so fast and before you knew it, Jongseong's strong arms were around your waist, pulling you close and nuzzling your face against his chest.

You and him could stay like that for hours and you wouldn't complain. The smell of his cologne was calming your nerves as you cried copiously and sobbed against his light shirt – now completely stained with your makeup – while he said nothing. But the caress on your back and the few kisses on the top of your head could say much more than you wanted to hear.

He didn't know when it was the right time to open his mouth or look at your face, so he let you dictate the time you needed until you gradually stopped crying. Slowly, your face lifted from his chest, finding Jongseong's face now a little softer and his bright eyes looking only at you.

“I'm sorry” you whispered. It didn't surprise you when he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours and lightly brushing the tip of his nose against yours. If it had been before, this would have left you completely static and nervous, but at that moment, it was the most calming thing he had done besides still hugging you.

“Don’t be sorry” he whispered back, the air from his lips hitting yours as one of Jongseong’s hands went up to your face, wiping away some tears.

“Could… Could you…” it would be bold of you to try that, but you needed it. Something inside your heart told you to ask, and that was exactly what you were going to do. “Can you stay here today, please?”

Jongseong smiled a little, still caressing your cheek with his fingertips as he moved down to your jaw.

“I’m glad you asked that” he said, his nose still brushing against yours. You could see the internal battle he was fighting between closing the distance and still respecting you and waiting for everything to calm down so he could get even closer. That in itself was making you even more enchanted because he took care of you down to the smallest detail “Because I wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon.”

“Are you the one taking my mother to the doctor today?” Hazel frowned, glancing at Jongseong as she focused on the right amount of green leaves for the dish she was preparing.

He decided to just watch, as the movement was a little slow because it was the beginning of the workday. Resting his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, he lightly pressed his fingers on the marble to try to contain the emotions that were bubbling inside his chest.

Jongseong thought he was making the same mistake as in his other failed relationships: he was too emotional and had thrown himself into something that hadn’t even come to fruition. He knew you were different from any woman he had ever met in his life, but the slight fear lingered in the back of his mind. What if you spoke like the others, or felt the same way?

You’re such a cliché, Jay. You don’t have to be so emotional.

He always heard that, and after a while, the women would simply leave. Claiming that the problem was the way he showed it. But what could he do if that was the case? That was what Jongseong did when he felt he was worth it.

People who aren’t worthy of you, Hazel would hammer those phrases home whenever he talked about how exhausted he was from people saying he was too emotional.

“My sister is just a little bit cornered because of our mother, but she won’t complain about your cliché” she added one night, one of the many they got together after work to talk about their day and plan their week at the restaurant. Hazel was Jongseong’s biggest supporter of you, and she made sure you two got along.

He was happy about that. Because at least someone, throughout the love life he had faced, wouldn’t think he was crazy for it.

And Jongseong found out that what Hazel – and all the other guys – said and encouraged him when it came to you was true. He was afraid to bring meals to your house and eat in your living room. It was too intimate, but at the same time, it was the only way he had found to be close to you since you never went out. The efforts were worth it with every shy smile you gave when he arrived with the bag of food.

Then, after a lot of talking – and a little arguing on your part – he wanted to take your mother to a doctor's appointment. It wasn't his obligation, of course, but Jongseong felt his heart heavy when he arrived at your house and saw you practically a sleep-deprived zombie. You hadn't slept the day before the exams, getting nervous about how your mother would handle it. So he thought he could take you so you could rest more.

“It's not your obligation and I'm not going to leave my mother alone” he remembers the shine in your eyes, your trembling voice, and the shortness of breath as you tried to hold back your tears. Tiredness, fear, anguish, all together as he stood in front of you, wanting only to do the best.

“I know that.” Jongseong took a few steps toward you, stopping right in front of you. “But nothing I do for you or your mother is out of obligation. I do it because I want to and because I like you both” He didn’t care if that statement – at least on his part – was interpreted romantically. He would make a better announcement, he wanted to say that he liked you more romantically, but for now, that would do. “And your mother will be with me, who said she’ll be alone, Y/n?”

That night he knew he had won the argument and that he had started taking your mother to your appointments so you could sleep a little longer, only on the condition that you both told her every detail when you got home.

Jongseong and Dorothy told you what the doctor had said, of course. But they didn’t tell you that they ate fast food on the way, or that they were late because they were at the mall buying a new scarf for her and a matching shirt for him. Your mother already saw you as a potential son-in-law and Jongseong didn’t deny it when she asked you things about you in the sentimental sense of the word. He wanted to tell you openly about it, and the best way was to start with your mother. Since your sister and brother-in-law were well aware of that.

“I’ll go” he sighed, trying to hide a smile that was forming at the corner of his lips. That didn't go unnoticed by Hazel, who stopped what she was doing to look at her best friend. “It's her last chemotherapy, and we—” he couldn't help himself, his smile widening even more. “We're going in matching clothes.”

“What?” she almost shouted inside the kitchen, surprise taking over and causing Heeseung to enter the place with wide eyes.

“What? Did someone get hurt?”

“Jay and my mother are going to the last chemotherapy in matching clothes,” she practically shouted. “And they didn't tell anyone!”

It was Heeseung's turn to scream, with joy and surprise. He followed Jongseong's advances on you as much as everyone else in the restaurant, being updated by the boy and your sister since you were shy enough to say something when you went to the restaurant to meet them.

“Your mother asked us not to tell, it was supposed to be a surprise” he grumbled, pushing himself away from the counter as soon as Heeseung approached. He knew his friend would mess up his hair or squeeze him, so the further away he was from him at the moment, the better.

“Now you’ve ruined the surprise and we want to see it.”

“Okay, I can bring her after the appointment and you can all see. What do you think?” Jongseong said.

And he kept his promise that day. The short time he stayed at the restaurant was just to get things organized for his friends to drive for the rest of the day, while he ran out to the car and towards his house. His pastel blue shirt was the same color as some details of the scarf your mother was wearing that day.

You didn’t get to see them leave, keeping your promise that you would rest while Jongseong took you safely. He was happy to see that you were trusting him and taking a little more care of yourself, with the fear going away when you saw your mother finally recovered. It was a victory for everyone that she was going to her last chemotherapy.

“Ready, Miss Dorothy?” he asked as he parked, turning off the car and looking at his mother with a charming smile.

“Ready, future son-in-law” she said as excitedly as he was, taking him by surprise even though that had already come out of her mouth a few times. But not calling him directly future son-in-law. Dorothy was just expressing her desire to make Jongseong part of the family. That you would give him a chance and stop being so worried since she was getting better and managing to reach the end of her treatment.

He got out of the car and ran around the vehicle to open the door for your mother, with the way she called him still hammering in the back of his mind.

“Jay” Dorothy called him, intertwining one of her arms with his as they both headed towards the elevator of the hospital building. The path so familiar to both of them is now being taken one last time.

“Yes?” he replied, pressing the floor button while turning his head to her and smiling.

“How about dinner at home tonight? Hazel and Jake are also coming, I wish you were there to celebrate.” She tightened her grip on his arm a little, showing how happy she felt in the boy’s company.

His smile widened, he knew they could celebrate somehow, but being invited by your mother before anyone else seemed a little more special than if he were even invited by you.

“I would love to” Jongseong said finally before the elevator door opened.

Your mother and he left, with confident and determined steps, heading to the oncology desk to finish that cycle.

Life seemed to have taken a huge turn for you in the last few months. Your mother was finally cured of that damned disease. Your routine began to settle down when your sister, along with Jaeyun and Jongseong, managed to call the school where you previously worked. The principal of the place didn't think twice about accepting you back, especially after Hazel told the whole story in a little more detail.

You had omitted a lot of things, saying that your departure had been due to personal problems. It was. But no one needed to know about your mother's diagnosis, much less that you sank into it with no prospect of coming back to the surface.

Now, with the routine of working at school again with your classes, you still lived with your mother until you settled in a new place nearby. A small apartment on the outskirts was all you needed, different from your old place. It was relatively big, you loved it, but after the turmoil in your life… Just a space for you to have your things and sleep now and then was enough.

You let out a small sigh, closing the tab to search for apartments online as you looked around the room. You would have already left school if it weren't for Jongseong's request that he pick you up that day. Something like the two of you having dinner together to unload a tiring Friday was all he needed. And, apparently, so did you.

Because denying him that was out of the question. You remember rarely having denied him anything since the two of you met. Taking into account that he was the only one who managed to make you give in to the tiring routine you had with your mother. It was Jongseong who made you sleep a little longer while he took you to the doctor. You wouldn't even let Hazel drive to the hospital.

Sure, she had a child at home and you were afraid that she would catch something contagious on the way or simply get even more tired. But with him… It was all so much easier.

Jongseong settled into your life effortlessly, with the attitudes you always sought without knowing you needed. He was the one who brought you lunch on the days he was sure you were living on nothing but coffee – he wouldn’t tell you that he had memorized your routine, knowing exactly the days you were most agitated because of your mother’s medication or something she needed to do.

The two of you also started having more nighttime dates, like dinners out with the guarantee that you would take him home early so you wouldn’t be gone for so long. But you bit your tongue about it, because the time with him seemed to fly by and, before you knew it, you had spent the whole night talking to Jongseong and learning a little more about him.

About how he was patient with you all this time, touching you subtly and getting closer little by little, afraid to make a move and invade your personal space or disrespect you. The most you and he shared were kisses on the forehead and hugs that lasted a little longer. A few times you almost made a move, but there were such vulnerable moments when you were crying or exhausted enough to just do something thoughtless.

You also noticed that he would hold back whenever he was close enough, staring at your mouth for a little too long before nibbling on his lower lip, sighing, and looking back into your eyes. It made your heart race, your heartbeat pulsing uncontrollably. Both he and you wanted this, but it seemed like something always happened to make it not right. Yet.

Something inside you was boiling that day. Jongseong asking you to wait at work so he could pick you up was just the icing on the cake of your relationship. You were going to make a move today. There was no way out of it. If he thought it was still too early or that you two didn't need to take that step, that would be fine. You would understand. But you wouldn't stop trying at any cost.

Your cell phone vibrated, still in your hands, and you shivered in the chair with the slight fright you got.

jay: i'm around the corner from the school, can you wait for me in the parking lot?

A simple message, but you smiled at it. There was no need to reply, you just finished organizing your things inside the large bag, going to the bathroom to see your current state.

Shit. You swallowed hard.

Working at a school again made you forget the state you were in when you came home. The denim overalls you were wearing were stained with paint from the straps to the hem around your ankles, much of your arms were also stained with the same colors. Your hair was disheveled in a ponytail and your cheeks were flushed and shiny from the light marathon you ran after some little students during the day.

Well, you could fix that last part by splashing some water on your face. And that's what you did, drying it with a paper towel before leaving the bathroom.

Maybe Jongseong would drop you off at home so you could shower and change, that would take a while since you only needed a few minutes. Get the paint off your skin and the sweat off your body to look a little more presentable.

Picking up your bag again after leaving the bathroom, you walked through the school hallways until you reached the exit, waving to the doorman and some employees who were still there. Arriving at the parking lot, Jongseong was already there. You could feel his smile through the dark mirrors, even though they blocked the view from those outside. You quickly reached the car, opened the passenger door, and slowly got in.

“Hey” he greeted you softly, as he always did.

“Hey,” you said back, closing the door and adjusting your bag in the space between your feet. Turning to him, you smiled at the sight. He had a small, tired smile on his lips, but the sparkle in his eyes was always there when he had you around.

“Long day?” the same question he asked when he came to pick you up, testing the waters to see how you were feeling that day. If he should talk more or let you do the talking. Jongseong loved both.

“Somewhat” you leaned back a little more on the bench, your eyes still on the boy next to you who didn’t look away for a second “I think I prepared an activity that didn’t work out very well in the end” pointing to your clothes, he looked away to notice a little more.

The paints, the variety of colors, and, finally, your face. Your hair looked beautiful to him, even with the strands out of place although you had already tried to fix them with each stroke of your hand. He suppressed a sigh, biting his lower lip.

“You look beautiful like this” he let out, making no mention of any regret as his eyebrows rose.

“Jay, come on” you held back a shy laugh “I’m covered in paint… I was even going to ask you so I could go home and—”

“Actually” he interrupted you, raising one of his hands towards you and taking your hand in his. Jongseong had done this a million times, you had lost count, but it was as if it were the first time with each touch of his against your body. He brought your fingers to his lips, smelling your skin and closing his eyes as if that would calm him down for a moment. “I wanted to ask you if you don’t want to do something simpler today. Maybe different.”

“And what would that be?” you said quietly, afraid that your tone of voice would make him open his eyes. The boy’s breath was beating against your skin, warm and comforting.

“Dinner at my apartment” he squeezed his fingers lightly in your hand, opening his eyes to continue with the sentence “You can take a shower there if you want, I have something that will fit you if you need it.”

Wearing his clothes was quite intimate and different. You had only worn his coats when you went out somewhere and it was cold enough – you always forgot how many clothes you should put on on a cold night – and that was it. Nothing like a sweatshirt or a shirt. Especially taking a shower outside your house. He wasn’t a stranger, anyway.

“You…” your voice faltered a little, he still held your fingers against his lips, occasionally kissing your knuckles when he felt you a little more thoughtful and tense “Are you sure, Jay? We can leave it for another day…”

“I’m sure” he said seriously, but there wasn’t a hint of anger in his voice. He just wanted to steady any uncertainty you might have shown at that moment. He then sat up straight in his seat, still holding your hand lightly enough to intertwine his fingers with yours “My day was full and stressful, but I didn’t want to miss seeing you because…”

For a second he was quiet. One of the rare times Park Jongseong stopped talking mid-sentence without you interrupting him was because he thought he was talking too much.

“Because…?” you encouraged him, squeezing your hand in his for the first time.

With his free hand, Jongseong turned the key in the ignition and let the car slowly start moving. You slid your hand into him, letting him have both hands free so he could drive safely, but your hand still traveled to his shoulder. Soon sliding down to reach the hair on the back of his neck.

A position that screamed couple, but neither you nor him cared about that.

“Because you calm me down in a way” He was looking at the movement on the street now, leaving the parking lot of your work to go towards his apartment “I think it’s better than anything I could try to do in my day to make the stress go away.”

“And is dinner at your apartment a good idea? Don’t you want to rest?” you asked, trying to ignore the agitation of your heart as Jongseong leaned into the small caress you were giving his hair.

“Having dinner with you at my apartment is what I want most right now” he sighed tiredly, looking away for a brief second before returning to the other cars that were in traffic with him. “Taking a shower, talking about anything, and having your company until I fall asleep… I swear, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

This was even more of a couple than the touch you were doing in his hair, sliding your fingers down his neck to his shoulders, returning to the nape of his neck and tangling his hair again.

Even if he didn’t see it, Jongseong knew you were smiling. Shyly or not, he could feel a slight smile on your lips as you let the naked truth come out of your mouth.

Secretly, he also thought it was time to act, that he should take a step beyond what the two of you were. And it could start with you finally going to his house. Getting to know his space since he’d been to your house so many times.

He was taken by surprise when he stopped at a red light and felt the warmth of your lips against his cheek. He quickly turned towards you before realizing that, yes, you were indeed smiling.

“I think that’s the perfect idea” you said so quietly that he had to hold back as much as he could not to stop at that light, take off his seatbelt, and kiss you right there.

So Jongseong was content to wave, smiling a little more than you before moving forward when the light turned green. He was desperately looking forward to being home soon.

Jongseong had such a cozy apartment that screamed, in every corner, how much of it was him. From the colors to the decoration, you were enchanted by that place more than you thought you would be, forgetting the slight nervousness that settled inside you when you got there.

But little by little, he made you relax effortlessly. He guided you through the corners of the apartment and showed you each part, then he went to his room and separated a change of clothes for you that, according to him, were the ones he wore the least. But even so, those pieces smelled like him. The t-shirt and sweatpants smelled like Jongseong and you were becoming more and more addicted to it. To smelling his scent, to knowing that it was calming you to extreme levels.

After taking a shower, having dinner, and cleaning up all the mess you two made, sitting on the couch and watching something while talking was all that was left to do before going to sleep. Neither you nor he had brought up the subject of where you would sleep. In the bed with him? In the guest room? Would he let you sleep in the room alone and sleep there on the couch? If Jongseong didn't say anything, you wouldn't talk about it.

Especially because the weight of his head on your lap, the silky dark strands between your fingers, and the sound of his laughter after a funny subject were your focus at the moment. You wanted to have maximum attention on what was happening above anything else. Listening to him talk about Jaeyun's antics on a workday made you laugh a lot, it helped you share with him some things your best friend did back in the last year of high school.

“And he won Hazel over like that?” Jongseong turned his head to look up, his attention was now on you and no longer on the TV and the entertainment program that was on. Neither of you were paying much attention to that, anyway.

“You bet” you sighed loudly and dramatically, making Jongseong laugh. “These two have been pestering me for a week so I could play cupid.”

“And it worked” He was still looking at you, his eyes half-closed from the shared laughter while the two of you were still on that subject. But as the silence settled in, he remained looking in your direction, and that made your heart race. Your heartbeats went up to your ears as Jongseong’s gaze didn’t let you. “Now they both wanted to return the favor” He lowered his voice enough for you to hear him closer. It wasn’t quite a whisper, but it was low enough for a normal tone of voice.

Your eyes roamed all over his face, trying not to linger on his lips, freshly moistened by the tip of his tongue, which still contained a small smile.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying not to stutter or let your voice fail, but it was becoming increasingly impossible not to be nervous in front of him. Not when Jongseong lifted his head from your lap, sitting next to you on the couch, but without breaking the distance between the two of you.

He looked away for a few seconds and let out a little laugh, and you wondered if it was because of nervousness, shyness, or if he thought you were a fool for asking that. It was the first two, but you would never know that.

“Introducing you to me, making us both go out together whenever we had the chance” he began listing the little things that Jaeyun and Hazel had done for the two of you over the long months. You knew your sister and your best friend had given you a little push about it, but the biggest effort was Jongseong’s persistence.

You felt his hand find yours, his fingers slowly intertwining against yours. That gesture was starting to become familiar to both you and him.

“I didn’t persist in anything, I just… I let it happen because I wanted to” he whispered this time, and your eyes widened when you realized you had let your thoughts out loud.

“I didn’t— I mean… Damn” your low, displeased mutterings at yourself for being caught only made him laugh a little more, pulling your hand to his lap and bringing the other one to your face.

Moving your damp hair away from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear to get a better look at your face.

“Why do you think that way, Y/n?” he asked.

You thought about it for a bit, not knowing what to answer. Why did you think that way about someone who showed so much care and affection for you and the situation you were in without asking for anything in return? Maybe it was because it was something rare, almost nonexistent. No one you know – except for your family and your best friend – would do something like that. But he did. And he did it long before you knew him.

“I don’t know” was the only thing you could answer after a while because it was true. You weren’t sure what to say, but it seemed like he did.

Leaning towards you again, Jongseong rested his forehead against yours. Like that night in your kitchen, the closest gesture you had with each other. His breathing, unlike yours, was calm. Warm against your skin, almost making you sigh.

With a slow movement, he brought one of his hands to your face. His fingertips made their way from your cheek to your jaw, holding your face with all the gentleness you had known from that man in the last few months.

“I know it’s random to say this, but…” Jongseong began, speaking softly and slowly, giving a small smile when he met your eyes. They seemed bigger and more questioning, curious, and that was enough for him to continue, “I want to tell you because all my friends say you brought back the old, cliché Jongseong.”

A nod was enough for you to agree. First, curiosity had been eating away at you since the day Sunghoon had talked about it at the restaurant, the first night you had met all his friends, and him. Then, more and more, someone would say that phrase, making you even more thoughtful. Wanting to ask why that cliché had been hidden for so long.

Jongseong kept his hand holding your face, rubbing his thumb on your cheek with random drawings against your skin. His other hand looked for yours and, when he found it, he made sure to hold it with the same affection he held your face. You tried to calm all your heartbeats at that moment as you listened to him speak.

“I was raised in a way that we should show care and gratitude in our way, to the people we love and who do us good” He kept his eyes on yours, never letting them fall anywhere else on your face. Jongseong wanted to capture every second of your reaction and attention as he opened up in that conversation “I've always been someone who did everything for the people around me without expecting anything in return.”

He was too kind and you knew it, but hearing that only confirmed your suspicions. Hearing him say with so much affection everything he did for his friends, for his family. You even dared to let out a little laugh when he told you that he left home at two in the morning to hit the road for the first time and meet Heeseung, who was at the beach house alone and feeling sick.

“He wanted to go before us to organize the house, but he got food poisoning and I ran to take him to the hospital” was the simplest, yet cutest explanation you heard.

That was Jongseong through and through, the guy who had done everything for you, your mother, and your sister in the last few months. Every gesture, every moment of company. The weight you felt thinking you were taking advantage of him gradually faded away as he told you everything he did for people. Until he cleared his throat a little.

“Do you want to stop here?” you said for the first time since you started that subject, feeling your voice crack a little due to lack of use.

“No, it’s okay” you felt him squeeze your hand lightly, a small smile forming on his lips. Resentment? Sadness? You didn't know, but you wanted to hear it anyway “I want you to know.”

You nodded once more and listened to every word with the same attention. You knew that Jongseong would have other relationships. After all, a man like that couldn't have gotten this far without trying anything in life. It was a sin to think that he would be immaculate. But a wave of sadness washed over you, not because of that, but because of the way he started telling the story.

He only had two girlfriends. But they were enough to traumatize him. Jongseong did everything for them, as he did for anyone in his life, but they both ended up the same way: calling him an idiot for doing everything, saying that he was too passive and that the relationship was monotonous. Without adventure and boring. The first one left him less than two weeks after the breakup, going to live abroad. The second one took a while, but she came back to torment him when he opened the restaurant.

“She went there today” he said, almost in a whisper. “After I started making money, it seems like I became even more of an idiot because she tried to get closer out of interest. And that drives me crazy.”

It would drive anyone crazy, of course. You wanted to feel uncomfortable and jealous that someone who had done him so much harm was around on the same day you were with him. But all you could think about was the sadness Jongseong must have felt. Seeing someone he had tried everything for show up just to want something in return.

After all the trauma that followed, he had closed himself off to clichés and managed to do this only to his friends. No one had ever accessed the old, old Jongseong again. Until you arrive.

“That’s why I say that everything I did was because I wanted to” he got a little closer, his breath getting hotter and hotter against your skin “You rescued something in me effortlessly. Something that I thought was buried after what I went through.”

“Now I understand” you replied, letting go of his hands and holding Jongseong’s face between your small fingers. Your touch on his skin sent shivers all over his body. He thought he was warm after his bath and a nice dinner, but your touch made it even better “I just thought I was being a burden because I kept even Hazel away from what was going on.”

“But you don’t have to do this to me” Jongseong had a pleading tone in his voice, you could feel it in every word. “Because I like you and I want to be around to do everything I can.”

I like you. He said. Without pause, without wide eyes or regrets. You smiled without realizing it.

“I like you too, Jongseong. And I promise not to stop you from anything else in my life.”

“Oh, that’s good” he teased “Won’t you stop me if I kiss you now too?” your laugh was the sound he liked to hear the most in the last few months. The sound he liked to tease just to feel complete.

“You can do it whenever you want” was the cue for him to finally lean in and press his lips against yours. They were soft and warm, and you could feel him smile against your lips before parting his to press the tip of his tongue between your lips.

Your hands slid to Jongseong's shoulders and, as soon as he entwined his tongue with yours, tasting you, he wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you onto his lap. You kept your protests of surprise to yourself, settling yourself on his lap at the same time that you became familiar with having his tongue subtly touch yours.

Jongseong was taking it slow, savoring your taste and molding his mouth to yours as he led the pace of the kiss, resting his hands on your waist to keep you in place on top of his lap. Your head was spinning, wondering where he got so much courage to do that… He was the one who took great care to hold your hand, kiss your forehead, and scream into the pillow when he got to the apartment because he had been so close to your mouth and hadn't even managed to lean in.

But now here you two were, pressing your mouths against each other and feeling the rhythm of the kiss change every time Jongseong tightened his grip on your waist or you tangled your fingers in his hair to pull.

The breaking point was when you unconsciously shifted on his lap. The slight brush of your hips against his newly growing bulge made Jongseong gasp against your lips and swallow a moan that he knew would be loud enough. Instead, he slid his lips over yours and down to your neck to kiss and lick your skin.

He had no idea where your sweet spot might be, what to do with you, and how to proceed. Not wanting to cross any boundaries that day. So he went carefully, slowly kissing his way down your neck to below your ear, feeling your body shiver against his lap and your hips press into him a little more. It was your turn to let out a low noise, he knew it could very well be a moan if you weren't so shy.

“Don't hold back for me, Y/n” he whispered against your skin, sliding his teeth on your earlobe and moving down to your neck again “I want to hear you.”

Why had that simple, stupid sentence stuck right in the middle of your panties? Jongseong couldn't be serious, he simply couldn't say that kind of thing and pretend it had no effect on you.

Your response was a small nod, thinking better of returning what he was doing against your skin. As the kisses became more intense and wet, you decided to follow the movement of his mouth against your skin with your hips circling over his. The brush of Jongseong's cock against your pussy, the layer of clothing creating a nice friction in the sensitive area that you and he both wanted to touch so much.

“Fuck” he murmured against your collarbone, his fingers tightening on your hips, but not stopping you from moving on his lap. If he was guiding the pace of the kisses and marks he was leaving on your skin, he would let you guide the pace on his lap.

One of Jongseong’s hands left your hips to pull the shirt you were wearing, the collar going down enough on your skin to show your collarbone where he could continue the session of kisses and marks on you.

Your smile grew, along with the shivers running through your body with each kiss of his and each intensity with which his hips moved. The sweatshirts you both wore weren’t that thick, but it was a hindrance to have that amount of clothing between you and him, even so, it was something you would work on. Not to tease him, but to make it even hotter.

So you pressed your chest against his, hiding Jongseong's face against your neck and collarbone, keeping your hips so close that one movement forward and you could feel the head of his cock rubbing perfectly against your needy clit.

“Jay” you moaned his nickname for the first time, making the boy go into an internal meltdown at how that sounded to him. It was beautiful. A perfect sound that he never thought he would hear in his life. If you moaned like that just because of the way you and him were, Jongseong wanted to imagine the aftermath of it.

“Yes, love” he replied against your skin, lifting his face and placing a slow kiss against your chin. His eyes stared at you with so much affection but at the same time with so much desire that it made your head spin. His hands were still on your hips and he pulled you even further forward, rubbing your clit against the head of his cock again, sliding the entire length over his sweatpants “You're doing so good, you know that?”

You only had the strength to agree, nodding and moaning his name as you moved a little more willingly against Jongseong's clothed cock. He dared a little, the teasing was too much, but he didn't want to stop. Leaning back, he pulled your body along so that you were both more comfortable on the couch.

Now, he had enough strength to support his feet on the floor and push his hips up to go against your movements, so both you and him could feel each other's arousal even more.

Your panties were already sticking against the lips of your pussy, you knew that a few more frictions and your juices would be passing through his sweatpants. It would be shameful if you weren't seeing Jongseong's determination to follow your movements, moaning your name and pressing his lips against your jaw every time he knew he could moan louder when you rubbed in a specific way against his cock.

Something inside you was on fire, the knot in your stomach was getting closer and closer to bursting, and by the way, Jongseong was moaning, grunting, and pushing his hips against yours, you knew he couldn't be that far away.

It wouldn't be shameful to cum like that, after all, the friction was as good as the penetration. And you would be bold enough to ask for this to continue in his room. You promised you wouldn't let anything go by.

Another kiss was initiated, this time by you as you felt your clit throb every time it was pressed in an even more delicious way. The wet noise muffled by the sweatshirt, you couldn't tell if it was from your pussy or his cock, but either way, the pleasure was being very well distributed. You nibbled on Jongseong's lower lip, releasing slightly with a pop as you rested your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

“Jay, I—” you lifted your body, arching your butt a little higher to give more momentum to your movements. He placed his hands on either side of your buttocks, letting you slide down his cock even though you were still dressed.

“Are you going to cum?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. Your nod was the answer he needed, pulling you into a messy kiss as he thrust his hips again and intensified the rubbing with you.

The feeling was surreal. Cumming in your panties while still riding your orgasm with the shallow thrusts and over the clothes that Jongseong gave you to help you reach your peak. You moaned against his mouth, watching him swallow all your moans just as you did with his. His hips stuttered, but never really stopped to prolong that sensation until it bordered on overstimulation.

You fell against his chest, tired and panting. A little embarrassed by the sticky feeling between your legs, your cheeks started to heat up and you wondered if it was from the orgasm you had just had or if it was because reality was setting in and you had just dry-humped Jongseong.

Your eyes slowly opened, searching for his as he was already looking at you. A tired smile adorned the lips you loved kissing, along with a blush on the tanned skin you were addicted to. Both you and him looked down at the same time, and his chuckle made you feel a little more relaxed.

It wasn't just your sweatshirt that was sticky, but the large stain on his pants told you that the orgasm had been intense for both of you.

“We can clean ourselves up and lie down if you want” he whispered, his voice husky and deep, sending shivers down your entire body even after the intense orgasm you had had. Leaning towards him, you kissed Jongseong's lips and smiled slowly.

“Or we can continue this after we clean up too” you whispered back.

“Bold” he chuckled softly, “But I like it.”

“That’s good, right?”

“That’s great” he finished, kissing you once more before hugging your body to his. “Since you’re being bold, can I too?”

He had more time to be bold than you that night, but you would never stop Jongseong from being bold. From being cliché. You would never stop him from anything. So you just agreed, feeling him hug you even tighter as you hugged him back.

“I wanted to tell you that this apartment is too big for just one person” he hummed, his face slowly hiding in the crook of your neck. His smile grew bigger and bigger as he saw the fresh marks on your skin starting to turn a reddish color. You chuckled softly, already imagining where the conversation was going “Maybe you and I can share it. Only if you want, of course.”

He shrugged, outwardly pretending that it didn’t matter. But deep down Jongseong was afraid of your answer. He was afraid that he had been too invasive, even though the moment you two shared a few minutes ago had been more than intimate.

“Are you asking me to live with you?” your tone was playful, but even so, he still didn’t dare to look at you. He kept his face buried in your neck. He only agreed with a slight nod as he murmured, “I’ll need to see if your bed is good to sleep in every night, then.”

“Or we can do it on the couch every day. It’s comfortable here, isn’t it?” He finally lifted his head, his bright and inviting eyes making you sigh – internally and externally. It was your turn to rest your forehead against his, brushing the tip of your nose against Jongseong’s.

“Anywhere is comfortable with you” you whispered, kissing him slowly “You’ve convinced me.”

“Great” it was his turn to kiss your lips, sliding his hands from your waist to your legs, picking you up. Finally, he stood up with you in his arms, accompanied by your little screams and laughter along with his “Because I didn’t intend to let you go, anyway.”

It was so good to have let him into your life. And even better that he stayed because, honestly, you didn’t know if you would have been able to endure everything up until that moment without him.

You would be immensely grateful to your sister and Jaeyun for having introduced you that day at the restaurant, after all, they were both just repaying what you did years ago. Jongseong was right about that.

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m1ckeyb3rry · 4 days ago

Text

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 17.0k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: okay so two things a) sorry for the wait (i thought i would get this out quicker but then my professors decided to kin reader's husband and trapped me with a multitude of exams...) and b) i am. truly shocked by how many people ended up reading/enjoying part one?? like it's crazy to me SLKJFH i hope you guys don't hate where i go with this 😭 and like ik i gave a ton of ooc warnings in the main warning section but they bear repeating LOL so. PLEASE DON'T HATE ME IF BRO IS OOC IDEK HIM LIKE THAT 😓💔

The Southern Sea was unsettled again, thrashing against the shore like a bird tangled in netting, beating itself into such a frenzy that the waves broke silver on the sand. This was atypical of the cerulean waters, and you crouched, fragments of seashells digging into your bare heels as you ran your fingers through the tide. Expecting your father to reprimand you for putting yourself in unnecessary danger, you glanced up, but his mind was clearly preoccupied, as distant as his soft gaze.

“Father,” you said, standing and taking a step back, clutching his arm to steady yourself against the wind. “The sea is strange as of late, isn’t it?”

“They say it knows more than we do,” he said, staring at the horizon, where ships gathered like thunderheads. “Perhaps this is its way of protecting us.”

“I thought the empire was friendly,” you said, narrowing your eyes at the crest painted on the coming boats. “Do we not have some understanding with them?”

“I wonder,” he said. “My darling…you know, sometimes, I wonder.”

You lay in your bed, a sheen of sweat glistening on your skin as you stared at the ceiling. The blankets covering you were suddenly overwarm, though you could not bear to cast them aside, and your eyes welled with scalding tears that threatened to spill out of their corners. Swallowing and turning over, you used the edges of your pillow to blot at them before they could fall, burrowing further and further into the confines of the tangled furs which padded your bedding.

Your vision often swam nowadays, for you were dizzy with exhaustion, but you could not bring yourself to sleep, not when your mind had taken up this new form of torment for you. As if it were not enough that you were imprisoned here in your waking hours, as well! Over and over, it would replay that same scene, everything clearer in recall than it had been when it had actually occurred, the colors brighter, the details sharper, stabbing into you with their cruel poignance.

There were some things, however, which were blurred, the image fading at the edges with time, and this was worse than the remembering, because these were the only things you wished to recall, and this thieving empire would not even let you have that. Even your memories were not safe from their pillaging and their curses, and so their crest was burned into your mind while the rest of it slipped away like river-water through reeds.

You had known as soon as you had awoken that you would not be able to fall asleep again, but that did not stop you from yet another futile attempt. Your lower lip trembled as you waited, fisting your sheets and holding them to your heart as you tried in vain to ease its panicked thumping, which kept time with the furious crash of waves on a far-off shore.

You wanted your home. You wanted to sleep. You wanted your father. You wanted the sea. You wanted to go back. You wanted to have never left in the first place. You wanted, wanted, wanted, but only that which you could never get. Your husband, who was so wealthy in so many ways, who had given you the prince of Kremnos himself, wrapped in chains and delivered at your feet, would never grant you those few wishes which you truly desired, had neither the fancy nor the ability to do so.

Taking one of the lighter blankets and swaddling it around yourself like a shroud, you slid from your bed and fumbled around in the dark for a lantern, which you lit with the embers of the kept hearth. Holding it close to yourself, for luminance and for warmth, you tiptoed through the hallways, your previous flush fading in favor of shivers, which ran up and down your spine the farther you got from your chambers.

There was some invisible force which tethered you to the prince. Certainly there must’ve been, for you could not fathom any other reason why your feet were tracing that familiar path down to the cellar, the blanket still tossed over your shoulders, your stomach wringing itself out from the weight — both of the palace above you and the prince before you.

You thought he might be asleep when you came, but he was as he typically was, as much of a statue as the one you had stood across from on your wedding day. His eyebrows knit together when he saw you, and it was such a sweet, dear expression that you were taken aback, for you had in truth believed him incapable of anything but that dark, glowering scowl which he maintained as if it were the sole representation of the few shreds of self-regard he had left to his name.

“You’re back,” he said carefully. You set the lantern down in between the two of you and, as he always did, he crept closer to its meager incandescence. You pretended not to notice, affording him the grace of ignorance to his innate instinct, and then you nodded.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything. It’s still late at night.”

“I thought as much,” he said, nodding at your empty hands. “Time is different here, but even then, I think that I know the difference between a few hours and an entire day. Has there been some development, then? Is your rotten husband finally freeing me?”

“No,” you said, and though he disguised it with a blank frown, you noticed how his face fell. “I don’t have news in any way, for better or worse. Sometimes, I think my husband is entirely determined to forget that you exist at all.”

“If I were to guess, he means to deprive me to death,” Mydeimos said dispassionately, as if he were talking about someone else, a distantly historical figure whose fate had no bearing on his own. “Should I face a proper execution, I will haunt him from beyond the grave as a banner for Kremnos to rally behind. As it is, he must be hoping that I will fade quietly from the annals of history — the last in another line of princes subsumed by his empire.”

You folded your arms over your chest, a shield against his blunt line of thought. “He is prone to it, I suppose.”

“Is he?” Mydeimos said, like you both were sharing some private joke. He spoke daringly, slyly, as if he were attempting to nudge you into honesty, and you imagined that if you were somewhere else, in a place where the sun shone and the tides eddied about your feet, you would’ve found his manner a temptation. Yet you were here, in this dark cellar, and so all you could muster was a kind of mournful heartache at the impossibility of it all.

“I am sure it is what he intends for the kingdom from whence I hail. Though neither death nor deprivation are required there; the princes are still young, and so if it comes to it, they will…” you trailed off, overcome, before you steeled yourself to continue once more, though a bitter resentment crept into your tone like poison when you did so. “Anyways, the eldest child of the kingdom is a daughter, and she is a spoiled, brattish thing who cares for little but her jewels and her dresses. She will pose no trouble to such an empire as my husband’s.”

“I see,” he said.

“Ah, but regardless,” you said. “It matters little. I shan’t allow him to kill you in such a way.”

“And your word, of course, is law,” he said, and you wondered at his constitution, which allowed him to scorn you even when he was, in a sense, nothing more than a corpse, a vessel bound for funeral and finality. Was he like this with the others, too? The many men who came to gouge at him with their glares and their abuse, did he strike them with his whip-sharp tongue? Or was it that you were the only one — the only one who deserved it, or the only one who took it with your tail tucked and your head bowed?

“Do you ever sleep?” you said, for if it was the case and you were the sole person he dared to rail against, then how could you take it from him? When it had been taken from you, how could you turn around and do the same to another? “You are always awake when I come to see you.”

He stared at you incredulously, as if you were quite mad. You waited, thinking that he must be choosing his words carefully, but when he finally did speak, it was with a breathy laugh, like he could not quite believe that he had to say it aloud.

“Do I ever sleep?” he parroted. “If I sleep, dear lady, I am certain that I will never wake again. How many men would happen upon me and not dare to slit my throat in such a state, when they can be assured that I will not be able to retaliate? Do I ever sleep, indeed!”

You wished you could tell him that it was the same for you — different, because that which spelled your end came to you only in your dreams, and so you were chased from repose as surely as he ran from it, but the same nonetheless. The bruises carved into the hollows of his cheeks and painted under his dark lash-line were identically replicated on your face, although you were better about hiding it, staining your skin with all manners of concoctions so that your husband did not question what ailed you.

“It will kill you regardless, won’t it?” you said, furrowing your brow. He shrugged, and despite the atrophy of his mind and body alike, it was a powerful gesture, all the more intimidating for its halfheartedness.

“Who will weep if it does?” he said.

“Every manner of thing in this place is meant to kill you, in fact,” you continued. “It is as you said, then: they mean for you to meet death by deprivation, to suffer until your very end. You cannot sleep, nor can you eat…but as I have brought you food, so, too, shall I bring you rest.”

“And how do you imagine you’ll do that?” he said.

“I will stay here,” you said, the strength of your conviction shocking yourself. You hadn’t known until you had said it that you would, but as it left your mouth, you became utterly sure that it was the right decision. “I will watch over you, prince of Kremnos, and should — should someone else come, then I will wake you before I flee, so that you may defend yourself.”

“Why would you do that?” he said. “What good does it do for you to protect me when my end is decided?”

He said it with curiosity, not deprecation, although there was an edge of despairing anger to it. Why? Why do you extend your hand to a doomed man? If I must die, then let me die now instead of later. If he were more honest, then perhaps he would’ve said something like that, but instead he only gazed at you levelly and waited for your response.

“If we both are to meet our deaths in this palace, then let at least one of us meet that demise with a head held high,” you said.

For a moment, it seemed like he might question you. You prepared rebuttals that you could never make but which would swish around in your mind like an impenetrable defense — a death of the body is not the only way to die, after all — but then, miraculously, he only hummed

“You think that it must be me?” he said.

“The Kremnoans are known for their pride, aren’t they? It isn’t the same for my people, who roll over and show their stomachs at the slightest incitement,” you said, taking the blanket off of your shoulders and holding it out to him. “I have made my vows already. What can I do but accept this fate? Yet it needn’t be the same for you.”

He peered at you with eyes that saw far more than they should, far more than you had allowed him or anyone else to, and then he nodded. Shortly, curtly, but he did it, taking the blanket and unfurling it like a war-banner in the meantime.

“I understand,” he said.

“Do you?” you said, for you could not tell what, exactly, it was that he understood. He did not elaborate, however, tucking himself away in the corner, draping the blanket over himself like a mantle and resting his head on his arms. Although he did not close his eyes, watching you even still, you could see them fluttering against his will, and you knew it would not be long before he succumbed, whether he wanted to or not. There was only so long he could survive without sleep for, after all — at the end of the day, he was still a man, and thus prone to humanity’s shortcomings.

“Turn around,” he said gruffly. “Watch the stairs, not me. I will not be the one to bring you harm.”

You apologized, sitting with your legs crossed and your back to him, watching the shadows cast by the lantern as they flickered and danced, waltzing about to the soundtrack of his breaths, which slowly evened into a soft rhythm of inhales and exhales as the time dragged on.

Minutes or seconds or hours passed, you could not be sure, but when your legs grew numb from inactivity, you shifted so that you were hugging your knees to your chest, muffling your face in the fabric of your nightgown.

“Are you asleep?” you whispered.

He did not respond, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you saw that his eyes were closed, his face smooth with innocence as his chest rose and fell under the thin blanket. It was as if he were another person entirely, a more forgiving person, a kinder one, the sort of gentle prince that stories were written about instead of the violent beast who killed as many men as were thrown at him.

“That’s good, then,” you said, a weight on your tongue dissipating now that you were, in effect, alone. “Huh? I didn’t realize…”

Even your vows could not police your thoughts, or, if they could, they had not yet attempted to. Your stream of consciousness was still unfettered, and now that Mydeimos was asleep, you could say what you pleased, could tell him everything you wanted without fear of reproach. It nearly brought you to tears, the mere thought of it, and you had to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I understand you more than you think,” you admitted. “You know, just as they’ve taken the sun from you, they’ve taken something precious from me as well. I speak of the sea — oh, but I never told you that, right? Nobody here knows, or at least they pretend that they don’t, but it’s true that I am from the shores of the Southern Sea, where the sky is always clear and the people are as beautiful as the tides.”

You half-expected him to startle awake and snap at you, or for your voice to suddenly die away in protest at your rebellion, but when neither of these things happened, you slumped down in relief.

“It’s often said that the Southern Sea is beyond compare, the closest to paradise that can be found on the living earth. Perhaps I’m biased in agreeing, but I really think it’s the case. I love it, I love it as much as you love the sun — and how you miss the sun, so, too, do I miss the sea. Daily anew I ask myself how it is that I am still alive when I have been so far from it for so long, but somehow I persist, though there are times…ah, but I digress. It isn’t your concern,” you said.

If he were awake, he would’ve jeered at you. How dare you, who were the empress of this entire place, speak of struggle? When he was locked away like this and you were left to your own devices, how dare you pretend as though you understood him? You were suddenly grateful that he could not hear you, or else whatever opinion he had of you would be irrevocably lowered.

“You would find it strange and inexplicable, as Kremnos is entirely inland, but for me, the sea is parent and friend and confidante alike,” you said. “You see, I was my mother’s first child, and so my birth was rife with difficulties. For two days and two nights she labored, until a wisewoman recommended she be taken to the Southern Sea.

“Of course, my father was frightened, for who would trust a wife and a babe to the treachery of the currents? But it’s an odd thing…the waters have never been calmer than they were that day, when my mother was taken to a cove where the seaweed held her hands and the monk-seals played as her midwives. You know, the whales sang when I was finally born, a clear-eyed slip of a child cradled in my father’s arms.”

The mention of your father made you pause, for you had not said that word in so long that it was all but foreign. Father. Your father, your father, you would tell the sleeping Mydeimos all about your father if you had the time and the energy for it. But where would you start, and where would you end?

“I miss the Southern Sea in the way a bride must miss her mother,” you said. “My actual mother never had much time for me, far too preoccupied with the rearing of the younger ones, and so I was left to the waters and my father, both who cared for me with great consideration, and both who I — who I miss most ardently.”

Your chest felt near to caving in, and you tightened your grip around your knees, as if by holding onto yourself, you could prevent the further spread of the burrowing sensation emanating from your heart, which would dig and dig until there was nothing left of you but blackened, gangrenous innards that rattled around in an empty carapace.

Mydeimos awoke some time later, though you only knew because he cleared his throat, prompting you to turn and find that he was crouched on the ground, folding the blanket with a neat precision, matching the corners with mathematical accuracy. You watched him in bewilderment, the exactness and nigh-domesticity all but jarring, and in turn he ignored you, fascinating himself with the work so that he could avoid your gaze.

“You stayed,” he said when he could no longer pretend like the blanket required his attention. Dropping it in your lap, he looked down at you with arms crossed, a silent and clear refusal to offer you his hand in the way of a nobleman. You did not insist, taking the blanket and scrambling to your feet on your own.

“Yes, I told you that I would,” you said. “Did you sleep well?”

“‘Well’ is a stretch,” he said. You averted your eyes, lips tugging into an involuntary frown, and he sighed. “But at least I slept. For that, I am…grateful.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” you said, in an attempt to disguise the disproportionate pleasure the simple acknowledgment brought you. “But since you found it to be of some help, I will come back tomorrow.”

“If that is what you will,” he said, albeit lacking his typical sardonic bite. “By the way, you referenced your home.”

“I did?” you said, trying to think back to what you had said before he had fallen asleep. It felt as though you had lived very many lifetimes since then, and everything jumbled together in your mind, so you only blinked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“You said that the people of your home are known for their yellow-bellied cowardice,” he reminded you, and dimly you recalled saying such a thing, though you hadn’t expected him to latch onto such a random, stray line.

“That’s right,” you said. “Why do you mention it?”

“Where are you from? I haven’t heard of a place so opposite to Kremnos. It’s unfathomable, the thought of somewhere with people who do not burn for the glory of their egos and esteems. What — what is it like?” he said, attempting to sound entirely unaffected but incapable of camouflaging the sheen of curiosity glazing over his irises, childish inquisition melding with a more mature, scholarly interest.

“It is an ordinary and unremarkable place,” you said, pursing your lips and turning away from him again, your blanket over your back in the way of a shield, a barrier in between yourself and the kindly prying that you might’ve called uncharacteristic of the prince, if you were someone could claim to know anything about him and his character. “That’s all I can say.”

You lingered for a moment longer, thinking — or perhaps just hoping — that he would say something, that he would poke and poke at your dull, wounded answer, that somewhere deep in his beastly heart, he would understand what you really meant. But he only exhaled, bidding you farewell with the same inflamed terseness that he typically infused into his every word, and the moment was lost.

In the daytime, your husband’s voice had this quality of cheerfulness that, at least to you, seemed specifically designed to grate at your nerves. This was an especial cruelty, as the mornings were the worst for you, worn from the toils of the night as you were, but your husband remained blissful in his unawareness and so continued to chatter on without heed.

You sat curled into your chair, the sun bright in your vision and his voice bright in your ears and everything all so bright, bright, bright. You considered gouging your nails into your eye sockets for the slightest bit of alleviation, or maybe scratching your fingers into your ears deep enough to bleed and drown out the speech he was giving about his plans for securing the Kremnoan border.

“...they have been severely weakened without Mydeimos, of course, but naturally that doesn’t mean they are entirely defeated; stubborn bastards, those Kremnoans, never know when to quit—”

“My lord, have you decided what you will do about him?” you said, your voice dragging on the vowels as you muffled a yawn. “The prince, I mean. Mydeimos.”

The name dallied on your tongue, sweet as the fruit you chewed on, syrupy like the juice of it on your lips. Your husband raised a brow at you, and you cursed him in your mind, cursed him for being so oblivious to so many things but this familiarity, this delicacy, this one thing you had left to savor.

“How flattered he would be, to know that you are so concerned for him!” he said. “I doubt he has ever had such a beautiful woman fawning over him so devotedly. I am sure his face would be as red as those crude markings of his if he heard of it.”

“Don’t be a boor,” his cousin interjected, the quiet control of his voice a welcome reprieve from the variances in your husband’s tone. “She’s only wondering, right, lady? He is her prisoner, after all. Why should she not ask?”

“Her prisoner,” your husband said, with a particular and unprecedented emphasis on the possessive nature of the word. “Yes, he is, at that. Fear not, dear lady; as I have said before, and so I will say again, I shall execute him when the time comes, but that time is not yet. Believe me, you will be the first to be told when it comes to it.”

“Very well,” you said, for there was no merit in further discussion of the topic. You understood when to back off as well as anything, and anyways, as you had told the prince, the people of the Southern Sea weren’t the confrontational sort. You were the worst of them, once, a barbarous lionfish in a sea of picarels, but now, by virtue of your vows, you were just like the rest, as pliant as a clamped oyster buried in the sand.

“Anyways, brother,” your husband’s cousin said when there was an awkward lull in the one-sided conversation, which was really more of a monologue on your husband’s part than anything but was still uncomfortable in its absence, “I was thinking.”

“Were you, now? And was it incredibly difficult?” your husband said. His cousin, who was one of the great military minds of the empire, smiled politely, well-used to the jabs that your husband doled out with a fraternal frequency.

“On the contrary, your lady eases my mind. There is no difficulty when she is the one my thoughts tarry upon,” he said coolly, just serious enough that he was almost definitely in jest. “I thought she might find some amusement in visiting the elephants from Kremnos; they do not have those where she is from, I am sure, and seeing such rarities might be of some benefit to her health. Certainly the air will be.”

“You speak with wisdom…but I do not have the time to supervise such an excursion,” your husband said. “I have war-councils to attend, and an empire to manage besides.”

“Isn’t that what I was born for?” his cousin said. “I am your second, brother, and at your disposal entirely. If you cannot accompany her, then I will surely do it in your stead.”

Your husband’s eyes narrowed, so imperceptibly that it could easily be dismissed as a trick of the light or a defense against the sun. You ran your tongue along the back of the teeth as you waited for his response, a natural symptom of fretting that you could not help, but it came to nothing, as he only reclined back in his chair with an imperious nod.

“Who else can I rely on but you, hm? Thank you, then,” he said. “Dear lady, I hope you are not opposed.”

He phrased it as a question but meant it as a command; you were not so stupid as to think otherwise. Anyways, it might not be so horrible, so you only hummed in agreement and pretended like the berries in your mouth were the reason you did not say anything aloud.

The path to the stables where the elephants were kept was made of packed dirt, looping through the gardens in a meandering route far from the palace and any onlookers. For a while neither you nor your husband’s cousin spoke — he was lost in thought, and you busied yourself with admiring the scenery you had thus far only seen through the windows of your room. It was not the Southern Sea, could not be further from it, but there was a pastoral, picturesque charm to the blooming bushes regardless. Honeysuckle climbed over wrought-iron trellises, the slender vines curling in between the twisting leaf motifs of the metal, and the blush-white flowers perfumed the air with a melancholic sweetness.

How lovely you would’ve found it, if it did not all belong to you. If you were a visiting dignitary, a guest of the empire’s…if you walked alongside your husband’s cousin as a companion or friend instead of a sister-in-law…how lovely it might’ve all been.

The sun beat down on your back nearly to the point of discomfort, but instead of complaints, all that came to your mind was Mydeimos, who you thought might’ve luxuriated in these things that you were irked by. So you bore it in his stead, the suffering, the burning, drinking it in with zeal, imprinting the sensation into your skin instead of shrinking away from it, a punishment to yourself as much as a favor to the prince that might never again wear the crown of day upon his handsome brow.

“I remember that first letter my brother’s advisor wrote to us about you,” your husband’s cousin said, ripping you from your reverie. There was a hint of shrewdness to his voice, one that you had never heard from him before, and it made you instantly wary, though he had never given you reason to doubt him before.

“Pardon?” you said.

“It was all such a surprise,” he said, though of course it had not been anything of the sort. “To think that you were to marry him. What a solution to the problem at hand.”

“Yes,” you said, picking at the frayed skin of your cuticles absentmindedly, ripping at them until they stung. “And here I am, having done just that.”

“Indeed,” he said. “It was about time he found a wife, anyways. Heirs are not born overnight; as of right now, all he has in the way of succession is me, but of course that’s not sustainable, is it? He needed a wife to beget a son most of all; everything else you have brought us is a perquisite.”

“Yet it was those very perquisites that made it all so much easier, I am certain,” you said.

“Who would not marry for as many advantages as they can come by?” he said. “You cannot blame us for that.”

“Perhaps,” you said noncommittally before shifting so that your shoulders did not face him. “But these are old things, which have long since happened. The elephants. Tell me about them.”

He wasn’t the last person you wished to discuss your past with, but if there were a list, then he was definitely near the bottom. It was conflicting in a way, nonsensical, almost, but you were sure that even if you could talk about it, you would not, for as much as you longed to, you also could not stand the notion. There was a sort of fortitude in your isolation, in your knowledge that in this place, the Southern Sea belonged solely to you. Not your husband nor his cousin nor their armies and their advisors; you, you, you and only you. So even if you had the means to speak of it with a loose tongue and ready words, you would not — you would guard it instead, guard it and its people, keep them close to your chest, folded into your swooping collarbones where the empire could not cast its filthy gaze upon them.

“There are three,” he began, holding up three fingers for emphasis. “The cows, Dromas and Lucabos, who were used only for the transport of goods and have taken well to their new keepers.”

You had reached the elephants’ temporary stabling by this point, and he pointed at the twin elephants in turn. Their tusks were short and blunted, and their trunks waved in the air as they reached for feed from their troughs; keepers milled around their feet, but neither Dromas nor Lucabos paid them any mind. There was an enduring temperateness to the depths of their dark gazes, and even to you, who knew nothing of elephants, it was obvious that these were not creatures of war but benevolent pack-animals in the way of your homeland’s donkeys.

Separated from the cows, the third elephant stood alone, sullen and unmoving. If the keepers dared to so much as look at him, he would rumble out a feral challenge, and unlike Dromas and Lucabos, he was tethered to the ground by ropes braided around his legs and torso. Faded red paint swirled on his forehead, a universal symbol of protection which was flaking off but had not yet turned illegible, and there was a mean slant to his eyes, his ivory tusks honed into swordpoints that he brandished before him.

“Verax,” your husband’s cousin said when he noticed that your stare had not budged from the savage bull. “The war-elephant of the prince himself. After we captured Mydeimos, he fell to his knees from grief and was easily corralled, despite his inordinate strength in battle. A loyal creature, to be sure, albeit a foolish one — you’d think he’d have ceased his struggling by now, when it so clearly will come to nothing! But still he fights, though I know not what he hopes to achieve. Even if he does somehow free himself…he must know that the one he loves has gone to a place he can never reach.”

“Perhaps he seek comfort in refusal,” you said. “There is courage and heart to be found in intransigence, after all.”

“Would you know very much about that?” he said, leaning with his back to the fence surrounding Verax, who stared at you with barely-concealed hatred, the expression so utterly human it made you shiver.

“Should we stand so close to him?” you said, neatly avoiding the question by posing one of your own, batting your eyelashes in an attempt at naivete. For a second you thought he might not fall for it, that he might be possessed with a keen enough intellect to see through the farce, but if he was, then he did not display it, only waving you off dismissively.

“He may charge at us, but he will trip on his restraints before he reaches,” he said, and then he extended his hand towards Verax, waving his fingers at him teasingly. “See? They’ve taken every precaution; I wouldn’t have been permitted to bring you if they hadn’t. Nothing can happen to my beloved brother’s wife.”

“Let us go,” you said, tugging his arm with far more familiarity than was earned. He raised his eyebrows but did not reprimand you, allowing himself to be pulled along as you set course for the palace proper once more. “This is doing nothing for my health. I don’t wish to stay here any longer.”

“I know that Verax is frightening, but Dromas and Lucabos are as meek as horses,” he reassured you. “You needn’t fear when it comes to them. Don’t you wish to pet them?.”

“No,” you said. “No, I don’t. I am spent, and I think it’d be best if I retire until dinner. Thank you for accompanying me; I appreciate that you thought of me and my wellbeing, even though nothing much came of your attempts.”

“I will keep searching,” he said, a smile playing on his lips, taunting you as he had taunted Verax, waving the feigned gravitas he afforded the situation in your face as boyishly as he had waved his fingers at the elephant. “Until I may find what cures you, I will keep searching.”

“I wish you luck in your endeavors,” you said. “You will need it, I am sure. I do not think this ailment is one which will easily be alleviated.”

“Were you so feeble before you came here?” he said.

“On the contrary, I was healthy and strong,” you said as you passed Dromas and Lucabos’s enclosure again. Neither elephant took note of you, and you found they were easy to ignore, melding into the background like mountains on the horizon. They did not have the same demanding quality of presence as Verax, who commanded one’s attention as surely as his counterpart, Mydeimos, did.

“Perhaps there is some clue to be found there,” he mused. “I will earnestly reflect on it, and if I happen upon some answer, I will surely tell you.”

“Very well,” you said. “Though I—”

Before you could tell him that he would not find much if anything in his reflections, a fact which he most certainly already knew but was pretending to be ignorant to, a commotion broke out. Men’s voices layered over one another while Verax trumpeted and swung his great head about in a panic before lowering it, his ears flat against his neck as he strained against his constraints, his eyes focused on you and your husband’s cousin as he dug his feet, each the size of a chariot-wheel, into the muddy, rutted ground.

“Stay back, lady,” your husband’s cousin said, his arm barring your path forward and his brow knitting together in alarm.

“I thought you said he couldn’t do anything,” you said as the keepers swarmed about Verax, waving bullhooks and bindings at the elephant, who took no head of their warnings, his frenzied stomping causing the ground to shake and his bellows rending through the sky itself.

“Would you like to find out if that’s the case?” he said. “He’s never been so belligerent before, at least not to my knowledge. I know not what he is capable of, not in such a state, and it seems as though we are his targets at present, so we must make haste and return to the palace at once. Allow the keepers to manage him, for they have been trained in the art and are doubly qualified for it!”

Was this what Mydeimos’s enemies had seen? When he took to the battlefield, had they recognized him as a harbinger of their destruction? For Verax must’ve shaken the earth then, too, the very world itself bowing to the combined might of their arrivals, to the power which was rumored even as far as the Southern Sea.

They say he is more of a god than a man, the prince who sits upon the throne of Kremnos, people would whisper in the streets. All we can do against that strength is pray that he does not turn it towards our shores.

Verax shrieked, and you paused, a terrible thought crossing your mind, unsolicited and unwelcome yet more and more appealing as the seconds mounted. How horrible would it be? You might die quickly, at any rate. One more burst of suffering, as acute as the final glimpse of your home when it vanished over the sunset, and then you would be reunited with the tides, turned to seafoam and silt by the elephant. Whether your end came at his tusks or his tread, wouldn’t it be better this way?

“Lady?” your husband’s cousin said, and he reached for your hand, but you continued as if you were in a dream, a fog creeping over your mind as you took one step and then another towards the staggering Verax. “Lady, don’t—!”

The pulsing march of your heartbeat resounded in your ears like a wardrum, and as you grew nearer and nearer to the fearsome beast, whose tusks were already stained with crimson at their tips, a fist clamped around your stomach, squeezing and squeezing, yanking on your spine in a desperate attempt to halt your momentum. Fear, that must’ve been its name; you were no battle-hardened general, to be able to face your death without such a steadfast companion. You were only a girl, and you were afraid, but more than afraid you were weary, the kind of weary which seeped into your bones and resigned you to your fate.

“He recognizes scents!” one of the keepers shouted at you. You were aware of it in the way that a drowning man was aware of that which occurred above the surface; thickly, faintly, muddily. “He recognizes scents, lady — if he smells his majesty the emperor on you, he will — you must leave at once, or you will surely die!”

Verax stood with the sun behind him, his sides heaving as he regarded you with an imperious animosity. You stood and waited for his verdict, finding the anticipation to be more excruciating than the action itself but trusting his deliberations, trusting that whatever decision he arrived at would certainly be the right one. They were wise creatures, elephants, even the ones like him who were trained only for war.

He swung his trunk towards you like he meant to knock you down, and you did not flinch away from it, closing your eyes, wringing your hands to stop yourself from shying away, from running to the safety of your husband’s cousin and the elephant keepers. You could not let such a basic impulse impede your freedom, the freedom that you could only win through this agony, this tribulation, this death.

Yet instead of a crushing, bruising impact, he brushed it against you delicately, fondly, a featherlight kiss of a touch. You held your breath, but when nothing else happened, you cracked your eyes open, your brow pinching together as you looked at the elephant.

Verax exhaled out a rumbling whine of a breath, and then he fell to his knees, his trunk winding around you in what you could only describe as an embrace and was surely the tenderest affection you had received since coming to this bleak, cheerless empire. For a moment you did not understand it, and then, as surely as anything, it came to you, and you stroked your hand along his rough grey mouth.

“Does it cling to me even now, the spoor of that cellar, that prince?” you whispered in amazement. “No, you are not mistaken, Verax, it is him. Even now, Mydeimos lives; I swear to you that he does.”

“Lady!” your husband’s cousin said, wrenching you from Verax, his nails carving half-moons into your upper arms. “What foolishness is this? Have you a death wish? What would become of me, if something were to happen to you while you were under my care?”

“It’s irrelevant, isn’t it? I’m unharmed,” you said.

“A small miracle,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You and my brother were right. It is for the best that you remain in the palace until you are in your right mind. Do forgive me for assuming to know you better than you knew yourself.”

“What will they do to him?” you said as he guided you away, his arm hard, unyielding against your waist. The keepers had set upon Verax, who, in the reverse of his earlier demeanor, only lay there and took it, as if the faintest traces of Mydeimos which he had picked up from you had been enough to soothe him into yielding.

“To Verax?” he said. “I hardly know. You shouldn’t concern yourself with it; likely he will end up in the same way as his former master.”

“In the way of Mydeimos?” you said. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dead, of course,” he said. “What else?”

You turned for one final glance at Verax. He had nestled into himself, his cheek in the dirt and his legs tucked neatly against his enormous body. His ears fluttered weakly against the clangor of the many rebukes, but this was all the resistance he showed. The fight had left his eyes; they were now glassy and torpid, twin whelk-shells which sparkled at the corners with something that, if you were not more learned, you would call tears. But who had ever heard of an animal that cried? Still, as you left him behind, you could not shake the feeling that, whether from sorrow or jubilation, he was most assuredly weeping.

That night, you did not bother with ceremony or announcement when you returned to the cellar. You collapsed to the ground with a huff and slid the plate over to Mydeimos’s feet. Unlike the first few times you had done such a thing, he did not hesitate to sit across from you, using the silver cutlery you offered him to cut the meat into small pieces that he nibbled on with a daintiness which was almost pretty to watch.

“I saw the elephants today,” you said. He froze mid-chew before increasing his pace, swallowing it down in a gulp and canting forward, his expression feline, intrigued. It pinned you in place, staying your tongue and any retorts that might come to life by the sheer force of it.

“The elephants? Then Verax—?” he said, so hopefully that all you could do was nod.

“Yes, him. Dromas and Lucabos, too,” you said.

“Is he…alright?” he said. “Verax, I mean, though of course I worry for the others, too. But Verax is special.”

“Because he is yours?” you said. “You rode him into battle, did you not?”

He cocked his head at you, and for a long time he was silent, measuring the length and breadth of your mettle with his sweeping scrutiny. You did not move, afraid of what would happen if you failed this test, although he had proven so many times over that he had no intentions of harming you — just as you could not brave Verax without that old friend, however, so, too, could you not brave the searching, seeking Mydeimos.

“It is not customary for princes in Kremnos to ride elephants,” he said finally, evidently judging you worthy, though you knew not what you had done to deserve such a designation. He continued to eat in between sentences, every phrase constructed with a painstaking accuracy that he mulled over as he chewed. “We have cavalrymen for that. An elephant is a grand mount, but for a nation that thrives on bloodshed and conflict, such grandness is an extravagance that is frowned upon for those of us who are meant to be the ideal of that very turmoil.”

“Ah,” you said. “So it is that sort of place, then. I see.”

“Verax’s mother died as he was born,” he said. “So he was meant to be culled, for there wasn’t a soul in Castrum Kremnos, our fair capital, that had the time or the temperament for such an involved undertaking as raising him from infancy.”

“Culled!” you said, your hands flying to your mouth in surprise. “Such a small, darling creature, having just lost its mother, and they could only think to cull it?”

“They are without mercy,” he said, and unexpectedly he did not chide you for interrupting him as you thought he might’ve. In fact, he seemed to welcome it, your interest spurring him to continue instead of faltering into surliness as he often did. “Only those with the wherewithal to grasp at survival with both hands are deserving of this life, or so it is said; oh, don’t make such an expression, of course I don’t believe in the school of thought myself. Who do you think raised Verax? To my father’s eternal dismay, it was me.”

“You raised Verax?” you said, trying to envision it and finding you were unable. Was he capable of such parental warmth, this menacing, hulking figure sitting across from you? Had he handled the young calf with the hands of a warrior, coarse and unsympathetic, or had he managed to palliate them, so that they might resemble the compassion of the mother that the elephant had lost? Was that the extent of the love Verax knew, and was that why he mourned the prince so deeply, so consumingly?

“Every night for a year, I slept in his stable,” he said, his eyes faraway, a small smile hovering at his lips — not entirely there, his frown still resolute in its position, but threatening to manifest at some point in the future. “He would follow me around in the daytime, a toddling, awkward mess of limbs that attended my lessons and watched my sparring matches with a sagacity that even most men can never hope to attain in their lifetimes. We were young together, Verax and I, and when the both of us ventured forth to the battlefields beyond Kremnos, we became men together, too. He is my child and my brother alike; thus, he is my particular concern. Tell me anything. Do they treat him well? Is he agreeable in his new situation? He is difficult, I have always scolded him for it — well, he is an elephant at the end of the day, so there is only so much he can understand, but I like to think he knows what I am saying more often than he doesn’t. They aren’t riding him, are they? His back is sensitive, in truth; I would not take to it for more than a few minutes at a time even if I were a simple cavalryman, for despite his size and strength, he does not have the necessary muscular development to carry a man for much longer than that. I could not bear to train him, you see, as I always found the methods of breaking too harsh to inflict on another in good conscience.”

“He…” You bit your lower lip. Would it be better to give him the truth, or would it be worse? How could you tell him that death, too, he would meet with Verax at his side? Yet how could you lie and say that he was alright? Because that false hope also seemed like a cruelty. When he had bared himself to you in this small way, when he had drawn back just one corner of his past in exchange for nothing of your own, how could you repay him with blithe misdirection? “I think that he longs for you.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Then he is as he always is. Thank you, dear lady. I am relieved to hear it.”

This time, you had brought him a better blanket, the heaviest you owned that was not overly unwieldy as you dragged it down the stairs behind you. It was large and quilted, scenes from a hunt embroidered into it, the vibrant threads dipped in woad and madder, a pack of hounds chasing after a saffron-stained lion as he lay down and pulled the swath of dark wool over his shoulders. Tonight he did not stall or argue, only giving you a halfhearted reminder that you had sworn to be vigilant before rolling over without waiting for your response.

“You sleep so quickly,” you said. “I am almost envious, though of course for me to say I envy you in any sense is…in poor taste, as the case may be.”

He had left a little bit of food untouched, as tidily cut as what he had eaten but portioned and kept away from the rest. You didn’t want to be presumptuous, but skipping dinner every night was taking its toll, and so the pangs of your stomach insisted that he had left it for you, that he pitied or sympathized with you and so had given you this unsaid gift. You had no reason to think that he would do such a thing, of course, but eventually you could not deny yourself any longer, not when it was so tantalizing, so fetchingly plated.

“I wonder if I will ever understand you,” you said, chewing on the cold, pearly rice, rolling the white grains around on your tongue and squinting at his motionless form. “How many strange habits you have. What would the people of this empire say, if they knew that the prince of terrors was also the mother of elephants?”

You laughed under your breath for the both of you, finding refuge in the brief, catty amusement you had allowed yourself. You had no idea if Mydeimos would find it entertaining; likely he would not, considering the joke was at his expense, but you comforted yourself with the image of him sharing your humor, of one other person in this entire desolate place finding some value in straightforward repartee instead of conniving witticisms.

“But speaking of elephants…” you said, sobering immediately, all traces of levity leaving your body. Now that he was asleep, you could tell him the truth, could allow the burden of your earlier reticence to be alleviated by confessional honesty to his body, if not his waking mind. “Oh, Mydeimos, the situation is so horrible I could not stand to say it aloud to you, not when you were so — so sincere in your anxious querying, but Verax’s fate is not so dissimilar to yours.”

You pushed the plate, now empty, away from you, turning your attention to the stairs, both so that you could fulfill your promise to him and so that you did not have to acknowledge his presence when you spoke. Even his sleeping frame held a sort of judgment to it, an accusation to his silence, as if he were blaming you for everything that had yet occurred to him. You supposed he wasn’t wrong to do it, but you ran from that blame regardless, unable to take it, your back as unused to the task as Verax’s.

“They might put him down soon. They thought he was going to kill me, after all,” you said, tracing circles in the dust on the ground, coughing when it plumed into the air, blinking rapidly to clear your irises from the irritation. “I thought he was going to kill me…but, you know, I think that I wanted him to, a little bit. Or maybe a lot. I don’t know, I don’t — I don’t want to be here anymore, I never wanted to come at all, and if death is the only way I can go home, then—!”

You broke off, shame enveloping you, unable to fathom what you had just blurted out. Weren’t you self-absorbed for it? Weren’t you miserly for seeking out something that had been thrust upon him unwillingly? Something he would surely meet if it were not for you? His life, his existence, it was all tethered to yours, and yet you had tried to throw it away for your own brief deliverance.

“It was the worst season of my life, Mydeimos,” you recalled. “And, also, the last. I speak, naturally, of the one with the storms, when the empire’s ships first cast anchor in the Southern Sea.

“Once, my husband’s empire was a genuine ally of my home. We were friendly enough, or maybe a better way to describe it would be that we had an understanding with them: as long as we continued to trade with them, to bow to their whims and their prices, they would protect us from the abominable — ah, well, it was your people we feared most of all. I am sure you are not surprised by it? Maybe you are even glad that stories of your deeds precede you so far…but I should not continue to assign such reactions to you. I don’t know you any more than you know me, after all, so for all I know you find this offensive.

“Anyways. The empire was always a foreign, distant consideration, especially for me, who was always so sheltered, so guarded. I knew of them — who does not? — but they were not an immediate concern.

“My father was always suspicious of them, however. He was always suspicious of everyone, in fairness, it’s a characteristic of men like that, but against such an enormous entity, what could he do about it? For as wealthy as we are, the Southern Sea has little in the way of an army. Our men are either too young or too old or not brave enough for fighting, and that is our greatest secret, which even my husband does not know for certain but, I believe, has long since guessed at.

“You know how covetous he is. When he came to conjecture that we were so defenseless, he sank his teeth into our underbelly, unflinching as he throttled us in the coils of his strength. It was wealth he wanted, my father’s vast stores of gold and jewels that he eyed with a feasting hunger. I do not doubt that he was fully prepared to bleed us of it, and indeed as the ships grew closer and closer they sent us a messenger on a small wooden boat.

“‘Each ship contains five hundred men, all ready to die for their empire. Surrender your greatest treasure to us, and we will spare you.’ That was what we were told. My father had no choice; he would rather give up all the gold in the world than let anyone suffer for a moment longer than they needed to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted salt, so similar and yet so different from the sprays of brine that had infused the air by the beach on the day the messenger had come. You could recall even now what a sinewy, aquiline man he had been, his flat blue stare affixed on your damp features as he recited the emperor’s words in his stead. He is busy in Kremnos, the messenger had explained. A bloody crusade to defend you from that loutish prince of theirs. Yes, yes, I am speaking to you, lady — pray that that brute never lays eyes on you. Such a pretty little bird, so beautiful…he will most assuredly hunt you down and tear into you with rapturous vehemence.

“My father scrambled about, offering them as much as he could. Chalices of gold coins; jewels from my mother’s dowry; a hundred of the finest Eastern horses; spices that only grow in one place, for one week; yet all of these were refused. ‘You think the emperor will be satisfied with something so paltry?’ We were at a loss. It seemed as though nothing short of the entire kingdom would be enough to please them, and despite how generous my father is, he could not give them that.

“I was the one who understood first. At least, I accepted before the rest what it was that the empire truly sought out. The tides, the kingdom, these were all unreachable — even if they conquered us, we would never do their bidding, not in any way that lasted. Thus, they needed a more concrete claim, a child born of sand and sea. My child, which, upon its conception, will have a right to the empire and the ocean alike, uniting both under my husband’s name for good.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself in a facsimile of a hug, pretending like your father was there, clinging to you as he had on that final night. The wind had howled and he had cried and you had sat there, stoic, your expression motionless but for the faintest sheen in your eyes. You had refused to let yourself waver, knowing that if you showed any hints of hesitation, your father would never release you from his arms, and so the Southern Sea would fall to the fire and brimstone of the ceaseless empire.

“He didn’t want me to leave anymore than I wanted to go,” you said. “My poor father. He would’ve given up the world to keep me by his side, so I made the decision for us both and insisted upon it. I promised him that I would find love here, even in this loveless place, and whether he truly believed me or if it only soothed him to do so, I do not know, but regardless he eventually allowed it. So I boarded that wooden boat with that wooden messenger, and as the sea tossed about in lament, I came to the ship which would take me to my new home, to the statue I would wed the moment my feet touched the ground.”

You laughed again, but it was resentful and acrid, scalding the back of your throat in the way of vomit. Flexing your fingers and digging them into the gaps between your ribs, you waited until you could feel your pulse, feel the proof that you, too, had not turned to stone in the time since you had come here.

“Yes, a statue,” you said. “A real-and-true block of marble. That is what I wed, and that is what I swore to my father I would come to love. What he would think, if he could see me now…”

You yawned, your eyelids heavy, spots painting your vision as it blackened at the corners. Eventually your body would repay you for your weeks of insomnia, for the massive debt which you had incurred and kept increasing day by day, but pinching yourself, you sat up straighter, for if it was here that you conceded, you would never forgive yourself, and neither would Mydeimos.

“Lady.” The firm address cut through your daze, and you shifted to see Mydeimos at the end of his tether, holding the blanket out to you, his forehead creased into something a little kinder than a grimace but still expressing that same distaste. “Will you be able to survive for much longer in this way?”

You shook your head to clear it, swaying a bit from the effort you put into the gesture, taking a hold of the blanket to disguise your momentary lack of balance. He did not let go of it, watching your charily, as if you were wont to spook or collapse, and you would’ve protested, but what he did not know was that you really might’ve fallen if it weren’t for his stolid grip on it and, by extension, on you.

“I will be alright,” you said. “Do not fuss. If you can endure such conditions without becoming disconsolate, then should I not do the same?”

“I am hardened to it from years of campaigning on the battlefield,” he said. “I will not grouse until the last.”

“You are…” What was he? Estimable? Laudable? There were not words enough in this language for you to describe it, and you did not think that he would appreciate them, anyways, so you merely held him by the shoulders, your fingertips stressing to him all that you could not say aloud. “If it were you instead of the princess, perhaps things would not be so dire for my home. You would not have absconded as she did, would not have forsaken your people for wealth and wedding. If it were you…if it were you…”

“Do you have some vendetta against her?” he said. “This is not the first time you have spoken ill of her.”

“She had everything I could ever want,” you said. “Yet she threw it away at the slightest provocation, prancing off to her new husband without care for all that she was leaving behind. I hate her for it, in truth. What if she had had a stronger will, a prouder spirit? If she had been from Kremnos, as you are, then instead of capitulating immediately, might she have fought?”

His eyes widened slightly, and then, inscrutably, enigmatically, they softened, twin suns on a summer evening settling into a comfortable, radiant twilight. You were enthralled by them, by their vast, golden tranquility, and for the briefest moment, entirely unbidden and illicit though it was, the notion of taking him into your arms crossed your mind.

“There is honor in concession, too,” he said, lifting your hands from his shoulders and setting the blanket in them before turning away. “Sometimes it is more difficult to live than it is to die; is persisting regardless, then, not bravery? At any rate, it’s a lesson the Kremnoans, many of whom do not live until they are dying, could stand to learn. Perhaps that princess of yours has more tenacity than you give her credit for after all.”

You held the blanket to your chest; it was still warm, the heat of his skin lingering in the wool even now, transforming it into a cinder which flickered against the hearth of your breast, coaxing a smoldering, dormant fire back into feeble life even as you attempted to outrun the effect. You stumbled up the stairs with the poise of a drunkard, like the proximity to him was what mattered, like there was some distance you could put between yourself and Mydeimos which would cure you of this new revelation, which you had not experienced before but could nevertheless recognize to be unwanted, dangerous, despicable.

What was its name, this clawing, rending sensation that took root in your stomach and fought desperately to tear out? Was it another version of consternation, made delicious and tangible from its immediacy, its familiarity? Had you grown so used to him that your fear had matured into something else, something that you sought out for its nigh-pleasurable thrill? Or was there another explanation, an aspect that you were missing in your callowness?

“Lady, were you listening to me, or shall I repeat myself?”

You startled at the voice that yanked you from your contemplations, which even so late into the next afternoon had not come to a satisfactory conclusion. Your husband’s cousin was staring at your expectantly, wisps of steam from his teacup billowing in his serene face, and when he realized you were blinking at him, he set it down and folded his hands in his lap. Your face growing hot with shame, you placed your own across from his and nodded to indicate he could continue.

“Are you still perturbed by what happened yesterday, such that it even disturbed your sleep?” he said. “Rest assured, if you are so troubled, then I can command them to halt their efforts at domesticating the recalcitrant animal and slay it for its crimes posthaste.”

“Verax?” you said. “No, no — it was my own — it was my own mistake, it definitely was, and I would hate to see such a valuable treasure destroyed for my foolishness. Please ensure that he is kept soundly and well; an elephant is not easily obtained, especially one such as Verax, who is worth ten each of those pack-types like Lucabos and Dromas. We mustn’t let him go to waste.”

“How forward-thinking,” he said. “Is this how your family’s wealth has accumulated? Perhaps we ought to learn from you, if you have the mind for investments and returns.”

“No, my father was the one who managed those things,” you said, swallowing back a yawn. “I was not privy to it, nor did I have much interest. I think that this is just an example of what my people call common sense.”

As soon as you said it, you realized how rudely it had come across, and indeed you were surprised that you had been able to do it at all. Of course, it was easier with others who were not your husband, the easiest of all when it was Mydeimos, but he was not Mydeimos, and was the closest person to your husband besides he himself, so you were in truth taken aback that you could speak as you willed. Perhaps it was the intention, or perhaps it came down to the fact that no matter what, he was not your husband, and so as long as you kept that basic little decorum, you were free to do what you liked.

“There is also that explanation,” he allowed. “But the fate of that elephant is not what I wish to discuss with you.”

“Then?” you said.

“I am speaking to you, of course, as a family member — a relative of your husband’s, with a natural concern for the fate of his line and his empire,” he began. “You know that my brother is ever-busy with his celebrations and his councils, so the task of broaching this sensitivity falls to me.”

“You are his second, are you not? Who else would it be?” you said, raising your glass to your lips and peeking at him over the rim.

“That is exactly what we must discuss,” he said. You cocked your head at him; he cleared his throat, picking up his teacup, stirring in a lump of sugar and putting it back down without taking even a sip. Steepling his fingers, he pursed his lips at you. “He has been home for long enough that there should be news of an heir’s impending arrival by now.”

Fragments of crystal flew into the air with a crash of protest, scattering and embedding into the rich weave of the carpet below your feet, the stain of tea spreading dark and bloody over the cheery floral motifs. You immediately dropped to your knees, pressing the ends of your dress to it in a desperate attempt to soak it away before the damage was permanent, but all your efforts awarded you were cuts littering your hands and knees, translucent shards digging into your palms and slicing thin, stinging streaks which might, if they scarred, change the read of your fate-lines permanently.

“I am sorry,” you said. “My hand slipped — I didn’t think it would break — and now I have ruined it! I have ruined it, I did not mean to, please forgive me, I am so very sorry—”

“Why do you apologize so incessantly?” he said, helping you stand and picking the glass out of your hands with academic precision. “This carpet is yours. You can do what you want with it.”

“It is my husband’s,” you corrected. “As with everything in this empire, it belongs to him. By destroying it, I am destroying a small piece of him, and I do not want to do that. I am not permitted to do that.”

“Ah,” he said. “Well, if you are apprehensive about learning his reaction, don’t be. He will forgive you. He has finer carpets than this one, and needs more excuses to use them. Anyways, he won’t know of it unless you or I tell him, and I shall keep my silence if you swear to as well. Does that pacify you? Then let us continue with the earlier subject.”

“Yes,” you said. “You are commanding me to fulfill my obligations to him. I know I must, but…”

“Allow me to finish,” he said. “I understand that you have no desire for my brother. You needn’t affirm it, I know you cannot, but I am sure when I say that you cannot deny it, either, not if you are being honest with yourself. You hold neither love nor lust for him, and so any children born of your union will be puny, perhaps not even surviving past infancy.”

“How can you be so certain of that?” you said.

“It is enough of a trend in our family that some wonder if it is a genuine curse,” he said. “Those kings who are born of joy are robust, vigorous men, while those of withering wombs are invalid and infirm from the start.”

“I see,” you said.

“You will not come to love him,” he predicted. “He pays no special attention to you, and the only gift he has ever given you is a ghastly prince you are forbidden from so much as seeing. What basis is there for love? So there is only one thing which can be done: you must find someone else, someone who will lie with you knowing that they will lose their life for it, and then you must pretend as though the ensuing child belongs to my brother alone.”

“You mean for me to commit such a sin?” you said incredulously. “You would endanger three lives for the sake of one? For you must know that my husband would not spare any of us — myself, the father, or the son — if he were to discover that he had been deceived in such a way.”

“He will never discover it,” he promised you. “I personally ensure that he won’t. Choose someone beneath notice, or someone who you trust with your entire being, and he will never come to know of it.”

“There is no one like that,” you said.

He smiled at you, dropping your hands and calling for a servant to fetch a broom. You eyed him, taking a skittish step backwards, but he did not match it, did not chase after you with an insistence that you listen to his idea, which was so far-fetched as to be closer to genuine fiction than probability.

“Don’t be so sure,” he said amiably. “You might be surprised at what suitors you will find, if you only think to ask.”

How was it, that in this entire palace, this entire empire, so filled with noble, genteel lords and refined, elegant ladies, you could only find sanity and solace in the cellar? How was it that until the sun set and you ran down those stairs, the stone slick and dense beneath your racing feet, you found yourself living in the type of delirious dream characteristic of fevers, and it was only there, in that dark, contained world consisting of nothing but yourself and Mydeimos and the chains which bound him, you could, for even a second, wake up?

“You wish to ask me something,” he said when he was about halfway finished with the food you had brought him. You were sitting on the blanket, the one with the lions and the hounds, and although you were pretending to be engrossed with flipping the corners up and down like a child with a new game, you had indeed been observing him from beneath your lowered lashes. “If it is so, then you should just ask. I will answer as best as I can.”

“Do you have a wife?” you said, deciding that if it had plagued you for this long, there was nothing to be lost in asking, especially as he had given you the permission for it.

He choked on the piece of fish he had just bitten into, thumping on his chest and coughing to dislodge it.

“What?” he said.

“A wife,” you said. “Do you have one? I mean, are you married?

“No,” he said.

“Really? But you are a prince,” you said.

“So?” he said, sneering as he regained his composure. “That doesn’t mean anything. I have spent my entire life far too busy with the care of my people to pay any mind to such a trivial construct as marriage.”

“Then you will not be able to understand my dilemma quite as well,” you said, both because it was the truth and because you wished to hide that you were, for some reason, relieved by this development. “But I will tell you anyway.”

“Your dil—you intend to seek my counsel regarding your marriage?” he said. “Surely you jest.”

“If you did have a wife,” you said, ignoring the scoff he let out at that. “If you did, and she bore a son by another man, what would you do to him?”

“I suppose I would put him to death, as would be expected of me,” he said.

“What if it was not his fault? What if your wife was the one who begged him to do it?” you said. “Would you kill them both?”

“No,” he said, sliding the still half-filled plate over to you and wrinkling his nose when you tried to give it back. “I would not kill her. Even if she were entirely to blame, I would not. It is easy to give the order for a nameless, faceless man’s death, but when it is someone you love, it is difficult.”

“Say you do not love her,” you urged, giving in to his unspoken behest and spearing a cooked vegetable through with the silver fork he had left atop the plate.

“Then I would not have wed her, and so she would not be my wife, in which case this entire situation would never occur in the first place,” he said, and rather smugly at that. “There you have it. Is that all, or must we continue this game? I thought that you were in some genuine trouble and required proper advice.”

“I…” you trailed off into a sighing exhale, suddenly finding yourself entirely foolish for expecting something like condolence from him. “Never mind.”

“Fatigue can drive someone to the brink of madness,” he said, and behind the gruffness was a note of solicitude. “Why don’t you sleep?”

“I can’t,” you told him. “I try, every night for a few hours after I have returned to my chambers, but inevitably it ends the same: I am caught in the throes of a nightmare which leaves me more debilitated than before. I cannot escape anguish, it seems.”

“Sleep here,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his sharp nose in the air — an affected show of haughtiness that even a child would not fall for. “You have given me much, so in return, for just this one night, I will guard your dreams and defend you from that which troubles you.”

“Here? You mean the floor? What sort of proposition—” you broke off, wilting at the dull look he gave you. “Er, my apologies. I meant no offense, and really, I am appreciative that you would offer to do such a thing, but I am sure it will come to nothing, so let us not waste any time with an attempt. My woes are self-inflicted, after all, and thus undeserving of pity, of your pity especially.”

There were many mysteries contained within this prince — of terrors, of victory, of sacrifice and of subjugation — you knew this well, so well that by now it should have ceased to surprise you when he did something odd, when he proved himself to be so opposite to the philistine warrior everyone claimed he was. Yet that did not stop perplexity from washing over you when he exhaled heavily, extending his legs and leaning his head against the wall.

“Come,” he said. You narrowed your eyes at him, not from anger but out of a genuine desire to understand his method.

“Where shall I go?” you said patiently. “I am already here with you.”

“You will not sleep on the floor,” he said. “I do not know — well, I mean, one of my legs has this infernal chain about it, so it’ll hardly be any better, but perhaps it will be enough of an improvement?”

“Pardon?” you said. “I must confess I am still confused.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and when he elaborated, it was through gritted teeth, each word bullied out with a diffidence so at odds with his imposing posture and broad physique.

“You may use me for your own measures,” he said. “You will meet your end if you do not, and then what? So let us make this one attempt. Lay your head in my lap if you cannot accept the floor, and, even if it is fleeting and fraught, come to sleep.”

Your mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and then you were laughing, burying your face in your hands as you giggled helplessly, because wasn’t it such a joke? All the vows and magic that your husband had needed in order to tie your tongue, and yet here was Mydeimos, his greatest enemy, who had managed to steal your voice with merely the offer of his lap for you to lay your head upon.

His thigh was hard, muscular against your cheek, and although he was abnormally hot, it was not in the way of a fever; rather, it seemed natural, as if he were born to run at this temperature, a streak of fire that had deigned to coalesce into the shape of a man for some time. In comparison, the links of the thrice-blessed chains were freezing, and you shifted so that they did not push into your forehead, wanting nothing of the empire to touch you, wishing that nothing of this place would touch him, either, even if that could never be the case.

“Why do you trust me so much?” he said after a while. “You have from the beginning. I could have killed you so many times, dear lady, in so many ways — I even told you that, and yet you have not faltered.”

“Hm,” you said, rolling over so that you were on your back and could peer up at him. “I don’t know.”

His palm met your stomach with the lightness of a butterfly, splaying over it as he used his other hand to cover your eyes so that you had no choice but to close them. Your breaths grew shallow from that same ache as the other night, that ache which you were beginning to think did not originate from fear but another source entirely.

“The fork you give me to eat,” he said. “I could tear you asunder with it. It’s good silver, and sturdy — of course, it’s no spear, and I am nowhere near my full strength, but against you it would be more than sufficient as a weapon.”

He traced a path up your sternum, and then he encircled your neck with his fingers, placing no pressure upon it, only rubbing up and down along the furrows between your tendons.

“There is enough slack in my chains,” he said. “I could draw you close, throw them around your neck, and pull them taut until your throat is crushed.”

He hummed, and then his hand slid to your heart, which pounded and pounded until you thought it really was a puzzle that it did not burst forth and make its home in his fist.

“But all of these accoutrements are superfluous,” he said. “If I want, I can tear your heart out with only my hands — or, if your husband is to be believed, my teeth. I can do it now, and all too easily.”

“Yes,” you said. “You could.”

“You are frightened,” he said rhetorically.

“I’m not,” you said.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he said. “And I have just explained to you how simply I could kill you, as well as how frequently I have considered it. Surely you are.”

“That isn’t why it’s beating,” you said.

“Then?” he said.

“It’s because you’re here,” you said. “I can’t explain much beyond that, but I do not think — I do not think it would beat like this for anyone else.”

“No one has ever said that to me,” he said. “I am the one who silences hearts. Never have I been accused of accomplishing the inverse.”

“That is the reason,” you repeated. “I feel that it must be.”

He lifted his hand from your chest and patted your cheek, refusing to move the other from where it still soothed over your sore eyes.

“Well, no good will come of pondering it any longer,” he said, and if you strained, you could hear the faintest traces of a smile in his words. “Sleep now, and do not worry about your nightmares; the savage prince of a savage land is far more frightening than any visions your mind can come up with, and as you have conquered me, so, too, can you conquer them.”

You did not even have the wherewithal to ask him what he meant by that before the darkness and the warmth he afforded you lured you into the deepest pits of unconsciousness, where you had not been since you had come to this empire. And whether it was his presence or his reassurance or some magic — well, likely not the latter, the gods of this empire held no love for either of you — you really did not wake for many hours, sleeping, for the first time in months, without a single dream to haunt you.

“I apologize, brother, but it really is impossible to secure the south from the sea,” your husband’s cousin said from position at your husband’s right. “I have consulted with the best naval captains this empire has to offer, and they all give the same answer.”

“Consult them again, then, or find some better advisors. How is it that the kingdoms by the Southern Sea have flourished for as long as they have, and yet we cannot so much as make a foothold without it being swept away?” your husband snapped.

They had been going back-and-forth in this way for some time now, running in circles and saying the same thing over and over, neither satisfied with the other’s perspective. Ordinarily, you would’ve been brought to tears by the grating, cyclical nature of the discussion, as well as the rapidly rising volume, but today you were far too content with the bliss that a proper night’s rest brought to let them sully your happiness.

“Perhaps we should ask your darling wife,” his cousin suggested. “How about it, lady? Any maritime wisdom or common sense you’d like to share?”

“They say the sea knows more than we do,” you said, alarmed by the sudden address but disguising it well. “Perhaps it’s sending a message.”

“A message?” your husband said. “About what, exactly?”

Leave this place. Never return. The sea is not yours. The sun is not yours. I am not yours. He is not yours. Leave, leave, leave, you damnable man, leave these waters at once, leave me at once, leave and rot in the eternal winter of your solitary empire. The sea is not yours. The sun is not yours. I am not yours. He is not yours. Mydeimos is not yours, he’s not, he’s not. Leave while you still can. Leave while I still allow it. You thought it might be something like that.

“I cannot say, my lord,” you said, bowing your head so he did not notice that your eyes smarted when you were, once again, rendered mute and dumb before him. “But might I recommend that you turn your attention elsewhere for the time being? The season of the storms approaches rapidly once more, and the waters will only grow more and more treacherous. It may be better if you wait until it is over.”

“Let us concentrate our efforts on Kremnos and leave the south for now,” his cousin said. “We will be all the better for it.”

“Kremnos,” your husband repeated, his countenance unreadable, everything about him carefully neutral. “I do not foresee them being a problem for much longer, but if you both think that we should withdraw from the sea for the time being, then who am I to continue in my mulish refusals?”

“Have you come up with some new strategy?” his cousin said. “I thought that we were at somewhat of an impasse with the Kremnoans, our last victory being the capture of Mydeimos.”

“It is not new, necessarily, but finally nearing fruition,” your husband said. “Patience, brother; as I tell you and my dear lady so constantly, all will be revealed in time.”

“You preach patience far more than any man endowed with so little of it ought to,” his cousin said, although he said it more to you, flashing an innocent grin that you did not reciprocate in the slightest.

Ever since he had recommended you find another to father the first of your sons, you had begun to see your husband’s cousin in a new light. Your husband was the more obvious of the two, so charming that he could not be anything but false, his comeliness in the way of a brightly-petaled flower, warning those who knew the signs that he was a peril, something to be avoided or, if touch was inevitable, then treated carefully, with the utmost of prudence. His cousin, on the other hand, did not have that same showmanship, that flair — he didn’t need to, not when he could somehow wheedle out one’s greatest secrets without ever divulging any of his own.

He did everything with the sort of deliberate scrupulousness that only a second son would, and the more you thought about it, the uneasier you grew that you were an object of some contention between the two of them. Neither your husband nor his cousin would ever say it, but you could tell from their wily, duplicitous exchanges that they both wanted something out of you, and furthermore that whatever it was each wanted was different, at odds with his counterpart’s desires, setting them against one another even as they continued to behave as though they were true-born brothers of blood and body and mind alike.

“There’s news from the Southern Sea, by the way,” your husband said, his hand on the small of your back as he walked with you to your chambers, where you would spend the day as you always did, with idle amusements that did little to occupy your mind but would at least pass the time until you could go to the cellar once again. “About the king. Do you wish to hear?”

“The king?” you said. “Yes, yes, what is it? Of course I wish to hear. Is he alright?”

“They say he is gravely ill,” your husband said.

You thought you had known despair. You thought you had known anguish. You thought that pain and suffering were things that you were deadened to, that you had learnt how to live with, but everything you had ever experienced paled in comparison to this. It was as if a million needles drove into you at once, the tips a scorching white, melting away at every carefully constructed layer of armor you had drawn over yourself, boring into the veneer of magic that prevented you from screaming and wailing and shaking your husband until he let you go home.

“What is it?” you said. “What has beset him?”

“The southerners are such silly, high-strung folks,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Believe it or not, but apparently, his physicians say that his affliction is none other than grief.”

“Grief?” you repeated, and then you were grabbing his arm and you hated yourself for it, but if you did not hold onto something you would crumple to the ground, you would crumple and never get up and you couldn’t — you couldn’t — “Grief? What do you mean?”

“His eldest daughter,” he said. “She has left him, and now he is dying of his longing for her.”

“I—” Your hands came to your neck, and they felt so different from Mydeimos’s, which had claimed that very same place only hours before — a constraint instead of a consolation, a sentence instead of a supplication.

“He never loved anyone the way he loved that girl, after all,” he said, his eyes sparkling, like he was daring you to say something and finding exorbitant glee in the way you couldn’t, in the way your throat closed whenever you tried to curse him. “It’s a sorry thing, really. Perhaps seeing her even once might be enough to cure him…but we both know that’s not going to happen, is it? Oh, we have arrived at your chambers! Good day, dear lady. I shall see you for dinner.”

The worst was that you could not bring yourself to shed even a tear. You lay in your bed on your back, staring blankly at the ceiling, numb to the world as the scene played over and over in your mind. The king. They say he has taken ill. At one point, your husband’s cousin knocked on your door and told you it was time for supper, but you ignored him, or maybe it was more accurate to say that you didn’t even hear him in the first place. Perhaps seeing her even once might be enough to cure him…but we both know that’s not going to happen, is it?

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t cry. You couldn’t breathe. The sun set and the moon rose and still you were immobile, because what did it matter? The Southern Sea was lost; it had been from the start, you supposed. Your marriage had only been a delay of the inevitable, but you had known from the start that things would end like this, had known that the empire would never settle for anything less than total suppression.

Yet if that was the case, if you would meet your end regardless, then why could you not at least meet it at your home, as yourself? Why instead were you here, metamorphosed into this soulless doll, removed from all you had ever loved? Maybe you deserved it. Maybe this was your punishment for taking the easy way, the simple route, for caving to the empire instead of staying true and fighting as your father had wanted to. Maybe you should not have been surprised, and maybe you might’ve tolerated it if you were the only one bearing the consequences — but it was not just you, it was everyone, and this was what hurt you the most, what felt like twenty consecutive blows to your stomach, to that vulnerable flesh which would so easily rupture, which you thought really might rupture the longer you spent ruminating on the throwaway conversation which had irrevocably changed the course of your day, of your life.

Where you found the strength to stand, you could not say. It was instinct at this point, the act of sliding out of your bed, gathering a blanket and whatever food you had stashed away for Mydeimos before trudging down to the cellar where he awaited you. This must’ve been the reason, then — you were so accustomed to the work that your body operated even in the absence of your mind, such that you were handing his plate to him before you even realized where you were.

“Thank you,” he said before tilting his head at you. “Would you like some?”

“What?” you said. He held up the plate, and a second later, you registered his question. “No, I don’t want to eat anything from here.”

He raised his eyebrows but did not comment on it further, and so the two of you sat in quietude. You had so much you might’ve told him but could not; as for him, you guessed it was the inverse, in that he could say whatever it was he pleased, but there was just so little he wanted to say that the effect was the same.

“This empire has such finicky gods,” you said finally, focusing on the red of his throat, the way it crested and then ebbed with every swallow. “They will grant you any wish, as long as it is done in some form of three. Creation, preservation, death — father, man, son — this world has a propensity for the number, it seems, so doesn’t it make sense? And what amazing things you can do when you understand that. Repeat a phrase thrice over and think of the messenger lord; he will afford you the ability for it to be heard anywhere in the world, as long as you have been there once. Make your wedding vows three times under a portrait of the lady of matrimony; you will be bound by them until death.”

“We don’t believe in these miracles in Kremnos,” he said. “They are explicable by coincidence and cunning.”

“Even where I am from, we only recognize one god, and it is less god, more entity,” you said, speaking, of course, of the sea. “One we do not worship, but who loves us regardless. It is a more sustainable approach in my mind.”

“That is how it is for us,” he said. “Our religion is found on the battlefield, and victory is our only prayer. Sometimes, I wish it were not the case, that our devotion was not so violent, so all-consuming…but that is how it is.”

“Perhaps it is violent, but at least it is fair,” you said. “Not like here. Not like these gods, who will enforce even cruelty if it is asked of them.”

“You resent them,” he said. “You cannot confirm it, I am sure, cannot speak ill of them any more than you can of your husband. But I have come to understand your ways, and so I am sure you resent them.”

“If only there were something I could do to them,” you said, reassured immeasurably by his comprehension. “Some way I could — some way I could —”

“Rebel?” he completed for you when you clearly could not. You nodded, and he pouted in thought, pushing his now-empty plate away and reclining back against the wall the way he always did when he was finished. “I am sorry. I am a heretic in these lands; I do not know their traditions well enough to blaspheme them.”

“Oh,” you said. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Hm?” he said, watching you as you shuffled over so that you were sitting beside him, the blanket covering you both, his arm all but scalding against yours. “What are you doing?”

“You are the antithesis of this empire,” you said. “You are everything my husband hates, everything he wishes to destroy. With your mere existence, you imprecate his gods, and so I shall force those deities to defend your every sacrilegious breath. Those celestial beings who bore silent witness to your capture, to my wedding…by my will, for how much they have cursed you, they will now be bound to defend you with threefold the vigor!”

Mydeimos was motionless as you combed your fingers through his hair, his expression reverent like you were not just channeling a divinity you had no claim to but in fact were that divinity yourself. Your movements were careless, your knuckles banging against his chin, your palm skimming along his neck, but he did not complain, only staring at you with that same gentle admiration that would’ve made you flush with heat if only you were not so terribly focused on remembering everything you had ever read on the religion of your husband’s empire.

Brushing the rest of his hair over his shoulder, you took a lock from near his nape, twirling it around your finger and then holding it to your lips, murmuring words from a language neither of you held claim to but which you had memorized before your wedding, words which opened the both of you to the surveillance of the gods that would fulfill your commands.

“Integrity,” you said, separating the tress of hair into three sections and pulling the leftmost taut. “May your causes be ever strong and true; may you always be just and forthright in your actions; may you never waver from the path of honor.”

You crossed it over the middle strand, and then you took the rightmost, which was like silk in your grasp, dancing like sunbeams in the lamplight.

“Loyalty,” you said. “May your people never betray you; may your men follow you until the bitter end; may you always have the might of your kingdom at your back.”

This, too, you crossed over the middle, the careful weave of a braid beginning to form, the neat v’s that would mark him as forever blessed, forever watched over by gods, by you.

“Love,” you said, swallowing as you took the final piece, finding that your mouth was dry from more than overuse. “May you alway be loved, prince of Kremnos.”

A knot in your stomach unraveled as you worked, your fingers remembering the motions despite how long it had been since you had played with the hair of a friend or cousin. It was the knot of repression, of every single thing you had shoved down in the name of propriety, in the name of all the vows you had sworn, and as the warmth radiating from him sank into your bones, warding away the cold of this place for the first time since you had come to it, your vision began to swim with tears.

“I wish it were you,” you said, tucking the braid back amongst the rest of his hair, mussing it up so that it was as wild as a lion's mane, allowing your hands to fall into your lap as you wept in earnest, the break of your voice as much a product of your compounded grief as it was a supernatural effect. “I wish it were you, oh, how I wish that you were the one who had — who had —”

Married me. That was what you wanted to say. How I wish that you were the one who had landed upon the shores that day, how I wish that you were the one I had met with the sea at my feet and the sun on your shoulders, how I wish that you were that one who had married me.

“Don’t cry,” he admonished, holding your jaw with the care one might afford to a sculpture made of glass, using his thumbs to wipe at your cheeks and eyes. “Y/N, Y/N, don’t cry. Please don’t.”

You froze, and then you were grabbing his wrists, holding them in place, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you in this realm. It must’ve bruised him, the weight of your fingertips against his veins, but he still gazed at you with that same mildness.

“What did you just call me?” you said.

“Y/N,” he said. “It is your name, is it not?”

“I never told you, so how…?” you said.

“Even in Kremnos, we have heard of the princess of the Southern Sea,” he said. “I was very young when news of your birth came, but I remember it as if it were yesterday, hiding behind my father’s throne so I could hear the announcement. Y/N L/N, they called you, a fine babe who will grow into the most beautiful girl the sea has ever whelped. I loved you then, I think; I loved you as soon as they said you were born to seals and whale-song.”

“Say it again,” you demanded. “My name, which no one else in this wretched place knows or cares to learn — say it again.”

“Y/N,” he said.

“Again,” you said, and then you were sobbing, viscerally and searingly and pathetically. “Say it again, please say it again, I miss it, I miss my father and all these things I cannot speak of, you do not know but I miss them so much I sometimes think I will be ruined by it—”

“I know,” he said, and then he was prying your hands off of him and gathering you in his arms, holding you to his chest and stroking your hair as you bawled. “Y/N. I do know. The sea, who is your mother; the king, who is your father; the home, which you left to protect. I do know.”

“How?” you choked out. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head.

“I am not such a sound sleeper,” he said. “Everything you have ever wanted to say to me, I have heard. I know you, Y/N L/N. Beloved princess of the Southern Sea, if nothing else, I swear to you this: I know you.”

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lia-linny · 6 months ago

Text

summary: yn is insecured about talking to much but her boyfriend hyunjin is there to comfort her

genre: hurt, comfort, fluff

words: 1k

note: i lost the request but who ever asked for this i hope you enjoy. ♡

It was a typical Friday evening. As always, Yn stumbled through the door of the small apartment she shared with her boyfriend Hyunjin just as he sat down in front of his canvas. Loaded down with bags, she tried to get rid of her shoes with moderate success.

"Yn-aaaaah how was work, love?"

"Good," she replied curtly, putting down one of her numerous shopping bags, which were filled to the brim. Hyunjin was taken aback. When yn came home on Fridays, she usually never stopped talking to him about her work. About how much fun she had with her new project at work, what she had for lunch or what her annoying colleague had done again. It wasn't like her to be that curt and dismissive, hyunjin realized with a frown. shrugging his shoulders, he began to draw. maybe she was just tired.

yn was completely caught up in her usual routine. everything was the same as always. But instead of looking forward to the weekend with her boyfriend and finding comfort in her upcoming weekly "painting-tea-talking ritual", she was plagued by countless self-doubts today. Was she not pretty enough? Was she really annoying hyunjin? Was she too loud?

Sighing, she walked through the kitchen and put the freshly bought groceries away in their designated places. When she had put the last can in one of the cupboards, she put on some tea water and opened the shelf with her thousands of cups. without thinking about it, she pulled out her comfort cup and filled it to the brim with hot water. looking at it, the cup wasn't particularly pretty. the design was peeling off nicely because of the frequent washing, and yet it was perfect in yn's eyes. it had been the first gift hyunjin had ever given her. when she met him, she was stuck in one of the darkest periods of her life. plagued by insecurities, stress and unhealthy relationships, hyunjin had smuggled himself into her life as a small glimmer of hope and when he wasn't there or she couldn't express her worries, she clung to the cup.

Ironically, the reason she needed to hold her cup today was her fear of losing hyunjin. Was she too exhausting? lost in thought, she picked out a tea bag and carefully let it disappear into the water in the cup. then, as usual, she sat down next to hyunjin, who by now had a rough sketch on his canvas and greeted her with a beaming smile.

the artist had been looking forward to her usual ritual all day. yn could only muster a half-hearted grin. as she slumped into her usual chair, hyunjin waited patiently to finally hear all about her day. he was dying to find out whether her colleague ayumi had so obviously made a move at her much too old and happily married boss again, or whether linh from the marketing department had spilled her coffee on her colleagues again and had brought these heavenly muffins as an apology for the chaos, which yn would quote "kill for". in both cases, this would be the third time in a month. but instead of the usual gossip, a depressed silence followed. hyunjin tried to ignore the silence by turning his attention back to the painting in front of him.

he began to paint a dark blue. he carefully let the brush glide over the canvas. as he always did. as he had done hundreds of times before and yet it was wrong. the line was wrong. it didn't show what his heart wanted to express. it was too big and too small, too wide and too thin. it lacked any warmth, just like hyunjin. the room was warmed by the rays of the setting sun and his sweater gave his body a pleasant temperature but it didn't reach his heart.

"yn-ah what's wrong? why don't you talk to me? you can't make me beg so brutally. give me all the tea!" hyunjin's mouth twisted into a pout and made yn smile slightly.

"I don't know, Jini... I talk too much anyway... I don't want to distract you from painting." to say hyunjin was confused would be an understatement. he furrowed his brow worriedly.

"jagia where did you get the idea that you talk too much? i love to hear you talk. especially when i'm painting! i want to know how your day was. every day! i want to hear everything you have to tell me my muse. i can't paint without you. the lines don't get right the painting can't really convey what i feel but when you're with me, when i hear your honey sweet voice it just becomes real love. i never want you to shut up understand?" hyunjin curled his shapely lips into a pout as if his girlfriend had personally attacked him with her previous statement.

"okay, okay jini!" yn laughed, but hyunjin didn't want to let the whole thing go so easily.

"jagi, what makes you think you talk too much?" hyunjin shifted so that his full attention was on his beloved. he looked at her anxiously as she nervously kneaded her hands and clutched her cup for support.

"well... i just thought... you know, hana, you know the one who regularly sleeps with the ceo... i was talking about our date where we went to see this beautiful van gogh exhibition and well... she said i always talk way too much and that i never let anyone get a word in edgewise. and... maybe she also said that... she's surprised that someone like you is still with me at all... and i mean she's not entirely wrong, is she? i always talk so much. when you paint i ramble non-stop. you don't get a word in edgewise and i'd understand if you were annoyed with me for that... or something"

"ohh love..." hyunjin sighed and wrapped his girlfriend in a warm hug, pulling her onto his lap, which she only commented on with a sad smile.

"have you forgotten that I always ramble the same way?" He lovingly nudged her nose, which made her giggle.

"i sometimes ramble on for hours about how great our new choreography is or how annoyed i am with one of the boys and as far as i can remember you always love to listen to me. so please don't stop. you shouldn't listen to hana this little..."

yn stopped her boyfriend from uttering a sinful insult to hana by placing her soft and tea-warmed lips on his. hyunjin sighed into the kiss and pulled her closer to him. Their lips moved as if they had never done anything else before. They danced a dance whose choreography only they knew. Hyunjin's hands were soon in her hair as he tried to take away her insecurities with his kiss alone.

panting, they broke away from each other but hyunjin didn't let her escape from his strong arms. slowly, he covered her now laughing face with kisses. smiling, hyunjin buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled her scent. "soo... are you going to tell me how your day was, my muse?" he asked, pressing a tender kiss to her sensitive neck, which made her giggle.

"okay... do you know how annoying hikaru was today? he's been running around all day and..." hyunjin returned to his canvas even though one of his hands was now occupied holding yn's, who by now was sitting in her own chair again, sipping her tea as she talked.

by now, the sun had disappeared and was replaced by the soft shimmer of the moon. the cool evening air wafted through the open windows of their shared apartment and yet hyunjin was much warmer than he had been just a few minutes before. her voice dripped like liquid honey straight to his heart and the soft giggle that had just left her lips made hyunjin beam. he carefully applied the brush and... the line was perfect.

#kpop #south korea #boyfriend #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids imagine #skz #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids oneshot #stray kids hyunjin #jyp stray kids #jypartists #jyp entertainment #hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader

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himasgod · 3 months ago

Text

How would they spend New Year's Eve with you?

Characters: Tartaglia, Diluc, Kaeya, Venti, Albedo, Rosaria, Razor Barbara, Eula, Zhongli, Xiao, Yanfei, Keqing, Chongyun, Beidou, Ayato, Thoma, Kazuha, Raiden Ei, Itto, Shinobu, Alhaitham, Cyno, Tighnari, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Furina, Lyney.

(Happy New Year everyone! I hope all your resolutions come true and that you have a great New Year with your loved ones! Enjoy this, should I do a part 2 with the characters I have left?)

Tartaglia

Childe would invite you to spend New Year's with his family at Snezhnaya. He would want you to experience the warmth of his home, despite the cold outside.

His siblings would be excited to meet you and would share laughs as Childe tries to cook something special (and probably needs help).

At midnight, he would take you outside to watch the snow fall under the lights of the lanterns, holding you close as he whispers, "Making you happy is my greatest achievement this year and all those to come."

Diluc

Diluc would prefer an intimate celebration at Dawn Winery. He would prepare an elegant dinner with fresh ingredients from the region, serving specially selected wine from his cellar.

At midnight, he would take you out onto the balcony to watch the fireworks that the Knights of Favonius organize in the city.

Though he doesn't say it openly, he would make a toast with you, his words laden with sincerity and affection. "To you, and to all the good things that await us this year."

Kaeya

Kaeya would insist on taking you to a party at the tavern. He would want you to enjoy the lively atmosphere and laughter.

Just before midnight, he would pull you away from the hustle and bustle to walk together under the moonlight. "I want to start the year with you by my side," he would tell you with his charming smile.

He would probably steal a kiss from you just as the clock strikes twelve.

Venti

Venti would host an outdoor celebration, complete with music and poetry. He would bring his lyre to play songs as the wind carries his melody throughout Mondstadt.

He would dedicate an improvised ballad to you, telling of the special moments you've shared.

At midnight, he would take your hand and dance under the starry sky.

Albedo

Albedo would prefer a quiet celebration at Dragonspine, showing you the wonders of the winter landscape. He would prepare a warm spot in his lab spot to share a simple yet special dinner.

As a gift, he would give you a painting he made especially for you, capturing a meaningful moment you two shared during the year.

At midnight, as the aurora lights up the sky, he would tell you, “The time we shared is a masterpiece I don’t want to stop painting.”

Rosaria

Rosaria wouldn't be the type to celebrate loudly, but she'd agree to spend New Year's with you if it meant some quiet time.

She'd probably take you to church to light candles and reflect on the year that's passed. Afterward, she'd invite you to walk the silent streets under the snow.

At midnight, as the world seems to freeze in stillness, she'd look at you softly. "I'm not good with words, but you make every day worthwhile."

Razor

Razor would prefer something simple but meaningful. He would take you into the woods of Wolvendom, where he would light a small fire to keep you both warm.

He would share roast meat with you and talk about how he sees the new year as just another cycle in nature.

At midnight, with a shy smile, he would say, "Thank you for being my lupical. I will always take care of you."

Barbara

Barbara would host a quiet evening at the cathedral, singing a special song for you as candles lit the place.

Afterwards, you would walk together through Mondstadt decorated for the occasion, enjoying sweets and watching the fireworks from a nearby hill.

At midnight, with rosy cheeks, she would take your hand. "I promise that this year I will sing more songs that make you happy."

Eula

Eula would take you out to a fancy dinner, making sure everything is perfect for you. Even though she might not admit it openly, New Year's is a chance to show you how much she values you.

Afterwards, she would take you ice skating under the starlight, gently guiding you even though her face shows a slight shyness.

At midnight, she would look directly at you and say firmly, "This year, I want to give you back all the happiness you've given me."

Zhongli

Zhongli would plan a traditional celebration in a quiet place, such as the lantern-lit harbor. He would make a special tea and tell you stories about the ancient New Year traditions in Liyue.

He would hold a small ceremony, writing wishes on red paper and burning them so that the smoke would carry his words to the heavens.

At the stroke of midnight, he would take your hand and look deeply into your eyes. “Thank you for being my companion on this long road.”

Xiao

Xiao wouldn't be quite sure how to celebrate, but he would agree to spend the New Year with you because he values your company more than he admits.

He would take you to a high place, like the Wangshu Inn, so you could enjoy the fireworks away from the noise.

Even though he might not be the most expressive, his actions would speak for him. "I will protect you this year, as I have done so far," he would say with a slight smile.

Keqing

Keqing would be busy organizing events in Liyue, but she would find time to spend the night with you.

She would take you around the lantern-lit streets and buy little lucky charms to share with you.

At midnight, she would allow herself to relax and confess to you how much she values your support. “This year will be better because you are by my side.”

Chongyun

Chongyun would invite you to spend a New Year filled with quiet activities to avoid getting emotionally overheated. Maybe he'd take you to a serene place near Liyue where you could enjoy the winter scenery.

He'd make you a refreshing dessert to share, probably something he learned especially for you.

At midnight, though shy, he'd take your hand and look at you with sincerity. "I hope this year we'll continue to share moments like this… with you everything feels more balanced."

Yanfei

Yanfei, ever practical, would make sure you had everything ready to start the new year off right, even checking your contracts or reminding you to burn incense for good fortune.

You would spend the night wandering around Liyue Harbor, enjoying the fireworks and eating street snacks.

At midnight, she would give you a small amulet she made herself and smile at you. “It’s so that justice and happiness will always accompany you this year.”

Beidou

Beidou would host a party aboard the ship, inviting her crew and close friends. The night would be filled with laughter, stories, and songs as they sailed under the stars.

SHe would challenge you to a friendly drinking competition, but she would also make sure you were comfortable and happy.

At midnight, as fireworks lit up the sky, she would take you to the bow of the ship, wrapping you in her cloak. "With each passing year, I have more reasons to love you!"

Kamisato Ayato

Ayato would host a fancy dinner party at the Kamisato Mansion, making sure everything was perfect. He would invite Ayaka over for some family time before she retired so Ayato could be alone with you.

At midnight, he would take you out to the garden to enjoy a private fireworks display organized by the Yashiro Commission.

He would gently hold your hand and whisper, “I hope this year brings us both peace and happiness.”

Thoma

Thoma would surprise you with a warm and cozy celebration. He would cook your favorite dishes and decorate your house with Christmas decorations (even though it's not Christmas anymore) and handmade garlands.

He would insist on writing wishes for the coming year together, placing them on a decorated tree.

When midnight comes, he would hug you tenderly and thank you for making his life brighter.

Kaedehara Kazuha

Kazuha would prefer a quiet, poetic celebration. He would take you to a cliff where you can watch the sea lit up by fireworks.

He would bring a haiku he wrote especially for you, giving it to you as a gift.

As the sea breeze caresses your face, he would hold you close and whisper, "The wind will guide us to new horizons together."

Raiden Ei

Ei is not used to festivities, but she would strive to understand the importance of the New Year to you. She would take you to the plane of Euthymia for a quiet, private moment.

She would prepare a tea ceremony, practicing diligently so that everything would be perfect. As you share the tea, she would talk about what it means to her to have you in her life.

At midnight, she would take your hand and promise to protect the time you share, saying, "You are a constant light in my eternity."

Arataki Itto

Itto would host a boisterous celebration with his gang members, insisting that New Year's must be an unforgettable party.

He'd set up ridiculous games and challenges for everyone, making sure you'd have fun (though he'd probably take winning too seriously).

At midnight, he'd pull everyone aside and take you to a quiet corner. "Hey, you're the reason this year was the best of my life! Let's smash it together this year too!"

Kuki Shinobu

Shinobu would make sure Itto didn't go overboard, but she would also find time to celebrate with you in her own way.

She would probably take you to a nearby shrine to make wishes for the coming year, helping you write them down on little ema wooden tablets.

At the end of the night, as you two walked home, she would say something like, "Thank you for being my constant amidst all the chaos. I'm sure this year will be amazing because you'll be with me."

Alhaitham

Alhaitham would plan a relaxing evening at home, reading and sharing your favorite books. He would make an effort to cook something special, though he might ask for help if he's unsure of his culinary skills.

At midnight, he would make a simple but honest toast, saying something like, "A new year of learning and growing together."

Although he may be reserved, he would show you his affection with small gestures, like lacing his fingers with yours while you talk.

Cyno

Cyno would propose a New Year filled with games and pranks. Maybe he would even invent a TCG to celebrate the occasion.

Just before midnight, he would look at you with a mix of seriousness and affection, promising that he will always be there to protect you.

Although he is someone who is reserved with his emotions, his actions would show how much he values you.

Tighnari

Tighnari would prefer a quiet celebration in nature, taking you to a special corner of the Avidya forest to gaze at the stars.

He would share with you curiosities about how plants react to the change of year, showing you night-blooming flowers that only open at this time.

As midnight came, he would wrap you in a warm blanket and say, "Though nature's cycles change, my affection for you remains constant."

Neuvillette

Neuvillette would prepare a serene evening in his home, where you can enjoy the tranquility of the water flowing nearby. He would serve you an exquisite tea accompanied by traditional sweets.

At midnight, he would take you to the balcony to watch the lights reflecting in Fontaine water.

He would dedicate to you some soft but meaningful words. "The flow of time seems more bearable when I am with you."

Wriothesley

Wriothesley would arrange something more relaxed but full of detail. Perhaps a walk through the less cold areas of Fontaine or a dinner prepared with simple but well-crafted ingredients

He would surprise you with a small gift, something meaningful that shows how well he knows you.

At midnight, he would hold you tightly, whispering in your ear: "You are the best of this and every year."

Lyney

Lyney would make the New Year an unforgettable spectacle, organizing a private magic show just for you. Each trick would be filled with little details that represent his affection.

He would surprise you with a gift hidden in one of his tricks, perhaps a necklace or a handwritten letter with his deepest thoughts.

When the clock strikes twelve, he would gently take your hands and say, "With you, every year seems like a magical act of fate."

Furina

Furina would turn New Year's into a dramatic, extravagant event. She would throw a themed party in her (and your) honor, making sure everything was perfect.

She would insist that you both dress in fancy outfits, saying that you both must be the center of attention.

At midnight, when fireworks light up Fontaine, she would take your face in her hands and say, "See? We are the brightest couple of this year and of all those to come."

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request, they're opened and would help me so much! <3

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heliosunny · 10 days ago

Note

Hi! I love your depictions of Phainon, especially when he toes the line between charming and threatening. I’m a sucker for a good unrequited love trope, so could you write a scenario where reader was in love with Phainon in the past but he treated her the same as he did everyone else so she eventually loses hope and gives up, so now he’s the one that has to chase after her? Thank you so much!

Yandere!Phainon x Fem!Reader

The first time you saw Phainon, you thought the stars had fallen from the sky and taken the shape of a man. He was brilliant, untouchable, a light too blinding for anyone to hold. And yet, you tried.

You were seven when you first told Phainon you wanted to marry him.

It had been one of those golden afternoons, the sun slanting through the trees, painting his silver hair with a soft glow. He sat on a patch of grass beside you, staring up at the clouds like they held all the answers in the world.

“Phai!” you had said, kicking your legs idly. “When we grow up, let’s get married.”

“Married?”

“Yes! Like grown-ups do! You’ll protect me, and I’ll make you happy.”

Phainon tilted his head, considering. Then, with a soft laugh, he shrugged. “Alright.”

And that was it. A simple agreement, like you had just decided to play a new game. He didn’t think about it beyond that moment, and maybe, at the time, you didn’t either. But as you grew, the weight of those words stayed with you.

Years passed. You stayed by his side, always reaching, always hoping. Phainon was kind—always had been. But as you both grew older, you noticed something.

He was kind to everyone.

He smiled at others the way he smiled at you. He listened to them, helped them, comforted them—just as he did with you. Maybe a little softer, a little gentler when it came to you, but never in the way you wanted. Never in a way that meant something more.

And so, the quiet realization settled in your heart like a stone sinking into a river.

You weren’t special.

Not to him.

And then there was that day. The day you knew, without a doubt, that you were just another name in his life.

It had been at the annual festival, a celebration where lights hung from every corner, where laughter echoed in the streets, and where lovers exchanged tokens of devotion.

You had spent all morning crafting a gift for him—something small but meaningful. A charm, woven with threads of silver and blue, the colors that reminded you of him. A silent confession, the last desperate hope that maybe, maybe he would see you.

When you found him, he was standing beneath the lantern-lit trees. But he wasn’t alone. A girl stood before him, cheeks dusted pink, hands nervously clasping a carefully wrapped box.

You had seen it before—people gravitating toward Phainon, drawn in by his quiet kindness, by the way he made everyone feel special. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That he would just smile, politely decline, and move on.

“Oh, for me?” Phainon had taken the box gently, his voice carrying that familiar warmth, the kind that once made your heart race. “That’s really kind of you.”

You stood there, gift clutched in your hands, heart pounding as he opened it. Inside was a scarf, delicately embroidered, clearly made with effort and care. He held it up, smiling, before effortlessly wrapping it around his neck.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” he said. And then, without hesitation, he lifted a hand and gently patted the girl’s head.

It was the same gesture he had given you countless times. The same words. The same smile.

Something inside you shattered.

You had spent years thinking you were different, that maybe, maybe the way he treated you was special. But here he was, accepting another person’s affection with the same grace, the same warmth.

You weren’t special.

Not to him.

Your hands trembled around the charm you had made. And then, slowly, you let it fall to the ground.

Phainon never even noticed.

----

“Y/N”

His voice cut through the air, quiet but firm. You stiffened for half a second before turning to face him.

“What is it, Phainon?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy”

“I never meant to make you feel like—”

You stopped him before he could finish.

Eventually, you stopped seeking him out, stopped waiting for his attention. And as days turned to weeks, you started avoiding him entirely.

But you never got the chance to truly leave him behind.

Because then the war came.

It happened suddenly—one evening, the village bells rang in alarm. Riders arrived from the capital, shouting of an approaching army, of an impending invasion. Chaos followed, families scrambling to gather their belongings, the town elders deciding who would flee and who would stay to defend.

Phainon, of course, chose to fight.

You still remember the look in his eyes that night. Determined. Steady. As if the boy who once watched clouds beside you had already faded into something sharper.

“You’re leaving, right?” His voice was firm, but there was something uneasy beneath it. “You should go to the capital—it’s safer there.”

You had hesitated, watching the way his hand gripped the hilt of a borrowed sword.

He was afraid.

You had known him long enough to see it, even if no one else could.

“I—” Your throat tightened. What were you supposed to say? Be safe? Don’t fight? You had spent so long pulling away, trying to make peace with the idea that you were just another person to him. And yet, standing there, watching him prepare for battle, you couldn’t help but remember the Phainon you once loved.

In the end, you only nodded. “Goodbye, Phai.”

The way his breath caught at your words—it almost made you stay.

But you didn’t.

You left with the others, escaping toward the capital as the village prepared for war.

You never thought you’d see him again.

Years Later – The Capital

The war changed everything.

Your village, though damaged, had survived—but life could never return to what it was. The battle had taken many, scattered others, and those who returned were never quite the same.

You, like so many others, had built a new life in the capital.

With your skill in design, you carved out a name for yourself among the noble elite. What had once been a simple love for embroidery and fabric turned into something much greater—a business, a reputation, a sense of independence you never had before.

You ran a high-end clothing shop near the palace, known for its elegant craftsmanship and modern designs. Nobles sought you out, eager for your work, for the quiet dignity and beauty woven into each piece you created.

And here, in the bustling streets of the capital, you finally found yourself.

----

The soft chime of the shop bell barely drew your attention as you worked, fingers carefully adjusting the pearl buttons on an elegant gown. You were used to high-ranking visitors—nobles, courtiers, even foreign envoys—so the presence of yet another escort was nothing unusual.

“Sir Luvain, if you’d follow me, the tailor should be expecting you.”

Slowly, you lifted your gaze.

Phainon stood at the entrance, clad in the silver-trimmed armor of the royal knights, the sigil of his rank gleaming against his shoulder. He had grown taller, stronger—the soft edges of youth sharpened into something disciplined, something restrained.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, as if nothing had happened, you turned your attention to his companion, the nobleman he was escorting. With practiced ease, you greeted him, all professionalism and grace.

“Lord Luvain, I trust you received my message regarding the final adjustments?”

The noble smiled, stepping forward to allow you to take his measurements. He spoke lightly about the upcoming banquet, about how eager he was to debut his attire. You listened, responded when necessary, all while acutely aware of Phainon standing silently at the edge of the room.

“Your measurements are set, my lord.” you finally said, stepping back with a slight bow. “This will be delivered two days later. If there are any final alterations needed, send word.”

Luvain gave a pleased nod before turning back to Phainon.

Phainon hesitated for just a second—his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something—but you were already turning away, reaching for your next task.

----

The bell chimed again the next morning.

You didn’t expect to see him. Not so soon.

But there he stood, alone this time.

You frowned as you saw his handsome face.. ruined. His lip was cut, a faint bruise darkening his cheekbone. He wasn’t injured enough for it to be from battle. No, this was different. A personal kind of fight.

Still, you didn’t ask.

Instead, you simply set down your tools and gestured toward the small seating area. “Sit.”

“…I didn’t come for treatment.”

“I didn’t ask why you came.”

Perhaps it was the casual, almost dismissive way you spoke. Perhaps it was the fact that, for the first time, you weren’t treating him as something untouchable.

But he obeyed.

As he settled into the chair, you retrieved a small cloth and a jar of medicinal balm, kneeling beside him to gently dab at the cut on his lip.

He winced slightly. “I could do this myself.”

“You’re terrible at it”

Up close, you noticed the slight exhaustion in his expression. You had heard stories—whispers of how politics in the palace were ruthless, how those who rose too quickly often became the target of others.

Perhaps he was learning that now.

It had been years since he left the village, years spent surrounded by flattery, empty smiles, and noble courtiers who praised him not for who he was, but for what he had become.

Yet here you were. Treating him with the same quiet care as always.

You hadn’t changed at all.

And maybe—maybe that was what unsettled him most.

“There.” You finally pulled away, capping the jar and setting it aside. “Try not to get hit next time.”

“You’re not going to ask what happened?”

You glanced at him, then gave a light shrug. “Does it matter?”

Then, with a soft sigh, you stood. “Well, if that’s all, Sir Phainon, I have other clients to attend to.”

You had never called him that before.

Not Phai. Not Phainon. Just Sir Phainon, like he was any other knight, any other customer.

Something about it unsettled him.

But before he could dwell on it, you had already turned away.

“Take care” you said over your shoulder, already moving on.

As he stepped out of the shop, Phainon barely noticed the bustling streets around him. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the way you had looked at him—or rather, the way you didn’t.

He had spent so long being adored, sought after, respected. And yet, none of it compared to the simple, quiet way you had once looked at him.

The way you didn’t anymore.

---

Days turned into weeks, and Phainon didn’t disappear like before.

If anything, he only climbed higher.

You heard the murmurs in the capital—of his growing reputation, his skill on the battlefield, his unwavering determination. His name was spoken with admiration, his presence sought after by nobles eager to have a knight of his caliber within their inner circles.

But no matter how high he reached, no matter how many doors opened for him, he always seemed to find his way back to you.

At first, it was subtle. A chance meeting in the marketplace, an escort duty that just so happened to lead him near your shop. Then it became deliberate. He would stop by under the guise of checking on his previous order, lingering too long, watching you in that unreadable way.

You had long stopped being a girl waiting for his affection. You had built your own life, your own success. But somehow, he refused to let you slip away.

----

“You may take the next few days off for your wedding. Enjoy yourself.”

Your worker’s eyes lit up, bowing in gratitude before hurrying off. You watched her go, your fingers idly tracing over the fabric on your desk.

Marriage.

You hadn’t thought about it much.

But now, with your employee stepping away for her own wedding, it dawned on you—it was that time in life where people settled down, where friends and acquaintances from your village were likely married with families of their own.

Once upon a time, you had naïvely dreamed of it, too.

A childhood promise, whispered in the golden glow of late afternoons—"Marry me when we grow up!"—and the careless laughter that followed, as if it was nothing more than a game.

But it hadn’t been a game. Not for you.

And in the years that followed, when you had loved him in silence, when you had watched him treat others with the same kindness he gave you, when you had finally learned that you were never special to him—

You had given up.

You weren’t that foolish girl anymore.

The shop bell chimed.

Phainon.

But this time, he wasn’t in armor. No weapons, no duties. Just simple, well-made clothing that suited him far too well—his presence somehow heavier despite his unassuming attire.

And in his hands—

A small, wrapped gift.

“For you.”

You hesitated before reaching out, carefully undoing the ribbon.

A hairpin. Carved in the shape of a flower that once bloomed in your village, back when you were children.

“…Why?”

Phainon inhaled slowly, as if steadying himself.

“I’ve been a fool. I didn’t see it back then.” He said “How much you meant to me. How much I took for granted.”

No, he wasn’t doing this.

Not now. Not after all these years.

“I thought of you often, even when I was away” he admitted. “But I only understood it after returning. When I saw you again, when you treated me as if I was just another face in the crowd.”

Your fingers curled around the hairpin.

“Because that’s what you are now” you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

“It’s not what I want to be.”

“I don’t want to be ‘just another knight’ to you.” His gaze locked onto yours, “I want—” He exhaled, softer this time. “I want you.”

And yet, all you could do was stare at him—at this man who was once your world, at this man who had only now realized his own feelings, at this man who had already taken too much from you.

You had already suffered once. Already let yourself burn for him.

You wouldn’t do it again.

Carefully, you placed the hairpin back into the box and closed the lid.

“…Thank you for the gift, Sir Phainon.” Your voice was steady, polite. “But I have no use for it.”

“Y/N—”

“I gave up on you long ago.” The words cut through the air, “And I have no intention of reliving that pain.”

“Goodbye, Phainon.”

And with that, you turned away.

You didn’t look back.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t hear the sound of him leaving.

Because this time—

This time, he wasn’t willing to let you go.

His heartbeat thundered.

He had always been admired, always been wanted. There was not a single noblewoman who wouldn’t welcome his favor, not a single courtier who wouldn’t seek his company.

But you?

You, who had once loved him so openly, had turned him away.

And it hurt.

More than it should have. More than anything ever had.

Phainon’s grip tightened around the small box still in his hands.

No.

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Not when the only person who had ever been truly kind to him was slipping through his fingers.

----

No matter what you said, no matter how much distance you tried to place between you—

Phainon kept coming back.

Whenever he had a break from duty, he would stop by the shop under the pretense of ordering something, checking on an old commission, or simply greeting you.

It didn’t matter if the sun was blazing or if the streets were slick with rain—Phainon would still appear, standing just outside, waiting for the smallest chance to speak to you.

And you?

You refused to give him anything.

And yet, it never stopped him.

Until one day—

You closed your shop.

It was the first time in weeks that Phainon hadn’t seen you.

He had arrived as usual, fully expecting you to be there, only to find the doors locked. A simple note hung at the entrance, inked in your delicate handwriting:

"Closed for the week. No appointments will be taken."

The words should have meant nothing.

And yet—

Something in his chest twisted.

Because you weren’t someone who closed your shop without reason. You weren’t someone who let anything—anyone—get in the way of your work.

“You didn’t hear? She’s fallen ill” one of the merchants gossiped. “Not too severe, but bad enough to keep her indoors.”

You were ill.

And no one had told him.

By the time he arrived at your house, you were already recovering.

You were still pale, still weaker than usual, but you were up, moving about, focused on tidying the mess that had gathered during your bedridden days.

When the knock came, you hesitated.

Then, with a tired sigh, you opened the door.

And there he was.

Phainon, standing on your doorstep.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I heard you were unwell.”

“I’m fine now.”

“I’ll stay”

“…What?”

“I’ll stay here” Phainon repeated, stepping forward slightly. “Until you’re fully recovered.”

You had spent weeks pushing him away.

And still, still, he refused to listen.

“Phainon.” You swallowed back the frustration. “Go home. You have better things to do than waste time here.”

“I don’t consider this a waste.”

You inhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temples. “Stop this. You’re—” A sigh. “You’re an important figure now. You have responsibilities.”

“…You really think that?”

You exhaled, suddenly too tired to argue. “I think you should leave.”

And with that, you turned away, stepping back inside.

You closed the door.

You locked it.

After that day, something changed.

Phainon stopped coming to your shop. Stopped appearing in front of you. Stopped waiting by the doors, stopped lingering in the streets.

And for a while, you thought you had finally won.

---

The streets were quiet.

You stood at the entrance of your shop, the weight of exhaustion pressing on your shoulders as you locked the door for the night.

The metal clicked into place.

A shadow moved.

Your fingers froze over the lock. What was that? A ghost?

Slowly, cautiously, you turned.

And there he was.

Standing at the edge of the dimly lit street, half-shrouded in darkness, his blue eyes watching you.

You had known Phainon for years. You had grown up with him, watched him rise from a mere village boy to a knight of the palace. You had seen him change—seen him become colder, more refined, more distant.

But this was unnerving.

Still, you swallowed down the discomfort, "Phainon…?"

"You've been ignoring me. Did you meet someone else?"

"What?"

"Is that why? You found someone else, didn’t you?"

You frowned, unease curling at the base of your spine. "That’s ridiculous. I just have my own life, Phainon. You should focus on yours."

Then, with an exhale that sounded almost amused—

"You don’t understand how exhausting things are in the palace."

He took another step forward.

You instinctively took one back.

"Everything is fake" he continued, "Every smile. Every kind word. They all lie. They all pretend to care. But you—"

"You were always real."

Your fingers twitched, itching to reach for the key still in the lock.

"But now you avoid me," he murmured. "Now you won’t even look at me."

"Phainon—"

He cut you off.

"If I got you pregnant," he said suddenly, "no one would bat an eye."

Your mind barely had time to process the words—what he had just said—before your body reacted on instinct.

You slapped him.

Phainon’s head snapped slightly to the side, his cheek flushed red from the strike, his lips slightly parted from shock.

But that moment of surprise didn’t last.

Slowly—so, so slowly—he turned his head back to you.

The last remnants of the boy you once knew were gone.

There was only him.

Only the man who had finally decided to take what was his.

You moved to run.

His hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you forward, crashing into his chest.

"That," he murmured, "was a mistake."

By the time the townspeople saw the smoke, it was already too late.

The shop was engulfed in flames. The fire devoured the wooden walls, the carefully crafted gowns and fabrics, reducing everything to ash.

And inside—

A body. Unrecognizable. Burnt beyond recognition.

A robbery gone wrong, they said.

A tragic death.

You were gone.

Far beyond the burning remains of your old life, in a place far from the city’s reach, a single candle flickered inside a dimly lit room.

The scent of smoke still clung to Phainon’s clothes as he sat beside the bed—the bed where you lay, unconscious.

Your wrists were bound. Just enough to make sure you wouldn’t do anything stupid when you woke.

He exhaled softly, reaching out, fingers brushing against your cheek.

Even now—even now, you were still his.

Now, you had nowhere to run.

The ropes around your wrists chafed against your skin, but the pain barely registered over the sheer rage bubbling in your chest.

The moment you had woken up—realized what he had done—you fought.

You screamed. You kicked. You thrashed so violently that Phainon had to pin you down.

"Let me go!" you spat, your voice hoarse from screaming.

Phainon only sighed, looking down at you with something almost close to pity.

"You’re being difficult."

"Do you think I’ll just sit here and accept this?" Your breath was ragged, fury shaking through your limbs. "I will never be yours."

"You always say that" he murmured, "But you’ve never really tried being mine, have you?"

"I have time" he whispered.

And that terrified you more than anything.

Because he truly believed you would break.

Your wrists throbbed where the restraints had dug into your skin. Your breath came ragged, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

Phainon knelt before you, "You’re exhausting yourself"

You flinched. He hesitated. But only for a second before he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"You always did push yourself too hard"

You gritted your teeth. "Don't act like you know me."

That made him laugh—quiet, humorless.

"I do know you." His eyes burned as he held your gaze. "Better than anyone. Better than all those nobles who use your talent, who smile and bow and then forget you the moment they leave."

"I remember you, even when no one else did." His fingers brushed against your knuckles, "I never stopped thinking about you. Even when you left me behind. Even when you convinced yourself you didn’t care anymore."

You yanked your hands away.

"You don’t get to say that"

"Why?" he challenged. "Because it’s the truth?"

"Because you’re insane."

"Maybe I am. But does it matter?"

"You’ve already lost everything, haven’t you?" he continued, voice deceptively soft. "They think you’re dead. Your shop, your name, your life—it’s all gone. No one’s coming for you. No one even remembers you exist."

Phainon cupped your face then, forcing you to look at him.

"But I do," he whispered. "I always will. I would burn the world if it meant keeping you by my side."

For the first time, you truly understood.

There was no line he wouldn’t cross.

No limit to how far he would go to make sure you never left him again.

Phainon leaned in, forehead pressing against yours.

"Stop fighting," he whispered. "Just let go. You’ll be happier if you do."

"…I don’t know how to let go"

"You don’t have to know" he murmured. "Just trust me."

You nodded.

And that was it.

That was all he needed to believe he had finally won.

Days passed.

Phainon gave you more freedom—not complete, but enough. Enough for you to move without chains. Enough for you to pretend.

You let him think you were adjusting, that his patience had worn you down. You let him dress you in fine silks, let him touch you, let him believe that you were his.

Because the closer he let you get to the edge of the cage—

The easier it would be to escape.

The day of the wedding arrived in whispers and candlelight.

The halls of the estate were decorated in muted elegance—nothing extravagant, nothing too public. He didn’t need an audience.

This wasn’t about power.

This was about you.

And Phainon already had what he wanted.

Or so he thought.

You stood before the mirror in your gown, hands trembling—not with nerves, but with anticipation.

Outside, the horses were ready.

Inside, the door was left unlocked—a careless mistake born from his growing trust.

You took a breath.

One step.

Another.

The halls were silent as you slipped through the shadows, heart pounding with every second.

The exit was so close.

"Going somewhere?"

The voice froze you in place.

You turned—and Phainon stood at the end of the hall.

His wedding attire was pristine, but the grip he had on the hilt of his sword? Tight.

Your mouth went dry.

"Phainon.."

"Was it all a lie?"

You clenched your fists.

And then—

You ran.

Bolted down the hall, legs burning, lungs aching—but Phainon was faster.

You twisted, struggling, but he slammed you back against the stone wall, his body caging you in.

"You almost had me," he murmured, "Almost."

"Let me go."

"You were going to leave me," he said, "Again."

"Then ...I'll just have to make sure you never try again."

The room was suffocatingly quiet.

The iron shackle around your ankle was too tight, cold against your skin.

Phainon stood at the door, silent, watching.

Then—

He left.

For a moment, you almost believed that was it. That he had locked you away, that this was the extent of your punishment.

Then he came back.

With a knife.

Your body tensed when he knelt beside you, when his calloused fingers traced along your wrist too gently before pinning it against the bedpost.

You sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed the knife flat against your palm—just resting there.

"You tried to leave me."

He tilted his head, as if waiting. Daring you to lie to him.

"Say it."

"I—" You swallowed hard. "I tried to leave."

The blade pressed harder. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to make you feel the cold bite of the metal.

"Did it feel good?" he murmured. "Running away? Thinking you could escape me?"

"Phainon, please—"

A sharp swipe.

You flinched, expecting pain—but he didn’t cut you.

The blade had only sliced through the sleeve of your gown, the fabric slipping down your arm in ribbons.

"You’re scared" he observed.

You clenched your fists, refusing to give him an answer.

"Good."

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.

He set the knife down.

The bed dipped as he leaned in one last time, lips brushing against your ear.

"Next time," he murmured, "I won’t be so merciful."

Then he left, locking the door behind him.

Leaving you with the shackle around your ankle, the torn fabric on your arm—

And the overwhelming realization that you were truly trapped.

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