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liuhsng · 9 days ago

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─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ in lilac and gold ( lhs ! )

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader ⤷ word count — 21.2k ⤷ based on this request by @heesbbygurl ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — i had so much fun writing this—truly. this honestly might be one of my favorite pieces yet. also, please don’t mind the enhypen masterlist, it’s still under editing and a little messy 🤍

⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), reincarnation au, royal au, prince!heeseung, princess!reader, modern!heeseung, modern!reader, past lives, heavy emotional themes, mentions of childbirth, faint references to past death, soulmate trope, red string trope, fluff, angst, destiny/universe themes, mentions of pain (labor), crying, protective!heeseung, foul language, mentions of historical war/politics, romantic tension, fate-written love, farmer george reference, happy ending, breeding kink, marking, biting, light possessiveness, overstimulation, praise kink, slight size kink

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — as the crown prince of a powerful kingdom, lee heeseung was raised to rule—with sharp instincts, a loyal heart, and a crown that never sat too heavily on his head. he was born for diplomacy, bred for war, and destined for a throne. but the only thing he truly lived for was you. his wife, his queen, the only soul who could quiet the chaos inside him. you loved each other until your final breath. and somehow, even after that. or, where two strangers meet under the eyes of their past selves, and something the universe once forgot finally begins again.

The sun poured golden ribbons over the stone path, warm and gentle as it kissed the castle grounds. Somewhere beyond the hedges, the faint splash of the courtyard fountain echoed—a lullaby of water meeting water, rhythmic and calming.

You sat nestled within the pale embrace of a gazebo, its wooden frame delicately laced with ivy and blooming wisteria, soft petals swaying with every tender breeze.

The book in your hands was worn in the corners but loved—its parchment pages aged, the ink slightly faded yet still carrying the weight of every word.

A sigh left your lips, soft and drawn out.

“'And in silence, he longed for what he dared not touch,'” you read aloud, your voice barely rising above the wind. “What a tragic sort of devotion…”

Your fingers tightened around the spine.

The garden stretched out before you, a sea of color—roses, tulips, peonies, and little blue forget-me-nots nestled near the base of every trimmed bush. Everything was alive, and yet it all stood still, like the entire world paused to listen.

Footsteps padded softly across the gravel behind you.

“Milady,” came the quiet voice of one of the castle maids, her head bowed low as she placed a fresh tray of refreshments upon the small table beside you. Crystal glasses caught the light, and the silver tray gleamed beneath the sun.

You offered a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

She returned it, modest and fleeting, before stepping back. “Shall I leave the strawberries as well?”

“Yes, please,” you replied, adjusting the folds of your gown with one hand.

The silk skirt pooled around you in waves, layered with pale pastels, laced edges, and gold-stitched bows that shimmered every time you moved. A corset hugged your waist, cinched just enough to be proper, but not unbearable—a compromise between elegance and comfort.

She bowed again. “Call if you need anything, my lady.”

“I always do,” you murmured, your gaze falling back to the book.

You turned the page delicately, brushing your fingertips against the words as though they were fragile glass.

And then, quietly to yourself, “How strange it must be, to long for someone in secret… and be loved loudly by someone else entirely.”

You were just about to turn the page—fingertip sliding gently under the parchment—when you heard it.

Footsteps.

Your gaze lifted from the book and drifted to the right, toward one of the many winding paths that led into the garden. Sunlight spilled across the white cobblestone in slanted rays, dancing between the petals and ivy.

Prince Heeseung.

Your breath caught for only a second—but your smile came instantly, unbidden, as if your heart had recognized him long before your eyes did.

He looked like he belonged in the very pages of your book—dressed in a tailored white coat lined with gold filigree that caught the sun at every turn.

The fabric shimmered faintly with each step he took, the polished black boots beneath his dark trousers clicking softly against the stones. His hands were careful, cradling a fresh bouquet of lilacs—your favorite, which he never once forgot.

The lilacs were nearly the same shade as the ribbon in your hair.

His dark hair was brushed back in soft waves, a few strands falling loosely near his brow. And those eyes—those warm, honey-brown eyes—found yours with ease, with something gentle tucked inside their gaze.

“Princess,” he greeted with a smile that turned your knees to air. His voice, low and warm, always had a way of curling around your name like a promise.

You sat up straighter, your hands folding over your lap as you tilted your head at him, playful. “You walk like a man with secrets.”

“I walk like a man bringing flowers to the only one who makes the garden look dull,” he said, grinning as he reached the steps of the gazebo.

“Oh, how terribly dramatic of you.”

Heeseung chuckled, holding out the bouquet. “And yet it made you smile.”

You accepted the lilacs carefully, the scent washing over you like a memory. “You know, the florists will start suspecting you’re courting someone.”

“I am courting someone,” he replied easily, eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks warmed under the weight of his gaze.

“Lucky her,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over one of the petals.

Heeseung stepped closer, just enough to lower himself onto the bench beside you—his posture relaxed, his shoulder brushing yours faintly. His arm rested casually behind you on the seat, not quite touching, but close enough to feel.

“Lucky me,” he corrected, leaning in the slightest bit as his voice dipped lower. “For having a princess who reads poetry and meets me in gardens.”

You laughed under your breath, looking down at the bouquet once more. “You always say the right things.”

Heeseung tilted his head, expression soft. “Only when I’m around you.”

You gave him another smile, one that crinkled your eyes and pulled at the corners of your lips. Then, with a careful hand, you set the bouquet beside the refreshments—delicate lilacs now resting in the sun’s golden glow, nestled beside chilled lemonade and a dish of strawberries.

“Come closer,” you said gently, patting the spot beside you with a slight tilt of your head.

And he did.

Heeseung obeyed with that boyish grin tugging at his lips, sinking into the bench with ease until his shoulder brushed yours—warm, familiar. The closeness was effortless, the kind that came with hours and weeks and years of knowing. Of loving.

He turned slightly, eyes gleaming as if simply sitting beside you made the world right again.

“How was practice?” you asked, reaching instinctively for his hand, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

He let out a dramatic sigh, one that rattled from the very depths of his chest before he leaned in further—head finding its way to the crook of your neck, nose brushing the soft skin there as he inhaled.

“Exhausting,” he murmured, voice muffled by your skin. “Sunghoon almost ripped my sleeve off.”

Your brows raised, amused. “Did he now?”

“All because I told him he ought to start thinking about finding a lady of his own. He’s only two years younger than me, but you'd think I told him to marry a goat the way he reacted.”

You stifled a laugh.

“And Jongseong?” you asked, already guessing.

“Backed me up, of course,” Heeseung grinned into your neck. “He even dragged Jungwon into it—said the two of them were becoming old maids with swords.”

You gasped playfully. “Cruel!”

Heeseung laughed, his breath tickling your skin. “Cruel but not wrong. So naturally, the younger ones decided the only reasonable response was chasing us through the courtyard with their blades drawn like little terrors.”

You blinked. “With actual swords?”

“Oh yes,” he said, sounding far too amused. “They meant business. The knights on patrol just stood there, watching. I think one of them placed a bet.”

You giggled, running a hand through his soft hair as he leaned further into you, completely unbothered by decorum or the passing time. Your fingers threaded through the dark locks gently, combing through with care as if he were the most precious thing in the garden—and he was.

Heeseung hummed under your touch, arms moving around your waist as he drew you closer until there was no space left between you.

“You spoil me,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“And you let me,” you replied with a teasing smile, brushing your fingers along his temple.

“That’s because I’d gladly die in your hands,” he muttered sleepily. “Even if your hands are… very soft. And smell like roses.”

You laughed again, delighted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he corrected, holding you tighter.

And then—without warning—he leaned in and began pressing warm, slow kisses against the slope of your neck. One. Then another. His lips trailing softly just below your jaw, then lower, brushing against the skin just above your collarbone—barely hidden by the delicate neckline of your gown.

“Your dress is unfair,” he whispered between kisses, voice low and teasing. “Makes it impossible to behave.”

You let out a breathy giggle, hand curling into the fabric of his sleeve. “You’re impossible, Heeseung.”

“Mm, say it again.”

“You’re impossible?”

“No. My name. I like it when you say it like that.”

You cooed gently, tilting your head as he angled for your lips. His gaze dipped to your mouth, and his hand moved up the side of your back, eyes half-lidded and completely enamored.

And just as your lips were about to meet—

“Heeseung hyung!”

The prince froze mid-movement, groaning against your skin like a man personally betrayed by the gods.

Another voice followed, louder and more frantic.

“Hyung? We’ve been looking for you for ages!”

From beyond the tall rose bushes near the edge of the gazebo, two familiar figures stumbled into view—Sunoo and Riki, each looking like scolded puppies who’d wandered too far from their leash.

“Unbelievable,” Heeseung muttered under his breath, finally lifting his head with the most exasperated expression. “What could possibly be so urgent?”

Sunoo offered you a sheepish smile as he waved. “Good afternoon, Princess. Sorry to interrupt.”

Riki, meanwhile, had already sauntered over and shamelessly plucked a macaron off the silver tray in front of you, examining it like he’d just discovered a new species. “Pink. My favorite.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “Riki.”

“I figured if I’m going to interrupt, I may as well get a snack.”

Sunoo sighed and folded his arms. “Hyung, the head of the knight guard—Hwan—has been looking for you. Something about finalizing next week’s banquet security plans?”

At that, Heeseung visibly deflated, letting out a second, louder groan before dramatically resting his chin on top of your head like a sulking child. “I’m not going.”

You stifled a laugh, reaching up to play with the ends of his hair. “You do know you’re the crown prince, yes?”

“I do,” he mumbled. “And yet I feel incredibly underappreciated.”

Riki snorted as he took another bite of the macaron, his voice muffled by sugar. “Relax, brother. Princess (Y/N)’s not going anywhere.”

Heeseung gave a noise of agreement and nuzzled further into your hair, arms still locked firmly around your waist. “Exactly. This is clearly a case of poor timing and disrespect toward royal romantic affairs.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “You say that as if your ‘romantic affair’ isn’t sprawled across a public gazebo.”

“Then they should build us a private one.”

You laughed again, threading your fingers through his hair as he melted into you like a spoiled cat. Riki and Sunoo exchanged one last glance before Riki shrugged and grabbed a second dessert.

“We’ll tell Hwan you’re ‘in conference.’”

“And tell him to come back never,” Heeseung added, voice muffled into your hair.

You sighed through a soft laugh, tapping his arms gently where they were stubbornly wrapped around your waist. “My Prince,” you said with mock sternness. “If you don’t get going, Hwan will double your training hours. Maybe even triple.”

He let out a groan—not very prince-like—as he nuzzled into you one last time. “Cruel. You wound me, my love.”

“You’ll survive,” you hummed, gently nudging him away. He reluctantly loosened his grip, though he still hadn’t made any effort to actually stand.

You smiled fondly. “Come on. The earlier you finish your duties, the earlier you can be with me again.”

That made him perk up, his eyes suddenly lighting like sun-touched gold. “Now that is motivation.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek—warm, lingering, a promise tucked into it.

“Ugh,” Sunoo groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Do you have to kiss every five seconds?”

“Some of us are still single,” Riki added, arms crossed with an exaggerated pout.

You grinned. “Well, maybe if you two stopped terrorizing every debutante at every ball…”

Heeseung snorted, standing at last with a stretch before he placed one last, feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Ignore them, princess. They’re simply jealous.”

You brushed your hands gently along the front of your gown, preparing to stand as well. “I must get going back inside,” you murmured, glancing toward the palace doors. “The sun is starting to turn hotter, and I might melt before you return.”

Heeseung stepped beside you immediately, his hand finding the small of your back with natural ease. “Then I’ll escort you,” he said. “It’s on the way to the courtyard anyway.”

He looked to Sunoo expectantly. “That alright?”

Sunoo gave a small, understanding nod. “Of course. We’ll catch up with the captain while you two take your sweet time.”

As you moved forward, the heavy layers of your gown shifted around your legs, the delicate fabric and gold embroidery trailing slightly behind you. You let out a tiny sigh, brushing your skirt to the side.

“These gowns were not made for walking,” you muttered.

“They were made for floating, though,” Heeseung teased, offering his arm with a grin. “And I’m honored to be walking beside the most beautiful one to ever wear them.”

You flushed as you took his arm, allowing him to guide you gently toward the entrance of the palace. Behind you, Riki mock-gagged and grabbed another macaron while Sunoo simply shook his head, already anticipating a very dramatic retelling of this moment at dinner.

“I’m serious,” you added playfully over your shoulder, glancing at Heeseung. “Hwan is already so tired of your antics. Please, spare the poor man.”

That made the prince laugh—a sound so full and bright that it echoed against the walls of the palace garden like music. “Alright, alright,” he said, pulling you just a little closer. “For your sake, I’ll behave. But only slightly.”

The afternoon breeze was kind to your skin—neither too warm nor biting. It danced through the open corridor, carrying the scent of roses and distant sunlight as you strolled leisurely, your gown trailing behind like golden water. The lace fluttered slightly with each step, your slippers tapping gently against the polished stone floor.

Your two handmaidens flanked you, both young, bright-eyed, and as full of energy as always. The three of you had long abandoned any sense of formality as laughter echoed softly down the hall.

“White and gold,” you said confidently, letting your fingers trace the embroidered detailing of your sleeve. “No combination has ever looked better.”

They both gasped as if you had uttered gospel.

“I told her the same thing!” one of them chirped. “Gold goes with everything. It brings out the elegance in the plainest of things.”

“And it’s so regal,” the other sighed dreamily. “Like something only worn by goddesses and queens.”

You laughed, soft and genuine, as you reached the spiral stairs that led to the tower balcony. The stone was cool beneath your fingertips as you climbed, sunlight spilling in through narrow windows that cast slanted beams along the walls.

Stepping out onto the balcony, the three of you were greeted by the view of the castle’s courtyard below—alive with the clang of swords, thuds of boots, and echoes of distant chatter.

“There they go again,” your handmaiden giggled, pointing toward the princes at the far end of the yard.

You followed her gaze and stifled a laugh of your own as you caught sight of Jungwon’s sword accidentally hitting Riki with the hilt—straight to the side.

Riki let out a loud yelp, and without missing a beat, launched himself at the cat-like prince, chasing him in furious circles around the yard as their sparring partners stood stunned.

“They’re going to fall face-first into the fountain one of these days,” you muttered, watching as the younger princes dashed around wildly.

Your eyes scanned across the yard—rows of knights moving in formation, sparring amongst themselves, or preparing equipment—until they landed on a more composed sight. Prince Heeseung.

He stood slightly away from the others, deep in conversation with the ever-serious Captain Hwan. Between them lay a large scroll, its corners pinned with small weights, possibly a map of the castle grounds.

You could just barely make out their gestures—Heeseung pointing toward a marked area while Hwan nodded sharply. Likely preparations for next week’s banquet, you thought.

“The crown prince looks far too serious today,” one of the girls murmured, following your gaze.

“He always does when Hwan’s involved,” the other added, then nudged your arm with a sly smile. “Now those knights over there, though…”

You turned your head just as she gestured to the opposite end of the courtyard, where Prince Jaeyun and Prince Jongseong—both shirt-sleeved and flushed from training—were surrounded by a group of younger knights. Their laughter echoed faintly, the two clearly in the middle of friendly teasing.

“They’re the heart-stoppers of the guard,” she sighed dramatically. “Imagine catching one of those eyes from below the helmet.”

You chuckled, resting your arms on the balcony railing. “They’re charming,” you admitted. “But Prince Heeseung has my heart.”

Both girls turned to you with the same dreamy expression.

“As he should,” one said, smiling. “You’re both lucky.”

“Betrothed and still looking at you like he’s thirteen again, sneaking out of language lessons to see you in the garden,” the other added with a fond laugh.

You let out a soft breath of laughter, the memory settling sweetly in your chest. “He still acts like it,” you mused. “He gifted me lilacs this morning and almost forgot he had training until Sunoo dragged him out.”

They both laughed at that, clearly endeared.

“And every time he kisses you in public, Prince Riki looks like he’s about to hurl,” your handmaiden added through a grin.

You covered your mouth to stifle the sudden laughter, nodding in agreement.

“Honestly,” you sighed, “I should start rewarding the poor prince for tolerating all our affections.”

“You already do, Your Highness,” one handmaiden said with a wink, leaning her elbows on the stone railing.

The other smiled softly, her voice quieter now, a sincerity woven into her words. “You were the sister figure they always needed, you know.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.

“They’re adored by everyone,” she continued, eyes trailing down to the chaos of the courtyard. “The Queen loves her sons dearly—but with the business of the court, the councils, the expectations—well… they needed someone to be there. And you were.”

“She’s right,” the first agreed. “From the moment you met them… they looked up to you. Just as much as they look up to Prince Heeseung.”

The wind blew gently again, carrying with it the laughter of the younger princes and the faint scent of lavender from the courtyard gardens.

Your gaze softened as it drifted across the yard—Riki now wrestling Jungwon to the ground playfully while Jaeyun scolded them half-heartedly in between sword swings.

They had always looked at you that way, hadn’t they? As if your presence gave them peace in ways no royal decree or bloodline ever could. They weren’t just princes to you. They were yours. In some small, cherished way—they had become the brothers you never had.

You sighed through a smile, delicately pushing your hair back over your shoulder, careful not to disturb the lilac bow resting perfectly near your crown.

“Enough with this sentimental talk,” you murmured, though your voice was thick with affection. “You’re going to make me cry.”

Both handmaidens giggled, nudging each other playfully.

“I’d offer my handkerchief, but it’s silk and I don’t want to ruin it,” one teased.

“Such loyalty,” you quipped, laughing along, your heart lighter now.

Your gaze floated back to the courtyard, naturally—always—seeking him.

Heeseung was still beside Hwan, nodding along to something the knight was pointing to on the map. His arms were folded behind his back, posture noble and every bit the Crown Prince. But then—almost as if the gods whispered your name into his ear—he looked up.

Right at you.

The seriousness faded instantly. His brows softened. His lips curved into a grin brighter than any sunbeam could ever hope to rival.

You giggled quietly, your hand raising in a gentle wave toward him. Heeseung returned the gesture with no hesitation, his smile only growing wider as he waved back, completely unbothered by Hwan’s sharp sigh beside him.

Below, the courtyard erupted.

“OI—LOOK AT THAT! THE PRINCE IS SMILING!”

“You sure that’s our Crown Prince?!”

More teasing hollers rang out as knights and princes alike noticed the sudden softness in their usually stoic eldest. And then—

“Noona! Hi!” Jungwon shouted from where he was pinned by Riki, waving his arm wildly while the younger prince sat on his back like a triumphant puppy.

You covered your mouth, trying—and failing—to hold in the laughter that spilled from your chest.

Then Jongseong’s voice echoed from below, loud and teasing. “Come down here! It’s hot up there, you know!”

He wasn’t wrong. In the few minutes you'd lingered at the stone balcony, the once-soft breeze had given way to a harsher warmth. The sun bore down with more intent now, and you found yourself squinting slightly under its golden glare.

You nodded in agreement and stepped away from the railing, your handmaidens trailing just behind, still giggling about the interaction like it had been the most charming thing they’d seen all day. You couldn’t blame them—it really was.

As you descended the winding steps and approached the edge of the courtyard, the sight that greeted you was one of casual chaos—Jungwon brushing dust from his tunic.

Riki now tugging at Sunghoon’s sleeve as the elder prince tried to ignore him with utmost patience while seated on one of the carved stone benches. Knights moved in rhythm nearby, sparring or catching their breath, the clang of steel and soft thuds of boots filling the air.

Your handmaidens, ever the schemers, gave you one last nudge forward.

“Go on,” one whispered with a grin.

“Oh, don’t give us that look, Your Highness,” the other added when you turned to glare, all faux-offended elegance. “You’re the one engaged to him.”

Before you could retort, they laughed and slipped away—heading straight toward a few young knights polishing their swords under a shaded tree, whispering and giggling like it was a market square and not royal training grounds.

You sighed with fond exasperation, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

But your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a familiar warmth at your back.

A hand gently found your lower spine, fingers curling just slightly—a touch meant only for you. You looked up to see Heeseung already beside you, as if drawn by instinct.

“Princess,” he murmured softly, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. His voice was low, threaded with affection and familiarity.

You smiled at him, heart fluttering despite how often he did that—how natural it had become. “Your brothers are creating chaos.”

Heeseung chuckled, eyes lifting briefly toward the mess of limbs and swords still clashing nearby. “If they come back with their tunics torn again, I’m blaming Jongseong.”

“I heard that!” Jongseong called from somewhere near the fencing rack, earning another soft laugh from you.

The two of you began walking toward the area Heeseung had been previously, where a large table had been set under a temporary canopy.

Scrolls and maps lay sprawled across it, Hwan stood nearby, his posture straight and composed as always, though his expression warmed when he saw you.

“Princess (Y/N),” Hwan greeted with a small nod, voice crisp.

“Sir Hwan,” you replied, offering a gentle smile as your eyes flicked toward the detailed flood plan spread out before you.

Ink lined the parchment in precise, looping script—notes and arrows detailing various parts of the castle, side entrances, garden paths, and service tunnels. Red wax marked certain points, perhaps the ones in need of reinforcement.

The upcoming banquet was to host royals from three nearby kingdoms—it was no surprise security had become the highest concern.

Heeseung stepped beside you again, eyes flicking toward the plan. “We’re adjusting the placements for the northern watchmen,” he explained. “The last storm weakened the stone wall near the greenhouse.”

“I see…” you murmured, leaning in just a bit. “Does that mean the western rose arch will be blocked off?”

Heeseung blinked, a touch surprised. “Yes—how did you know that?”

You smiled faintly. “I remember which part of the garden floods first. We used to race through there, remember? When we were younger?”

Heeseung chuckled. “You always cheated. You’d pretend your skirt got caught, and I’d turn around to help—then you’d sprint past me.”

You tried not to laugh, but failed. “I never cheated.”

Hwan cleared his throat politely, trying not to smile too much. “Well, if we’re done reliving the princess’s war crimes…”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and fond as he pressed another kiss to the top of your head—like habit. His hand curled more firmly around your waist as he turned back toward the map, eyes scanning the ink-streaked parchment with renewed focus.

“Minjun,” he called, gesturing to one of the younger knights standing nearby, armor gleaming faintly under the sun.

“Take the final plan to the western and southern wings. Make sure Sir Jiwon and Sir Minho review them thoroughly. And pass it along to the patrols stationed at the back gardens.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” the young knight responded quickly, already moving with purpose.

“And Sir Hwan—” Heeseung added, catching his knight just as he began to turn away, “hold a meeting with the guards tomorrow morning. I want every possible weak point reinforced and every post briefed, understood?”

“Understood, Your Highness.” Hwan bowed at the waist, casting you a brief respectful smile before walking off. His exit left a small bubble of quiet around you and Heeseung amidst the occasional clatter of sparring swords and the buzz of wind.

With the absence of his ever-stoic personal knight, Heeseung turned fully to you.

A grin tugged at his lips, soft and lazy, like he had no interest in returning to the royal rhythm of duty just yet. He looked down at you, eyes twinkling, and then without warning, both hands found your hips—gentle but confident.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard. “Heeseung,” you hissed, eyes flickering to the side where a few knights—not so subtly—pretended to focus on tying bootlaces or checking their gear. “Are you serious? In front of all these young men?”

Heeseung only laughed, head tipping back slightly. The sound was musical and boyish and so unlike the Crown Prince everyone else bowed to.

“They’ve seen worse,” he teased, leaning in a little, nose brushing yours before pulling away just slightly. “Besides, I’m only reminding them what love looks like.”

You gawked at him, flustered and trying not to smile.

Heeseung's grin softened then, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against your hip. “Do you have plans this afternoon, my heart?” he asked, voice low and full of intention. “Because if not, I was going to steal you away.”

You laughed under your breath, warmth bubbling in your chest. “I do, actually. Tea time.”

Heeseung pouted dramatically. “Again?”

“Yes, but this time your mother invited me,” you said with a knowing look. “And apparently, your brother Sunoo begged her to include him. Said he was going insane from training every day, and sparring with Sunghoon is ‘slowly ruining his will to live.’ His words. Not mine.”

That made Heeseung snort. “Poor Sunoo. I warned him—Sunghoon takes no prisoners, not even in practice.”

“He said your brother has no mercy,” you confirmed with a giggle, “and refuses to hold back just because he’s younger.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, mock-exasperated. “Sunghoon doesn’t even hold back on me.”

You shrugged playfully, “Well, he has your mother’s approval for being ‘disciplined.’”

Heeseung groaned. “Please don’t tell me she said that again.”

“She did,” you replied, smiling wide. “Right after she compared you to a ‘cloud of mischief.’”

Heeseung dragged a hand down his face, clearly wounded. “I’m her firstborn. How is this fair?”

You only leaned in to whisper, “You’re my favorite prince. That’s all that matters.”

Heeseung looked at you like you hung the stars just to light his way.

But a smirk crept up on his face, the type of playful mischief you knew all too well. He leaned in closer, voice low and teasing against your ear, “So you’re saying… you have other favorites?”

You gasped dramatically, eyes widening with faux betrayal. “What? I would never—” you paused for effect, then added with a grin, “But if I did… Jungwon’s a very close second.”

Heeseung clicked his tongue, pretending to pull away. “Unbelievable. Betrayed in daylight. By my own betrothed.”

You laughed, unable to hide your grin as you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re still number one.”

“I better be,” he murmured, before cupping your cheek gently and stealing a real kiss this time—soft, warm, and full of all the affection he never seemed to run out of. You smiled into it, fingertips brushing the hem of his sleeve as you stayed there for a breath too long.

“I’m honored, noona!”

You both startled at the voice, pulling away just in time to see Jungwon grinning wide, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled over with a puffed-out chest. He practically radiated smugness.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he added innocently, though his mischievous eyes said otherwise.

You giggled, arms opening instinctively. “Come here, you.”

The second youngest prince leaned in, wrapping you in a brief but warm hug. You ruffled his hair with a sisterly laugh just as Heeseung groaned beside you.

“Oh no. Now we’re hugging him too?”

Before Jungwon could respond, Heeseung reached over and roughly tousled the younger boy’s hair, effectively ruining the neat style Jungwon’s handmaid had worked on earlier that morning.

“Hyung!” Jungwon yelped, swatting at his older brother’s hand with a glare. “Do you mind?!”

Heeseung shrugged with a proud grin, not sorry in the slightest. “Affection builds character.”

“It builds trauma,” Jungwon muttered under his breath, brushing his dark bangs back into place with a scowl.

Still, he didn’t move away right away. He just sighed, casting a sideways look at his brother before straightening his shoulders like he had something important to say. “Come on, hyung. I’m not eleven anymore.”

That made you smile fondly.

“I know,” Heeseung said quietly, voice laced with something softer, something older. “But you’ll always be my annoying little brother.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes, cheeks flushing the tiniest bit before he turned on his heel with a dramatic huff. “Whatever. Just don’t embarrass me again in front of the knights!”

Heeseung smirked as he watched the younger boy storm off.

“No promises,” he said, just loud enough for Jungwon to hear.

“I heard that!”

You and Heeseung laughed, watching the youngest stalk toward the training field like a prince on a mission.

Still smiling, Heeseung turned to you again. “So… Jungwon, huh?”

You looped your arm through his. “He’s charming.”

Heeseung made a dramatic face as he led you away from the courtyard, your steps falling into rhythm with his as you both began walking through one of the many open-air corridors that stretched between the training grounds and the main castle. Sunlight filtered through the tall arches, casting golden lines across the stone floors.

“Charming,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “Unbelievable.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm lightly. “Come on, don’t pout. Doesn’t he like some princess from the neighboring kingdom or something?”

“My love,” he said with a faux-wounded pout, placing a hand over his chest. “You are from the neighboring kingdom.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “The other one, Hee. You know what I mean.”

He chuckled, his shoulder bumping yours as he nodded at a few knights that passed by and bowed to their Crown Prince. “I’m only teasing, my love. You wound me with your accusations.”

“Oh please,” you drawled, pretending to flip your hair. “You’d survive a thousand of my wounds and still crawl back with a bouquet of stolen garden roses.”

“I don’t steal them,” he said defensively, eyes wide. “I borrow them.”

You snorted. “They're still dying in a vase somewhere, my thief.”

“Ah, but they die for love,” he whispered dramatically, and you both burst into quiet laughter, the sound echoing softly against the archways.

As you entered the main castle, the air shifted cooler against your skin. The familiar stretch of marble under your shoes and the pristine white-and-gold corridors felt like coming home.

You leaned into Heeseung naturally, no longer needing to keep up appearances of royalty. Here, you were just his. And he was just yours.

“Did you know,” Heeseung started, voice low and casual, “that one of the kitchen boys swears he saw a raccoon sneak into the pantry last night?”

You blinked. “What?”

“He says it ran off with a wedge of brie. I’m inclined to believe him.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “If it’s the same raccoon that stole my slippers last month, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

Heeseung smirked. “We’ll draft a letter. ‘To His Royal Sneakiness, Lord Raccoon.’”

“‘Please return the slippers. And the cheese.’”

You both snorted again, shoulders brushing, hands nearly touching but not quite. Not until Heeseung gently reached over and linked your pinky with his.

As you approached the end of the hallway, two stationed knights nodded respectfully at Heeseung, who gave a short nod back, the air between you momentarily still.

Then, with a small tug, he guided you down a quieter wing of the castle and opened a pair of familiar ivory doors—the ones adorned with subtle silver embroidery, vines carved into the wood. Your shared bedroom.

It wasn’t common for betrotheds to share a room before marriage. But then again, nothing about you and Heeseung had ever been traditional.

You’d known each other since you were in diapers, practically raised beside him during summer visits and royal meetings. Your parents were longtime allies, your mothers best friends, and your fathers forever trying to outmatch each other in chess.

So when Heeseung looked his parents in the eye and asked, “Why wait?”—with that charming, persuasive voice and soft gaze—they had merely exchanged a look and nodded. And you had moved into the Crown Prince’s wing a week later.

Heeseung stepped aside to let you in first, hand brushing your lower back gently.

“I still can’t believe this room is technically mine too,” you murmured, looking at the familiar blend of warm candles, velvet throws, and the little reading nook by the window he’d helped you decorate himself.

“You say that every time,” he smiled, closing the door behind you.

“And I mean it every time.”

You moved to sit at the edge of the bed as Heeseung discarded his royal sash and coat onto the nearby chaise. He walked over, cupped your cheeks, and leaned down until his forehead pressed against yours.

“My love,” he said softly. “This room was mine. But it’s only ever felt like home when you were in it.”

“And, you’ve been sleeping in the same bed with me since we were fifteen. Why do you always act like you’ve kissed me for the first time?” he murmured, eyes gleaming.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “You arrogant—”

Without hesitation, your fingers found his cheek and you pinched—hard.

He hissed. “Ow—! Okay, okay, that’s uncalled for!”

“Shut up, Lee Heeseung,” you grumbled, though the amused twitch in your lips betrayed you.

He laughed, low and full, his hands finding your cheeks once more—but this time, there was no trace of playfulness in the way he tilted your chin upward, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Come here, then,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you.

A proper one.

His mouth moved against yours with practiced ease, tilting just enough to deepen the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to keep you exactly where he wanted you. You sighed into him, hands curling around his forearms as the warmth between you bloomed fast—like fire catching silk.

He pulled back barely an inch, just enough to catch his breath and your dazed expression. Then, without a single word, he sank onto the bed, tugging you by the waist and pulling you to straddle his lap.

You gasped, landing atop him with a jolt as your palms pressed against his chest.

“Heeseung!” you hissed. “You little—”

He cut you off, arms curling around your waist and dragging you in closer—flush now, no space between your chest and his, your skirts spilling around both of your legs. His lips brushed your ear.

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll make sure you say my name louder next time,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched.

“Heeseung,” you warned, voice trembling from the heat he lit in your stomach.

“Yes, my love?” he said, all mock innocence—his hands not-so-innocently sliding over your waist, fingers curling around the fabric at the dip of your back.

“I have tea with our mothers and Sunoo,” you reminded, heart racing, mind spinning.

He clicked his tongue. “They’ll understand. They adore you. Especially Sunoo—he probably planned this delay.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, resting your forehead on his. “We can’t keep doing this in broad daylight.”

“Then let’s get married already,” he replied instantly, eyes gleaming as his grip on your hips tightened just slightly, anchoring you to him. “That way, I can kiss my wife whenever I damn please.”

You leaned in again, eyes twinkling, catching his lips in a playful kiss that had him chasing after more.

As you pulled back just enough to breathe the words into his mouth, you smiled, “We are at the end of the month, patience, my prince.”

But Heeseung only growled lowly, a sound vibrating in his chest, deep and utterly possessive.

“Not when you sit on me like this,” he muttered—voice thick, the restraint cracking.

He didn’t wait for your teasing reply.

He surged forward, claiming your lips in a kiss that had nothing soft about it this time. It was all heat and desperation—his mouth molding to yours, tongue brushing boldly against the seam of your lips until you gasped and gave in.

You couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped your throat, your fingers digging into the lapels of his shirt, clutching him like he was the only solid thing keeping you grounded.

Your breaths grew louder, shorter—shared between kisses that turned more and more feverish. Heeseung only paused to stare at you, chest rising and falling. His eyes, which held stars just seconds ago, were now blazing with something darker, needier.

And still—still so full of love.

He didn’t say anything as his hands moved behind you, already knowing what to do—his fingers skillfully unlacing the back of your corset. It wasn’t the first time. It was second nature to him by now, and the realization sent a rush of heat all over you. While you would usually fumble with the ties for minutes at a time, he did it in less than ten seconds, eyes never leaving yours.

“Show-off,” you muttered breathlessly, cheeks warm.

“You wouldn’t need help if you didn’t keep choosing the ones with so many damn laces,” he shot back with a smirk, but it faded as quickly as it appeared—his gaze trailing down.

Your hands went to the buttons of his vest with haste, lips brushing against the edge of his jaw as you worked them open. He let you, watching with a hunger that made your fingers tremble slightly.

Once the last button gave, you pushed the garment off, and Heeseung flung it somewhere across the room with zero care.

“Too slow,” he murmured.

You barely got a breath in before he was tugging at your sleeves, your dress slipping down your shoulders in one smooth motion. The soft fabric hung loosely on your arms, exposing the delicate skin of your collarbones, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath it.

“You’re killing me,” he said quietly, forehead leaning against yours again. “Do you know what you do to me?”

You couldn’t answer. Not when he was looking at you like this.

Not when his mouth kissed every bit of skin the dress dared reveal. From your shoulder to the hollow of your throat. Slow. Devout. Like worship.

“I want you,” he whispered into your skin. “Not just now. Not just like this. I want every part of you, every night, every morning. In this room. In that temple. Before the gods and after them.”

You shivered, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt. “You already have me, Heeseung. You always have.”

A guttural sound tore from his throat as his hand gripped the laces of your dress. “Say it again,” he breathed, lips brushing against your collarbone.

“You have me,” you whispered, heart pounding. “Every piece. Every breath.”

With one swift motion, he loosened the bodice, the fabric sliding off your shoulders and pooling at your waist. He drew back slightly, chest rising and falling, eyes devouring the bare skin now revealed to him. His gaze was starved—like he’d waited centuries to touch you like this.

“Mine,” he groaned, hands trembling slightly as they moved over your ribs, your waist, the dip between your hipbones. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

His mouth followed the path of his hands—slow, deliberate. He kissed down your neck, nipping at the skin just below your jaw until a breathy moan escaped you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice strained as he left a trail of marks, warm and tinged with devotion. “The gods have nothing on you.”

When his lips reached the softest part of your chest, his hands gripped your hips tightly—almost possessively—pressing his forehead against your sternum for a second like he was trying to calm himself.

Then he looked up at you, pupils blown. “I’ll worship you like this,” he said, voice rough, “until the stars burn out.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer.

He grabbed your thighs, flipped you effortlessly onto your back, and pressed you into the mattress. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled the rest of your dress off with a low growl, letting it drop to the floor. His body hovered above yours now, heat radiating between you as your bare skin met his.

“You make me lose control,” he said, almost like a confession. “And I don’t want it back.”

His mouth was everywhere—claiming your neck, your shoulders, the curve of your stomach. His name slipped past your lips again and again, soft and helpless, like a prayer and a curse all at once.

He kissed you then—deep, head-spinning, like he wanted to taste your soul. “Let me have you,” he murmured between kisses. “Let me love you the way I was always meant to.”

And when he finally lowered himself between your legs, hands splayed across your hips, tongue tracing fire across your skin, he whispered, “I’ll leave no part untouched.”

His lips grazed the inside of your thigh, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing you inch by inch. His thumbs dragged upward, parting you gently, and when he looked up—eyes dark, hungry, reverent—you nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Stay just like this,” he murmured, voice low, almost trembling. “Let me taste what’s mine.”

And then he buried his face between your thighs.

A gasp tore from your throat as his tongue moved against your core—firm, relentless, like he had something to prove. And maybe he did.

Maybe he was proving that no one else could ever make you feel like this. That no other hands, no other mouth, no other name would ever fall from your lips in this way.

Heeseung groaned against you, the sound vibrating straight through your bones. “You’re everything,” he muttered, voice muffled by your skin. “Sweet. Divine. Addicting.”

Your hips bucked, but his grip only tightened—holding you down, keeping you open. “Don’t run from it,” he said, looking up briefly, mouth glistening. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Then he dove back in—slower this time, more intentional. He licked into you like a man starving, like he wanted to carve his name into you with every flick of his tongue.

Your fingers twisted into his hair, a moan spilling out of you so raw and desperate it made him groan again—deeper this time, as if he felt it.

He sucked gently, then harder, then just right—and your body arched, breath catching as your thighs shook around his head. “That’s it,” he whispered, not letting up. “Come undone for me. I want to feel you lose yourself.”

And when you did—back arched, fingers digging into his scalp, his name a broken chant on your lips—he didn’t stop. Not even then.

Heeseung stayed there, kissing you through it, tongue softening to gentle licks, like he couldn’t bear to let go of the taste of you.

“You taste like heaven,” he said hoarsely, crawling back up your body. “And I’m never going to stop sinning.”

His mouth captured yours in a kiss so deep and possessive, it left you dizzy. His hand cradled the back of your head, the other splayed at your waist as he kissed you like he’d never let you go.

When he finally pulled away, your lips were parted, your breaths uneven, your body still aching for more.

You blinked at him, dazed. “I should—shouldn’t I… return the favor?” you managed to breathe, fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw. “It’s only fair.”

But Heeseung only chuckled, low and fond. He clicked his tongue as he cupped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. “Not now, my love,” he said, tone full of mock discipline. “Don’t you have tea with our mothers and poor, bored Sunoo?”

You stared at him, scandalized. “You—!”

Your mouth hung open in shock, lips still tingling from his kisses, body still humming with want, and Heeseung had the audacity to smile—smile—as he kissed you again. Tender, slow, and sweet. But the taste of you still lingered on his lips, and the moment it hit your tongue, your cheeks flushed deep crimson.

He pulled back with a grin, clearly satisfied with your flustered state. “There’s that look I love,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the corner of your kiss-bitten mouth.

You squeaked as he got up, completely unhurried, and bent to retrieve your dress from where it lay pooled on the carpet. He handled it with surprising care, holding it up like it was made of glass, before walking over to grab your corset next—still slightly unlaced from earlier.

He turned to you, holding both items up. “Come now, princess. I may be a selfish man, but I’m not about to be blamed for you being late to tea.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You are absolutely going to be blamed. You undressed me, Heeseung.”

He only smirked as he crossed the room again, kneeling in front of you as he gently helped you slip back into the gown. “And I’ll do it again later,” he whispered, wickedly close to your ear, “but slower.”

You hissed, slapping his shoulder lightly. “You menace.”

Heeseung laughed softly, guiding your arms through the sleeves and then slipping around to lace your corset like it was second nature—deft fingers pulling the strings tight, not too firm, but enough for you to feel properly put together again. His knuckles grazed your back as he worked, and you swore he did it just to rile you up.

“You’ve done this way too many times,” you mumbled, folding your arms as he tied the last ribbon neatly.

“Practice makes perfect,” he replied cheekily, placing a final kiss on your shoulder before straightening up.

Your reflection in the gilded mirror caught your eye—cheeks rosy, lips swollen, hair slightly mussed, but glowing in a way you couldn’t quite hide.

You groaned under your breath.

With a quick sweep, you pulled your hair over one shoulder, trying in vain to cover the fresh marks Heeseung had shamelessly left trailing along your neck and collarbone.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered as you frantically smoothed your sleeves and tried to pat down the mess of curls he’d tangled earlier.

Behind you, Heeseung strolled over, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. “Here,” he said, lifting the delicate golden circlet that had been knocked off and tossed aside somewhere between his kisses and your surrender.

He gently placed it atop your head, careful not to tug or misplace a single strand. Then, with surprising finesse, he combed his fingers through your hair and pulled a few pieces loose to frame your face just right. The strands softened your features, made your flushed cheeks look like a gentle blush rather than a royal scandal.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Forgive me for the mess, my love,” he whispered against your skin, his voice laced with playful guilt.

You puffed out your cheeks, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. “Mess? Heeseung, I look like I just survived a storm.”

“You look like a woman in love,” he teased, clearly far too pleased with himself. “And slightly ravished, yes, but radiant nonetheless.”

You smacked his arm as he burst into soft laughter.

He reached for his coat from the chaise and slipped it on with practiced ease, but left his royal sash on the side—too formal for a simple walk across the castle, and besides, you both knew he wanted an excuse to not look too princely in front of Sunoo, who would definitely tease him about it.

He offered his hand, and you took it with a begrudging sigh. “You’re lucky I’m fond of you.”

“I’m aware,” he grinned.

With your hand in his, he opened the door and gently tugged you along the corridor, nodding at the knights stationed nearby, who respectfully bowed but absolutely did not miss the light flush on your face or the smug tilt of Heeseung’s smile.

As the two of you walked, fingers still entwined, you couldn’t help but glance sideways at him.

“Should I expect a scolding from your mother for being late?”

Heeseung hummed thoughtfully. “No. But from Sunoo? Absolutely.”

You groaned. “He’s going to smell the perfume and still say, ‘Why do you smell like sex?’”

Heeseung laughed out loud. “Because you do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You planned this.”

He just gave your hand a little squeeze. “I can’t help it. I like when you leave with part of me on you.”

You choked back a sound—half flustered, half delighted—and smacked his chest again. “You’re awful.”

“And you’re late for tea.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as Heeseung gently tugged you down the main marble steps and out into one of the many open-air gardens nestled in the kingdom’s sprawling palace grounds.

A breeze kissed your cheeks as the scent of lilacs and chamomile floated in the air, winding between columns and trellises of soft wisteria, the sunlight hitting just right

Then the scent grew stronger—steeped lilac tea, freshly poured.

You paused with a soft inhale. “My favorite,” you murmured with a smile.

Heeseung glanced sideways at you, eyes already on your face. “Yeah, I know,” he said simply, like it was obvious—because to him, it was.

You rounded the hedge-lined path and reached the open gazebo area in the heart of the garden. Woven vines framed the white pillars and soft silks blew gently from above, casting dappled shadows on the large round table filled with silver-tiered trays of fruit tarts, scones, sweet breads, and golden jars of jam. The sound of bickering cut through the serene setting.

“No, I’m telling you! Apricot is a universal jam—like, anyone would pick it!”

“Universal doesn’t mean it’s good, Riki! Raspberry is superior, and everyone with a tongue knows that!”

You laughed under your breath at the familiar sight of Sunoo and Riki, seated on opposite ends and leaning toward each other with exaggerated scowls.

Sunoo’s sleeves were dramatically pushed up like he was ready to duel with a spoon, and Riki’s pout was so intense it could’ve curdled milk.

Your smile grew as your eyes landed on the two women seated elegantly between them—your mother, Queen of your homeland, draped in soft burgundy with jewels that shimmered beneath the garden light, and Heeseung’s mother, the Queen of this kingdom, regal in deep navy lined with gold.

They sat side by side, teacups in hand, mid-conversation and sharing a laugh—the kind that spoke of decades of friendship, diplomacy, and sisterhood.

Heeseung slowed beside you, offering a slight bow of his head.

“My queens,” you said softly as you approached, your tone still laced with respect despite the fondness behind your eyes. You followed Heeseung’s lead, dipping your head slightly.

“Oh, please,” your mother groaned playfully. “Do we still have to do this every time?”

The Queen beside her smiled knowingly. “You’re about to be our daughter-in-law, not a courtier.”

“Sit, sit,” your mother added with a wave of her hand.

You and Heeseung chuckled, and he leaned in to kiss the top of your head once more, hands resting on your arms just a moment longer before he let go.

“I’ll leave you in good company,” he said, eyes locking with yours. “Try not to let Sunoo drag you into jam debates.”

Sunoo looked up, eyes wide. “You agree with me, right?” he demanded before Heeseung could even take a step back. “You like raspberry more, right?”

Heeseung only smirked. “I like peace and quiet. Which I clearly won’t get here.”

You snorted behind your hand as Heeseung’s mother laughed, waving her son off. “Go, Heeseung, before Sunoo recruits you into his crusade.”

Heeseung chuckled and gave you a parting wink before disappearing through the garden arch.

You turned back to the table and gracefully took the seat beside your mother, smoothing down your skirts.

Sunoo immediately leaned in and whispered, “Tell me you noticed the lip marks on your neck.”

“Sunoo!” you hissed, glancing at the queens who pretended not to overhear, amused smiles tugging at their lips.

“What?” Riki snorted, sipping his tea far too smugly. “You’re the one who came back glowing like you just won a war.”

You sighed deeply, cheeks already flushing again. “I hate both of you.”

Your mother smiled behind her cup. “Oh, sweetheart… you’re in love. We were all insufferable once too.”

The night of the banquet arrived with stars high and proud in the velvet sky, but even they would dim compared to what awaited within the castle walls.

You stood before the towering gilded mirror in your shared chambers, the scent of roses and lavender oils clinging softly to the air. Your hair was being twisted and pinned into perfection by skilled fingers, each strand smoothed and coiled as your lady-in-waiting delicately fastened glittering earrings to your ears.

Another slid your necklace into place—a heavy yet elegant piece of red garnet and obsidian, catching the flickering glow of the chandelier like drops of fire and shadow.

Your gown was made of the richest velvet in black, kissed with deep red silk layers beneath, cascading like spilled wine around your legs. Embroidered gold vines twirled across the bodice and sleeves, wrapping you in something regal, something worthy of a queen.

A knock at the heavy oak doors pulled everyone’s attention.

“May I?” Heeseung’s voice called from outside, deep and silken, already warm with a smile.

You barely had time to answer before the door cracked open, and there he was—standing in all his glory.

The red and black of his coat matched yours perfectly, the fabric gleaming with intricate golden embroidery and crystal embellishments that sparkled beneath the room’s warm lights.

His broad shoulders carried the weight of a kingdom and yet, the moment his eyes found you—his world narrowed.

He stood there, still, breath caught in his chest.

“…My gods,” he whispered. “You look like you walked out of a dream.”

You gave a soft wave of your hand, a simple motion that dismissed the flurry of handmaidens and attendants. With quiet bows and knowing smiles, they exited swiftly, leaving only the two of you in your glowing, silent world.

Heeseung didn’t wait.

He crossed the room in long, purposeful strides and spun you gently in place, eyes devouring every inch of your form. Your dress flared at your movement, brushing against the polished marble like a whisper.

“You’re unreal,” he murmured, hands settling on your waist as he stopped your twirl. “You look like a flame carved into royalty.”

“And you,” you teased, trailing your fingers down the gleaming lapel of his coat. “Look like temptation in human form.”

Heeseung grinned, gaze dropping to your lips for half a second too long. “Then what happens when royalty meets temptation?”

You raised a brow, smirking as you replied, “A scandal the bards will sing about for centuries.”

Heeseung laughed, rich and deep, before tugging you closer by the waist. “Let them sing, my love. Let them sing.”

His forehead pressed gently to yours. “Tonight, everyone will see what I’ve always known.”

“That I’m yours?” you whispered.

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “That I’m yours.”

He kissed your hand before pulling your arm through his.

“Shall we go make the entire kingdom jealous?”

You grinned, your fingers tightening around his. “Lead the way, my prince.”

With that, Heeseung offered his arm like a true royal consort and guided you out of the warm, perfumed sanctuary of your shared chambers. The heavy double doors closed behind you, and the subtle echo of your steps fell against the polished stone floors.

Two royal knights—adorned in your shared kingdom’s colors of crimson and onyx—followed at a respectful distance, silent and poised.

The corridor was dimly lit by torchlight, flickering shadows casting dancing patterns across the walls. But inside your little bubble, the world felt quieter, warmer. You and Heeseung strolled side by side, caught in easy conversation that dissolved any remaining nerves.

“Do you remember last month’s banquet?” Heeseung asked with a smirk, nudging your side.

“You mean the one where you complained about the wine?” you teased, arching a brow.

He scoffed dramatically. “It wasn’t wine. It was grape juice in disguise.”

You burst into soft laughter. “You pouted about it for a full hour. Told the steward you expected something aged, not squeezed fresh that morning.”

“I’m a prince. I expect stringency in my wine,” he said in a mock-snobby voice, chin tilted upward as you giggled.

But your smile faded slightly as you reached the archway that led to the Great Hall. You could already hear it—the hum of noble chatter, bursts of light laughter, and the elegant trill of string instruments playing from the balcony above. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air.

Your posture straightened instinctively, hands smoothing down the front of your gown. Heeseung noticed.

He slowed his pace, his hand sliding gently around your waist to pull you closer. His lips dipped to your ear, his voice low and soothing.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, my love,” he whispered. “They should be scared of you.”

“You are the future Queen of both kingdoms,” he continued, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a quiet storm of pride behind his smile. “And you’ve already won their prince.”

Your cheeks warmed, but the nerves began to ease. You exhaled, squeezing his hand in silent gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Heeseung only grinned, squeezing back once before the chamberlain standing just outside the banquet doors struck his staff once against the marble.

“Presenting,” he boomed, his voice echoing through the high-arched ceilings, “Crown Prince Lee Heeseung of House Lee, and Crown Princess (L/N) (Y/N) of House (L/N).”

At once, the hall stilled. Music faltered. Conversations died mid-sentence. It was like the world hushed—like the wind itself bowed.

All eyes turned.

Every noble, every knight, every courtly guest from both your homeland and Heeseung’s, rose from their seats. Heads lowered in bows and curtsies, hands pressed over hearts in solemn reverence. But more than formality, there was awe—undeniable awe—at the sight of you two.

Your steps were fluid as you and your prince made your way toward the long banquet table seated at the front of the room. Your parents were already seated—your mother glowing in cream and emerald, your father in sleek royal navy. Heeseung’s parents sat beside them, regal and composed, eyes glinting with something between pride and fondness.

The long table had empty seats between the kings and queens—but your eyes caught the familiar shadows of six tall figures standing further back. The other six princes. They stood at the side of the hall, backs straight, hands clasped behind them, watching as the two of you passed.

When you drew near, they bowed in unison with the crowd—a sea of heads dipping low in reverence.

But only they rose slowly, eyes glinting with quiet respect.

Jungwon was the first to lift his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mouthed dramatically, “About time.”

You suppressed a laugh.

Heeseung only rolled his eyes subtly and pulled your chair out for you like the proper gentleman he always was. “Your throne, my queen,” he teased softly.

The moment you were both seated, the hall gradually stirred back to life. Conversations resumed, the orchestra picked up its melody again, and the clinking of goblets filled the golden-lit room.

You greeted your parents first—your mother reached over the table to press a kiss to your cheek, her rings cool against your skin. “You both look stunning,” she said, eyes dancing. “But don’t just sit there like old monarchs.”

“Go,” Heeseung’s mother added, smiling behind her teacup. “Socialize. Be young. Dance. Be adored.”

Your father gave a playful huff. “Yes, yes, impress your subjects.”

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh and rose from his seat, pulling your chair out once again as he offered you his hand. “Shall we obey our queens and kings?”

You took it with a grin. “What choice do we have?”

He placed a gentle hand at the small of your back as he led you from the front dais and into the growing crowd. Your gown swished elegantly around your legs as you walked, and the subtle music and chatter wrapped around you like silk.

It didn’t take long to reach the cluster of princes near the long side of the room—familiar faces all dressed in variations of dark velvet, adorned with gold, sapphire, and crimson embellishments. The other royal heirs.

“Look who decided to show up,” Jongseong teased as he raised his glass at your approach, eyes glinting. “And matching too. I should’ve expected the dramatics.”

“You’re just jealous,” Heeseung quipped, “that your partner doesn’t coordinate with you.”

“You don’t have a partner,” Jaeyun pointed out.

“Exactly my point,” Heeseung smirked.

You couldn’t help but laugh, stepping a little closer to the group when—

“Oh my gods!” A familiar voice squealed behind you.

You turned just in time to be pulled into a sudden, elegant hug, delicate perfume surrounding you as Wonyoung grinned from ear to ear.

“It is you,” she beamed. “I told Yujin it was you and she said, ‘No, that can’t be her, she’s probably still getting ready—’”

“That does sound like me,” Yujin said with a giggle as she joined, wrapping her arms around you in a warm embrace. “But seriously, look at you! This dress? That crown? Prince Heeseung’s gonna have a hard time keeping people away tonight.”

“Please, he’s already glaring at everyone who makes eye contact with her,” Wonyoung whispered playfully, tipping her head toward your prince.

You glanced back—Heeseung, very much still engaged in conversation with Sunghoon, had his arm folded as he gave the other prince a look. You couldn’t hear the words, but you definitely saw the eye roll Sunghoon gave in response.

“Still boring as ever,” Woonyoung said under her breath, giving Sunghoon a pointed look.

Heeseung caught the tail end of that and shook his head with a laugh, muttering to Sunghoon, “Don’t mind them, they’ve been like this since we were kids.”

“I do mind, actually,” Sunghoon muttered back dryly, lifting his glass. “I was having a nice quiet moment before the fanclub showed up.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Wonyoung cooed sarcastically.

You giggled as she and Yujin each hooked an arm through yours, pulling you just a little away from the boys and deeper into the social haze of the room.

“You have to tell us everything,” Yujin said, eyes wide with curiosity. “How’s your room? Did the Queen really let you redecorate the west wing? Is it true that Heeseung almost punched a steward for misplacing your earrings last week?”

“Okay, that one was not my fault—” you began.

“Defensive,” Wonyoung grinned. “That means it’s true.”

You let out a snort, eyes trailing briefly to Heeseung just a few feet away, standing tall among his brothers. He caught your gaze with that familiar amused tilt of his head, his lips twitching as if he was holding back a laugh of his own.

“I swear,” Wonyoung continued, drawing your attention back. “Sunghoon nearly pushed me into the fountain last week.”

“What?” you blinked.

“All I said was that he walks like he owns the ground he steps on,” she huffed dramatically, flipping her hair. “Which is true, by the way. And he said, ‘Perhaps you should walk on water next time so I don’t have to see your face.’ Can you believe that?”

You burst into laughter, hand covering your mouth as Yujin gasped beside you. “He did not say that.”

“Oh, he did. Ask him.” Wonyoung nodded toward Sunghoon, who—unaware he was being discussed—was now slowly sipping from his own goblet, side-eyeing the trio of you as if expecting more trouble.

You and the girls dissolved into giggles again, your shoulders bumping lightly as the night continued to swell with warmth and music. Soon enough, more familiar faces began approaching, drawn to the lively cluster you had unintentionally created.

A group of princesses from neighboring kingdoms swept in, silk gowns gliding across the marble floor, their hair braided in intricate gold-threaded patterns, each one offering hugs and kisses on the cheek in greeting.

“Princess (Y/N), it’s been too long.”

“You look divine tonight, truly.”

“We heard about your new position—Crown Princess now, huh?”

You smiled graciously, cheeks warming under the compliments as you exchanged hugs and pleasantries, your fingers brushing over glittering sleeves and layered skirts. The perfume of lilac and fresh berries mixed with the sound of laughter and violins in the air.

Then, Yujin reappeared with a golden goblet, holding it out to you with a grin.

You eyed it skeptically. “You know I have the alcohol tolerance of a dying rabbit, right?”

“It’s not wine, your highness,” she sing-songed, lifting her chin. “It’s grape juice. I promise. I even tasted it.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Yujin, last time you said that I ended up singing to a ficus tree.”

“That ficus was deeply moved,” Wonyoung said solemnly, hand over her chest. “You had it in tears.”

You rolled your eyes but took the goblet anyway, the cool metal glinting in the light. You took a sip—sweet, chilled grape juice, just as she’d said.

“…Okay, fine,” you mumbled. “You’re forgiven.”

Yujin smiled smugly. “As I always am.”

The chatter around you buzzed softly—princesses and lords weaving in and out of conversations, the noble youth of kingdoms mingling under chandeliers and candlelight.

You glanced once more toward Heeseung, only to find he was already watching you. Elbow leaned against a polished oak table, golden goblet in hand, the lamplight tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His head tilted in quiet admiration, lips slightly curled upward like he couldn’t help himself.

You gave him a soft smile, one only he could read through the crowd, and mouthed, “I’m okay.”

His grin deepened just slightly before he dipped his head in a subtle nod, his attention returning to the conversation he was having with someone you recognized instantly—Prince Taehyun of the Southern Kingdom, poised and calm as always, expression unreadable even while sipping wine.

“Did you hear,” Yujin leaned in close to whisper behind her goblet, her voice conspiratorial, “Prince Beomgyu’s got it bad for Taehyun’s older sister?”

Your brows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Oh, deadly serious. And Taehyun doesn’t approve—” she paused, nose wrinkling, “—or disapprove. Which, honestly, makes it worse.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s too diplomatic to give a straight answer.”

Wonyoung perked up beside you, eyes wide. “Wait, wait. Isn’t she the one who wore that gold corset at the Summer Moon banquet last year?”

“The very one,” Yujin confirmed, nodding. “And Beomgyu’s been in love ever since. I’m telling you, it’s been a mess.”

You nearly choked on your sip of juice, laughing. “Oh gods—do you remember the night Beomgyu told me about it?”

Yujin blinked, then her mouth split into a knowing grin. “The drunken night in Dalanor’s banquet hall?”

You nodded, eyes sparkling at the memory. “He had one too many glasses of wine and started ranting about how Taehyun keeps throwing him into a spiral.”

Wonyoung leaned in eagerly. “What did he say?”

“He was so drunk, he grabbed Heeseung’s shoulder like he was the last sane man in the world,” you said through a giggle, “and went, ‘Your Highness, is it yes or no? Does he want me to marry her or does he want to stab me in my sleep?’”

Yujin laughed, nearly spilling her drink. “I remember Heeseung’s face! He just laughed and poured him another drink.”

You grinned. “And Beomgyu started sobbing into his goblet about how Taehyun winked at him when he mentioned the wedding idea. A wink. What does a wink even mean?”

“It means,” Wonyoung drawled dramatically, “welcome to royal romance hell.”

The three of you burst into laughter again, the sound bubbling up and mixing with the music in the air. You glanced back over toward Heeseung just in time to see him casually glance your way once more—his gaze lingering for a beat longer than it needed to, as if your laugh pulled his focus no matter where he stood.

Then he turned back to Taehyun, the two princes deep in what looked like a heated discussion about wine—or possibly the definition of flirting—while the night carried on around you.

You fidgeted with your fingers, gloved hands resting delicately over the fabric pooled at your lap. The royal carriage swayed gently with each turn, the soft creak of gilded wheels and distant sounds of celebration muffled behind velvet-lined walls.

Your white wedding gown—stitched with fine silver thread and delicate pearls—billowed across the floor like a river of moonlight. It was heavy, grand, and far too large for the carriage… but you didn’t mind.

Matching jewelry adorned your ears, neck, and wrists—heirloom pieces passed down through generations, each gemstone kissed by history and polished for this day.

Your veil shimmered like frost under the faint sunlight peeking through the curtained window, yet none of it glittered as brightly as your nerves.

Across from you, your mother and father sat side by side, their fingers loosely intertwined as they watched you with a softness that only parents could carry.

Your mother smiled first, the kind that carried decades of wisdom behind it. “Your hands always fidget when you’re nervous,” she said, gently reaching over to fix a strand of hair that had slipped from your veil.

“But you don’t need to be. You’re marrying for love—not alliance, not duty. That alone makes your union more powerful than any treaty signed before it.”

You blinked, lips parting in a slow smile. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” she replied, squeezing your hand. “I’ve seen the way Heeseung looks at you. Like the stars themselves would bow if you asked them to. That kind of devotion cannot be taught—it’s rare, and it’s real.”

You felt your throat tighten just a little.

Then your father let out a quiet sigh, the sound a little too heavy to hide. His eyes stayed on you, warm and just slightly glassy. “I told myself I’d be ready for this,” he said. “But nothing could prepare me to see my little girl in a wedding gown.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out half choked. “You’re going to make me cry.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it between his own. “You’ll always be my little girl. Even when you're crowned queen. Even when you have children of your own. That will never change.”

You nodded slowly, breathing through the swell in your chest. “Thank you, Father. Thank you both.”

The carriage began to slow, the golden wheels rolling over polished stone as the sound of bells rang out in the distance.

Your breath hitched. You could hear the faint murmur of voices outside, the gathered crowd, the music… and just beyond it all, the sacred temple—its white marble steps lined with petals, towering pillars wrapped in garlands of lilacs and white roses, the banner of your kingdom billowing gently in the breeze beside Heeseung’s.

A high priest awaited at the top of the stairs, hands folded in reverence. The temple doors stood open, glowing with sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. It looked like a dream carved into reality.

The door to the carriage opened with a creak.

Your father stepped out first, extending his hand to help you. You took a deep breath as your gloved fingers slid into his, and your feet touched the polished stone ground. The hem of your gown brushed the flower-strewn path as you stood tall, eyes lifting toward the temple ahead.

“Ready?” your father asked, voice low beside you.

You nodded, slowly, then turned to look back one last time at the carriage—at the road that brought you here—and finally, forward again. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Your mother let out the smallest breath of a smile, a hand delicately pressing over her heart as she watched you with glassy eyes. One of the royal knights approached her with a polite bow, then gently extended his arm.

She took it with practiced grace, allowing herself to be escorted to her place at the front row of the temple—where the sacred lights from the stained-glass windows painted the marble floors in hues of gold and violet.

You stood at the start of the long aisle, the flower-strewn carpet lined with lanterns and pale petals. The air inside the temple was reverent, heavy with the scent of lilac and rosewater, lit only by candlelight and divine sunbeams that poured through the windows like blessings themselves.

And at the end of it all—standing before the altar beneath arching stone and blooming ivy—was Heeseung.

His white ceremonial suit shimmered under the temple lights, the gold embroidery gleaming with each breath he took. Crystals lined the trim of his royal jacket, catching the light like stars. His hair was perfectly styled—yet a single strand still fell naturally over his brow—and gods, he had never looked more like a king.

Heeseung swore his breath left his lungs.

The moment your figure stepped onto the aisle, framed by light and shadow, your gown flowing like starlight behind you and veil trailing with each slow, graceful step—he couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across his lips. Not the small kind. Not the gentle kind. The full kind, the one that crinkled his eyes and made his chest ache with a thousand unsaid words.

“By the gods,” he murmured under his breath. “She’s real.”

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Could only stand there in full awe as if you were the very goddess the temple was built for.

Your gaze met his—warm, filled with every memory and every dream you’d ever shared. And as you stepped closer and closer to the altar, the sounds of hushed gasps and admiration filled the pews.

Heeseung barely heard them. He only saw you.

At the end of the aisle, your father stood tall but emotional as he gently guided you the last few steps forward. Once the music slowed, he turned toward Heeseung, looking the prince in the eye with all the weight of a father handing off the most precious thing he’d ever protected.

He took Heeseung’s hand and placed yours in it.

“Take care of her,” your father said, his voice deep but warm, soft with meaning. “She’s always been our light.”

Heeseung’s expression softened instantly. He nodded—not with stiff formality, but with reverent sincerity. “Always,” he whispered. “With all I have.”

Your father gave a small, proud smile before stepping aside, finding his seat beside your mother, who wiped the corner of her eye with her silk handkerchief.

You and Heeseung now stood before the altar together.

Fingers interlocked.

He looked down at you, and the way his thumb grazed the back of your knuckles sent a wave of calm through you.

“You look like every prayer I never thought would be answered,” he murmured so only you could hear. “And I must’ve done something right in a past life… because you're walking straight to me.”

You felt your heart rise to your throat as your eyes welled up—but you smiled, wide and unstoppable.

“Then hold me like you’ll never let me go,” you whispered back, voice trembling slightly.

“I already do,” Heeseung breathed, gaze locked on yours. “I already have.”

And somewhere behind you, the temple bells began to chime.

The ceremony was about to begin.

The gods were watching.

And the entire kingdom held its breath—for this union, for this love, for the future they believed in.

Laughter spilled from your lips like music, even as your hand tightened around Heeseung’s. The sky was dusted with sunset, the air alive with the roaring cheers of thousands—your people, your kingdom, the witnesses to a union that would be written into history books and bedtime stories alike.

“Careful,” Heeseung chuckled, eyes glinting as he helped you navigate the ornate steps of the royal carriage. “The gown’s winning the battle right now.”

You gave him a playful glare but let him hoist the heavy train of your dress just enough so you could climb inside without tripping. The velvet cushions cradled you immediately, the whole space fragrant with rose petals and wild lilac—gifts from the palace staff who had prepared it in secret.

Heeseung followed in after you, and the moment he closed the door behind him—sealing out the deafening celebration, the blinding flash of royal photographers, the weight of the world—

He turned to you.

And pulled you into him.

The kiss was firm and full of everything he hadn’t said at the altar. His hands cradled your jaw with devotion, lips pressing to yours like they were finding home.

You smiled against his mouth—because how could you not?—arms wrapping around his shoulders as your laughter was swallowed into the warmth of him.

He only pulled away when your lungs begged for air.

And even then, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, fingers trembling ever so slightly as his gaze dropped to the dazzling ring glittering on your finger.

A rare golden band, wrapped in tiny vines of diamonds. At its center—a stone so clear and so rare, it was said to have been taken from the gods’ altar themselves, gifted only to royal soulmates.

Heeseung sighed softly, brushing his lips against the gem once more, before lifting his gaze back to you.

“My wife,” he whispered, as if saying it for the first time made it real. His voice cracked with the weight of it, eyes shining like the stars overhead. “My beautiful wife.”

The word settled in your chest like a prayer answered.

You reached forward, cupping his cheek, fingers threading into the strands of his dark hair that had begun to fall from their styled place. His skin was warm under your touch, his eyes—god, his eyes—were filled with nothing but wonder.

Your voice trembled as tears began to blur your vision. “And you’re my husband,” you whispered. “My beginning. My middle. And my always.”

Heeseung’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, as if the moment was too much. Then he leaned into your touch, turning just enough to kiss your palm.

“Remind me to thank the gods for making you,” he said softly, pressing your forehead against his. “Because there is no way I deserved this. Deserved you.”

“You deserve everything,” you whispered, pulling him closer. “Everything, Heeseung.”

You let out a soft breath, letting your forehead rest gently against his chest, the rise and fall of it slow and steady beneath your cheek.

His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer, your white gown crinkling slightly between your bodies but neither of you cared.

“We’re headed to the island, right?” you murmured into the fabric of his coat, fingers curling around the lapel, the velvet soft under your touch.

Heeseung hummed, chin resting gently on the top of your head, his voice vibrating against your cheek. “Mhm. The very island I had that mansion built on… for us.”

He smiled as he spoke, almost shy about it. “Just for the two of us to spend our honeymoon in peace. No titles. No duties. Just you. Me. And the sea.”

You giggled, tilting your head up slightly to press a kiss to the tip of his chin. “I swear, I have the best husband ever. The perfect prince ever.”

That made his whole face light up. He beamed, heart full, like he was just realizing he could finally hold you like this without rules or eyes or limits. His hand slid to your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin as he whispered, “You’re perfect. Really perfect.”

You flushed, lips curling in a soft smile. “Well… I’m just glad the island isn’t that far from the mainland. At least we can come and go whenever we want.”

Heeseung snorted, pulling back just enough to give you a playful look. “You mean you can come and go as you please,” he said, eyes teasing. “Because you have a habit of storming off on me, my love.”

You gasped with a laugh, swatting lightly at his chest. “That was one time—!”

“Three,” he corrected smoothly. “Once after I forgot your birthday flower, the other when I fell asleep halfway through your poetry reading—”

You narrowed your eyes. “And the third?”

He grinned. “I don’t even remember, I think you were just being dramatic.”

You let out a mock gasp of offense, which only made Heeseung laugh harder. He pulled you back in, kissing your temple as he whispered, “I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, you know. Even if you storm off again.”

“Even in this giant dress?” you teased, gesturing to the sheer volume of fabric surrounding you.

He nodded solemnly. “Even if I have to carry you and the fifteen layers of it across the entire kingdom.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing too loudly, burying your face back into his chest as the carriage bumped gently along the road—your fingers tangled in his, your heart full, your future already unfolding before you in soft gold and island winds.

You gasped as Heeseung thrust into you again, deep and unrelenting, his rhythm messy and desperate now—etiquette forgotten, restraint burned to ash.

He moaned low into your ear, voice wrecked. “Fuck—been dreaming of this,” he whispered, lips dragging along your jaw. “Years of holding back—do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

You whimpered, arching into him as your nails raked down his back, drawing soft, broken curses from his lips. “Heeseung—”

“That’s it,” he breathed, kissing you hard, possessive. “Say my name like that again, sweetheart—please—”

“Heeseung,” you gasped, body trembling under him, overwhelmed by the sheer stretch and heat of him, of this, of everything. “You’re my husband—y-you’re really mine—”

That did something to him.

He growled low in his throat, pulled out, and you whined at the loss—but then he flipped you onto your stomach, firm and commanding, and patted your ass twice, a dark gleam in his eyes as he said, “Up, love. Let me see you.”

You obeyed on instinct, body moving to all fours, ass raised, face flushed against the pillows.

“Fuck,” he muttered behind you, dragging his hands down your spine. “Look at you… gods, you’re perfect.”

He lined himself up again, the thick head of his cock brushing against you, teasing, making you whine and twitch in anticipation.

“Beg for it,” he said, voice barely steady. “Just once. Please, baby—after everything—I need to hear it.”

“Please, Heeseung,” you whimpered, backing against him. “Please… I need you.”

He slammed back into you with a groan that echoed off the high ceilings, one hand gripping your hip, the other wrapping around your waist to pull you against him. The sound of skin meeting skin was shameless, vulgar, as he lost himself in the heat of you, panting curses into your shoulder.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he moaned, head dropping to your back. “This body—this fucking body was made for me.”

Your cries grew louder as his thrusts deepened, more erratic now—driven by years of pent-up love, desire, obsession.

When he reached forward and wrapped his fingers around your throat, pulling your back to his chest, he whispered against your ear: “Mine. My queen. My wife. I’ll spend the rest of my life ruining you like this.”

And as your walls clenched around him, body trembling from the pleasure blooming like wildfire inside you, he kissed your temple—soft, reverent, the only gentle thing in that moment—and whispered, “Give it to me, love. Let go. Let me have all of you.”

You shattered with a cry, the kind that echoed off the walls, one hand gripping the sheets as your body convulsed around him. Your release hit hard—white-hot and overwhelming—and Heeseung groaned against your skin, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him.

“That’s it,” he rasped, pressing kisses along your shoulder, hips still lazily rocking into your overstimulated body. “Fuck—so good for me, so perfect.”

You could barely breathe, chest rising and falling as sweat clung to your skin. But Heeseung wasn’t done—not even close.

He hooked two fingers under your chin, lifting your face to meet his. Your eyes were glossy with tears, lips parted as soft whimpers spilled out of you. Heeseung’s gaze flickered between your eyes and mouth, his own expression completely undone.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, then kissed you—sloppy, desperate, like he was trying to taste the moans still lingering in your throat.

But then he pulled away—just enough to flip you back onto your back, drawing a gasp from your lips as he manhandled you closer to the edge of the bed.

“Heeseung—” you breathed, voice cracking.

He leaned down, kissed the tears slipping from the corners of your eyes with such gentleness it made your heart ache.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “I know. But I need you one more time.” Then he raised your legs, resting them over his shoulders, and thrust back in.

Your cry was broken, high and breathless, your hands flying to his arms for something to hold onto as your body arched into him.

“Still so tight,” he groaned, hips rolling into you deep and slow, like he was savoring every second. “Gods, you take me so well, even after—fuck, I’ll never get over this.”

You sobbed softly, overwhelmed by the stretch, the intensity, the sheer love in the way he moved inside you.

He leaned down, folding your legs closer to your chest, his forehead pressed against yours as he whispered, “Look at me. Let me see you fall apart again.”

And then he slammed into you—hard and sloppy, each thrust punching a moan out of your throat as he hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back instantly.

“Heeseung—ah—!” you cried, voice ragged, high, needy.

“That’s it,” he rasped, watching your face with a wild hunger in his eyes. “That’s the face I wanted to see—gods, look at you—so gone for me.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The pleasure was blinding, white-hot and all-consuming as he plunged into you over and over, cock hitting so deep and so perfect, your body had no choice but to obey.

Your mouth hung open, drooling a little, moaning with every deep, brutal thrust—and Heeseung ate it up like a man possessed.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, sweat dripping from his brow as his pace grew faster, rougher. “I’ve fucked you stupid, haven’t I?”

You whimpered, tried to answer, but only a breathless moan left your lips.

He smirked darkly. “Can’t even talk. Just taking it. Letting me ruin you.”

Your body jolted with every movement of his hips, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the chamber like a prayer.

“I’m close,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re squeezing me so tight, gods, I’m gonna—fuck—”

You could only whimper, tears sliding down your cheeks again from the overwhelming heat building inside you.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked. “I’ll fill you up,” he whispered. “Make you mine. Want you so round and full of me. Barefoot in the palace with my child inside you—fuck, baby, you’d look so perfect like that.”

A strangled moan ripped out of you, nails digging into his arms as your legs trembled around his shoulders.

“Wanna get you pregnant,” he kept going, voice turning desperate as his thrusts grew rougher. “Wanna see your belly swell. Everyone’ll know you’re mine—all mine. My wife. My queen. My everything.”

You cried out, and he kissed the tears from your cheeks again, groaning as your body tightened around him.

“Gonna give it to you,” he gasped. “Take it—take all of me—”

And then he buried himself deep one final time, spilling inside you with a long, low moan, his whole body shaking as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged, arms trembling.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “I love you—I love you—I love you.”

He kissed you again—deep, slow, as if trying to pour every bit of himself into your mouth, like he didn’t know where he ended and you began. His hands were still trembling, still greedy even now, cradling your face.

Then, slowly, gently, he eased your legs down from his shoulders, never once letting go. His hips shifted just enough so that he could wrap his arms around you, rolling onto his side and taking you with him—still buried inside you, warm and full and his.

You let out a soft gasp as your body adjusted, sensitive and raw, but comforted by his arms pulling you flush against his chest.

Heeseung let out a shaky exhale, pressing his nose into your hair. “Still with me?” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

You nodded sleepily, breath shallow, heart pounding as you pressed your palm against his bare chest—feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.

He kissed your forehead, and then your cheek, then the corner of your lips, his voice low and thick. “I’m not pulling out,” he mumbled, half-drunk on love, half-drunk on you. “Not yet. Not ever.”

You laughed softly—weakly—body still pulsing from everything. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he muttered, pulling you impossibly closer, like he wanted to fuse your bodies together. “I meant what I said, you know. About getting you pregnant. About seeing you with my child.”

“I want all of it,” he whispered. “You in this bed, in our castle. You walking through the palace holding your stomach. You with my name, my ring, my child. I want everything.”

You could barely speak. So you just whispered, “You already have everything.”

His eyes fluttered shut at that, a soft, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

The room was quiet, save for your breathing, the soft rustle of the silk sheets tangled beneath you. You were both still trembling from the aftermath—but wrapped in him, filled by him, you felt like the world had stopped moving just for the two of you.

The royal library was bathed in the soft light of the afternoon sun, golden beams streaking through the high arched windows. The gentle rustle of pages echoed quietly, along with Jaeyun’s voice reading aloud from a worn leather-bound storybook.

“…and then the young prince lifted the veil of thorns, finding the princess fast asleep, untouched by time, heart still waiting for his,” Jaeyun read, lips curling into a fond smile as he glanced down at your belly, voice softening even more. “He kissed her, and—”

You huffed, adjusting your position with an audible grunt as you shifted your weight on the deep-cushioned couch. It was custom-made, one of Heeseung’s many attempts to appease your growing complaints about how “every chair in the palace was clearly built for pain and suffering.”

Jaeyun winced. “Uh… did I do something wrong, noona?” he asked carefully, lowering the book.

You sighed heavily and gave him a sweet smile, brushing his arm. “No, sweet boy. You’re perfect. Don’t let the thundercloud above my head scare you.”

His brows furrowed in confusion before glancing up—and that’s when he saw your husband, standing near the grand shelf of magical history books, looking like a deer caught in divine, hormonal headlights.

Heeseung blinked. “What… what’d I do?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared. A slow, furious, finger-pointing kind of glare.

Heeseung looked behind him. Then pointed at himself. “Me?”

Jaeyun immediately started packing up the book with the speed of a trained soldier. “I’m gonna, um… give you two some privacy. Or leave the continent. Whichever’s safer.”

You gently held his wrist. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jaeyun. Don’t let the idiot standing near the bookshelf convince you otherwise.”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped. “Wait—what idiot—hey!”

That’s when you sniffled. Loudly. Tears instantly welled up in your eyes as your lip trembled, and you looked down at your round belly, hand resting protectively over it.

Jaeyun froze in horror. “Noona—wait, are you crying? Did I—?”

From across the library, Jungwon’s head snapped up, quill falling from his fingers. He was at your side in a heartbeat, eyes wide and worried.

“What happened?” Jungwon asked, voice soft but urgent, his hand gently resting on the edge of your couch as he leaned over. “Noona, what’s wrong?”

You pointed at Heeseung again, face crumpling as the tears rolled down your cheeks. “He forgot my pickles and sour cream,” you sniffled. “I woke up and it wasn’t there and I waited and waited and I was starving and craving and he just—”

“Oh.” Jungwon tried very, very hard not to laugh, biting the inside of his cheek as he nodded seriously. “Pickles and sour cream. A fatal offense.”

“I didn’t forget!” Heeseung defended, walking closer, arms flailing slightly in helplessness. “I mean—I did, but not on purpose! I had to help Jungwon with the—”

Jungwon lifted his hand, still grinning. “Forgive my brother, noona,” he said sweetly. “I think it’s partly my fault. I made him stay up last night helping me deal with some… knight stuff.”

You raised a brow, still crying, still very much hormonal. “What kind of knight stuff?”

Jungwon cleared his throat. “Uhm. A few of the southern patrol horses were unshod, and the stablemaster said the armory budget was overspent again. So we were fixing allocations and—”

“Oh, so horses are more important than your pregnant wife?” you cut in, voice trembling as you narrowed your eyes at your husband.

Heeseung panicked. “No! No, absolutely not—I would die for you. I would kill for you. I was going to go after breakfast and—”

“You said that yesterday!” you cried, covering your face.

Jaeyun stood behind Jungwon now, whispering, “We should probably leave before she gives birth out of spite.”

“Smart,” Jungwon whispered back.

Heeseung rushed to your side, dropping to his knees in front of you and placing both hands gently on your belly.

“My love, please,” he said, looking up at you with big, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you all the pickles. All the sour cream. I’ll grow a pickle tree if I have to. Just please don’t cry, it breaks my heart.”

You glared at him for one more moment before sighing, lower lip still wobbling. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Heeseung beamed. “That’s a relief. Because I love you too. And you, little one,” he said, pressing a kiss to your belly. “Don’t worry, father will bring home all your weird cravings.”

You sniffed again, wiping your face as Heeseung pulled out a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed your cheeks gently.

“…You want ice cream with chili flakes too?” he asked cautiously.

“Obviously,” you muttered. “I’m not a monster.”

Jungwon and Jaeyun had already vanished by then, likely off to send a servant to retrieve a very urgent royal order of pickles and sour cream.

You sniffled once more, dabbing your own cheek as you tapped your fingers insistently on Heeseung’s arm.

He blinked. “Huh?”

You gave him a look.

“Oh! Right—right, sorry!” he scrambled, immediately hopping to his feet in a heartbeat. One arm slipped behind your back, the other lacing through your fingers with practiced ease. “Here we go—one, two—”

You groaned as he gently helped you up from the cushioned couch, belly stretching against the fabric of your soft dress. “Ugh. This is all your fault.”

Heeseung winced. “Yes, I—I know.”

“I should have your cock chopped off for this, you little—”

“Whoa—! Okay!” Heeseung laughed nervously, heart thudding against his ribs as he tucked you closer to his side. “Easy now, love. You scare me sometimes.”

You shot him a narrowed glare. “Sometimes? You should live in fear.”

“I do!” he said immediately, guiding your steps slowly and carefully as you waddled your way toward the hallway. “Every waking second, actually. Have I mentioned how stunning you look while plotting my demise?”

You clicked your tongue, though your cheeks betrayed you with the faintest tinge of blush.

Pregnancy had turned you into an emotional tempest. One second, you were smiling sweetly and asking Heeseung if he’d sing to the baby—and the next, you were threatening bodily harm over poorly cut fruit or lukewarm tea.

He loved you more for it. Terrified? A little. But madly in love? Completely.

Heeseung tried not to laugh at the memory of last week, when one of your most beloved royal cooks almost got fired.

You had wobbled your way down to the kitchen, belly-first, eyes ablaze. He had just finished making your requested plate of crackers—and forgot the sour cream.

The way you gasped, horrified, clutching your chest like your world had ended.

“I waited all day for this,” you whispered like a betrayed ghost. “And no sour cream? Off with your hat. No—your head!”

The poor man stood there, blinking in shock as you fumed.

By the time Heeseung had rushed in—dragging Sunghoon behind him for backup—he found you mid-sob and mid-threat, the cook still trying to apologize.

Sunghoon, eyes wide, bowed quickly to the cook. “We’re so sorry—she’s, uh—pregnant. Very pregnant.”

The cook only chuckled, waving it off. “It’s alright, Your Highness. This happens all the time. It’s quite normal, really.”

“Normal?!” Sunghoon whispered in horror as you let out a wail again.

Back in the present, Heeseung looked down at you now, walking slowly through the castle hallway, his hand cradling your back while you leaned your weight into him.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You sighed. “No. I’m bloated, I’m mad at you, my ankles feel like they’re being crushed by divine punishment, and I’m sweating in places no princess should sweat.”

“…So that’s a yes?”

You smacked his chest, and he only grinned, leaning down to kiss your temple again. “I love you, you know. You’re terrifying. But I’m obsessed with you.”

“I know,” you muttered, lips twitching upward despite yourself.

As you passed a stained-glass window, you paused and turned to face him—hand still on the curve of your belly.

“…You really forgot the pickles?” you asked again, narrowing your eyes.

Heeseung’s face went pale. “I swear to the gods, I’ll name our firstborn Sour Cream if that’s what it takes to make it up to you.”

You burst into laughter so hard you had to lean against him again.

The palace gardens were in full bloom.

You walked slowly beneath the soft morning sun, the wind warm and gentle as it kissed your face. Every step felt like a task and a half at nine months pregnant, your belly stretching the limits of your once-elegant maternity dress that now clung to you like it was begging for retirement.

Still, you needed the air.

The lilacs and lavenders had just been planted—your favorite colors. A gift from Heeseung after you spent an entire evening crying because you missed the way your childhood home used to smell.

“They’re blooming beautifully,” you murmured as you waddled beside your mother and mother-in-law, who were deep in discussion about installing fountains near the kingdom gates.

“A marble structure, perhaps,” your mother-in-law offered, gesturing with her fan. “Something timeless, to match the new rose archway.”

Your own mother nodded, her hand resting gently against your back. “And maybe benches shaded by wisteria vines—good for walks like these.”

You smiled faintly, hands settled protectively over your belly. You felt huge. Round and sore and terribly emotional.

Lately, all you wanted was Heeseung. You missed his hands on your belly, his kisses at the corners of your mouth, the way he’d whisper “You’re still the most beautiful woman in the world” every time you cried over not fitting into your royal robes anymore.

Poor Heeseung had endured months of emotional whiplash—you throwing pillows at him one minute, begging for cuddles the next—but he never wavered. Always patient. Always soft.

You sighed. “That man is too good for me.”

A sharp pang shot through your lower abdomen.

Your hand shot down to your belly as your breath caught, and in the next heartbeat—warm liquid trickled down your legs, soaking the hem of your dress and dripping onto the garden soil below.

Your eyes widened.

The queens turned to you instantly. “Darling?” “What is it?!”

“I think… I think my water just broke,” you whispered.

Panic, majestic and maternal, swept through both women. Your mother’s voice shot up first. “Servants! Fetch the midwife—now!”

“The healer too!” your mother-in-law added. “And blankets! Bring towels! Quickly!”

You winced again, grabbing at your lower back as another cramp rocked through you. “I can walk! I’m fine—just… need help.”

“Absolutely not,” your mother huffed, hooking her arm under yours with impressive strength for someone in full court attire. “You’re not walking anywhere without us.”

The two queens flanked you like royal guards, one on each side, carefully helping you take slow, careful steps back toward the palace. You groaned at each movement, breath labored, hands trembling.

“Where is Heeseung?” you whined, voice wobbling.

“He’s in council with the stewards—someone will fetch him,” your mother-in-law promised, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Don’t you worry, darling. He’ll be with you before the next contraction hits.”

“I swear if he misses this—” you hissed as another pain bloomed in your spine, “—I’ll induce a second pregnancy just to make him suffer through the next one!”

Both queens laughed despite themselves.

“You’re doing wonderfully, sweetheart,” your mother whispered, kissing your temple. “Heeseung will come running the second he hears. Just hold on a little longer.”

“And scream at him when he does,” your mother-in-law added with a mischievous grin. “It’s tradition.”

You let out a strangled half-laugh, half-sob as your foot crossed the marble threshold of the castle.

“Bring hot water!” a maid cried out. “Prepare the birthing chamber!”

Servants scrambled like a military drill as the two queens continued leading you toward the royal wing.

And as another wave of pain rolled through you, sharp and sudden, you gripped both women’s hands tightly and muttered—

“…Heeseung is so dead.”

The words had barely left your mouth when a young servant, barely older than a squire, nodded frantically at your mothers’s command.

He turned on his heel and sprinted down the castle corridors, nearly slipping on polished marble as he weaved past nobles and guards. His face was pale, his steps frantic—because everyone in the kingdom knew that when it came to you, Prince Heeseung did not waste time.

Especially not today.

The council room sat in a gilded hallway of the eastern wing, its doors heavy with ornate gold carvings, muffling the sound of bored sighs and shuffling chairs from within.

Inside, the seven princes were scattered across the long oak table, listening—somewhat respectfully—as an aging duke discussed property disputes near the northern border.

Heeseung sat at the center of the table, shoulders square, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His jaw tensed as he adjusted the fit of his vest, trying to mask just how miserable he looked.

Beside him, Jongseong leaned on an elbow, eyes half-lidded in sheer exhaustion. “If he says the word acreage one more time, I’m jumping out the window.”

Sunoo, who had long given up on pretending to listen, was poking Jungwon with a quill, whispering, “Bet you a week of your rations that hyung zones out and agrees to give the entire north to some greedy lord.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes, muttering, “He already did last month.”

Across the table, Riki and Sunghoon were whispering animatedly—probably about girls or sword duels or which of them would win in a wrestling match if their lives depended on it.

Jaeyun had a book propped open on his lap, held just under the table’s edge, completely absorbed and occasionally mouthing the words under his breath.

Heeseung cleared his throat, trying to gather enough composure to politely end the duke’s hour-long monologue. “We’ll reconvene to review—”

The council room doors flew open so hard they rattled on their hinges.

All seven princes shot up, hands instinctively flying to their sides as if expecting danger. The guards posted at the entrance had barely enough time to react before the young servant stumbled into the room, panting so hard it sounded like he’d just outrun a horse.

Heeseung was already halfway to standing, eyes sharp and alert. “Speak.”

The servant didn’t even bow. “T-The princess! Princess (Y/N)—she’s gone into labor!”

The words hit Heeseung like lightning.

Everything else vanished. The air, the weight of duty, the politics, the room itself—it was all just static in the background.

“Council dismissed,” Heeseung ordered, voice hard and final.

He didn’t wait for a single reply. He threw his glasses on the table with a clatter, not even bothering to place them gently, and shrugged off his coat as he made for the door. His vest was still half-buttoned, his cravat slightly askew, but he didn’t stop to fix any of it. He just ran.

“Hyung!” Jongseong called after him, but he was gone.

Sunoo blinked. “He didn’t even breathe.”

“Why do I feel like we’re in labor too?” Riki muttered, already on his feet.

“Heeseung-hyung’s going to faint before (Y/N) does,” Sunghoon said, half amused and half terrified.

Back in the halls, Heeseung’s footsteps echoed like thunder. Servants scrambled out of the way, bowing quickly before darting aside. He passed the main stairs, two wings of the palace, and stormed through three doors before finally reaching the private chambers near your bedroom—where the royal birthing room had been prepared days in advance.

He saw the royal guards, saw the maids darting in and out with wet cloths and blankets.

And then he heard you.

A muffled cry of pain from within.

His heart nearly stopped.

Heeseung stood just outside the doors, hand on the carved gold handle, breaths ragged as he tried to steel himself—but just before he could push it open, a commanding voice echoed through the corridor.

“Prince Heeseung, you cannot go in.”

He turned, startled, eyes narrowing as he was met by the flowing robes of the Archbishop of Decelis, flanked by a few elder members of the High Council—those who hadn’t been in attendance during the earlier meeting. Their expressions were grave, respectful, but firm.

“What?” Heeseung snapped, his tone already laced with disbelief. “Why not?”

One of the older men stepped forward, hands folded neatly in front of him. “My prince, it is tradition. Men are not permitted inside the royal birthing chambers. It is an honored law of the land.”

Heeseung dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated and on the verge of unraveling. “Tradition?” he echoed, almost laughing bitterly.

“That’s my wife in there. My child. And you’re telling me I can’t be with them because of some old, dusty decree written before any of you were even born?”

The Archbishop stood firm. “It is to maintain the sanctity and protection of both mother and child. We must follow protocol.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, his heart screaming inside his chest. Behind him, hurried footsteps approached—the rest of his brothers flooding into the corridor one by one, panting and wide-eyed.

“Hyung, we came as fast as—” Jungwon began before seeing the situation unfold.

But Heeseung didn’t turn to them.

Because just then, through the thick double doors, he heard you scream again.

His spine straightened. His vision tunneled.

A young maid appeared from the side chamber, looking breathless and flushed. “Prince Heeseung!” she called, bowing quickly. “Her Highness is calling for you. She keeps asking—she’s crying, asking where you are.”

Heeseung moved for the doors again, only for the Archbishop to raise a hand, stepping into his path once more.

“Your Highness, please—”

“Do you like being the Archbishop of Decelis?” Heeseung asked sharply, voice low and dangerous.

The man froze.

The council members stiffened.

“Do you?” Heeseung repeated, eyes like wildfire.

“…Yes, my prince.”

“And you all,” Heeseung turned to the councilmen. “Do you like your titles? Your seats? Your influence?”

No one answered.

He took a slow, threatening step forward, each word like a blade. “Would you like to remain the Archbishop of Decelis? And remain members of this council?”

The hallway went deadly silent. Even the guards didn’t breathe.

Because Heeseung had never raised his voice. Never threatened anyone. Never looked like this before. But now—he was livid. A man unhinged by love, fear, and a cry from someone he couldn’t bear to be separated from.

“You forget your place,” he growled. “That’s my wife. That’s my child. And I swore before gods and men to protect her, cherish her, be by her side in every joy and every pain. And if any of you think for a second that I’ll let her scream for me alone while you stand here quoting traditions—”

His voice cracked at the edge.

“Then you’re not just wrong. You’re finished.”

The Archbishop opened his mouth—then closed it again.

“I said move.”

The men parted.

Heeseung didn’t waste another second—he slammed the doors open and marched in, not as a prince, not as a future king, but as your husband.

As a man about to become a father. As someone so in love with you that the thought of you suffering made him feel physically ill.

You were there, on the padded birthing bed, your back supported by pillows, your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat, hands gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles were white.

Your mother and mother-in-law were at your side. The midwife—an older woman with gentle hands and sharp instructions—was calmly checking your status.

You looked up, eyes glassy and tired, and—

“Heeseung,” you whimpered.

He rushed to you without a word, dropping to his knees beside the bed and grabbing your hand. His fingers trembled as they laced through yours. “I’m here. I’m here, love, I’m right here.”

“I told you you were dead,” you gasped between contractions, squeezing his hand hard enough to crush bone.

Heeseung winced. “If I survive this, I’m building you another garden. Bigger. Full of lilacs. And pickles. And sour cream. Just—keep breathing, okay?”

You cried. “This is your fault!”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, kissing your hand desperately, forehead resting against your arm. “I’m a terrible husband. I’ll never touch you again—I’ll sleep in the stables if I have to.”

“You’re damn right you will,” you hissed, then screamed through the next wave of pain.

Heeseung paled, but kissed your temple anyway. “You’re doing amazing, my love. You’re almost there.”

Behind him, one of the queens whispered, “He’s more scared than she is.”

And he was.

Because he’d faced sword fights, battles, political scandals, and enemy threats. But nothing terrified him more than the idea of you in pain.

The midwife barely glanced at him, too focused on the task. She peeked between your parted legs and gave a tight, pleased smile. “She’s fully dilated. We’re ready.” Then she dropped onto the birthing stool at the end of the bed and called over her shoulder, “You, get the clean towels. And the water, now.”

“Yes, madam!” a maid stammered as they scurried to follow.

“Alright, Your Highness,” the midwife addressed you gently now, her voice calm but firm. “When I say push, I need you to push hard, understand?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “It hurts—gods, it hurts so much—”

Heeseung was already at your side, kneeling beside you despite the thick gold embroidery of his royal vest crumpling beneath him. He took your trembling hand and pressed it to his lips, his forehead leaning against yours.

“You can do this, love,” he murmured, voice cracking. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You sobbed softly, body trembling. “I’m scared…”

“I know,” he said. “But you’re strong. So strong. You’re everything. And our baby—our little prince or princess—they’re so close. Just a little more, okay?”

Another contraction hit and the midwife barked, “Push!”

You cried out, gripping Heeseung’s hand so tightly it felt like you might break it, and he welcomed every second of it—because if he could take your pain for you, he would a thousand times over.

“That’s it!” the midwife encouraged. “Good girl, Your Highness, again!”

Heeseung wiped the tears streaking down your cheeks with his other hand, pushing the damp strands of hair off your sticky forehead, his lips kissing every inch he could reach.

“I love you,” he whispered. “You’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you.”

But after another few rounds, you fell back against the pillows, exhausted. “I can’t… I can’t anymore, Hee…”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, desperate now, tears pricking his eyes. “You’ve made it this far, you can. Just one more, darling. Please. Our baby’s waiting for you.”

You whimpered, chest rising and falling fast, but his hand didn’t leave yours, and his words—warm and trembling—wrapped around you like armor.

“One more push!” the midwife called again. “I see the head! One big push, my lady!”

You screamed as you gave everything, every last ounce of strength in your body—and then—

A sharp, high-pitched cry cut through the air.

The room stilled.

Heeseung gasped, tears immediately spilling down his cheeks as the sound hit him like an arrow through the heart.

“She’s here,” the midwife breathed with a smile. “A healthy baby girl!”

The moment your daughter was wrapped in warm linens and placed against your chest, your body quaked with sobs—relief, exhaustion, love, everything. She was tiny, pink, and perfect, crying softly as her fists curled against your skin.

“Oh, gods,” you wept, arms trembling as you cradled her. “She’s so… she’s so little…”

Heeseung was crying openly now, brushing soft, trembling kisses over your cheeks, your temple, your lips—everywhere.

“You did it,” he breathed, voice shaking as he stared at you like you hung the stars. “You did so good, love. She’s perfect. You’re both perfect.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his hand gently stroking your daughter’s soft downy head. Her cries softened, soothed by your warmth, and when her tiny hand flailed, Heeseung instinctively wrapped his finger around hers.

“She’s got your nose,” he whispered with a teary laugh.

“And your eyes,” you whispered back, voice breaking as more tears fell.

He kissed you again, lingering and reverent.

“My queen,” he murmured, voice soaked in awe, “my love, the mother of my child…”

And for the first time in forever, the kingdom outside went quiet—because in that room, on that bed, with your daughter in your arms and your husband holding you like you were made of gold.

You stood in the quiet, polished halls of the royal wing of the museum, the scent of aged books and lavender floor polish lingering in the air.

Jungwon and Sunoo had excused themselves a few minutes ago, excited to take pictures by the towering marble fountain near the entrance, leaving you to explore at your own pace, sipping on the lilac tea you bought from the museum café.

Your footsteps slowed to a stop when you turned the corner and came face to face with it.

A massive oil painting, stretching from the polished floor almost to the vaulted ceiling. Encased in a golden frame, dusted only at the corners with time. And in it, frozen in hues of soft ivory and golden light—

“Prince Lee Heeseung and Princess (L/N) (Y/N), in a timeless embrace beneath a canopy of lilacs and lavenders.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The artist had captured something so impossibly intimate it made your chest ache. Heeseung stood tall, dressed in a white military-style coat, adorned with golden embroidery that shimmered even under the museum’s soft lights. His hand gently cupped the princess’s cheek, gaze tender and unguarded, as if the entire kingdom didn’t exist when she was near.

The princess wore a flowing white gown with a lilac sash, long sleeves embroidered with delicate gold threads, mimicking vines curling around her arms. She looked up at him, her eyes almost tearful with love, one gloved hand clutching the edge of his coat as though anchoring herself to him.

But it wasn’t just the beauty of the painting that left you frozen.

It was her face.

Her face—your face.

Same eyes. Same smile. Same shape of the nose and curve of the chin. Even the way she tilted her head slightly, like she was listening to something only he could whisper.

You took a shaky breath and stepped closer, glancing at the golden standee resting just beside the red velvet rope:

“Prince Lee Heeseung and Princess (L/N) (Y/N). Captured in the royal gardens during the Spring Festival of 1782.

This portrait is one of the most beloved in the royal collection, known not just for its artistic mastery, but for the love story it represents. Theirs was not a marriage of convenience or political alliance—but one of deep, enduring love.

They were said to have loved each other until their very last breath.”

You blinked at the plaque, rereading your name etched in gold again and again, as if the letters might rearrange themselves into something more logical.

“…That’s not funny,” you whispered, barely audible.

A slow chill crawled up your spine as you looked back at the painting.

What were the odds? Your name. Your face. The same features captured in oil centuries ago. Was the tea messing with you? Were you sleep-deprived?

You turned to glance behind you, half-expecting Jungwon and Sunoo to be playing some elaborate prank, but the corridor was empty.

You let out a small exhale and turned back to the painting.

But you weren’t alone anymore.

There was someone standing beside you.

A tall figure, dressed in a sleek black blazer and slacks, his silhouette sharp against the soft golden lighting of the gallery. His hands were tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed, but his gaze… his gaze was fixed right where yours had been moments before—on the painting. Unmoving. Focused. Like it meant something.

Your eyes flicked down to the silver pin on the left lapel of his blazer: the Decelis University insignia. A student, then.

You shrugged to yourself, figuring he was probably here on the same field trip. You took another sip of your lilac tea, the floral taste now bittersweet on your tongue as your heart settled in your chest again.

“It’s uncanny,” he murmured beside you.

You blinked and tilted your head slightly. “Are you talking to me?”

His lips curved, not quite into a full smile—but into something quieter, gentler. And his voice—God, his voice was warm. Deep, but velvety.

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t really see anyone else here besides you.”

You let out a soft laugh, caught off guard. “Wow. Is that your line, or do you just flirt in front of 18th-century paintings?”

“Only with people who look like they’ve just seen a ghost,” he teased.

You turned to him, finally taking in his features properly. And your breath caught in your throat.

His hair was dyed a soft lilac—the exact same shade as the flowers in the painting. It caught the sunlight pouring in from the museum’s high glass windows, casting a faint halo around his head. But it wasn’t just the hair. It was the eyes. The way he looked at you—not like a stranger—but like someone remembering.

“What did you mean by uncanny?” you asked softly, your grip tightening around your tea cup.

He glanced at the painting again, then back at you.

“Well,” he began, “for starters… she looks exactly like you.”

You swallowed. “Yeah,” you said, voice smaller than you meant. “I noticed that.”

The stranger beside you let out a soft laugh—not the polite kind, but the real one. Full-bodied and warm, the kind that came from the chest, from somewhere deeper. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, something boyish blooming across his face as he fully turned to face you now.

He was breathtaking up close.

Lilac hair tousled like the wind had played with it on the walk here, his blazer crisp and worn with ease, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone—but still somehow did.

There was something timeless about him. Like his face didn’t belong to any specific era. Like it had been painted in oil and carved into memory long before today.

He glanced back at the painting again and tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Well,” he teased, “the real one looks way better.”

Your breath hitched.

Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it. “Oh my gods,” you muttered under your breath, fighting a smile as you stared at the floor, willing it to open and swallow you whole.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with your reaction.

You sighed, defeated, and risked another look at him.

The way he stood there, relaxed but attentive. The way he smiled like he already knew you—like he was waiting for you to remember too. The way his eyes searched yours with a kind of gentleness, like he didn’t want to scare you off, but couldn’t help getting drawn in.

You finally found your voice again, soft but steady.

“Well,” you said, looking right at him this time, “you look exactly like him, so…”

Your hand lifted slightly, finger pointing toward the prince in the painting, but he didn’t follow it. His eyes were on you. Only you.

He took a step closer.

Not too much—but just enough that you could smell his cologne, something clean and woodsy, like cedar trees after the rain.

“You think so?” he asked, voice quiet, as if the question itself held centuries of weight.

You nodded.

And you gave him the smallest smile. The kind of smile you only give someone you feel like you’ve known your whole life—someone you’ve missed before you even met.

His eyes softened.

And then he looked up at the painting once more, but not for long. “They say those two married for love, not for politics,” he murmured. “That they stayed together until their last breath.”

You blinked. “You know the story?”

“Bits and pieces,” he said. “My professor’s a nerd about royal bloodlines. Said they were the last real fairytale before the world became… complicated.”

“…That’s kind of beautiful,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking back at you. “It is.”

You stared at each other for a moment too long.

And in that silence—filled only by distant footsteps and the soft hum of the museum—you felt it.

That pull in your chest.

Like gravity—but gentler. Like you’d been waiting your whole life to stand in this exact spot, with this exact person, under the eyes of your past selves immortalized in paint and gold leaf.

You swallowed down the weight in your chest and cleared your throat, unsure how to ask the question on your tongue without sounding absolutely unhinged. But the curiosity burned hotter than your nerves.

So you looked up at him, voice hesitant but steady.

“…What’s your name?”

He turned to you, that boyish grin softening into something quieter—shyer, even. He chuckled under his breath and reached a hand toward you, the sunlight from the glass ceiling catching on the silver ring he wore.

“Lee Heeseung,” he said.

You stared.

You had to blink once, twice, to make sure you heard him right.

The same name etched into the gold plate by the painting.

The same name whispered by fate across brushstrokes and centuries.

The same name that made something in your bones stir like they remembered.

Was the universe playing a joke? A test? A cosmic prank?

Or had it been quietly arranging this moment since the day you were born?

You were certain if someone snapped a photo of this second, the stars would burn a little brighter behind the frame.

You reached for his outstretched hand, your fingers brushing against his palm. The moment your skin touched his, a jolt shot up your arm—not painful, not harsh. Just… warm. Familiar. Like home.

He didn’t let go.

And honestly? You didn’t want him to.

His fingers wrapped around yours just right, firm but careful, like he already knew you needed both comfort and gentleness.

“And you?” he asked, voice softer now. Like he was scared to breathe too hard and shatter something delicate.

You swallowed, heart loud in your ears.

“(L/N) (Y/N),” you said, breathless.

Something shifted in his eyes.

Like a sunrise cracked through storm clouds.

Heeseung smiled—slowly, knowingly. “Nice to meet you, Princess,” he murmured, still not letting go.

Your breath hitched.

The nickname shouldn’t have meant anything coming from a stranger. But from him—it felt like the world had finally remembered a story it forgot to finish.

In that fleeting space between his smile and your breathless heartbeat, you realized something:

Maybe some loves weren’t just meant to last lifetimes.

Maybe some loves were lifetimes.

Maybe you and him—Lee Heeseung, the stranger who felt like a memory—had been chasing each other through history, always finding, always losing, always waiting.

And as the sunlight spilled through the stained glass, casting lilac and gold across your skin, you smiled.

Because somehow, in a crowded museum filled with relics of the past—you had found your future.

677 notes · View notes

yuquinzel · 6 months ago

Text

▬▬▬ ink and bloom.

feat. itoshi sae. sensual. 600+ wc. sae has a silent obsession with your tattoo.

“why flowers?” itoshi sae had asked you once, his thumb smoothing over the ink skimming the curves of your hips down to your thigh. the tenderness of his touch against your bare skin would contrast his hardened gaze that scanned the pattern over and over again.

something about the tattoo etched into your skin—sprawling vines intertwined with blooming flowers—kept pulling at the corners of his mind. he couldn't explain the quiet obsession, it just lulled in his mind, unwavering and tentative.

“why not?” you tilted your head, amused by his rare curiosity.

the playful evasion didn’t make it any better. he wanted to know more— how long you’ve had the tattoo, did it hurt, what was the inspiration for it, who had been entrusted with marking your skin permanently. someone else had given you that art. a brand of beauty etched into the softness he knew intimately.

the realization tasted weird in his mouth. bitter and burning. it gnawed on his mind in ways he did not want to acknowledge.

sae was meticulous, methodical in his approach to life and football. control was his element. yet here you were, chaotic in the way you tangled his thoughts, much like the vines woven down your hips. he memorized every curve of the inked lines, every petal that bloomed under his gaze. he ran his lips over the outlines and patterns in moments of entangled breaths. it was the first thing he’d do. where he started. he was drawn to feeling the intimate story your tattoo would tell if he kissed it with enough passion.

it was never enough for him. how could he ever calm the blooming desire to overdraw your tattoo with something of his own.

when his mouth found its way to the intricate design, it was instinctual—a silent claim painted in violet and red. he did everything he could, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin and tongue gliding long and leisurely slides. he would let his breath hover there for seconds, then resume with even more intensity, sucking and biting painted skin. while his hands explored every other inch of your body in a rush to make most of the moment, his mouth was reserved for the pattern over your thigh. his movements seemed almost calculated, much calmer and patient, yet hungrier than anything else.

the marks bloomed across your tattoo like wild blossoms, blending with the ink as though they were always meant to be there. hickeys carved from something deeper than fleeting lust, something intangible that sae could not express as just ‘desire’. they were temporary, he knew, fading reminders that made way for permanence again.

but still, he returned to that place every chance he got. pressing his lips there felt like rewriting a story he hadn’t been a part of from the beginning. his tongue traced the path of vines, leaving warmth and want in its wake, each kiss layered with meaning neither of you dared speak aloud.

in the low glow of night, your breath hitched as sae’s teeth grazed the petals inked along your hips. “you’re obsessed,” you teased, voice breathy.

he didn’t respond, not verbally. his mouth pressed firmly against your skin, another unspoken answer blooming against your flesh. if you understood the truth behind it—if you knew the possessive tangle of thoughts winding in his mind—you didn’t say.

and sae preferred it that way. the silent exchange of kisses and control, desire and answers. no words, just marks made by lips where ink once reigned alone. temporary proof that, even if he hadn’t inked the art on your skin, he could still claim it in his own way.

hiiiii this has been sitting in my drafts for too long and oops 🤭

#❀˖° ─ hana writes.#moving on to writing for rin now lesgo #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #sae x reader #sae x you #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x you #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #blue lock x reader fluff #bllk fluff

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desbvndar · 5 months ago

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⸻ sienna weekusk , a twenty - nine year old , has survived another day in red creek where they have lived for eighteen years . the maven is known for being sanguine and garrulous and is often associated with leather jackets over lace , vhs static , crumbling brick walls with faded murals . in a small town where they work as a tattoo artist at devil’s ink & actress at the parrish center for the arts word travels fast . it’s hard to keep a secret , and it looks like the boogeyman knows that [ REDACTED ] .

BASICS.

name : sienna weekusk age : twenty - nine birthdate : july 7 gender & pronouns : cis woman , she / her orientation : bisexual & biromantic hometown : detroit , michigan current location : red creek , michigan education : bachelor's degree in theatre performance at university of michigan occupation : tattoo artist at devil’s ink & actress at the parrish center for the arts

PERSONALITY.

zodiac : cancer moral alignment : neutral evil mbti : entj traits : sanguine , garrulous , duplicitous

APPEARANCE.

scars : a burn mark ( right palm ; a careless moment with a tattoo gun ) height : 175 cm faceclaim : khadijha red thunder

before.

sienna does not remember much about the foster care system , and she doesn't want to . it’s easier to focus on what came after — being adopted when she was eleven , moving to red creek , and living on saber street with her two moms . they gave her everything she could ever want , except the ability to choose . she didn’t understand why they needed her to pick a side after the divorce . she didn’t understand why her teachers scolded her for her ‘ bad behavior ’ , or why she felt like an outcast around her classmates .

she tried to make herself stand out . a bratz backpack slung over her shoulder , a wooden branch spray painted yellow in her hand . but red creek was small , and sienna was restless . gossip was her lifeline , spreading secrets for a little entertainment . on the other hand , she loved art … until it got her suspended for vandalism . she promised to clean up her act as long as her moms would let her leave red creek for college . after voted ‘ most likely to end up in jail ’ in the school yearbook , sienna learned to bite her tongue when her dreams were dismissed as unrealistic . it was a reality check she didn’t ask for .

but she was determined . acting became an escape , a way to be someone else . she prevailed when she was admitted into the theatre program at the university of michigan , and she had a role to play . except , real life was harder to script . she would always return to red creek , and she eventually picked up a tattoo gun instead of a spray can . she vowed to never ink her own skin — something about getting sick of the same thing . her irony was lost on no one .

and then there was cosmia . having a baby with her high school sweetheart wasn’t planned , especially when nixon wanted to be a star far away from red creek . so sienna decided to keep it a secret from him — it was easier that way , or at least that's what she told herself until he returned to red creek and found out about their three year old daughter .

after.

sienna thrives in the illusion of control . she offers a shoulder to cry on to every customer that walks into devil’s ink , collecting their secrets and repeating them at least once . it’s a performance she’s perfected over the years — knowing just what to say , how to laugh , when to lean in . but beneath the carefully crafted persona , sienna is still searching for the version of herself that feels real .

there’s an ache she refuses to name , a loneliness she won’t acknowledge . it’s in the way she feels a lump in her throat from staring at her daughter for too long , in the way she keeps her distance from those who made the mistake of trusting her with a secret . red creek is too small , and sienna is too loud . she knows people are listening , watching , waiting for the moment she slips up .

she wonders if she should have left town years ago . maybe then she wouldn’t be stuck in the same cycle , offering comfort she doesn’t believe in , living a life that feels like someone else’s . but she can’t leave , not really . because red creek is all she’s ever known , and there’s a part of her that thinks she deserves this — the whispers , the fear of her daughter being the next victim , the longing for something that will never come .

wanted connections.

BABYSITTER : for her daughter ! sienna works two jobs and she wasn't always available to take care of her three year old daughter , cosmia . she's also too young to start school , so this would've lasted until recently , when cosmia's dad came back . sienna is wary of strangers around her child , so she would be very trusting of this person .

RIDE OR DIE : sienna's bestie ! someone who doesn't necessarily agree with her choices , but supports her nonetheless . if they knew each other for a long time , sienna would've been a bad influence on them . but in more recent years , she's mellowed out .

ENEMY : sienna's a yapper … and not the most trustworthy . this can be someone who confided in her about their troubles or a secret , and she told other people about it . depending on the juicy details , she's either indifferent or she's remorseful while acknowledging that she has an impulsive need to air out dirty laundry .

CLIENT : someone who goes to sienna for all their tattoos ! maybe they like her work or they let her freestyle on their skin , but it would be cool if she had a client that specifically always asks for her .

#redcreek.intro

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mjonthetrack · 2 months ago

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chosen

Chapter 123 — "Blood Heat"

Sefa had been staring at the ceiling long enough to know the exact count of wood panels in the beams. His wrists were still cuffed, a wickedly smug vampire's doing, the bite marks from her teasing nips faint but present across his collarbone and shoulder.

She was seated at the edge of the bed again.

Legs parted.

Toy in hand.

And not once—not once—had she spared him even a single touch.

His lips were parted, dry from heavy breathing, body coiled like a predator who'd been forced to watch prey dance just outside reach. She’d denied him the first time. Laughed softly when he’d tried to flex against the cuffs. He could break the bedframe if he really tried. But it wasn’t about escape.

It was about her.

Teni.

And this.

This was a whole new game.

Her body rolled with a slow rhythm now, eyes fluttered but gaze firmly on him as she used the toy against herself like she knew what it was doing to him. The same man who once thought he could make her beg was now swallowing his own whimpers, his hips arching up toward nothing.

"You look like you're sufferin', Fea," she hummed low, voice thick like honey, breathless, wicked. “All that strength. All that pretty ink. And you can’t do shit.”

She drew a slow circle with her hips, and he swore—swore—his vision blurred.

“Must be somethin’ inhumane,” she drawled, “to hear the way I’m gaspin’… smell how wet I am… and know it ain’t your fingers, ain’t your tongue, ain’t your dick.”

He growled, deep and guttural.

Chains clinked.

The bed groaned under his restrained strength.

But still, she kept on. Unbothered. Glowing.

“That anger in you?” she whispered. “That heat? I want it burnin’. I want you thinkin’ ‘bout rippin’ the world in half if it means you get to touch me.”

She was close.

He could feel it.

The bond between them wasn’t just humming, it was screaming now. His body responded to every twitch of hers like they were fused, like they were already mid-fuck even without contact. Her power—her scent—everything about her bled into the space between them. And still…

No touch.

Only watch.

Teni’s fangs extended with a soft hiss, her red eyes blazing as her body shuddered around the toy. Her head fell back, curls brushing her shoulders, and her breath caught in her throat—sharp, sudden.

Sefa nearly broke the cuffs.

Instead, his whole body tensed like he could explode.

And then she slumped forward, body damp and radiant, arms braced on her knees. A moment passed. Two. Three.

Teni’s grin returned.

She looked at him, wild and satisfied, voice like velvet and sin. “What’s more dangerous than a denied Sefa?”

She pulled the toy from herself, wiped it clean slowly, eyes never leaving his.

“A needy, angry Sefa,” she whispered.

And then?

She left him cuffed. Walked off like sin incarnate. No pants. Just one of his shirts and a smirk.

Chapter 124 – “Penance & Pleasure”

Teni sank deeper into the steaming bathwater, her skin glistening beneath rose petals and essential oils, the candlelight flickering over the walls of Sefa’s bathroom. Soft R&B filled the air, thick with bass and honeyed vocals, and she had one of her favorite shows playing on the tablet propped up beside the tub. A flute of fresh sangria sat nearby, her lip gloss marking its rim, and a crooked little grin curled at her mouth every time her thoughts drifted.

It had been over an hour.

He was still upstairs, probably still hard, still seething, still unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Poor baby,” she murmured to herself with a fake pout, flicking her tongue against her straw before sipping slowly. “Shoulda kept talkin’ sweet… instead of slick.”

The water sloshed gently as she adjusted her position, the heat wrapping around her body like a lover. She could still smell him on her skin—could still feel the ache low in her belly that hadn’t quite faded. But she was committed to the bit. Let him stew. Let that volcano inside him rumble until it cracked the foundation.

What she didn’t hear, headphones snug over her ears and lashes fluttering at the warmth, was the heavy tread of footsteps just outside the door.

Upstairs, Jey had been looking for Amina. He passed by Sefa’s room, double-taking at the faint sound of metal clinking and some long-suffering sigh echoing from within. He cracked the door, eyes squinting in the low light.

“What the—?”

There Sefa was.

Still cuffed to the bed, shirtless, jaw clenched and chest heaving like he’d just lost a war. His skin gleamed with sweat, eyes a sharp glowing red, the veins in his arms tight and bulging from restraint.

Jey paused. Eyed the cuffs.

Then exhaled a low whistle.

“You kinky motherfucker,” he muttered, walking in and unhooking the cuffs without question. “Don’t need to know the story, don’t wanna know the story. Just don’t get bodily fluids on the damn guest pillows.”

He walked right back out, calling for Amina as if he hadn’t just freed a dragon from its cage.

Sefa sat up slow.

Wrists red.

Pride bruised.

Body aching.

And his fangs were down. His eyes glinted—no longer just brown, but rimmed in the same deep red Teni’s took on when her power surged. His chest rose and fell. Slowly. Purposefully.

She’d left him like this.

Played in his face.

And now?

He moved.

One fluid motion off the bed. He could smell her. Hear the faint hum of her voice under the music, the splash of water as she shifted in the tub. Her scent was all over the house—flour and citrus and blood and her.

He didn’t stalk. He sauntered.

Because now the game was his.

And she didn’t know it yet.

Chapter 125 – "Unraveling"

Teni's mood was light, her posture regal even as she sank deeper into the warmth of the bubble bath. The scent of lavender and vanilla mixed with the natural oils she had slathered over her skin. She worked her way through the routine, slow and calculated, savoring the moments. Her fingers traced the curve of her arm as she finished the last layer of oil, feeling the silky smoothness of her skin. The bath had been more than a moment of indulgence—it was a declaration of her own control, her own space.

She eased herself out of the water, the steam rising in waves, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth. The towel was wrapped around her body, snug, but not in a way that hid her curves. She sauntered out of the bathroom like it was her kingdom—head high, hips swaying in time with the gentle beat of her heart.

Her steps took her down the hallway toward Sefa’s room, the light around the corner faint and dim as the moonlight streamed in through the windows. She hummed a quiet tune, ready to tease him with another jab, maybe some witty remark about how he’d survived the last hour of torture she’d left him to stew in.

But when she rounded the corner into the room, her smart remark died before it even reached her lips.

Her gaze fell immediately to the bed.

The cuffs were dangling from the bedpost, the cold metal swaying slightly as if in the breeze of the open window. No Sefa. No man.

“No fucking way.”

Her breath hitched, and a sharp hiss escaped her lips as her heartbeat quickened, her eyes flaring red for a split second. The pride that had settled comfortably within her chest was quickly replaced by a stab of realization—he wasn’t in the room. And he was no longer restrained.

Her gaze flicked to the door, the entire situation rushing toward her like a freight train.

She hadn’t even noticed the faint footsteps behind her, the warm air suddenly growing thick with his presence.

Sefa was there. And he was very much unrestrained.

She whipped around, her heart racing as she took in the dangerous glint in his eyes. His stance was predatory, calm, and entirely too controlled—too dangerous. The corner of his mouth lifted into a devilish grin, eyes locked on hers with a raw intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

For a brief moment, there was no sound. Just the slow sound of his feet against the hardwood and her pulse hammering in her chest.

“You’re still cocky,” he drawled, voice low and husky, dangerously smooth.

She didn’t answer immediately, though her pulse was screaming at her to back away, to feel the edge of fear that gnawed at her gut. But she stood her ground, her lips quirking into a wicked smile. "What are you, a fucking Houdini now?" she bit out, pretending like her composure wasn’t on the edge of unraveling.

Sefa stepped forward, closing the gap between them in two swift strides, his eyes never leaving hers. “Houdini?” He gave a low chuckle, brushing past her with an ease that made her skin prickle with the knowledge of just how close he was. “No, baby... I’m just getting started.”

Her breath caught, her fingers gripping the doorframe just behind her as she instinctively took a step back. This wasn’t a man she could tame in a moment. Not now. Not after this.

Then the realization hit her like a cold splash of water. The way he was looking at her—the way his lips curled with that dangerous grin—it wasn’t just lust anymore. It was possession, pure and simple.

The moment of cocky control she’d felt just moments ago was slipping away, and she had only one choice. Submit.

Chapter 126 – "Predator"

Sefa had moved through the house like a man on a mission—no, a beast on a scent trail.

He’d been left cuffed to the bed, helpless, humiliated, and aching in the most primal way possible. And when Jey, oblivious and rushing to get ready for his date with Amina, had walked in and casually said, “You good, bruh? You look like a damn hostage,” before unfastening the cuffs and leaving without a second glance—Sefa had snapped.

The moment his wrists were free, his blood surged hotter than before. His veins buzzed with something deeper than arousal. Power. The taste of her venom was still humming through his body, but now the cocktail had mixed with something ancient and dark—hunger.

Not for food.

For her.

Her scent had teased him all day. Her body. Her smirks. Her wicked laughter as she’d soaked in the bath without a care in the world. She had been playing a dangerous game, leaving him restrained and aching, and now? Now the cuffs were swinging, empty, and she was none the wiser.

He moved down the hallway with intention, listening.

Her heartbeat.

Slow. Confident.

But as he stepped closer, he heard the shift. It was subtle—a tinge of tension, a note of uncertainty threading through the rhythm.

And fuck, it excited him.

By the time he entered his own room, he found her standing just inside the door, towel loose against her body, her hair slightly damp, skin glowing and soft with oils she’d used. She was mid-smirk, a smart remark about to leave her mouth—

Until she saw the cuffs.

Until she saw he was no longer bound.

And then he saw it.

The flash of red in her eyes.

The slight shift of her stance.

The barely-there spike in her heartbeat.

It was everything.

“Don’t run,” he growled, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him with a click. “Not unless you want me to chase you.”

Her fingers twitched at her side. That towel was hanging by a thread, but she didn’t seem to care. Not when his voice had dipped to something feral. Not when his energy shifted from cocky to downright predatory.

She lifted her chin, refusing to give ground. “What, you mad I had a little fun?” she asked, voice smooth but not steady.

He stepped in closer, his smile sharp, eyes glowing—not just with lust, but with the new red that had started bleeding into his irises, the mark of his full transformation. His mate’s mark. Her gift alive in his blood.

“I’m not mad,” he said, leaning in until his breath hit her jaw. “I’m hungry.”

She tried to bite back her shiver. Tried.

Sefa could feel it—her pride, her power—he loved it, craved it. But now? Now she was in his world.

Now he was the one setting the tone.

“You cuffed me and walked away, mama?” he whispered against her throat. “Played in your little bath while I sat there thinking about all the ways I was gonna make you scream when I got free?”

His voice dipped lower.

“I am free now.”

And he could feel her breathing quicken, her scent sharpen. He smiled wide, wicked, a grin full of dangerous promise.

“You should’ve run,” he murmured.

Chapter 127 – “Caught”

She should’ve run.

But she didn’t.

She stood there, towel sliding an inch lower as Sefa closed the distance like a wolf with nothing but time. The air shifted between them, thick with a tension that could snap ribs open if they weren’t careful.

Teni blinked once. He was there.

She blinked again—he was already on her.

Her body hit the wall, but gently. Gently in the way a predator pins prey before the bite. One hand cupped her jaw, tilting it just enough for his lips to graze the shell of her ear.

"You were grinning when you locked me up," he whispered, his voice honey-slick and venom-sharp. "Let’s see if you still smiling by the time I’m done with you."

She inhaled, slow and deep. Her red eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped, teasing but low—too low to be fully confident.

"And what exactly are you planning to do, Fea?"

He chuckled dark, that real deep-from-the-gut one. The one that made it to her knees before her brain caught up.

"Break my fast, lil vampire. Been starved. You fed me, sure," he murmured, brushing her throat with his lips, "but now I’m ready to eat."

She reached for him—reflex, instinct—but he caught both wrists and slammed them gently above her head, keeping her pinned with just his body.

“You had your show, mama. Had your fun. Made me watch you moan and touch what’s mine like I ain’t exist,” he growled. “So now you gon’ watch how I reclaim it.”

The towel dropped.

Her legs came up around his waist.

But he didn’t move—not yet. He let her sit there, bare and pressed to him, burning up with want and heat and anticipation. And then he bit.

Not a full bite—just teeth grazing down her throat. Enough pressure to remind her exactly who had teeth now too.

She gasped.

"You felt that?" he asked, voice a low rumble in her chest now. “That little fear in your blood? The kind that ain’t scared, just ready?”

Teni hissed, nails digging into his arms.

“I know you feel it too,” he murmured. “That need. That damn ache. You walked around all day smug as hell, smelling like temptation and victory.”

“I was victorious,” she whispered against his mouth.

"You were," he admitted, grinning. "But now it’s my turn."

Then it was chaos.

Clothes—what little he wore—ripped away.

Her wrists were caught again and this time bound with the same damn cuffs she’d used on him. Her body was bent, teased, worshipped, but also claimed.

He touched her everywhere but where she wanted, dragging her through the same tortured edge she made him sit in. And when he finally pushed inside, it was with a deep, guttural groan that shook through both their bones.

“You gon’ learn,” he rasped, lips pressed to her open mouth as she cried out. “You don’t play with a man’s mind like that and expect him not to snap.”

She arched up, caught between pain and heaven.

“Fuck, Sefa—”

“No, mama. Say it like you said it when you thought I couldn’t hear you,” he growled, hips snapping forward harder. “Say it like when you was sleep, whispering about my d-game and how you needed to avoid me at all costs.”

Her head hit the wall.

He leaned in, nipping her lower lip before dragging his tongue along the same spot.

“That still your plan?” he asked, cocky, breathless, eyes dark and red and wild.

And she did the only thing a woman could do when a man who used to be human and now was fully hers had come to collect on everything he’d been denied:

She moaned his name like a curse and kissed him like an apology.

Chapter 128 – “Reckoning”

She thought it was over.

That maybe the way he kissed her afterward—slow, deep, lips full of satisfaction—meant he’d had his fill.

That the bite on her inner thigh was just a mark of pride.

That the growl he let out when she finally whimpered his name meant his ego was soothed.

She was wrong.

Because when her legs gave out and her breathing was still trying to sync up with her heart, Sefa scooped her up like she weighed nothing, walked her right back into the bedroom, and locked the door behind them.

Then he turned.

“Reckon I owe you one,” he said, voice low, body humming like a fuse about to ignite. “Had me tied up, drippin’ sweat, beggin’ the gods for mercy while you made yourself cum in front of me.”

Teni backed up instinctively, only to find the bed at her calves.

“I did say take your L,” she smirked, defiant but still catching her breath.

“And now you gon’ take this reckoning,” he said, stepping in.

He grabbed her by the waist, spun her, and bent her over the edge of the bed.

"Count it," he growled against her neck.

She blinked. “Count?”

SMACK.

His palm landed against her ass, sending heat across her skin and a jolt to her core.

"One," she hissed, eyes narrowing.

"That’s for the cuffs."

SMACK.

"Two."

"For the toy."

SMACK.

“Three—shit—”

"For every minute you had me locked up smelling you, hearin’ you moan, feelin’ my damn soul levitate."

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

By seven, she was shaking with every exhale, her breath hitching in her throat.

By ten, she was trembling, slick with need and defiance, head pressed to the comforter.

And Sefa? He didn’t say a word. Not until he bent over her again, kissing the curve of her back, his voice husky.

“You thought I was just a fine human with good dick. But I’m your mate, lil mama. And now I got your bite and your power,” he whispered, fingertips glowing faintly with blood-red energy. “You feel that?”

He slid a hand down her thigh, and she felt it—her own power flowing through him, vibrating in her skin, coaxing every nerve to sing.

“I’m the only one that’ll ever use it like this,” he promised, biting her shoulder—not hard, but just enough to remind her: this was his turn.

And when he slid back inside her, slow, deliberate, merciless, her moan cracked like thunder through the room.

This wasn’t just sex.

It was war.

And she was losing beautifully.

Chapter 129 – “Say It”

Her moans were muffled now.

Not because he told her to quiet down—but because she had no air left in her lungs. Her throat was sore, her legs jelly, her pride cracked somewhere around the eighth stroke when he hit her deep enough to have her biting the damn sheets.

But that wasn’t enough.

Not for him.

Not after what she did.

Sefa dragged her body onto his lap with ease, her back to his chest, her knees struggling to hold her weight as he leaned back against the headboard. His arm snaked around her waist, holding her steady, that devilish smirk brushing against her ear as he whispered, “You good, vampire?”

She groaned something close to a curse, but it melted into a whine when he rocked up into her again. Deep. Solid. Possessive.

“Nah, say it clearer,” he said, one hand slipping down between her thighs while his other pressed gently at her throat. “Say who got you like this.”

She shuddered. “Fea…”

“Say it, Teni. Whole sentence.”

“Nnngh—Sefa got me like this,” she hissed, hips trembling.

“Again,” he said, rubbing that spot like he knew her body better than she did. “Say it like you mean it.”

“S-Sefa… my man got me like this,” she panted, back arching.

“There she go,” he grinned, kissing the side of her face. “Knew you had it in you. One more time for that pretty little pride of yours.”

And when she said it again—louder, ragged, breathless—he rewarded her with a grind so deep she swore she saw white.

Teni grabbed at his thighs, her head thrown back against his shoulder, red eyes glowing as her power spiked unintentionally, warping the light around the room.

But Sefa didn’t flinch.

He held her there—his mate, his troublemaker, his vampire—with all the reverence and savagery of a man who knew he’d won.

And when she finally shattered, her mouth open in a silent cry, he groaned through clenched teeth, his arms caging her to him, lips brushing her temple.

“You gon’ learn, lil mama,” he murmured, still pulsing inside her. “You don't play with what's already yours.”

Chapter 130 – “Don’t Tap Out”

Knock knock knock.

A fist at the door. Someone calling his name. Voices muffled behind the heavy wood.

But Sefa didn’t even blink.

He had Teni folded damn near in half, her knees over his broad shoulders, her red eyes wide and glassy. Her mouth parted, breath caught in the back of her throat as another brutal stroke knocked the words clean out of her chest. Her hands scrambled at his arms, his chest, anything to ground herself—but he wasn’t letting her ground.

She wasn’t done learning yet.

They could knock all day.

“You think I care who outside that fuckin’ door?” he grunted, hips slamming forward again, the headboard cracking the wall. “You think I ain’t gon’ finish what you started?”

She tried to shake her head but all that came out was a pathetic little whimper.

“Thought you was bold,” he taunted lowly, sweat slick down his chest. “What happened, hm? You was cuffin’ me to the bed, sittin’ that perfect pussy in my face like you run this. What happened to all that cocky talk, vampire?”

“Sefa—” she choked, body spasming. “Please…”

“Nah. Not yet.”

Her fangs threatened to drop again from the intensity—again—but he held her tighter, pushed in deeper, until the damn mattress gave a warning creak beneath his weight. Her fingers clutched his forearm, eyes fluttering like she might go under.

But he wasn’t breaking her.

He was reshaping her.

His woman. His wild one. His only.

Behind them, a voice tried the doorknob. “Sefa? Bro—yo, why it locked? What—?”

Sefa didn’t stop.

Not even a pause.

He leaned forward, sweat dripping to her lips as he growled, “Let ‘em fuckin’ listen. You think they ain’t heard you say I had the best dick of your life in your sleep? You think they don’t know whose mate you really are?”

She whimpered louder.

“You gon’ beg for it right,” he whispered into her neck. “You gon’ cry for it if you gotta.”

And when she finally broke—legs trembling, mouth open, a scream caught between pleasure and surrender—he caught her. All of her. Every sound, every shake, every flicker of her heart stuttering in that beautiful chest of hers.

But even then—he wasn’t done.

“Don’t tap out,” he whispered. “You wanted this game, vampire. Now you gon’ learn how to lose.”

Chapter 131 – “Shut Up and Take It”

The banging had stopped. But the muffled sounds hadn’t.

Out in the hallway, Jimmy was wide-eyed, slack-jawed, his palm halfway to knocking again before Jey grabbed his wrist and yanked it back.

“Nah, nah, bruh,” Jey muttered, stepping away like the damn door was cursed. “That’s them. That’s not for us.”

Jimmy blinked, catching another high-pitched moan crack through the wood like lightning. “Goddamn—”

Amina rounded the corner, paused, and then visibly regretted it.

“...You nasty, freaky motherfuckers,” she muttered under her breath, dragging Jimmy away by his shirt. “Got a whole estate and y’all sound like a damn demon summoning.”

But inside?

Inside the room?

Sefa hadn’t paused for one single second.

Not even with the audience.

Teni’s voice was damn near gone now. Raw. Broken down. Her back arched off the sheets, limbs shaking with overstimulation, her thighs trembling in his grip like he’d split her in half.

But even when her body cried out?

Her mouth still had bite.

"Fuck... you,” she choked out, trying to glare up at him even through the tears in her lashes.

Oh, that did it.

That right there set him off.

His lips twisted into something dangerous. His grip locked tighter behind her knees. And when he slammed forward, it was with a low growl like he was dragging that defiance straight out of her chest.

He leaned in slow, voice a rough scrape against her cheekbone, “Still talkin’ back, huh? That mouth of yours don’t everlearn…”

Another brutal thrust made her curse, nails raking down his ribs—but Sefa didn’t flinch.

Not once.

“You keep runnin’ that mouth, I’mma make sure you can’t speak for a week,” he said darkly, sweat and heat making him gleam like a god over her. “You wanted punishment. This is what happens when you try to play me.”

She tried to glare, tried to keep that proud little chin lifted even while her legs were shaking around him.

But Sefa wasn’t moved.

Nah.

He was locked in.

Bent over her, hips snapping steady, the kind of rhythm you don’t recover from right away. The kind that changes the way you walk for days.

“Keep it cute, vampire,” he whispered, tongue flicking her earlobe before he nipped it with sharp teeth. “You still got time left on that sentence.”

Chapter 132 – “Vanilla, My Ass”

He had her damn near folded—shoulders pressed to the bed, her legs locked around his hips like she didn’t know whether to run or drag him deeper. Her whole body was trembling, skin hot and slick, her lips swollen from biting down on the sounds she couldn’t hold in.

But still.

Still.

She glared up at him through lashes heavy with sweat and tears, jaw clenched like she had something sacred to say. And then?

"This—" she hissed between moans, "this the monster? This weak-ass stroke game?"

Sefa froze for half a second.

Half.

His brow twitched, and his smirk? It dropped into something deadly.

"You talkin’ crazy, lil mama," he growled, dragging himself out to the tip before slamming home so hard the damn headboard thudded. "But go ‘head—run your mouth. Let’s see how vanilla I can get."

She gasped—not even a full scream, just a broken sound that got caught in her throat—but her smirk still curled even as her thighs twitched violently around his waist.

“Aww,” she panted through grit teeth, “that all you got? Big bad Fea, huh? Feelin’ like you doin’ somethin’ with this slow-ass—”

He snatched both her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand, the other slipping under her knee and pressing it back so deep her toes curled over his shoulder.

"Say less," he muttered darkly. "Bet."

And then?

He gave her everything.

Every filthy stroke. Every punished thrust. Every inch he had with no restraint. Like she’d challenged his entire bloodline. Like she’d spit on his pride.

She went from smirking to sobbing.

But her mouth?

Oh, that mouth wouldn’t stop.

“Still—nnghh—still kinda mid,” she choked, trying to keep it together even as she shook.

Sefa leaned down so close their noses brushed, his breath hot and ragged, teeth gritted with control. “I’m about to make you apologize, vampire.”

And the way her eyes fluttered—how her body welcomed that threat?

She might’ve been screaming inside, but that wicked little smirk still ghosted her lips.

Chapter 133 – “Lights Out, Lil Mama”

She was gone.

Not figuratively.

Teni was out.

Face down in the pillows, her mouth parted on a silent moan, hair damp, thighs still trembling and marked from his grip. The cuffs he’d reattached hung loose now, undone when her legs gave out the second time. She hadn’t said another word after that last scream. Just a breathy little “Fea…” as her eyes fluttered shut, her body slumping forward like it had been emptied.

And it had. Over and over again.

Sefa knelt there for a moment, chest rising slow, watching her like she was the eighth wonder of the world.

“Look at you…” he muttered, pride thick in his voice. “Damn.”

He leaned over her back, brushing a soft kiss to her spine. Her body twitched, a breath catching, but she didn’t wake. Not even a stir.

Just a whimper from her lips. Faint. Soft.

“M’sorry…”

Sefa chuckled.

He stood, grabbed a warm towel from the bathroom, and returned to gently clean her, careful and slow like she was the most fragile thing he’d ever touched. He dressed her in one of his old shirts—one she always stole—and pulled the sheets around her.

Then he laid beside her, brushing her edges back from her face.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice smug but fond, “I know you sorry.”

He kissed her brow.

Then he pulled her close.

#x black oc #romance #mature fic #solo sikoa fic #solo sikoa x black oc

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svtswhorehouse · 2 months ago

Text

THE COST OF PERFECTION

pairings: bad boy!mingyu x good girl!reader x bad boy!wonwoo genre: sfw, fluff ? au (mdni, apart of a smut series) warnings: heavily reader centered, smoking, academic pressure, the reader needs academic validation, protective! mingyu, protective! wonwoo, emotional distress, abuse of authority, she's sensitive y'all word count: 3.8k synopsis: the boys have always been protective of you, even in silence. but the lengths they would go to and how far they’re willing to take things behind closed doors, still seems to be unknown to you.

sidenote: reader is close childhood friends with ALL of seventeen and i will be writing other members with this particular oc as well. so much lore pls feel free to ask questions !! this a series, so enjoy :) this is more insight into the relationship “baby” (as i refer to her as) has with the boys.

𐙚 ggc masterlist 𐙚

𐙚 previous + next 𐙚

a deeper dive into the dynamics and personalities of this au.

Your life was over — you were sure of it.

Everything was a blur, the distant sound of your classmates fading away slowly as you kept your eyes on the only thing that seemed to capture your full attention. You could feel your nails digging firmly into the palm of your hands, soft skin threatening to break as you will away the urge to cry.

The paper on your desk stared right back at you, almost tauntingly. At the top of the page, written big in bold red ink was a very much undeserved “thirty-eight.” The grade made your thoughts swarm, feeling dizzy and doubtful about your capabilities of writing a good essay.

Never in all your years of schooling have you ever failed, let alone gotten any markings lower than an A. You were an academic weapon — always taking your education seriously and prioritizing your work. This was so completely and utterly out of the ordinary.

It felt as if the entire world was coming crashing down on you. This had to possibly be the worst day of your life. Sure enough, a teardrop finally escaped from your eye and trailed down your face steadily. It hit the paper on your desk with a force, leaving a wet splotchy mark on the white sheet. Sniffling, you quickly wiped away the rest of your tears, not wanting to cry in front of your peers.

The professor who was once walking around returned to his desk after handing back all of the essays he had graded over the weekend. It was rather difficult to pass his class, something Seungkwan and Chan filled you in on when they had been registered for it a year earlier. He was known to be not only rude, but biased as well. Taking a liking to you seemed to have been something he refused to do and you could never conclude as to why. Nevertheless, you had no one to blame but yourself for thinking you would excel in his class.

As the rest of the students cleared out of the room, you made the decision to stay behind. You didn’t generally enjoy speaking to people who didn’t like you longer than you had to, however, desperate times call for desperate measures. You poured your heart, soul, and time into this paper; only ever taking breaks when one of the boys dragged you out of your house for a much needed mental break.

What on earth went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

“Professor.” You approached his desk rather timidly, confrontation never really being something you were good at. You fiddled with the ring on your finger, twisting it round and round — a habit you often did whenever you were nervous.

The man snapped his head up from his computer screen, huffing once realizing it was his least favorite student bothering him even after the class was over. If you had any confidence before, it has certainly now washed away as he glared at you with eyes that silently stated “You’re wasting my time.”

“What is it?” He spits out rather harshly.

Biting your lip nervously, you shifted on your feet at his unwelcoming tone. “I-I just wanted to talk about my grade.” His face remained unwavering which urged you to continue, however you found it difficult to do so without stuttering. “Uhm, y-you gave me a thirty-eight.”

He sighed and for a split second, it looked as if he was trying to hold back from rolling his eyes. “Yes.” He said bluntly. “I did.”

“I just wanted to know why?”

The professor slammed his laptop shut as you just wouldn’t leave him alone, the loud noise causing you to flinch in the slightest. “Your writing was horrendous! You have never been one to do well in my class and the only reason you receive the excellent grades you do is because it’s so easy a kindergartner could do it!” His voice progressively got louder as he droned on and suddenly it was starting to feel as if he had a personal agenda against you.

As someone who took school so seriously her entire life, it surely was a punch to the gut to know that all your hard work was for nothing.

“Is there –,” You paused, trying to pull yourself together, “Is there anything I could’ve done better?” Your voice came out meek and vulnerable as you asked the question.

“Well for starters, you can drop my class. It’s not like I’m going to pass you anyways.”

His response left you speechless. You have never had someone be so blunt and rude to you, let alone an authoritative figure. For a second it surprised you how a man like him even got offered the position to teach when it seemed like all he wanted to do was fail his students.

You struggled to find your words as he snatched the essay out of your hands. He smiled at the red mark he wrote on it before ultimately crumpling the paper and tossing the ball at you. Your hands scrambled to catch it, your eyes finding his once you did so.

“Now.” He cleared his throat, shooing you off. “You’re wasting my time. Get out of my sight.”

Nodding, you swallowed down the lump in your throat. You gripped the strap on your backpack tightly as you turned on your heel and began to walk. The tears started to fall rapidly as soon as you stepped outside the classroom door, walking quickly to your locker and avoiding everyone on the way. It felt as if they were all looking at you and for a split second it was like all of them knew what had just happened when in reality they were just wondering why someone as bright as you, were crying openly in the hallways.

You were an academic failure, or rather just a failure in general and there was nothing that could possibly change your mind.

Wiping your cheeks clear, you started trekking towards the doors that led to the courtyard. The walk felt long despite only being around the corner and you took time to steady your breathing as you walked outside. The weather was gloomy, quite like your mood, and there was a likelihood of rain to resemble your tears.

The courtyard was bustling like it always has been; being a typical spot in which most of the student body tended to find comfort. However, almost instinctually your eyes landed on the two boys leaning against a worn brick wall. Mingyu and Wonwoo were in their usual spot, talking amongst themselves as they passed a lit cigarette back and forth. Smoking on school grounds was usually not allowed under any circumstances, but like always the two boys never seemed to care. You knew they’d likely skipped their lecture hall for the day, instead opting to exhale clouds of smoke that blended into the sticky humid air to pass time while they waited for you to get out of yours.

They’ve always been like that. Almost all of them.

You, on the other hand, have always been the opposite. A straight “A” student with a long-standing reputation for a perfect attendance. The weight of expectations — the ones in which you placed on yourself and the ones others had for you — hung around your shoulders like a heavy cloak. You wish you could say that it was too much pressure and all too troubling, however, it was hard to admit when the reassurance you got in return was that you were doing something right; that you were enough whether it be academically or not.

Face flushed and damp with tears, you approached the two of them. You uncrumpled the parchment with trembling fingers as you stood before them, the paper being a physical representation of your disappointment. “I-,” You sniffled, “I failed.”

Wonwoo and Mingyu turned their attention towards you, their line of visions catching your face first before slowly shifting down to the paper you were clutching onto with a grip that was far too tight. They knew you well — too well. Your wide, doe-like eyes, now all red and puffy were a clear sign for them to tread carefully as they grow more accustomed to your emotions at the moment.

“I-I worked so hard on it,” You whimpered, hoping for some comfort, some kind of validation that this failure wasn’t a reflection of everything you’ve worked for.

Wonwoo’s expression hardened, his usual calm demeanor giving way to something sharper. He threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with much more force than necessary before taking the essay from you. This was different. This was completely out of the ordinary. You’d known these boys since kindergarten, and in all the years they’ve known you, they’ve never seen you fail. You have always been the perfectionist, the one who always delivered; never the one who would walk into a professor’s office and leave with anything less than an A. This however, a whopping thirty-eight — brutal.

Mingyu grabbed at your arm, pulling you closer to him so he could wipe away the tears trailing down your cheeks. He smelled like a mix of cigarettes and marijuana, the combination familiar but distant to you in your current state.

“He said that I-,” You choked, your voice cracking as your words tangled with emotion. “He said I’m a horrendous writer and that I should drop his class.”

Mingyu shifted his position to sit straighter against the wall, jaw clenched and eyes filled with something short of rage. “He said that to you?”

“Mhm.” You nod weakly.

Wonwoo, still holding your paper, gave it a slow, deliberate glance. His eyes scanned over the essay with practiced precision, never once faltering in focus. Despite his indifference to most things school related, when it came to history and writing, Wonwoo was an expert. You trusted his judgment, especially when you have sought out his help when it came to schoolwork so many times before.

“This is good.” He finally voiced, flipping the pages back to look at the grade you’d received.

You turned to face him while still being tucked away in Mingyu’s arms, trying to read any sign of insincerity in his face, but there was none. “Really?” You asked, your voice small.

“It’s great,” Wonwoo added, shrugging slightly as he studied the negative marking at the top of the page. “It’s a solid paper, I don’t know why he failed you.” He said, and he fully meant it too. Your essay was phenomenal; going into great detail with the proper citations and evidence to back up your arguments.

At that, you felt the tiniest bit of relief.

“Why is your paper all crumpled?” He asked, assuming you were the one to take your sadness and anger out on your own piece of work.

“He did it.” You muttered. “Got angry and said I was wasting his time.” The words tasted bitter when they left your mouth, the accusation still being fresh and troubling to process.

Wonwoo’s grip tightened on the paper, his anger flaring. He was methodical, quiet — almost dangerous in how calm he seemed. He released the sheet slowly, calming himself down as he learned to do over the years.

There were three things he was certain of. One: you were an excellent writer, possibly as good as him; two: you didn’t deserve the grade you’d gotten; and three: your professor was a dick.

“You should talk to him,” Mingyu suggested. He had already settled back down against the wall, pulling you into him as he did so.

You shook your head immediately, the thought of confrontation making your stomach churn. “I already tried.”

“Try again,” Mingyu insisted.

“He scares me.” Your voice broke in vulnerability as you admitted the hard truth.

Wonwoo, who had previously been quiet and watching with an undercurrent of protectiveness in his eyes, went to stand up. “We’ll come with you.” He offered, glancing at Mingyu to which the latter nodded as his own expression was firm and determined.

Before you could protest, Mingyu stood and took your hand, already pulling you up with him. You had no choice but to follow, your feet dragging as every step felt heavier than the last. You felt like a child being protected by their presence as you cowered behind their tall frames, but regardless the feeling of fear ignited within you.

Once you reached the door of the classroom, you hesitated, looking at them with wide eyes. “I really don’t think this is that important,” You murmured as a last attempt effort to avoid confrontation.

Mingyu shrugged. “You were crying.” He pointed out matter of factly.

“I know but—,” You started to protest, but before you could finish, Mingyu slammed the door open. The sudden intrusion left a shockwave of dread coursing throughout your body.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you met your professor’s surprised gaze. He hadn’t expected anyone to be here for the rest of the afternoon, let alone you standing alongside two out of thirteen of his least favorite students he’s taught his entire career.

With a sigh, as you stayed rooted to your spot, Mingyu didn’t hesitate. He gave you a small, encouraging shove, and you stumbled forward with your heart pounding in your chest. You stopped, turning back to glance at the two boys behind you. The air felt thick, charged with tension as they both gave you reassuring nods. Slowly, you took a deep breath in and walked up to the desk, your palms sweating but resolve strengthening.

“You’re back.” Your teacher stated, voice dripping with condescension. “I thought I made it clear when I told you to leave.”

Mingyu stepped forward after recognizing his tone, keeping his distance whilst continuing to stand near the doorframe. Wonwoo leaned against it, eyes trained on the professor with an intensity that seemed to make the air thicker.

“I wanted to discuss my grade.” You said, sounding much smaller than you intended to come across, however, there was a hint of determination behind your words.

With a raised eyebrow, the man in front of you let out a scoff. “We already did.”

“Well,” you started, gathering your courage, “I don’t think I deserved it.” You stood straighter, your posture letting it be known that you were trying not to back down.

Needless to say, your professor was taken aback. He has never seen you act like this before and he seemed to have mistaken you for an easy target. However, it was suddenly difficult to stereotype you into that category when he was beginning to realize just how deadly the two boys behind you were glaring at him. He was used to you being compliant, a quiet student who would never dare challenge him, but now he was beginning to second guess that thought.

“Are you telling me how to run my class?” His question was venomous, dripping with disdain.

Fighting off the urge to flinch, your fingers began to press into your palms once again. The subtle action was beginning to become your new habit. “No…,” You trailed off, “I’m just suggesting you read over my essay again and reconsider my grade.”

The professor let out a bitter laugh as if the whole thing was some sort of joke. You stared back, fighting the urge to retreat although it was hard to do so when it felt as if he was mocking you. The man pressed his lips firmly together in a thin line before opening up his laptop again with a sinister smile plastered across his face. “Fine.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“Really?” You asked, hope and shock lacing your tone. For a second you felt relief, but that particular feeling was short-lived.

“Yes actually.” The older man typed away at the keyboard before smirking up at you. “I believe that a more appropriate grade would be a zero.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks as your stomach dropped and hopeful expression faded away. Your tears returned with vengeance and you couldn’t hold them back this time. “You can’t. That’s not fair!” You protested, your voice cracking with the weight of it all.

The professor seemed to take some twisted pleasure in your discomfort as he let out a cruel laugh. This was bad. This could ruin everything you’ve worked towards your entire life.

Maybe a thirty-eight wasn’t so bad after all — or at least it was a much better failing grade than a plain-out zero. This would surely take a massive irreversible toll on your GPA and you could only imagine your mother’s face when you break the news that you were no longer graduating top of the class.

You glanced back at Wonwoo and Mingyu, panic rising within you. Their expressions were hard to read, but nevertheless, you could still make out the tension in their jaws and the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Wonwoo gave you a subtle nod as your eyes met his, the silent encouragement doing enough for you to whip back around even if you had already given up hope.

“No.” You stated firmly with furrowed brows.

“No?” Your professor questioned your words with narrowed eyes.

“No.” You repeated. “I worked hard for that paper, and I deserve a better grade than what I received.”

There was no way in hell — and you could bet on it — that you actually deserved a thirty-eight, let alone a zero. This essay was the biggest project of the year. You had poured your blood, sweat, and tears into it; making sure it was near perfection before submitting it a few days earlier than it was initially due.

The professor opened his mouth to retort, but before he could deny your request his gaze flicked past you. He froze, his face going pale as he caught sight of Mingyu, who was still standing at the entrance with his arms crossed and his presence as imposing as ever. Wonwoo wasn’t any better, his cold and steady stare silently threatening the man of authority; but this man in particular has never known authority. No, not when he was in the presence of the two notorious students as pathetic as it may seem. Them and their other “nuisances of friends” as he would refer to them, ran this university. It was hard to be authoritative when students flocked to them because of their good looks and popularity, or with staff kissing the grounds they walked on partly out of fear.

You turned around confused and for the tiniest moment, you caught sight of the expressions your friends held on their faces. It didn’t last long, however, as they were quick to change their looks as your eyes settled upon them. You didn’t know what they were doing, but their silent presence affected your professor, causing his confidence to waver.

Clearing his throat, the teacher stumbled over his words as he offered you a forced smile. “Yes, yes.” He said, avoiding eye contact with you as he typed away on his laptop. “Your grade is fixed. Congratulations on your A.”

You stared at him, your jaw nearly hitting the floor. “What?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Your essay was phenomenal. One of the best written pieces I’ve seen.” He said, almost dismissively, as if he hadn’t just tried to ruin your entire semester and near chances of graduating with your degree.

“Then why did you fail me?” You asked with your head cocked to the side, unable to keep your confusion at bay.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he just clicked a few more keys on his laptop, then looked back up at you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There. All fixed. Your grade is updated. Now, if that is all, I have important work to tend to. If you don’t mind leaving please?”

You stood there for a moment, blinking in disbelief. Stunned, you nodded before turning on your heels. The weight in your chest had lifted, but you couldn’t exactly put your finger on why his mood had so suddenly shifted. As you drew closer to the two boys you arrived with, Mingyu stretched out his hand and you took it without hesitation. This time you didn’t miss the look he gave your professor before guiding you out of the classroom and it almost left you feeling a little uneasy. Wonwoo watched as you two walked off, finally pressing off against the doorframe. You took notice of the fact that he didn’t follow you and Mingyu. Looking back over your shoulder, you were able to catch sight of him walking up to the professor’s desk and that was the last thing you saw before rounding a corner.

You looked at the taller boy confused, footsteps faltering a bit. Mingyu shrugged as he stopped with you. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nodding, although you didn’t exactly want to, you dropped the topic and instead followed him once again. The two of you found yourselves in the parking lot waiting for Wonwoo to finish up. Mingyu leaned against his sleek black motorcycle, you standing off to the side. “Let me see your hand.”

You glanced up at him, humming in confusion.

“Your hand.” He said again, nodding towards it. Looking down you realized your nails had dug into your palms yet again, skin finally breaking through and now bleeding.

“Oh.” You mutter softly, assessing the damage. He took your wrist firmly, bringing it closer to him so he could see for himself. Unfazed, he casually dropped your arm before crossing his own and leaning back again.

“Quit doing that.” He stated.

You nodded, that being the last of the conversation as Mingyu’s statement left no room for argument. It was a bad habit you had picked up and one that you intended to quit.

A comfortable silence loomed over the both of you as y’all patiently waited for Wonwoo, not having to wait much longer when you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye. He approached the two of you, placing a cigarette between his lips and going to light it.

“He pulls some shit like that again,” He mumbles as he grabs the stick from his mouth and exhales, “You come and tell us.”

You open your mouth to prod, brows furrowed and curious — but you aren’t able to as Mingyu pulls you over to his bike, more than ready to go home.

You have no choice but to follow, dropping your suspicions and letting the topic go entirely as he drives out of the parking lot, Wonwoo following close behind on his own motorbike.

In the days following, you noticed that your professor seemed to have finally taken a liking to you. Whether it was genuine or partly out of fear was a question in your mind that still lingered at all times. Nevertheless, Mingyu and Wonwoo made it a mission to wait at the door every day after your class ended. If only you had kept your eyes on them long enough to see the threatening glares they were sending your professor’s way every time.

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chryblossomjjk · 2 years ago

Text

the weekend | jjk (teaser)

→pairing: dilf!jk x babysitter reader

→rating/genre: m/18+ | fwb?, angst, full fic will include smut

→word count: 618

→warnings: suggestive (as in building up to smut), some dirty talk, hair pulling, neck smoochies, lil lingerie moment, slightly dangerous moment in a car?, implied infidelity, smol appearance from bby yul (holds up ‘aww’ cue card)

→summary: Every weekend, you give Jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing Monday through Friday.

→notes: um long time no see i haven't posted any writing in a while so im v excited and nervy atm! had this teaser planned for a hot minute so yeah v excited to see your reactions! i don't have a set date when this will come out but hopefully soon. as for now, you can check out my masterlist if u wanna wink wink. also this fic will be v angsty so pls if thats not ur thing, skip this. ok love u bye !! feedback is appreciated v much uwu. also this is not beta’d obvi so if there’s any typos or goofiness rip im sorry :’(

“Well, there’s still time.” You point to the clock on his touchscreen stereo; 11:12 p.m. You throw your hair over your shoulder before slowly undoing the top two buttons of your shirt, revealing the skimpy black lingerie set you bought just for tonight. Just for him. “We can celebrate…”

“Yeah?” His cheek bubbles, teasing tongue poking at the inside of his mouth, eyebrow jumping at your suggestion. “How so?”

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the center console. It’s reckless, but so was being with a man like Jungkook. You’re incapable of rational thought when you finally get to have him the way you want. One night of him isn’t enough. What kind of tease is that? You need at least six more to be satisfied.

“__,” he warns, arching his head away from your sneaky lips. “Put your seatbelt on. Wait until we get to the hotel.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” You pout, cupping his cheek and batting your eyelashes innocently. Jungkook doesn’t take the bait, giving the desolate road ahead his unwavering attention. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you can tell you’re getting to him. Below you, his slacks tighten around his thick, tensed thighs. He’s playing right into your hands. Needily, you tongue the little silver hoops dangling from his ear.

“If I have to pull over, you’re in trouble.”

“Maybe I-”

A hushed ‘fuck’ cuts you off as the car comes to a screeching halt. Jungkook slams on the brakes, coming too close to the slower vehicle in front of you for comfort. Luckily, his dad reflexes kick in, strong hand gripping your waist tightly, preventing you from barreling forward. You brace yourself by clutching his shoulders, and when the adrenaline rush fades, you finally look at him. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is clenched painfully tight.

He’s pissed.

You know you should apologize, or be shaken up at the very least, but the blinking of his turn signal as he pulls to the side of the dark highway has your mouth watering. This is just what you wanted.

Jungkook sighs in frustration, tilting his head back against the headrest. The movement is counterintuitive, exposing the inked canvas of his neck that you’re desperate to paint red and purple. You go in for a bite.

A hand fists your tangled hair, pulling you off with a harsh yank before you have the chance to sink your teeth into his skin. The silver ring on his finger digs into your scalp like a knife. “Do not fucking mark me.”

The feeling of the frigid metal is agonizing. Not physically, his grip loosens immediately after the initial tug, but emotionally. You know why he doesn’t want you to mark him. Any evidence of you, other than your weekly babysitting duties, would unravel his entire life. Jungkook is an intelligent man. You don’t have to tell him that it’s all a facade, and everything’s already been undone.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out frail and shaky. “I just want you.”

And like some cruel joke, his phone rings.

The contact image would normally make you swoon. It’s a picture of him and his daughter from her first birthday party; her sticky, strawberry ice cream covered, hands holding his cheeks as he stares at her with scrunched eyes and a big smile. You think that picture is the only time you’ve ever seen him genuinely happy.

The bold, white font at the top of the screen, though, makes you sick to your stomach.

‘Wife.’

Jungkook releases your hair and places a finger over his mouth, signaling for you to shut up, before answering.

“Yes, Seulgi?”

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tangerine-stained-hands · 4 years ago

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Burning Caverns

Wilbur Soot x Reader

~1791~

NSFW One shot

You walked down the stairs of your new home, Pogtopia, one of Wilburs trench coats tied snug around your body so as to not show your clothes. It had been weeks since your boyfriend had come laid in bed with you, or laided you. And needless to say you were getting a bit needy, your hand could only do so much as to pleasure you as he could. So, you decided you would give him a little visit in his office, and give yourself the sweet release you were so wanting.

The lights in the walls flickered as you downed the hallway to his office, hand brushing against the wall with one hand as the other gripped the coat. Your body was buzzing with excitement as you came upon his office, the door cracked open a smidge.

“Wilbur? Can I come in?” You asked, knocking lightly on the doorframe.

You heard a hushed ‘come in’, and promptly nudged the door open, taking sight of a hunched over Wilbur, lit by a half burnt candle that sat on his desk. Papers strewn across the desk as he looked over various maps that held messy writing and half drawn battle plans. An ink bottle laid on its side, the contents of it emptied from various scribbles and plans across the multitude of papers.

With a small, almost sad smile, you made your way over to Wilbur, placing a hand on his arm. “When’s the last time you slept?”

He shrugged, tired eyes switching from paper to paper. You frowned, and stood in between him and the desk, tilting his chin with your hand, making him look at you instead of his papers.

“What are you-?” He began, but you cut him off, pressing two fingers slightly against his lips. With a gentle push, he landed in his chair, hands gripping the arm rests as you gently settled yourself upon his lap.

“You need to take care of yourself hon,” You murmured, arms looping around his neck. “It’s not healthy to push yourself like this.”

Wilbur avoided your looks, face ridden with guilt. He knew how much you worried about him. “I’m sorry love. Is there anything I can do to make up for worrying you?”

You held his face in your hands, giving him a small kiss on the tip of his nose. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep. And spend a night with me. It’s been far too long since either of us have had a release.”

His checks lightly flushed with blush, hands quickly coming to your waist as he met your gaze. “I can do that. Suppose we could spend this night together?”

Heat rose in you, a smile forming on your lips. “I’d like that. Fortunately, I’m already dressed for it.”

Taking a small breathe, you untied the trench coat, revealing the lace lingerie you wore, along with a lace choker. “I got a little impatient with waiting.” You spoke sheepishly.

“You are,” He took a pause, drinking you in. “So absolutely beautiful darling.”

You smiled, ang gingerly slipped off his lap, dropping the trench coat on the ground as you walked over to the office door, closing and locking it. You didn’t want anyone disturbing you two.

Wilbur held his arms out as you made your way back over to him, sitting on his lap as his arms wrapped around your waist, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him in for a kiss. The kiss was full of hunger and love, both of you craving each other.

His fingers brushed against your underwear as he ran his hands up and down your waist, hungry to touch you. You pressed yourself flush against his chest, fingers threading through his hair. You could already feel how aroused you were, his touches making you melt into him.

You pulled back from the kiss, tongue flicking against his lips as you opened your eyes. Wilbur looked at you, tilting his head slightly. You leaned your head down, kissing his neck softly, causing him to shiver. Your tongue brushed against his skin as you bit and sucked, leaving marks all across his skin. His tender hands gripped your hips, squeezing hard enough to hurt, but you didn’t mind.

As you pulled back from his neck, a satisfying ‘pop’ noise being made, you felt something growing in your boyfriends pants, causing you to grind against his lap, hearing a breathy moan escape his lips. You bit your lip, looking him in the eyes as you continued to grind down on him. He began to melt under you, soft pants and moans passing through his lips.

“Darling I-” Wilbur shuddered under you, leaning into your shoulder.

Through his jeans you could feel him throb, he was close. You however were not ready for him to have his release. As he began to kiss and bite your shoulder, you stopped grinding, a mischievous grin forming on your lips. His hips bucked against yours, chasing any friction he could get.

“No no no, not yet.” You bit his earlobe softly. “You still need to pleasure me babe.”

Wilbur bit his lip, smothering a growl into your shoulder. He lifted you up, swiping off all the papers, then set you on the desk.

You laid back as he pulled down your underwear. Your heart beating loudly in your chest as he leaned down in his chair, his mouth quickly latching onto your already wet pussy. You let out a soft moan, hands gripping the desk as he went to work, his tongue flicking up and down on your clit.

Your back arched, hand quickly gripping his hair, pulling him closer to you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive skin as his tongue moved skillfully. Pleasure quickly rose, causing you to moan loudly.

“God,, Wilbur” You moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Your pretty mouth has such a way of pleasuring me.”

Your compliment lit a fire in him, causing him to slip a finger inside of you as he continued to stimulate with his tongue. The burning feeling in you tightened, causing you to wrap your legs around Wilbur, holding him in place as he brought you closer and closer to the sweet release you so craved.

With a strangled moan you came, Wilburs tongue lapping around you as your legs twitched, quickly becoming overstimulated. When he had finally pulled away, you sat up, panting heavily. His hands found your hips, gently helping you off the desk.

As your feet touched the ground, you reached for his belt, quickly undoing it, and tugged his pants down, the tent that had grown becoming a lot more free. You smirked slightly, and tugged down the waistband, letting him spring forth. Precum was already dripping from the tip.

You bit your lip, then crawled up onto his lap, positioning yourself over him. His lips found yours, encompassing you in a rough, needy kiss, before you slammed yourself down onto his lap, moans escaping both of you. His hands held you roughly, nails slightly digging into your skin. You gripped his hair, tugging him back slightly as you bounced, slick noises coming from each movement.

You smiled widely into him, finally getting what you so craved for so long. You were so come over with pleasure as you rode him, you could barely hear the knocking on the door. But Wilbur hand.

“Nhg, wait wait,” He whispered into the kiss, holding you from moving. You whined, tugging softly at his hair. “Someone’s at the door.”

“Wilbur? Are you in there?” It was Fundy.

“Y-yeah, I’m here.” He answered, trying to steady his voice.

“Could you open the door? I wanted to talk to you about some battle plans.” Fundy jiggled the handle.

You looked at Wilbur, tightening around him as you slowly moved up and down on his cock. You wanted to see how much you could tease the man as he spoke with his son.

Wilbur let out a small moan into your shoulder, giving a small glare as you smirked. “I’m actually um, doing something important right now. I-it would be better for you to come back later.” His voice stuttered as you licked his neck.

“Are you ok.? I know everything’s been hard, and you’ve been working your ass off. Y/n was talking to me about how worried they were about you. We’re all worried.” Fundy spoke, concern lacing his voice.

“I’m ok.” Wilbur looked at you, a small smile forming on his lips. “I’m going to take care of myself tonight, and spend some time out of the office. Let me finish this up, then I’ll go rest, yeah? We can talk more tomorrow.”

Fundy’s hand left the door. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As his footsteps faded, you pulled Wilbur in for a deep kiss, mumbling how much you loved him as your lips pressed against his. Wilbur mumbled back sorries and I love you’s, fingers lightly brushing over your buzzing skin.

You began bouncing once again, loving whispers filling your ears as moans bubbled up from your chest. Your chest brushed against his, your sensitive skin brushing against his soft sweater. Wilburs hands shifted from your hips to your thighs, thrusting gently, yet fast, chasing the contact with you.

“Wilbur,” You breathed out, moaning into his ear. “I want you to cum inside me. No pulling out this time.”

“But what about- what if you get pregnant?” His movements slowed, looking you in the eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m, ah, I won’t.” Your muscles began to twitch, getting awfully close to your second release.

“If you say so love.” He began to quicken his pace, biting your shoulder as his hips stuttered, slamming you down on his lap as he came. You twitched, moaning as you felt him fill you up, back arching.

As you came down from the cum high, Wilbur kissed you all over, whispering small ‘I love you’s’ as you leaned into him, gripping around his cock. Your chest heaved, your arms wrapped around his neck.

As you held onto him, not wanting to let go, he leaned down, grabbing the trench coat. “Love, I’ll carry you to our room, but you’ve got to put the coat on. I don’t want anyone to see your lovely body.”

You blushed softly, then kissed him softly, slipping the trench coat on. “You’re gonna have to walk down the halls with your dick in me. I’m not letting you go yet.”

Wilburs cheeks turned bright red, fingers drumming on your waist. You gave a cheeky smile, then wrapped your legs around his waist as he stood up, his arms holding you close to him. You loved this man so much.

#Wilbur #Wilbursoot #wilbur mcyt #c!wilbur #Smut #fanfic #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fanfic #wilbur soot fic #mcyt x reader #mcyt wilbur #smut fic #mcyt smut #this is just self indulgent #I literally have been writing only wilbur fics #Tangerine stained writing

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seijorhi · 5 years ago

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Outrunning Fate

As promised (though I am more than a little late for Shiratorizawa Week), the soulmate AU

Tendou x female reader x Ushijima

TW stalking, possessive behaviour, implied non-con

Soulmates were supposed to be a blessing.

It was a fairytale that you’d grown up hearing about. One person who was supposed to be wholly yours.

Your parents were soulmates, even if you hadn’t always understood the concept, the proof of that remarkable, unshakable bond was always right in front of you. It wasn’t in the big grand gestures, it was little things - the soft, adoring look in your father’s eye as your mother passed him his coffee every morning, the way she always sought out his touch when they were together, even if it was just to twine her fingers with his, or the way that they always seemed to be able to sense when the other was upset, and wordlessly found the perfect way to comfort them.

Your father never had to tell you that he loved your mother, but he did, every single day. He told her too, just to see her smile.

It seemed effortless, easy, as if their love for one another was as natural as breathing. How could you be blamed for looking at your bare wrist, waiting for the day that name would appear in scrawling black ink, feeling that excited fluttering in your chest because you knew one day you’d meet your soulmate and have that perfect, fairytale love all for yourself.

Except it wasn’t like that.

Something went wrong.

***

You’re fifteen and barely paying attention in class when your skin prickles uncomfortably. Your heart leaps into your chest as you tug up the sleeve off your blazer, watching wide eyed with bated breath as a name appears on your wrist.

Tendou Satori.

The beginnings of a smile start to curl at your lips, but it freezes in place as more inky black writing appears below the first.

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

A second name.

And suddenly, it feels like your perfectly crafted world begins to fall apart. Two soulmates aren’t unheard of, but they’re incredibly rare and you can’t deny that there’s a certain… stigma attached to it.

What kind of a person isn’t satisfied with just one?

This is supposed to be some magical, thrilling moment for you, but instead all you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the growing wave of nausea that rises in the back of your throat. Quickly you yank your sleeve back down and before you can even think to stutter an apology to your bewildered teacher, you’re out of your seat and sprinting down the hallway to the bathroom. You barely make it before hurling up your guts.

After that, you start wearing long sleeves wherever you go.

It’s not that you’re ashamed, you tell yourself as you bite your lip and try your utmost to fade into the background whenever the topic comes up in conversation, it’s just that… other people aren’t always so accepting.

You’ve tried to get used to the disgusted looks, the invasive questions and the insults that follow you wherever you go, but it’s easier said than done. You hate that your cheeks still burn scarlet whenever you catch someone staring at your marks, almost as much as you hate the way you quickly duck your head in shame and race to fix your sleeve.

‘It’s okay, honey. I know it’s not what you expected but… it just means there’s one more person out there waiting to love you with everything they have. You’re twice as lucky as the rest of us,’ your father had told you on that horrible day. You just wished it hadn’t sounded like he was trying to convince himself at the same time.

***

You’re seventeen and the first boy who kisses you tries to shove your hand down his pants because he knows you’ve got two names on your wrist, and that means you’re up for anything, right?

You run home with tears streaming down your face and when you shower that night you scrub at the marks like you’re trying to erase them entirely.

What did having two names mean really? That one wasn’t enough? Would they be content sharing you? Would they even know of the other’s existence?

You could only imagine how horrifying it would be for them, spending months, years waiting for you only to realise that they didn’t really have all of you…

Would they hate you? Could you even blame them if they did?

Sometimes… sometimes you think it might be better if you didn’t have a soulmate at all, instead of this. It’s easier just to ignore it, pretend they don’t exist, pretend that you’re not gonna ruin their lives. Who knows, maybe you’ll be one of those few who never actually meet their soulmates. You can live with that, you think. You have a family who love you, a bunch of close friends who’d die for you - who needs stupid soulmates?

***

It’s the morning after your 18th birthday, your head is still pounding from the alcohol and bad decisions from the night before when your curiosity finally gets the better of you. It’s the modern age, most people live their lives online, you figure you’ll find a facebook page, a twitter account maybe.

Instead, the first item that comes up in your search is a video. It’s a news segment about a volleyball game - some high school team that you’ve never heard of, but you listen to the commentator talk and your heart leaps into your throat because they mention the Ace by name and suddenly there he is. Tall, dark haired and imposing - Ushijima Wakatoshi.

But you don’t even have a moment to breathe, to focus on the absolute beast that is your second soulmate and his terrifying spike because the camera shifts and suddenly there’s another player in focus. Tall, gangly with bright, spiky red hair and a too-wide grin, “-not the only player in the spotlight after today’s match; Shiratorizawa’s middle blocker, the so called ‘Guess Monster’ Tendou Satori-”

You close the browser window and slam your laptop shut.

They’re… friends, or teammates at the very least.

It feels like a bad dream you can’t wake up from. This whole thing is already messy enough, but you can’t get in the middle of that, you refuse to make everything worse for them just because the fates have decided to play a cruel joke on you.

If there were any lingering doubt left in your mind that you’re better off burying your soulmates, they’re well and truly put to bed.

That night, you dream of a cheering crowd, the thwack of a volleyball ricocheting off a vinyl floor and two menacing figures looming over you.

With your final exams around the corner, it’s almost too easy to put the video and your soulmates out of your mind as you throw yourself into studying. Months pass in the blink of an eye and suddenly you’re dressed in black robes and holding your high school diploma. You celebrate with your friends, dancing wildly with a care-free grin long into the night because you know you’re finally getting out of there for good. Tokyo’s a big city, you’ll lose yourself there and nobody, not a single damned soul, will know about the two names that grace your wrist. It’s as close to freedom as you’re ever gonna get - and god that makes you so fucking happy.

Your bags are packed and you’re holding your parents as they sob and then, like that, you’re gone.

Tokyo awaits.

***

It’s not that easy to outrun fate.

Living in Tokyo ain’t cheap, even for the shitty little shoebox apartment you rent while you’re studying. You manage to find a job at one of the Americanised diner style cafes just down the road from where you live two weeks after moving in. It’s popular with students because it’s open till late, the coffee’s good and the waffles are exactly what the doctor ordered after a long night of drinking with your friends. You’re just happy because the pay’s pretty decent and your boss lets you bring in your laptop and textbooks so you can study when it’s not too busy. You’re not nearly as thrilled about the short, revealing blue dress that serves as your uniform, but you know when to pick your battles.

It’s a little after one o’clock on a slow Tuesday night, the cafe’s almost empty and you’re propped up on your elbows along the countertop, absentmindedly thumbing through one of your assigned readings for class tomorrow when you hear the tell-tale chime of the door opening.

You hastily shove your books aside, plastering a wide if not a little artificial smile across your face, you glance up to greet the customers, only to freeze in place.

Your heart skips a beat.

Of all the cafes in the sprawling city, of course your soulmate has to walk into this one.

With his wild, spiked red hair and easy, sloping grin, Tendou’s unmistakable as he strides through the cafe with two other guys you can only assume are his friends. You suppose you should be a little relieved that he barely spares you a glance as the threesome make a beeline for one of the corner booths, but it’s hard to feel anything other than blind panic at the sight of your soulmate only a few feet away. It’s purely out of habit that you reach for your wrist and the skin coloured bandage hiding your traitorous marks, and you allow yourself to breathe the tiniest sigh of relief when you feel it still in place.

A loud cackle bursts through the quiet atmosphere of the cafe and you dart a glance over to see Tendou with his head thrown back laughing at something one of the others has said. There’s an uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach and your cheeks redden just a touch. It’s not an awful sound (not at all), but your pulse is racing and you think you just might be sick because this is all… too much.

You’d left them in the past along with whatever fairytale fantasies you thought having a soulmate would bring. You… you’re happy being alone and coping just fine without either one of them! They were a dream - a distant possibility you’d long since locked away, you weren’t supposed to ever actually see them!

At least it’s only Tendou, you think you might actually combust if they were both here. Still, there’s a faint tremor in your hand as you brush a lock of hair out of your face and try to regain control of your breathing.

As much as you’d like to run, or preferably, have the earth suddenly open up and swallow you whole, you know you can’t. For one, you’re the only server left until close and your boss might be easy going but somehow you doubt he’d let you keep your job after a stunt like that. More importantly, you have a sinking suspicion that causing a fuss will only draw his attention and that’s the last thing you want. He doesn’t know who you are, your mark is safely tucked away under your bandages, this will be fine.

It’s an hour and a half until close, he and his friends will get some food, eat, drink and chat amongst themselves and then you can kick them out and it’ll all be over. You barely have to interact with him. For all he knows you’re just a server in a random cafe - this will be fine.

Robotically you force your legs to move, carrying you towards your oblivious soulmate. You’re pretty sure that your smile’s a little off and you haven’t quite managed to quell the shaking in your hands as you reach for your notepad, flipping it open.

It’s the best you can do, especially when there’s a voice inside your head that’s all but begging for you to turn around and pretend this whole thing never happened.

Tendou appears to be thoroughly engrossed in whatever story he’s telling his friends, waving his arms around wildly when you reach their table. Normally you’d clear your throat politely and wait for them to settle down before introducing yourself and asking for their order, but when you open your mouth - nothing comes out. It’s like your whole throat has suddenly dried up and you’re just standing there gaping like an idiot, but Tendou hasn’t even noticed.

The ashy blonde to his left, however, does. His eyes flicker to you and you swear that you can see the faintest trace of amusement as he takes you in. He smirks, quickly shoving an elbow into the redhead’s side and jerking his chin in your direction.

“Hey loudmouth, pipe down would you?”

Your breath catches as he turns around to look up at you and grins, “Ah, sorry. Didn’t see ya there!”

The other two have picked up their menus again, but for whatever reason just as Tendou’s gaze starts to slide off of you, something catches his attention and stops him in his tracks. Like a magpie spotting something shiny in the distance, those big, droopy red eyes suddenly widen and zero back in with unnerving interest. Frozen with that fake, half hearted smile painted across your lips you feel strangely like a bug caught under a microscope as Tendou studies you - there’s really no other way to describe it. His head tilts to the side and he makes a low noise from the back of his throat that almost sounds pleased.

He can’t know, there’s no possible way, but if he doesn’t then why the hell is he staring at you like that?

It’s all you can do to remain rooted in place, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs that you’re sure they have to be able to hear it too. Whatever he’s searching for he apparently finds because his grin widens and he leans back in his seat and chuckles. “Why’d you look so nervous, we’re not gonna bite - promise!”

The other guy at the table rolls his eyes, “Tendou, don’t scare the pretty waitress, she’s just trying to do her job,” he chastises, offering you an apologetic smile that does little to ease your nerves. “Don’t mind him, he’s an idiot, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

You swallow and hum in faint acknowledgment, and he takes that as a sign to begin his order.

You were hoping that they were just going to get some drinks and be out of your hair, but as he starts listing off various snacks and appetizers to share and the ashy blonde throws out a few more, it looks like your nightmare is only just beginning.

You nod dutifully, writing it all down. The cook is just going to love you for this, but there’s not a whole lot you can do about it. “Anything else?” you ask in a voice that just barely passes for what your boss deems ‘customer service appropriate’, decidedly not looking towards the redhead who is still staring at you.

He hasn’t looked at the menu once since you walked over, actually you doubt he’s looked at the menu at all, but it doesn’t seem to matter because he pipes up regardless, “Yep, one of those thickshakes, you know - the really good strawberry one, annnd-”

“Y/N, order up!!”

Your soul leaves your body at the exact same moment that Tendou’s pupils dilate and snap to your wrist.

The pen in your hand is shaking, your grip so tight that it’s a wonder the flimsy plastic doesn’t shatter as you turn to glance over your shoulder. The cook is leaning out across the overpass, staring at you with a scowl and vaguely you register the hot plate of food in front of him which can’t have been sitting there for more than a minute at the most. You give a weak nod, earning you a dismissive grunt in response, before turning back to the table.

All three of them are staring wide eyed and open mouthed at you.

Fuck.

They know. They have to know.

You should have legged it when you had the chance.

Breathe. Smile. Play dumb. This is fine.

“A-anything el-”

“Somethin’ wrong with your wrist?” Tendou asks slowly, eyeing the bandage like he wants nothing more than to snatch it up and rip it away from you. His fingers flex and you don’t even have time to brace before they’re shooting out towards you-

A hand catches his forearm before he can touch you - it’s his friend, the dark haired one with the crew cut, who’s currently staring down the erratic redhead with a distinct frown.

It’s the blonde who speaks up, “Sorry, he’s had a few drinks tonight. The idiot sometimes forgets his manners in public.”

The music is still playing in the background, somebody laughs at the table a few down from theirs, but in this little pocket, trapped between the three of them with the tension thick enough to slice with a knife, the silence is oppressive.

And then Tendou’s attention shifts back to you and your stomach flips - it’s like the floor has disappeared beneath your feet and you’re suddenly careening through the empty air with no hope in hell of slowing down.

He looks… well, mad is the wrong word. Tendou is technically smiling, but his grin stretched slightly too wide, his eyes a little too intense. There’s an emotion you can’t name etched across his pale features, and it’s unsettling… it scares you a little, if you’re being honest.

You swallow and take a tiny, shaking breath. “I-it’s fine. I tripped last week and sprained it.”

“Clumsy, are you?” he asks, prying himself free of his friend’s grip.

A laugh forces its way out, grating and too sharp to be believable. “Yeah, I guess. Your food won’t be too long, if you need anything else, just- just let me know.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond as you all but flee the table. You’re shaking and almost in tears by the time you reach the kitchen, the cook takes one look at you, a grumpy admonishment on the tip of his tongue, and falters.

They stay until close, and you avoid them like the plague.

Hours later, lying tucked up in your bed your skin still prickles from the thought of Tendou’s piercing stare. Maybe if you’d kept some kind of a level head through it all instead of acting like a flustered school girl, he might have just passed it all off as a coincidence.

But you hadn’t, had you?

It wasn’t just that he knew who you were to him (and to Ushijima) but that after all your blushing and stammering, the pitiful attempts at hiding your soulmate marks and the way you all but ran from him the very first moment you could, he had to know that you knew as well. That despite coming face to face with your soulmate, you lied - you rejected him.

You mom once told you that the first time she laid eyes on her soulmate the world stopped spinning and all she felt was joy. Maybe there’s something wrong with you after all, because despite the insistent tug in your heart, you just feel sick. Despite being exhausted after your long shift, sleep that night doesn’t come easy.

It’s two days later that you find yourself back in the cafe, working a rare day shift on your only week-days off from classes. You keep glancing up at the door every few minutes, half dreading the possibility that any moment, Tendou and his friends are going to walk in, but they don’t.

Ushijima does, a little after the lunch rush dies down.

He looks so out of place against the vibrant backdrop of the 50’s style diner, all serious and stoic, that if he were anybody else you might think he was lost.

But he isn’t lost, because he’s staring right at you.

You don’t notice one of your co-workers sliding up to you until they laugh and playfully nudge your side. “Ah, I see the eye candy is back. Try and pick up your jaw, Y/N,” they tease.

Back?

Instead of finding an empty table to sit himself down at (and give you a minute to mentally prepare) Ushijima is making his way straight over to the counter, unsmiling and huge. How was he even bigger in person?! He could crush you with his thighs alone!

“He’s been here before?” you ask quietly, unable to draw your gaze away from him.

Your co-worker snorts. “Yeah, he came in last night, he even asked for you by name. Seemed kinda disappointed when I told him you weren’t on until today. You holding out on me, Y/N? I thought we were closer than that. You know you’re supposed to tell me when you start dating a hot ass dude!”

They slip away with a wink before you even have a chance to respond and you’re left floundering as Ushijima approaches. Your mouth is dry, your pulse racing. Just like with Tendou, you have no escape, nowhere you can run or hide.

He asked for you by name.

Fuck. You should have quit when you had the chance.

Ushijima isn’t smiling. Where Tendou had been beaming with chaotic energy from the moment he walked in, your second soulmate seems almost stony as he stares at you with serious olive eyes. You honestly can’t tell if he’s frowning or if that’s just the way his face is, but it makes your gut twist regardless.

It might also be the fact that he’s towering over you without even trying to. He has to be at least 6’3” but it’s not just his height that’s imposing - he’s brawny and muscular and, yeah, huge. Briefly you remember the news clip you’d seen of him, the terrifying brute force behind his spike.

He seems to be waiting for you to speak, so you swallow down the lump in your throat and try to remember how to breathe like a normal person. “Hi, can I get you anything?”

Something briefly flickers across his face, but otherwise his expression remains distressingly neutral. “… I would like some tea.”

You nod - it’s like pulling teeth. “Yeah, sure. We uh, we actually have a few different kinds…”

He makes a rough noise of acknowledgement and then… pauses. Instead of the menu, Ushijima studies you. His lips twitch into the faintest hint of a… smile? You can’t quite tell, but it looks out of place regardless. “I will have whichever you recommend.”

You can’t seem to be able to form words, so you settle with nodding, gesturing for him to take a seat while he waits.

His eyes don’t shift from you, nor does he make any attempt to mask the fact that he’s staring right at you. When his tea is ready, you all but beg your co-worker to take it to him.

“Trouble in paradise?” they ask, waggling their eyebrows.

“It’s not like that,” you mutter, but they take the tea regardless, and you busy yourself in wiping down tables and pretending that you can’t see the scowl from the volleyball player burning across the diner.

It really isn’t.

Even after tucking any thought of meeting your soulmates away there was always some tiny part of you - a part you were always so desperate to ignore - that wondered how it would feel to meet them, to be loved by them…

But while your heart squeezes with every glance, it’s not warm, dizzying bliss that floods your system and sends blood rushing to your cheeks. You don’t know what the feeling is that curls in your stomach and claws its way up your spine, but it’s nothing good.

Something went wrong with you, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Ushijima stays for an hour, finishes his tea and makes his way back to the counter to pay.

He's wearing a grey hoodie, running gear underneath, and when he hands you the money, passing it directly into hands, his sleeve rides up. There, plain as day, is his soulmate mark.

Your name, written in black ink on Ushijima's wrist, forever marking you as his.

You jerk, flinching away from him, but he doesn’t make a move to cover it.

“You cannot run from us, Y/N. We are your soulmates, we’re bound together.” His voice is little more than a murmur, but there’s an edge to it, sharp and pointed. Not so much a statement as a fact, as undeniable as your name on his skin, on Tendou’s.

He says it like it’s a promise, staring into your eyes with that impenetrable gaze and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

“Why are you so determined to fight it?”

You swallow, taking the cash from his hand and punching it into the till. “I’m sorry, whoever you think I am…” you trail off, finally raising your eyes to meet his penetrating stare. You’re quietly proud of the way your voice doesn’t shake, even as your heart races like a hummingbird in your chest and your palms sweat. “I’m not.”

The only sign that Ushijima hears you at all is the subtle furrowing of his brow and a distinctly displeased hum from the back of his throat.

“I hope you enjoyed your tea.” The cutting barb slips from your lips before you can stop them, but there’s a certain vindictive satisfaction you get in watching his eyes widen, the brief hurt that flickers across his face.

Of course, it only lasts a fraction of a second before his features school into a blank mask and he nods.

“Perhaps I will try another the next time I see you.”

And with a short bow, he walks away.

You leave your apron behind when you finish your shift at the diner, and you don’t come back.

There will be other jobs.

***

It’s not enough.

They start showing around campus.

The first time you catch sight of Tendou, you’re running between classing, cursing the ridiculous schedule that has you attending two back to back lectures on opposite sides of the campus. It’s just a glance - a flicker of red in the corner of your eye. The only reason you stop at all is because you're so focused on not being late that you fail to see the crack in the path until you’re tripping over it. The books in your hand go flying as you sprawl across the pavement.

“Huh, you really weren’t kidding about being clumsy, were ya?”

A pale hand stretches out before you, and just like with Ushijima, Tendou doesn’t bother hiding the soulmate mark as he grins down at you with those wide, creepy eyes.

You ignore it entirely, waving it away as you pick yourself up with a grunt. The skin on one of your palms is grazed, and you’re pretty sure that your knees are too, but all in all it could be worse. It’s more your pride that smarts, that and the fact that of all people to see you trip, it has to be him.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby. I’m only try’na help you!”

You scowl, snatching your textbooks out of his offered hands. “I’m not your baby, Tendou,” you mutter.

You regret the words immediately. His grin slowly widens and he makes a sound, somewhere between a shudder and a moan - it’s almost pornogaphic and wholly inappropriate and it sends blood rushing to your cheeks, but you don’t have time to think about it.

“I’m already late, just-” you break off with a sigh, readjusting the strap of your backpack, staring resolutely at the ground. “I’m not what you want, what… what either of you want. Just leave me alone, okay?!”

Tendou doesn’t say a word as you walk away, but just like always you feel the burning stare following you until you’re out of sight.

Somewhat stupidly, you think that’ll be the end of it. The gloves are off - you might not have said it in as many words, but there’s no point denying it any longer. They are your soulmates and it doesn’t change a thing.

There is something wrong with your bond.

But they don’t see it like that.

They figure out your schedule, take it in turns to wait outside your classes, ambushing you whenever you’re alone.

“I have a game tomorrow,” Ushijima tells you on a rainy Thursday afternoon as he follows you home. “I would like for you to come.��

It doesn’t seem to bother him that you walk a few steps ahead (or try to at least - his legs are ridiculously long) with your head bent down, ignoring the steady rainfall that threatens to saturate you. Tendou usually fights for your attention, grabs at your hands, your waist, any part he can reach just to touch you, but Ushiwaka seems content to merely be near - so long as you stray too far.

“I have exams to study for.”

He hums noncommittally, “Tendou will be there.”

All the more reason not to go.

The silence between you two is heavy.

“It would make me… happy, if you came,” he tries again.

Your eyes squeeze shut for just a moment. You hate it when he does this, when he acts like you’re the one being stubborn. Like you haven’t told him, told them both to stop a thousand times before. Like they haven’t ignored it at every turn, blatantly refused to acknowledge that you don’t want them like they want you.

Shouldn’t ‘no’ have been enough?

You’ve considered reporting it to campus security, or even the police, maybe trying to get a restraining order or something like that, but what would you even say - ‘Please Officer, sir, my soulmates are stalking me’? Yeah, that’ll go down a real fucking treat.

“Why…” you trail off with a sigh, forcing yourself to stop walking.

This time he does reach for you, taking your hand in his. It’s warm and rough from years of volleyball and hard work, and you hate that it’s already so familiar. His expression is as stoic as ever, but there’s a quiet reverence in his eyes as he looks at you, as if he can’t quite believe you’re really there with him. You suppose in another light, it might almost look romantic, the two of you holding hands under his umbrella, lost in your own little world as the rain pours down around you.

He seems to be waiting for you to finish your thought, so you buck up whatever dregs of courage you still have and try again, “Why can’t you just… move on? I don’t want this- this thing, whatever it is between us.” You sigh, tugging your hand back, “I just want to be alone, why can’t you respect that?!”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, staring at you, his thumb rubbing back and forth along the back of your palm.

But then he shrugs, easily, as if you’re merely discussing the weather and not their continued overbearing and unwanted presence in your life. “We love you. More than anything, and despite your… reservations, we belong together, what other reason does there need to be?” He pauses, his gaze softening just a fraction, “You’ll come around eventually,” he adds.

A tiny part of you crumples at that. What’s the use in arguing with a brick wall?

***

It’s a minor relief when you walk out of your last lecture for the day the following afternoon. It might be because it’s a Friday and you, for once, have absolutely no plans for the weekend, but realistically it’s more to do with the fact that you know no one is waiting for you outside. Ushijima has his volleyball game, and Tendou will be there with him, cheering from the sidelines.

You should be happier, really, but there’s a pit in your stomach that’s been there since Ushijima left you at your door last night.

They’re not going to stop.

Instead of listening to the professor talk, you’ve spent the last three hours searching university transfers. You love Tokyo University, you love Tokyo - the big, bustling city you’d gladly lose yourself in again and again, but it can’t be your home, not when they’re here too.

There’s a University in Kyoto, it has a similar program to the one you’re already in. It’s a surprisingly easy process to change - your grades are decent enough, all you have to is apply. One simple click of a button. It’ll take a few weeks for it all to go through, which’ll give you enough time to figure out how you’re gonna upend your entire life without them realising - assuming of course that Kyoto university accepts the request.

If you soulmates won’t let you go, you’ll run, and you’ll keep running. Maybe you’re wrong, maybe one day you’ll look back at them and feel that same love for them that you’d seen in your parents instead of that black, cloying unease that twists at your guts, but so long as they don’t give the choice, what options do you have?

You’re not stupid, this… thing that they’re doing, the stalking, monopolising your time, trying to drive your friends away, it’s not the end game. What happens when they get tired of you ignoring them?

“Hey, Y/N wait up!”

For a moment your heart seizes, but it calms almost immediately when you realise the voice isn’t the one you’re afraid of.

You turn to find one of the guys from your last lecture walking over. He’s kinda cute, in a lost puppy kind of way, and he’s nice, for the three conversations you’ve actually had with him. Honestly you’re a little surprised he actually knows your name (considering you’ve definitely forgotten his) but you smile back regardless. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You doing anything tonight?”

Netflix and crashing early, but you’re hardly about to tell him that, “Not much, why?”

He smiles, and for a moment you’re taken aback by just how utterly endearing it is. He really is cute. “Me and a few friends are having a party tonight, you’re uh, you’re welcome to come. Y’know, if you’re not doing anything,” he says with a laugh, throwing in a wink for good measure.

But his smile fades a little as he catches a glimpse of something behind you. You frown at the odd reaction, turning instinctively to see what drew his attention when a weight drapes across your shoulders and you find yourself being pulled into a sideways embrace.

“There you are, baby! I was starting to think you’d gotten lost,” a familiar voice drawls. “Who’s your friend?”

You can’t see Tendou’s expression as he rests his chin on your shoulder, but from the way your classmate blanches you can imagine that it’s not pleasant. Still you have to give him credit, he only falters for a second before he’s rubbing the back of his neck and offering a sheepish smile, “Oh, hey, uh… yeah, I’m-”

“Punching a little above your weight, dont’cha think?” Tendou cuts him off with a snort, nuzzling in just a little closer. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he tilts his head to whisper in your ear, “I thought Ushiwaka told you about the game tonight.”

You shiver, although whether it’s from his softly edged words or the kiss he presses against your cheek, you’re not entirely sure. “He did, I-I told him that I had to study…”

Tendou laughs, squeezing you tighter, “Psh, is that all? Baby, we can help you study later. C’mon, or we’re gonna miss the start of the game.”

And like that he’s tugging you away. With Tendou’s arm wrapped snugly around you, you don’t even have a chance to turn around and apologise to the guy. He’s done it purposefully, a reminder you suppose of who you belong to - though for your classmate’s benefit or yours you honestly don’t know.

Ushijima’s already on the court by the time Tendou and you arrive at your seats (front row of course) but he glances over as you both settle down and his lips quirk into the faintest hint of a smile.

It would make me… happy, if you came, he’d said.

You don’t miss the razor sharp, anticipatory gleam in his eyes, though.

He destroys the competition. You still remember that brief clip you’d seen years ago of his brutal spike - it seems like time has only served to make it more lethal. The rest of his team is undeniably good, you doubt Ushijima would join a club made up of anything less than the best, but still, he’s in his element and without a single doubt the strongest on the court.

For every point he scores, Tendou cheers wildly. Halfway through the second set you can see that every player on the other side hates Ushijima - if the scowls and muttered snarls they’re shooting his way are anything to go by. You can’t exactly say you blame them for it either. They’re demoralised and angry, frustrated by the huge Ace and his indomitable force and even though he’s not a part of the team, Tendou revels in it. There’s a song he starts to sing, some inane jig that flows too naturally to have been made up on the spot. You can almost imagine him on the court beside Ushiwaka, singing it after stealing point after point from the other team. The two of them must have made a formidable team on the court.

They still do, you suppose.

You’ve never been one for volleyball, or sports in general, but even you can’t deny the sense of feral anticipation in the air as Ushijima steps up to serve on match point. Tendou has his hand wrapped tightly around yours, leaning forward in his seat to watch the spectacle. You can’t say you blame him.

You might hate him, but you can’t deny that his serves are a sight to behold. Your heart thumps as he throws the balls up, runs and launches himself into the air. His legs are arched, his form perfect and you still can’t quite believe how high he manages to get considering his size -

And then he hits the ball, palm slamming into the leather with a resounding smack - it flies over the net, damn near knocks the poor Libero off his feet as he tries to save it, but even that isn’t enough to stop it. The ball ricochets off his receive, spinning into the crowd and just like that - it’s all over.

Ushijima roars in victory, and Tendou turns to you, red eyes wild and delighted. You don’t have a moment to breathe, much less prepare yourself before his lips are crashing against your own.

The deafening cheers of the stadium fade out.

You can feel his racing pulse as he clutches you close, the unrepentant enthusiasm that pours through him as his tongue dances across your bottom lip, begging for entry. You’re stuck still, frozen in place as your soulmate steals his first kiss.

Somehow when you pictured this moment as a little girl, you didn’t imagine that it would be fear that floods your veins, that the soft, breathless laugh that Tendou gives as he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours would scare you instead of making you feel safe and loved.

They walk you home together. It’s unnerving enough with just one of them, but with both your soulmates flanking you you’re more on edge than usual.

Or maybe it’s the slightly weird energy you can sense between the two of them. Tendou hasn’t stopped grinning since he kissed you and Ushijima still seems a little wired from his win. He hasn’t said much since the three of you left the stadium, but he’s holding you closer than normal, an arm slung low across your back, his fingers brushing possessively along your hip.

God, Kyoto can’t happen fast enough.

There’s a lump in your throat as you reach your apartment. They’d offered to take you out for dinner after the game finished - to celebrate Ushiwaka’s crushing victory over ‘those poor assholes’ as Tendou had put it - but despite the pit of hunger in your stomach, you’d politely refused. The less time spent with them the better.

Surprisingly, both Tendou and Ushijima had taken it in stride without so much as a peep.

But now you’re at the front door, keys in hand and Ushijima still has his arm draped around you. It’s not like they haven’t been in this position before, but despite all their gentle cajoling (well, gentle is relative - Tendou whines petulantly and Ushijhima just seems to hover silently like an overgrown bat) they’ve never actually been inside your apartment.

It’s your one sanctuary, and you very much want to keep it that way.

“Y’know, ‘Toshi and I’ve been thinking,” Tendou begins, snatching the keys out of your hand before you can stop him, chuckling and swatting at you when you try and grab them back. “Me ‘n the big guy, we really do love you, baby - head over heels, heart racing, butterflies in your stomach kinda love. It’s kinda sappy, actually. You have no idea how happy you’ve made us.”

The key slides into the lock and he twists it, pushing your door wide open. His eyes flash to yours and he grins, bowing as he gestures towards the open apartment. Your open apartment.

An invitation.

You blanch. “Um, I-I don’t think-”

Stupid of you to think you ever had a choice in the matter - Ushijima’s arm is an iron wall against your back, pushing you forward as he crosses the threshold.

Tendou follows behind the two of you, and the click of the door shutting behind you echoes far too loudly in your small apartment. He tosses the keys into the little dish on the kitchen counter - where they always go when you’re at home - and winks at you.

“I mean we are your soulmates so I ‘spose it’s kind of a given.” He shrugs, leaning back against the countertop, folding his arms over his chest. “But we can’t help but notice that you seem a little… uneasy around us. And I get it, baby, really I do. You’re just a little shy - it’s cool.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as Ushijima’s fingers curl around your jaw and he tilts your face to the side to meet his intense stare, “You’re being unnecessarily stubborn,” he elaborates.

A flicker of amusement dances in Tendou’s eyes at his bluntness. “We tried it your way - taking it slow and steady, trying to ease you in but, well… I think we can all agree your way isn’t working all that great.”

Your eyes snap back to him, “What?”

His grin widens, “So we figured it’s time we try it our way. We’ve been so good, baby! D’ya have any idea how hard it’s been to hold ourselves back?”

Ushijima’s grip is unrelenting, but that doesn’t stop you from frantically trying to fight your way out of it as Tendou pushes off the counter and stalks over to the two of you.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, “Been waiting so long for this. Wanted to fuck you on the tables back in the diner in that cute lil’ uniform of yours.” He smirks down at you, his pupils blown wide and dripping with lust.

No. No, no, no! You shake your head frantically as he closes in, “Stop, wait! Let me go, LET ME GO! I-I don’t want-”

Your panicked words are cut off as Ushijima suddenly spins you around to face him. His hand cups your cheek, enveloping it entirely, and his broad thumb strokes the soft skin gently. “We’re not going to hurt you, little one. You just need to see - to feel what we feel for you.”

Whatever retort you have is swallowed up as he closes the gap between you and kisses you. He’s demanding - unrelenting - forcing your mouth open so that his tongue can taste yours. Distantly you register Tendou slotting in behind you, the unmistakable bulge that presses against your ass as he attaches himself to your neck. “Shh, baby,” he murmurs between kisses, fingers sliding to the hem of your top. “Let your soulmates take care of you, hm?”

It’s not like you’ve ever had a choice in the matter.

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