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flowersforbucky · 1 year ago

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bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i couldn't stop thinking about bucky being able to use his metal hand as a vibrator and therefore this was born.

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (female receiving), fingering, bucky being used as a human vibrator, multiple orgasms, language, consumption of alcohol, reader is afab, no use of y/n, slightly possessive bucky, 18+ only

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Natasha mutters through a mouth full of popcorn. “Tyler from the statistics department? Are we talking about the same Tyler from statistics?”

“Nat, for the fourth time, yes. Tyler from statistics. The only Tyler from statistics that I know.” You reach for the bottle of Moscato that the two of you are sharing, pouring yourself some more wine.

“Nuh-uh,” Natasha shakes her head. “I don't believe you. There's no way he could be that bad.” She takes a sip from her own glass of wine. “He's too gorgeous,” she shrugs, turning to face you on the couch. The romantic comedy you had picked out for your bi-monthly movie night plays forgotten in the background.

“Trust me,” you sigh. “I was just as shocked as you are. But I swear on my life, he stuck his tongue in my ear. In my fucking ear, but wouldn't go down on me.” You can tell by the look on her face that Nat is trying her hardest not to laugh.

“He said his dick game is ‘too good to need to eat a girl out’.” You shake your head, cringing at the memory. “Which is also what he said when I merely suggested that he use my vibrator on me instead. He looked like I had kicked his dog.”

“Well?” she asks, a pained expression across her features. “Was it? Too good?”

“I didn't stay to find out,” you admit. “I faked a work emergency and dipped.” A laugh breaks through her pursed lips.

“I'm sorry–” she says, although her face says otherwise. “I shouldn't laugh. You just have the worst luck with men. Isn't that the third failed hook-up in what? Six months?”

“Don't fucking remind me,” you groan, throwing your head back on the couch and staring up at the living room ceiling. “I think I've lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to me by another person again.”

Nat opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it when you both notice voices approaching from the hallway.

Sam and Bucky enter the room a moment later, both dressed uncharacteristically nice. You suddenly feel the desire to conceal yourself with the fleece throw blanket laying across your lap. You and Nat usually plan your movie nights for when the tower is relatively empty, so you're just wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a tank top. Bare-faced and hair unstyled, the fact that Bucky's gaze is locked on you as the two of them approach where you and Nat are lounging doesn't help. He's not smiling - but there's a look on his face that you don't quite understand. The ghost of a smirk on his lips and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

It's a look that makes you nervous - in addition to already feeling flutters in the pit of your stomach at how fucking good he looks.

“Hey, boys,” Nat greets them cheerily. “Where are the two of you going so dolled up?”

“There's a new nightclub in Brooklyn that a group of SHIELD trainees are going to tonight,” Sam answers. “They invited us and we've got nothing better to do. Figured we'd go check it out, get a few drinks. You ladies want to tag along? Or are you too busy watching - what is this, 10 Things I Hate About You?” He gestures towards the screen.

“Couldn't hurt to get out of the house for a while tonight, right?” Nat looks at you for confirmation, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Who knows, you might even meet someone,” she adds, nudging you with her elbow.

Bucky lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough, which he tries to play off as the latter. You narrow your eyes at him before glancing back to Natasha.

“For sure,” you agree, trying to ignore Bucky's bizarre behavior. “Couldn't hurt. You guys go on, we'll get ready and head there soon. Text us the name of the club?” You direct the last part to Sam in particular.

“You got it,” Sam says as he pulls his cell phone from his coat pocket. He turns to leave when both your and Nat’s phones chime with the club information. “Let's go man, our Uber's here,” he directs at Bucky.

“See you both soon,” he says before turning to follow Sam, though his gaze is still only on one of you.

“I'm gonna go throw on some make-up, curl my hair, and hope I can find something somewhat cute to–” Nat starts as soon as Bucky and Sam have turned back down the hallway.

“Was he acting kind of odd?” you interrupt her in a hushed tone.

“Barnes? Always. I've stopped reading into it too much.”

“Some spy you are,” you mumble. “Meet me back here when you're ready.”

— — — — —

One hour later, you're applying some last minute mascara and lip gloss in the backseat of an Uber on your way to downtown Brooklyn. Natasha sits beside you, ranting about an assignment that Fury has tasked her with and you swear you're trying your hardest to absorb everything she's saying - but your mind keeps going back to the way Bucky was looking at you just an hour ago.

What was with that little smirk? That curious glimmer in his eyes? Had he overheard your conversation with Nat? Had he developed the ability to read minds and knew you were thinking about how fucking hot he looked? Or was that thought simply written all over your face?

You knew you couldn't deny it. Bucky does look exceptionally attractive in his black suit, with his perfectly tousled hair - but you had found him to be ridiculously good looking since you'd first met him. Even in casual, everyday clothes, even in gym shorts and drenched in sweat, even covered in blood after particularly brutal miss–

“You girls have a great evening,” your Uber driver interrupts your train of thought as he comes to a stop in front of your destination.

You really need to get fucking laid. You definitely shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts about Bucky. He's your coworker, your teammate, your training partner on many occasions, your friend…

Natasha thanks him and hands him a generous cash tip before climbing out of the car right after you.

“Thanks,” you tell her. “I'll buy our drinks.”

“Don't worry about me,” she tells you with a sly grin as you both flash the bouncer your IDs and enter the club. Despite the night still being relatively young, it's already bustling inside.

“You just focus on meeting people, mingling, maybe hitting it off with a super hot guy and taking him back to your place for some mind-blowing–”

“Super hot guy? Are you talking about me?” Sam’s voice interrupts Nat. You both turn around to see him and Bucky walking towards you, drinks in hand.

There's a roguish smile on Bucky's face as his eyes skim up and down your figure.

“You both look wonderful,” he compliments, but once again, his stare is focused only on you. If Natasha notices, she says nothing.

To be fair, you were impressed with how well you managed to put yourself together with such little notice. You found a black, backless mini dress crammed in the back of your closet that you had forgotten all about after snagging it on clearance forever ago. The form-fitting material hugs you in all the right ways, and paired with your favorite pair of strappy black heels, you're feeling infinitely more confident than you were when Bucky saw you just an hour prior.

“Thanks!” You chirp quickly, averting your gaze from him to take in your surroundings. To your left, the dance floor is lively, though not too overcrowded for your liking. To your right, there's a bar surrounded by tables filled with groups of people conversing - you vaguely recognize a couple of SHIELD agents huddled around one. The entire room is illuminated by the faint blue-green glow of the mood lighting, and the bass of the music vibrates through the floorboards.

Sam and Bucky excuse themselves to go say hey to the group of agents that had invited them, while Nat all but drags you over to the bar. You order a double shot of whiskey and throw it back as quickly as you can.

“I see what you mean now,” Nat whispers to you after downing her shot of tequila. “About Barnes,” she clarifies. “He's been eye-fucking you since we walked through the door.”

If you hadn't already swallowed your liquor, you would have spewed it all over her.

“He has not been eye-fucking me, Nat,” you say in an almost scolding tone.

“I'm just saying,” she throws her hands up. “There’s no way he could possibly be any worse than the last few guys you've gone for. I think you should go for it,” she shrugs.

“It's not that I don't think he'd be good,” you say defensively, forcing yourself to look away from where he and Sam are socializing with the small group of SHIELD agents a few tables away. “I just don't want things to be weird afterwards. We work together nearly every day, and we have a bunch of mutual friends–”

“Suit yourself,” she cuts you off in a tone of voice that very much says if you say so. “Now, are you going to dance with me or not?” She adds as she begins tugging you towards the ever-busying dance floor.

You spend the next half hour dancing with Nat before she's swept away by some black-haired doctor looking type. Good for her, you think as you watch them converse intimately at a small booth on the other side of the room.

Thanks to the liquid courage that runs through your veins, you're okay with the fact that Bucky stands just twenty feet away from you, watching you as you dance among the thick crowd of people.

You've made eye contact with him a few times now - on accident or on purpose, you're not sure at this point. But each time, your eyes lingers on his for a moment longer than the last.

You're mentally daring him to come here, to make a move, to do something other than stand to the sidelines of whatever conversation Sam and the others are engaged in.

The slightest bit of pressure on your waist snaps you back to the now congested dance floor.

You look up to find that the hand on your waist belongs to a tall man with shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. He's conventionally attractive enough, though not who you were hoping would come grab you on the dance floor.

“I'm Shawn,” he introduces himself, loudly enough for you to hear him over the roaring music. You tell him your name, pushing aside the pang of disappointment in your chest.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter to talk, maybe? Let me buy you a drin–”

“There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you,” a voice booms from behind you.

Shawn immediately retracts his hand from your waist, backing up a few inches as Bucky comes into view beside you.

“Must not have been looking too hard, I've been right here this whole time,” you jab back with a smug smile.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to–” Shawn says as he starts to back away.

“No worries, bud,” Bucky says in an overly friendly voice as he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from Shawn's view entirely.

“Took you long enough,” you tell Bucky once the man is out of ear shot, once again beginning to sway to the music. “Get bored of listening to Sam hype himself up to the newbies?”

He takes a step closer, angling himself behind you. The crowd of people surrounding you edges you closer to him - your bare back brushing against the cool satin fabric of his suit.

“Maybe,” his chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks. He places his hands on either side of your hips - eliciting goosebumps across your skin in a way that no one else has in a long, long time.

“Or maybe I just wanted to save you from wasting your time on another guy who can't make you come.”

Your movements come to an abrupt pause as his words hit you.

He had fucking overheard your conversation with Natasha.

At a loss for words, you turn to face him. There's a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He thinks this is hilarious and it's obvious.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to eavesdrop?”

“Is it really eavesdropping if I have superhuman hearing?” He takes a step closer to you, closing what little distance was separating you. The peaks of your breasts brush against his chest.

“So what happens now that you've saved me from another unsatisfactory hook-up?” You challenge, staring up at him in the neon blue lighting.

You can smell hints of cedarwood and sage from his cologne in your close proximity. It's so delicious that it's dizzying.

“Let me take you somewhere more private than this dance floor and I'll show you.”

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in your ability to give me a better experience,” you say, leaning forward so that your face is just inches from his.

He responds by placing his flesh hand on the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. The tips of his fingers continue to dance down the skin of your exposed spine. His vibranium hand comes to cradle your jaw, his metal thumb tracing your bottom lip.

His mouth forms a dark smirk - and then you feel it. It starts soft and subtle and then gradually increases in intensity.

His fucking thumb is vibrating against your lip.

If you hadn't been standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a nightclub in downtown Brooklyn, you would have taken that thumb into your mouth and sucked on it right then and there.

“What do you say?” he asks, now tugging on your bottom lip with the pulsing digit. “Are you going to let me take you to the first empty room I can find in this place and make you come?”

“I say show me the way.”

He removes his hand from your face and turns you in the direction of the back of the club. He guides you through the throng of dancers, keeping his hands placed firmly on either side of your waist from behind. His vibranium fingers still hum softly, reminding you of what he says is to come.

Directly past the dance floor, there's a hallway blocked off by a rope with a sign that reads employees only. Taking a quick look around, you see that all of the patrons surrounding you and Bucky are paying you no mind. Bucky unhooks the flimsy rope and the two of you slip down the hallway.

He jiggles the handles of several doors that all turn out to be locked. Not wanting to waste any time or draw any attention to yourselves with picking locks, you continue down the dark corridor until the heavy music from the heart of the club fades to a muted roar.

The very last door opens without a hitch.

Thanks to the pale orange glow of a table lamp on a desk in the corner of the room, you can see that you're in a makeshift office/supply room - a couple of filing cabinets, cleaning supplies, extra glassware, and some sound equipment strewn haphazardly throughout the limited space.

Bucky clicks the lock into place as soon as he closes the door behind him.

You're going to turn around him and tell him that he doesn't have to do this - that as badly as you want this, you don't want to ruin your friendship, that as badly as you want him, he doesn't have anything to prove to you - but his lips are already on yours as soon as you start to open your mouth.

He doesn't take his lips off of yours as he guides you backwards to the rickety wooden desk. The backs of your thighs hit the table and Bucky effortlessly lifts you to sit on the edge, giving him the perfect angle to deepen the kiss - with his tongue exploring your mouth, you're unable to stop yourself from groaning into the kiss.

You fist your fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough so that he hisses into your mouth. His own hands trail from the sides of your stomach and down your thighs, until he reaches the tail of your dress. You instinctively part your legs for him, as much as the restrictive fabric will allow, and his vibranium hand shoots between your thighs.

He teases you, dragging his index finger along the cloth of your panties that you know you're close to soaking through already. Just as the tip of his finger pauses above your clit, his finger begins emitting the softest vibration.

You break the kiss, breathless as you throw your head back at the sensation. Bucky takes it as an opportunity to attach his lips to the pulse point of your throat, nipping your flesh with his teeth followed by a wet kiss.

He continues with the ministrations through your panties until you're rutting against his hand, needing more. He tugs your underwear to the side and increases the intensity of the vibration before nudging his middle finger past your entrance.

You have to hold onto his shoulders to steady yourself - despite the fact that you're sitting, your body feels like jelly beneath his touch. He adds in his index finger with ease before cupping your pussy in his palm - the heel of his hand pulsating against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you cry against his mouth.

“You're so fucking wet for me, you know that?” He coos, thrusting both of his fingers against the spongy-flesh of your walls.

You can feel the vibrations of his hand all the way from your belly to your toes.

You begin grinding your hips to meet the movement of his fingers, fucking yourself against his hand. There's a familiar knot forming in your lower belly as he curls his fingers inside you -

“I want you to think about me and how good I'm making you feel every time you think about letting some fuckin’ nobody touch you,” he says in a low voice next to your ear. “I want you to think about riding my fingers until you come all over my hand.”

His words send you over the edge and you do exactly that - your pussy clenching around his fingers as you ride them through your orgasm. While you're still coming down from the high of your climax, Bucky pulls his metal fingers out of you and brings them to your lips, inserting his index finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the slick metal as he brings the vibrations to a halt and then slowly pulls the finger from your mouth.

He picks you up off the edge of the desk and plants you back on the ground - your legs still shaking from how hard you had come.

“Turn around and lean over the desk,” he instructs you, soft but authoritative.

You don't know if it's because of the way he's looking at you or because of how good he's already made you feel, but in that moment, you would've done anything he asked of you.

You bend over the desk, supporting yourself by leaning on your forearms. You peak back over your shoulder to look at Bucky - he hikes your dress up, baring your ass to him.

He lets out an audible groan before he has even pulled your panties down to your ankles.

He kneels on the ground behind you, his face inches away from your cunt. He uses both his flesh and metal hands to spread you open for him, and then his tongue is licking up your center from behind.

God, you hope no one tries to come into this room. The door may be locked but the sounds that someone would hear if they even walked up to the door…

Bucky knows just how to make you writhe above him. He's soft when he's kissing up your folds and unsparing when he's sucking your clit between his lips. His hands hold your ass in a firm grasp that teeters between pleasure and pain.

You grind back against his face and he moans so deeply that you feel the vibration of it up your core. Your eyes roll back into your head as you clutch the sides of the desk to better support yourself.

His enthusiasm alone has you spiraling towards a second climax embarrassingly fast.

“You know,” he murmurs against your sensitive pussy. “When I overheard you say that someone had refused to go down on you, I couldn't believe it. What a fuckin idiot to pass this up.” He gives your ass cheek a firm slap with his flesh hand before diving his face between your legs once more.

It's just seconds before you feel the telltale pressure growing in your lower belly once more. You go limp against the table, Bucky placing his hands on the backs of your thighs to help keep you upright as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

You continue to lay against the desk as you regain control of your breathing. Bucky stands up, tugging your panties up your legs and back around your waist as he does. He then shimmies your dress back down into place so that you're once again looking club-appropriate.

When you turn around to face him, he's wiping your slick from his lower face on the sleeve of his suit, once again displaying a shit-eating grin.

“What was it you said?” He asks in mocking contemplation. “You had lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to you by another person again?”

“I think you've made your point. You're fantastic at eating pussy and you're a walking human-sex toy.” You roll your eyes at him and start to walk towards the door, but he grabs your wrist in his metal hand, stopping you.

He pulls you back to him and brings his flesh hand to cradle your jawline. He stares at you in a heavy, uncertain silence for a split second before bringing his lips to yours.

It's a kiss that's a bit more hesitant, and a lot less rushed than the one before. You taste yourself all over him, warm and salty. He takes his time getting lost in your mouth - you savor every second and it still comes to and end all too once.

“Couldn't help myself,” he smiles softly when he pulls away. “Just had to kiss you one last time.”

You can't help the way your heart skips a beat when he says the word last.

You clear your throat. “We should probably go find Sam and Natasha,” you say, giving him a small smile in return. “I'm sure they're both wondering where the hell we are.”

You spend the rest of the evening attempting to mingle with friends, but there's one thought that torments you for the remaining duration of the night - just a few hours ago, you doubted that you'd ever have a satisfactory hook-up ever again.

Now, you had to wonder if anyone else could ever make you feel as good as Bucky did.

♡♡♡♡♡

i left this kind of open-ended soooo leave it to your own interpretation what happens next for them 🤭

as always comments/reblogs are infinitely appreciated. thanks for reading!

my masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #my writing #flowersforbucky

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thedensworld · 2 months ago

Text

Queen From Wonhwa | J.Ww

Pairing: Commander Wonwoo x Princess Reader

Genre: Historical, Romance, Thriller

Word Count: 18k

Summary: The conflict between the royal family had dragged you to join an alliance with a fallen royal, who held personal vendetta to the Silla royal family.

Hwarang was established in the mid-6th century, comprising elite young men from noble families, the yangban class. Among them was Jeon Wonwoo, one of the finest combat trainers in the Silla Kingdom. As the appointed combat instructor, Wonwoo stood as the pillar of strength and discipline, entrusted with training the kingdom’s future warriors. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, followed the Crown Prince Seungcheol as he readied his sword for a swift strike in their ongoing training session.

"Good job, Seja," Wonwoo complimented, his voice steady as Seungcheol’s sword clashed against his, signaling the end of their practice.

The other royals, including Seungkwan, the young prince, and the Daegun—other princes like Dokyeom and Chan—were also in the midst of their training.

A sudden clatter interrupted the session. Chan dropped his wooden sword, eyes wide as he spotted someone at the entrance of the practice area. His excitement was palpable, and Dokyeom, equally enthusiastic, followed suit. The two rushed toward the figure standing at the gate.

"Sister!" Chan exclaimed, his voice full of wonder as he rushed into the woman’s arms, followed closely by Dokyeom, who was beaming with joy.

The woman—Princess Y/n, the fiancée of Jeon Wonwoo—had returned. Seungcheol watched the scene unfold with furrowed brows, his voice cutting through the air as he gave an order to the two princes.

“Daegun! Back to practice, we still have time left,” Seungcheol commanded firmly, though his eyes lingered on his sister.

He shook his head, his lips curling into a slight, bemused smile. "She's back."

Wonwoo, ever the soldier, remained still, eyes fixed on his trainees as Seungcheol spoke further.

"Wonhwa has dismissed. She has no reason to be away,” Seungcheol added, his tone casual but laden with underlying meaning. “Her supplies must have been all used up by now."

Wonwoo remained silent, his gaze never straying from the royal siblings. But his attention was divided now. The moment he spoke, his words were succinct and unwavering: "She's my fiancée."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Are the two of you actually going to get married?"

"As long as the bride doesn't run away again, maybe we will," Wonwoo replied, his voice deadpan, though there was an edge of humor in his eyes.

Seungcheol chuckled, clearly entertained. With a quick motion, Wonwoo redirected everyone's focus.

"Enough chatter," he called out, his voice strong and commanding. "Back to training. Let's keep the discipline."

With that, the royal family of Silla returned to their practice, the clashing swords and the disciplined rhythm of training filling the air once again, the tension of their personal lives hanging just beneath the surface.

As the training session came to an end, Chan immediately ran toward you, who had been watching from the sidelines. His enthusiasm was evident as he approached you with a wide smile.

"Are you going to live with us now that you're not training again, sister?" he asked eagerly, his eyes full of curiosity.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his straightforwardness. "How do you know?" you responded, your voice soft but with a hint of playful challenge.

Chan grinned, clearly pleased with his own knowledge. "I overheard the guards talking. They said Wonhwa was dismissed, and Hwarang is now only for men."

Wonhwa, the training program for women, had been designed to provide education in culture, politics, social etiquette, and combat skills. You had spent three years immersed in the rigorous program before it was dissolved due to internal conflicts. Hwarang, a military force for young men, had been formally established by your father, the King, after the dissolution of Wonhwa.

Before you could respond, Seungcheol, the Crown Prince, approached you. His eyes met yours, and the unspoken tension between you two seemed to charge the air. You gave a slight bow, acknowledging his presence, but the moment felt heavy, like a storm cloud hanging overhead.

"How are you, Ongju?" Seungcheol asked, his voice polite but carrying an edge of formality.

Your response was measured, your gaze steady. The tension between the two of you was palpable. It was no secret to those watching that Prince Seungcheol and Princess Y/n shared a cold, distant relationship.

There had long been rumors that King Seongdeok favored his daughter over the Crown Prince, despite you not being part of the direct succession line. This favoritism had fueled whispers of a strained relationship between Seungcheol and you, something that lingered in the corridors of the palace, even though neither of you ever spoke of it openly.

As the onlookers exchanged glances, the silence between the royal siblings felt like the calm before a storm. The past was never far behind you, and the weight of royal duty made every glance, every word, carry the burden of history.

"I see you're here for training as well, Seja." You spoke, your tone light but with an underlying sharpness, knowing well that Seungcheol had long passed the age for Hwarang training.

You glanced at Wonwoo, who had approached, his presence unmistakable. The way he carried himself, the badge on his shoulder—it was clear he was now the official trainer for Hwarang. His position made him more than just an observer in the training ground; he was the one who guided them.

"I heard you're skilled with the sword. Can we see you spar with Seja?" Seungkwan piped up, his voice filled with innocent excitement. As the younger brother, he seemed oblivious to the tension between you and his older sibling. You smiled in response, amused by his enthusiasm.

Taking the sword from Dokyeom, you turned your head towards Seungcheol, your expression one of quiet determination.

Wonwoo watched closely, noting the way you held the sword. The ease with which you gripped it, the focused calmness in your stance—your confidence spoke volumes. The rumors of your swordsmanship were true, but seeing it firsthand made them all the more impressive. You were a master in combat, and it wasn’t just the sword that made you formidable.

"I didn’t know they taught swordsmanship in Wonhwa," Seungcheol said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought they only taught you how to pour tea." His words, meant to sting, seemed to land right where he intended.

You felt the subtle jab, but your response came with a practiced smile, hiding the flicker of pain beneath it. "I understand, Seja," you replied, your voice tinged with calm authority. "Since you never received any training, I can hardly blame you for not knowing."

The tension hung thick between you two, but you did not let it show. With a swift movement, you raised your sword, eyes locked on Seungcheol, ready for whatever came next.

Wonwoo, standing to the side, couldn’t help but be entertained by the exchange. The subtle, yet clear animosity between you and Seungcheol was something he hadn’t missed. He found himself amused, watching the interaction unfold. Perhaps he should stay for the entertainment—if only to ensure neither of them ended up with a sword in the other’s chest.

"Princess Y/n, Commander Jeon is here," your lady-in-waiting announced, her voice barely above a whisper as the doors swung open. You swiftly adjusted your gown, ensuring it was draped elegantly around you, just before Wonwoo, the man you were set to marry in a matter of months, entered your chamber. The air between you both felt thick with unspoken words, and you could feel the weight of four years pressing down on your heart.

It had been four long years since you last saw him, back when you were preparing to join the Wonhwa training—a decision that had sparked a wave of change not just in your life, but across Silla. At 18, when most young women were expected to embrace marriage, you chose a different path. Your refusal to wed became more than a personal choice; it was a declaration that would resonate through the kingdom and challenge centuries of tradition.

As the only princess and the king's sole daughter, your rejection of marriage at the prescribed age marked a profound turning point for the women of Silla. Your words had ignited a shift in thought that could no longer be ignored: "Women have the right to serve their country just as men do, even after the age of marriage. For too long, marriage has hindered our service to the kingdom. If marriage requires the same devotion as military service, then let men bear the burden we have carried for so long."

Your declaration had not only shocked the court but also forced a reassessment of laws that had been in place for generations, forcing many to reconsider the boundaries of gender roles in Silla.

"How has the military been treating you, Princess?" Wonwoo asked, his voice steady and respectful, yet carrying an undertone of genuine curiosity.

You raised a brow, surprised by his question. "And you, Commander? How have you been?" you replied, your tone remaining neutral. You gestured for your attendants to leave, signaling that this conversation would be more private.

Once the room was clear, Wonwoo met your gaze and spoke again. "If I may ask, how are you, Princess?" His voice was measured now, careful, as if testing the waters.

You exhaled softly, taking a moment to consider his question. "The military is... challenging," you said, the words coming out slowly, as you weighed their significance. "Wonhwa was an education for militant women. Now, I find myself... reduced to a figurehead in a world of men." Your tone remained calm, but the weight of the words was heavy.

"Yet, you are the only woman in history to have changed the laws," Wonwoo remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice. "The marriage age, the limits on women's education and careers—all of these restrictions were lifted because of you."

You gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. "Perhaps," you replied. "But it was only because my father is the king." The acknowledgment of your role in the changes didn’t sit easily with you.

Wonwoo smiled faintly, almost as if understanding that the title of "Princess" did not define you. "And yet, Princess, you stand as a symbol of defiance and progress."

You felt a slight warmth at his words, but quickly masked it with a more guarded expression. "What brings you here, Commander?" you asked, your tone shifting to something more formal, as the conversation inevitably turned toward your future.

He studied you for a moment before replying. "May I not visit my soon-to-be wife?" His words were careful, though the undertone of them hung in the air, too charged for comfort.

Your expression faltered for a brief second before you regained composure. "Enough, Commander. You know this marriage will not happen." You dismissed his words with a wave of your hand, but inside, a part of you was unsettled.

He held your gaze, quiet for a moment, before speaking again. "You said that four years ago, Princess, and yet here we are, only months away from the wedding."

You let out a quiet sigh, the weight of the truth pressing in. "I am not the same person you knew," you murmured, your voice softer than before, laced with something more vulnerable.

Wonwoo paused, his expression softening as he took in your words. "Perhaps, Princess. But I never truly knew you." The words hung in the air, a quiet confession that carried more meaning than either of you realized.

It was the truth, you thought. No one had ever truly known you—not your father, not your mother, and certainly not him. You were merely a title, a pawn in a game too complex to fully understand. And perhaps, in this moment, that was the one thing you shared—an unspoken acknowledgment of the distance between who you were and who the world expected you to be.

You first got to know Wonwoo during your first solo trip to Hanju Province at the age of 18. It had been an act of defiance, a way to escape the suffocating expectations placed upon you. Your father, the king, had sent him to find you after your previous lady-in-waiting reported your disappearance. At that time, you believed no one would bother looking for you; after all, you were merely the daughter of the king's concubine, not his legitimate wife. But your assumptions were proven wrong when you came face to face with a familiar figure—a military soldier who had taught all your brothers sword-fighting, archery, and martial arts. He stood before you, unwavering, claiming that the kingdom had been searching for you.

"You know that being my husband will be difficult, right?" you asked, your voice laced with jest, though you already knew the marriage would never happen. You had your own plans—plans that involved running away long before the wedding day arrived.

Wonwoo nodded, his expression unreadable. "I realized that. But being married to someone else, someone other than you, would be even harder." His words caught you off guard, a blush creeping up your neck as you turned your face away in feigned indifference.

You shook your head, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "If position is what you're seeking, Commander Jeon, then you should reconsider. I'm just the daughter of a concubine, not a princess worthy of a powerful alliance."

Wonwoo’s smile remained, softening as he gazed at you with a mixture of admiration and something deeper—something unspoken. He knew better than to believe the narrative you spun. "A concubine's child who plans to run away at midnight on your wedding night, with a horse waiting to carry you to Myeongju, and then cross into Japan? You know you're more than that, Princess."

Your eyes widened in shock, your carefully laid escape plan revealed before you could even act on it. Wonwoo chuckled lightly at your taken aback expression, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "You forget, Ongju, I developed the military strategy of Silla—the same strategy you’ve mastered in your training. You thought I wouldn't notice? I might have misunderstood your heart, but I know how your mind works."

Misunderstood your heart, huh?

You crossed your arms defensively, challenging him with a raised brow. "Then tell me, what's the real reason, Commander Jeon? Maybe I’ll reconsider my little escapade, after all."

There it was again, the challenge in your tone. The same defiance that had always marked you, the same sharp wit that never let anyone underestimate you. And though his gaze softened, there was a glint of determination in his eyes—he wouldn’t back down so easily.

Days later, Wonwoo was resting at his residence, savoring a rare moment of peace, when a commotion outside his chambers shattered the stillness. Moments later, his servant entered, bowing deeply as they announced your unexpected visit at an unseemly late hour. Wonwoo's brow furrowed in confusion.

"At this hour?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His tone carried a note of alarm. "Is she alone, or has someone accompanied her?"

"She is alone, Commander," the servant replied hesitantly. "There were no guards with her."

Wonwoo's unease deepened. His residence was far from the palace—a treacherous journey, especially for someone unguarded at night. A flicker of dread crossed his face as he signaled for you to be let in. As you entered the room, Wonwoo's sharp eyes immediately noticed your red-rimmed eyes and the faint trembling of your frame.

Without a word, he dismissed everyone, his voice steady but firm. As the doors closed, you stood before him, your composure cracking beneath the weight of your grief. Wonwoo crossed the room swiftly, his hand instinctively resting on your arm, his voice low and gentle.

"What’s happened?" he asked, though his words faltered when he heard the sound of your muffled sobs. Without hesitation, he pulled you into an embrace, his arms a safe haven against the storm you carried.

You pulled away after a moment, wiping your face, your voice barely above a whisper. "My mother..." you began, struggling to maintain your composure. "The queen poisoned her... and the king is blind to it."

Wonwoo froze, your words slicing through the silence like a blade. His expression darkened as the gravity of your revelation sank in.

"The queen?" he mumbled in disbelief, his voice taut with restrained anger.

You nodded, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "She accused my mother of black magic... as an excuse to kill her. It's nothing but a fabricated crime to justify her hatred."

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

"What about Chan?" Wonwoo asked after a moment, his concern shifting to your younger brother, whom he knew you cherished deeply.

"I left him under Prince Jisoo’s care," you replied, naming your stepbrother, Dokyeom’s elder brother. "I trust him to ensure Chan’s safety."

The two of you arrived at the concubine's residence, where your mother had lived. Wonwoo stood still, his gaze fixed on the grim scene before him. Guards carried your mother’s lifeless body out of the residence while palace staff meticulously inspected her chambers. The air was thick with whispers and accusations, all revolving around one word: black magic. It was the alleged cause of your mother's death, a stain on her name that spread like wildfire.

“It’s the queen! I know it must be her, Commander Jeon!” you had cried earlier in his residence, your voice cracking with grief and rage. You had witnessed your mother’s final moments—her collapse following a refreshment you suspected had been sent by the queen.

Wonwoo’s voice was steady but low as he asked, “What reason would the queen have?”

You bit your trembling lip before replying, “She feels threatened by me.”

Wonwoo glanced back at the scene, his jaw tightening as inspectors began removing items from your mother’s chambers. Among them were forbidden objects—items associated with the practice of black magic. These, they claimed, were evidence of her guilt. The murmurs around you grew louder, but Wonwoo’s resolve was firm. He believed you. He had met your mother on several occasions; she was a woman of grace and dignity, not one who would consort with dark practices.

“Exile,” you said, your voice hollow yet resolute. “She wants me exiled. This was her plan all along.”

The weight of your words settled heavily on him. To him, it felt like a game of politics played with the highest stakes—your life. And now, with your mother’s death, it seemed as though the queen's schemes were nearing completion.

The rumors spread swiftly, infiltrating every corner of the palace. Servants whispered about the daughter of a supposed black magic practitioner, speculating that you might share her guilt. The court’s whispers had turned into accusations.

Wonwoo found himself standing behind the ministers during an emergency meeting in the throne room. The tension in the air was palpable as the king presided over the gathering. Everyone of importance was present—prime ministers, the chief of palace staff, and even Buddhist elders summoned to weigh in on the grave situation.

“She has been a rebellious royal from the start,” one minister began, his voice laced with disdain.

“She defied the royal decree by refusing marriage at the age of coming and choosing instead to join the military program for women,” another added.

“She has shown clear disdain for her fiancé, Commander Jeon,” someone else chimed in, their tone accusatory.

“Your Highness,” one of the Buddhist elders spoke gravely, “we believe that the princess’s behavior is a direct result of black magic’s influence.”

The king’s grip on his armrest tightened, his knuckles whitening as his patience wore thin. The audacity of these men to speak ill of his only daughter, here in his court, was more than he could tolerate.

“Are you implying,” the king thundered, rising from his seat, “that my daughter’s bravery, her accomplishments, and her vision for this kingdom are nothing but the result of sorcery?” His voice echoed through the hall, silencing the murmurs. “How dare you! How dare you call my daughter a witch!”

The room fell deathly silent, save for the sound of the king slamming his fist against his chair. His fury was a tempest, swirling around the court as everyone lowered their heads in fear.

“No one is permitted to utter another word about this case until the truth is uncovered,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “If I hear even a whisper of this outside these walls, whoever is responsible will face the full weight of my wrath. Do I make myself clear?”

The ministers and officials nodded hastily, their faces pale.

“Dismissed!” the king barked, waving his hand sharply. The room quickly emptied, but the tension lingered like an unshakable shadow.

Unexpectedly, Wonwoo was summoned to the king's residence. The air was thick with an unspoken urgency as he entered the grand room. The king, seated at the center, waved his hand, silently commanding the attendants to leave. Within moments, the two of them were alone, the heavy silence punctuated only by the crackle of the brazier.

“Commander Jeon,” the king began, his voice steady but laden with sorrow. “I want you to lead an investigation, alongside the Hwarang.”

Wonwoo stiffened, his military training keeping his emotions in check as he absorbed the weight of the order.

“I want this case resolved, and the truth revealed. I cannot accept what has happened, nor can I let the lies about black magic tarnish her memory,” the king continued, setting his cup of tea down with a trembling hand. His face, though stoic, betrayed the grief he felt.

Wonwoo watched as the king’s gaze grew distant, as if the memories of the past had taken hold of him. He knew this wasn’t just about palace politics—this was personal.

“When she was born,” the king said softly, almost to himself, “I threw a grand feast. I was ecstatic to have a daughter—a daughter born of the woman I loved more than anything in this world.” His voice faltered, and he drew a shaky breath. “Y/n has always reminded me of her. And now…” He trailed off, the weight of your mother’s death hanging heavily in the room.

The king looked directly at Wonwoo, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I cannot let harm come to Y/n. She is the only piece of her I have left. She is just like her mother—courageous, kind, and unyielding.”

Wonwoo felt his throat tighten. The king’s words revealed a vulnerability he had never witnessed before—a father mourning not only the loss of a woman he cherished but also fearing for the safety of the daughter she left behind.

“I will find the truth, Your Majesty,” Wonwoo said, his voice firm with determination. “I will not let any harm come to the princess.”

The king nodded, his expression hardening into resolve. “Good. I trust you, Commander Jeon. Ensure that this investigation uncovers the truth, no matter how deeply it is buried. And keep Y/n safe. If anything were to happen to her…” His voice broke, and he did not finish the thought, but the weight of his unspoken words was clear.

Wonwoo bowed deeply. “You have my word, Your Majesty.”

As he straightened, he caught the king’s gaze once more—a silent plea in the eyes of a father clinging to the last thread of his love.

"I know your deep desire, Princess Y/n." Wonwoo's words during his last visit echoed relentlessly in your mind. What did he mean by "deep desire"? His words seemed layered, carrying a depth you couldn’t immediately decipher. How did your desires intertwine with his plans? And why did they serve as the foundation for the marriage the two of you were destined to have?

"Join an alliance with me, and I’ll help you," he had said.

You were still pondering his intentions when your lady-in-waiting entered your room hurriedly. "The king wishes to see you, Ongju," she announced.

Without delay, you made your way to the king’s residence. As your presence was announced, you stepped into his private quarters. The room smelled faintly of ink and sandalwood. Your father sat at his desk, penning a poem while one of his attendants poured tea for both of you.

You bowed deeply, standing before him.

“Sit, my daughter,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.

The air felt heavy with unspoken emotions as you took your place.

“I am as shaken as you are by what has happened, Ongju,” the king began, his tone somber but steady. “But as the ruler of this kingdom, I must be fair and just.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“I have ordered an investigation into your mother’s alleged association with black magic,” he continued, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction.

You clenched your fists under the table and took a deep breath. “I swear on my life, Your Highness, my mother was not involved in such practices.”

The king set down his brush, his face lined with fatigue. “I can only speak after the investigation yields its results. In the meantime, I need you to stay low and avoid any actions that may draw unnecessary attention. This case involves you as well, and I want no further harm to come to you.”

His words were well-meaning, but they did little to quell the storm within you.

“And,” he added, “your marriage is approaching. I expect you to prepare yourself for it.”

You felt a pang of disbelief. Your mother had just died, and yet your father still clung to the idea of your marriage as if it were the only thing tethering your future to safety.

“I refuse this marriage,” you said softly but firmly, your voice carrying a note of defiance.

The king’s movements froze, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You can’t refuse, Ongju. If you do, the court will turn its judgmental gaze upon you, and rumors will spread. You must consider your reputation.”

“What reputation, Your Highness?” you countered, your voice trembling with frustration. “I am merely the daughter of a concubine. My presence holds no real weight in this palace.”

The king’s expression softened, though his resolve remained. “Is it Commander Jeon you do not like? I can find another suitor if that’s the issue.”

You shook your head, bowing respectfully. “It is not about Commander Jeon or anyone else. I simply do not believe marriage will bring me happiness.”

For the first time, your father’s expression shifted into something you hadn’t seen before—an almost pleading vulnerability. “You are my only daughter, Ongju,” he said quietly. “Tell me, what would make you happy?”

The room fell into silence, the question lingering in the air. You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because, deep down, happiness wasn’t something you were focused on. Your mind was preoccupied with fear—fear of the queen, fear for your brother Chan, fear of the same fate that had befallen your mother.

After a long pause, you blurted out, “A sword.”

The king blinked, surprised. “A sword?”

You nodded, regaining some composure. “A strong, sharp, and powerful sword. That’s all I need.”

A faint smile touched the king’s lips. “I’ve heard of your mastery with the sword during your time in the Wonhwa. If the group hadn’t been disbanded due to internal strife, you might have been a leader among them.”

Your heart stilled at his words. Did he truly believe that? Had your father ever said something similar about Seungcheol, the crown prince?

The question clawed at you, especially since Jisoo had recently confided something that echoed in your mind. “Seungcheol can’t fight with a sword,” Jisoo had said. “He’s not the one you need to worry about. He doesn’t have the strength. But the queen…”

Jisoo had gripped your shoulder that day, his voice lowering to a grave tone. “The queen will do anything to secure his throne. Anything—including what happened to your mother.”

Jisoo’s words haunted you now as your father spoke. “You have great potential, Ongju. Many believe you could one day lead, even without being in the line of succession.”

The weight of those words pressed down on you, but they did nothing to ease your fear. The queen—her ambition, her cunning—was the true danger. She would stop at nothing, and you knew it.

“Stay vigilant, my daughter,” the king said, his tone gentle but firm.

But vigilance wasn’t enough. Your heart thudded in your chest as one thought consumed you: Was the deep desire Wonwoo was implying truly this feeling? This burning, unspoken ambition that lingered in the shadows of your heart—the desire to rule the kingdom?

You sat by the window of your chambers, the pale moonlight casting long shadows across the room. Wonwoo’s words lingered, ambiguous yet purposeful.

"Join an alliance with me, and I’ll help you."

What alliance? Help you with what? Did he mean to protect you from the queen or guide you toward something greater?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a faint knock at the door.

“Ongju,” your lady-in-waiting whispered, “Commander Jeon has sent a message. He requests your presence in the gardens.”

You hesitated, your heart beating faster. It wasn’t unusual for Wonwoo to seek you out, but tonight felt different. There was a weight to his recent words, a significance that you couldn’t shake.

Rising from your seat, you made your way to the gardens. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and damp earth. Wonwoo stood under a lantern’s glow, his figure tall and commanding.

“Commander,” you greeted, your voice steady despite the questions swirling in your mind.

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “Princess Y/n,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of formality and something more personal.

There was a moment of silence, charged with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours.

“Do you understand now?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Your breath caught. “Understand what?”

“The deep desire I spoke of,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not just ambition, Ongju. It’s purpose. A purpose only you can fulfill.”

You stared at him, his words striking a chord deep within you. Purpose. The word felt heavier than ambition, more profound. Purpose wasn’t just about power or ruling; it was about responsibility, about rising to meet the challenges that others could not.

“Why do you believe in me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

Wonwoo’s lips curved into the faintest smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I’ve seen what you’re capable of. And because I know that without you, this kingdom has no future.”

His words were both a compliment and a burden, wrapping around you like a cloak you weren’t sure you were ready to wear.

“Do you think this is what I want?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, his tone was steady. “It’s not about what you want, Princess. It’s about what the kingdom needs.”

And with that, he bowed slightly and stepped back into the shadows, leaving you alone under the moonlit sky with the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest.

The queen’s private chamber was dimly lit, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Crown Prince Seungcheol sat across from the queen, his hands clasped tightly together, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain. The queen watched him intently, her sharp eyes missing nothing as she delicately sipped her tea.

“You seem restless, my son,” the queen began, her voice smooth yet probing. “A ruler cannot afford to show unease, especially in these turbulent times.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “I am aware, Mother. I simply... I find myself questioning—” He stopped short, unsure whether to reveal the vulnerability gnawing at him.

“Questioning what?” The queen set her cup down, leaning forward with a calculated softness. “Speak plainly.”

He hesitated, then exhaled deeply. “Am I truly ready to rule, Mother? I have been trained for this my entire life, but I cannot shake the feeling that I lack the strength or the decisiveness required. Father’s shadow looms large over me... and the court whispers about my shortcomings.”

The queen’s expression hardened slightly, though her voice remained calm. “Who dares to whisper such things? You are the crown prince, the future king. Your authority is not to be questioned.”

“But they do,” Seungcheol countered, his tone edged with frustration. “They compare me to Y/n, of all people. They say she possesses the qualities of a ruler—courage, intelligence, and the ability to command respect. Even Father...” His voice faltered, and he looked away, ashamed to meet her eyes.

The queen’s gaze sharpened at the mention of you, her expression unreadable. She stood and moved to stand behind Seungcheol, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Your father is a sentimental man. He lets emotions cloud his judgment, especially when it comes to that girl and her late mother.”

Seungcheol’s fists clenched. “But what if they are right? What if I am not enough to uphold Silla’s legacy? I have no skill with the sword, no military prowess like Y/n or Commander Jeon. How can I inspire loyalty in the people when I doubt myself?”

The queen’s grip on his shoulder tightened, her voice dropping to a firm whisper. “Listen to me, Seungcheol. Leadership is not about swinging a sword or marching into battle. It is about strategy, control, and ensuring that power remains where it belongs—within our family. Do not let the court’s foolish admiration for Y/n distract you. She is a threat, not an ally. And as for your father, he is blind to what must be done.”

Seungcheol glanced up at her, his insecurity mingling with confusion. “What must be done?”

The queen leaned closer, her voice a venomous whisper. “You must solidify your position as the rightful heir. That means eliminating anything—or anyone—that stands in your way. Trust me, my son, I will guide you. Together, we will secure your future.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as Seungcheol absorbed her words. His mother’s unwavering confidence in him was both reassuring and suffocating. Deep down, the doubts still lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But for now, he nodded, letting the queen’s words anchor him.

“Thank you, Mother. I will do what is necessary,” he said, though the conviction in his voice wavered ever so slightly.

The queen smiled, a triumphant gleam in her eyes as she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Good. Remember, Seungcheol, weakness has no place on the throne. You were born to rule, and I will ensure that you do.”

As the crown prince left the chamber, his heart felt heavy. The weight of the crown seemed more daunting than ever, and in the deepest corners of his mind, the question still lingered: Am I truly enough?

"Seja..." Seungcheol slightly inclined his head toward Wonwoo, who stepped aside to make way for the crown prince. The pathway was dimly lit, the faint flicker of torches casting long shadows on the park. Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on the commander, curiosity simmering beneath his composed exterior.

“It’s rather late to visit the palace at this hour, Commander Jeon,” Seungcheol remarked, his tone measured but laced with subtle inquiry. His words hung in the air as his eyes shifted to the figure standing quietly behind Wonwoo.

You.

The two of you locked eyes, a brief but charged moment that didn’t escape Seungcheol’s notice. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something—resentment, perhaps, or something deeper and more convoluted.

“Ongju...” Seungcheol acknowledged your presence with a slight nod, the formality of his gesture betraying none of his inner turmoil.

You bowed respectfully. “Seja.”

“I offer my condolences for your mother’s passing,” he said, his voice softer now, though it carried the weight of protocol more than sincerity.

“Thank you, Seja,” you replied, your voice steady but laced with the exhaustion of grief.

Seungcheol’s gaze shifted between you and Wonwoo, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he observed the unspoken tension between the two of you. There was something in the way you stood—close, but not too close—that unsettled him. Something he couldn’t quite place but disliked nonetheless.

Clearing his throat, he straightened. “Ongju, I wish for you to maintain a low profile during the investigation,” he said, his tone edged with authority. “This is for your sake, as your brother.”

A beat passed before he added, “And also for the sake of your late mother.”

Your lips parted, but no response came. The weight of his words, or perhaps the weight of the circumstances, seemed to anchor you in place.

Seungcheol watched you for a moment longer, his chest tightening as he took in your expression—guarded, resilient, and yet fragile in a way that made him want to look away.

Jealousy stirred within him, raw and bitter. He hated himself for feeling it, but there it was. You, the daughter of a concubine, the half-sibling he’d never quite known how to regard, commanded attention in a way he never could. You bore the strength of a warrior, the sharpness of a strategist, and the charisma of a leader. And though he was the crown prince—the one destined to rule—he couldn’t ignore the whispers that dared to compare him to you.

“Ongju, remember,” he said, his voice tight as he forced his emotions down, “your actions reflect on the royal family. Do not give them more reasons to talk.”

With that, he nodded once more and turned to leave, his steps brisk as if eager to escape the suffocating air of his own insecurities.

Behind him, you and Wonwoo stood in silence. If Seungcheol had glanced back, he might have seen the fleeting look of determination in your eyes or the way Wonwoo’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he glanced at you.

But Seungcheol didn’t look back. He couldn’t bear to. The jealousy and doubt simmering within him were enough to carry him through the long, lonely walk back to his residence.

"First, we need to ensure Chan’s safety. He shouldn’t be anywhere near the Queen’s reach. I’ll have one of my most trusted Hwarang escort him to a safe location—somewhere even her spies wouldn’t think to look."

The day Chan was sent away was one of the hardest you’d ever faced. Watching your little brother climb into the carriage with a Hwarang soldier by his side, you struggled to hold back tears. His wide, innocent eyes looked up at you, confused yet trusting. He didn’t understand why he had to leave, why he couldn’t stay with you. You knelt in front of him, smoothing his hair and forcing a smile onto your face.

"Be good, Chan," you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. "This isn’t forever. I’ll come for you soon, I promise."

"Why can’t you come with me, Nuna?" he asked softly, his small hands clutching at your sleeves.

Your heart shattered, but you managed to keep your composure. "Because I have to stay here and make sure everything is safe for you. But don’t worry. You’re with someone I trust, and they’ll take care of you."

Chan nodded slowly, his innocence only making the pain worse. As the carriage pulled away, you stood there, your hands clenched tightly at your sides. Wonwoo, who had been standing silently nearby, stepped closer.

"You did the right thing," he said quietly.

"It doesn’t feel like it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo didn’t respond, but his presence alone was grounding. You couldn’t afford to let your emotions control you—not when there was so much at stake.

Returning to the palace, you threw yourself into work, hoping it would distract you from the ache in your chest. Your father had tasked you with assisting him in managing a pressing political issue with the government. It was a rare opportunity, one that you were determined to make the most of.

However, to your dismay, the King insisted that Seungcheol work alongside you.

The tension between the two of you was palpable the moment you entered the meeting room. Seungcheol leaned against the table, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. As you took your seat, he let out a low sigh.

"I didn’t know the King was sending a scholar to handle matters of state," he remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You shot him a sharp glare. "And I didn’t know the Crown Prince would approach this meeting with the grace of a petulant child. Perhaps I overestimated you, Seja."

The staff in the room shifted uncomfortably, their gazes darting between the two of you.

Seungcheol straightened, his tone hardening. "Be careful, Ongju. You may have studied politics, but theory is far different from reality. I’ve been working in the field while you’ve been... buried in books."

You felt your temper flare, and before you could stop yourself, the words were out. "Oh, yes, I forgot. While I was being trained academically, you were busy getting married and... indulging yourself. Forgive me for thinking I might actually have something to contribute."

The room fell deathly silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. The staff froze, their eyes wide with shock. Even Seungcheol looked taken aback, though his expression quickly darkened.

Before the situation could escalate further, Jisoo stepped into the room. "Enough," he said firmly, his tone commanding.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Ongju, a word."

You clenched your jaw but followed him out of the room. Once you were alone, Jisoo turned to face you, his usual warmth replaced by sternness.

"That was reckless," he said bluntly. "Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?"

"He was belittling me!" you protested, your voice rising.

"And you played right into his hands," Jisoo countered. "Seungcheol has the Queen behind him. You may be the King’s daughter, but you’re not untouchable. If you keep provoking him, you’ll make yourself a target."

You looked away, frustration and shame mingling in your chest. "I can’t just stand by while he questions my abilities. I’ve worked too hard for that."

"I know," Jisoo said, his voice softening slightly. "But you need to be smarter about this. Use your knowledge, your training. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you."

You nodded reluctantly, his words sinking in.

"You're going to get married so, this isn’t just about you," Jisoo added, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "If you’re going through with this, you need to make sure Commander Jeon is safe. The Queen will see him as a threat—if she hasn’t already. And you know what she’s capable of."

The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"You need to protect him, Y/n," Jisoo continued, his eyes locking onto yours. "If you truly care for him, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe."

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. You nodded slowly, your mind racing with thoughts of Wonwoo, the Queen, and the danger that loomed over all of you.

"I understand," you said quietly.

Jisoo leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. "Good. Just... be careful. You’ve always been strong, but strength alone won’t be enough this time."

Today was the wedding day. You sat still as the servants carefully applied colorful powder to your face, their gentle touches a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions brewing within you. Draped in the heavy, ornate wedding gown, you stared at your own reflection in the mirror, whispering to yourself, "You are ready for this."

Whispers had rippled through the palace when you declared your decision to marry Commander Jeon—especially when you insisted the wedding be arranged without delay. It was a decision made with an urgency few understood. Yet here you were, an hour before the ceremony, your heart steady but your mind racing.

The last time you saw your groom was a week ago. He had invited you to his residence for tea, a quiet meeting where you discussed your future. Would you remain within the palace walls, or would you stepawayy with him beyond the capital?

"Why must I leave the palace to live with you?" you had asked, a touch of defiance in your tone as you sipped your tea. "Shouldn't you be the one to follow me, Commander Jeon?"

Wonwoo’s calm gaze met yours, and for a moment, the soft rustle of the wind outside seemed louder than the silence between you.

"Because you would be safer away from here," he said quietly.

Your hand paused, the delicate porcelain cup just shy of your lips. The words lingered, heavy with unspoken fears. You set the cup down, studying his expression.

"You noticed," you murmured.

He nodded, his composed demeanor unwavering. "I am aware of the dangers, but that is not the only reason I suggested leaving."

The stillness stretched, a quiet understanding forming between you. Wonwoo didn’t press further, instead reaching for the teapot, refilling your cup with a slow, steady hand.

"I will ensure you are safe," he promised, his voice calm but resolute. "Think about what you want—where you wish to be. Leave the rest to me."

In that moment, surrounded by the warm scent of tea and the gentle light filtering through the wooden screens, you felt something rare and precious—security.

Now, staring at your reflection, you recalled that feeling. Amid the palace’s whispered schemes and the lurking shadows of betrayal, you were about to marry a man who saw through the veils of deception that others wore.

You lowered your arms slowly as the ceremony unfolded around you, the murmurs of the crowd blending with the soft music that filled the grand hall. For the first time, your gaze met his, and everything else seemed to fade away.

The grand wedding was a spectacle—an event fit for the King’s only daughter. Nobles, officials, and foreign dignitaries filled the palace, their excitement palpable. The King’s affection for you was evident in the lavish celebration, a grand feast prepared for his people beyond the palace walls. Laughter and music echoed, a shared joy that seemed to ripple through everyone present.

But amidst the grandeur, you stood beneath the ornate canopy, your eyes locked with his. Your heart raced—not with fear, like the frantic pulse you’d felt when evading a palace guard on a late-night adventure, nor with the wild rush of adrenaline that came from facing danger in the forest. No, this was different.

Your heart’s rhythm was a steady, reassuring beat. A quiet promise whispered beneath the surface: Everything will be alright. You are safe.

And somehow, the resentment you once harbored for him—those unspoken grudges and unhealed wounds—seemed to melt away, leaving you with a sense of calm you hadn’t expected. Standing there, with him watching you just as intently, you felt something shift within you, something that kept you grounded, not out of resistance, but out of trust.

The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of candlelight, their flickering flames casting gentle, wavering shadows on the silk-draped walls. The faint scent of jasmine hung in the air, a calming fragrance that only seemed to heighten your awareness of the moment.

You stood near the window, fingers lightly tracing the intricate embroidery of your wedding gown. The weight of the heavy fabric was a constant reminder of the day’s grand celebration, the laughter, the cheers, and the vows exchanged. Yet now, in the quiet solitude of your chamber, the world outside seemed a distant memory.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and you turned, catching sight of Wonwoo stepping inside. He had changed out of his formal attire, now clad in a simple, dark robe that contrasted with the light of the candles. His gaze met yours, steady yet unreadable, a quiet intensity in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Silence stretched between you, thick and charged. Your heartbeat quickened, but it wasn’t the same fear or anxiety that had gripped you in the past. This was different—a fluttering warmth, a delicate anticipation that made your palms slightly damp.

“You must be tired,” he finally spoke, his voice a soft murmur, breaking the quiet yet somehow deepening the intimacy.

“A little,” you admitted, your voice steady but your heart racing. “But not enough to want this night to end.”

A faint smile touched the corners of Wonwoo’s lips, and he stepped closer, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. When he was only a breath away, he reached out, his hand brushing against the loose strands of your hair. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant.

“Did you… did you mean it?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “When you said you’d keep me safe?”

“I did.” His answer was immediate, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that made your breath catch. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, a sense of security that you had long forgotten. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the closeness.

Then his fingers moved, gently tilting your chin up, and you opened your eyes to find his face mere inches from yours. His gaze flickered, searching your expression, as if seeking permission.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned forward, letting your lips brush against his—a tentative, delicate touch that seemed to ignite something within both of you.

Wonwoo’s hand slid to your waist, drawing you closer as the kiss deepened, the softness giving way to a quiet passion. His other hand cradled the side of your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

Time seemed to blur, the world beyond the room fading away. All that existed was the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and the quiet, whispered promises shared between breaths.

When you finally parted, your foreheads resting against one another, a gentle smile graced his lips. “We have a long journey ahead, but… tonight, it’s just us.”

You smiled back, your own worries and fears melting away in his warmth.

Just us.

And with that, the night unfolded—soft touches, quiet laughter, and whispered confessions beneath the soft glow of candlelight. In his arms, you found a solace you hadn’t dared to dream of, a tenderness that promised a future beyond fear and doubt.

"It will be hard for a pregnant woman to lead the upcoming project." The minister’s assistant’s voice cut through the meeting chamber like a blade, his audacity stirring a ripple of tension across the room. You raised a brow, your gaze snapping to the man who dared to make such a bold, presumptive statement barely a week after your wedding. Pregnant? You weren’t even with child, but the mere suggestion of it was enough for him to undermine you.

Your gaze slid to Seungcheol, who sat at the head of the chamber, his composed expression barely shifting, save for a slow, almost imperceptible nod. He agreed.

"Isn't that why the Princess Consort has yet to resume her duties for the Moonlight Event?" you countered, your voice calm but edged with a subtle challenge. The words weren’t just a retort; they were a pointed reminder. Seungcheol’s wife, the Princess Consort, had recently given birth to a daughter—a fact you knew all too well.

The assistant stiffened, his expression faltering. Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his gaze meeting yours. The tension in the room thickened, an unspoken clash of authority.

"She has just given birth... to a daughter," you added, your gaze never leaving Seungcheol’s. The implication was clear: if his wife could be granted leniency due to motherhood, then there was no reason for anyone to cast doubt on your capacity to lead.

The minister cleared his throat, desperate to steer the meeting away from the growing unease. "Given the considerations presented," he announced, his voice slightly strained, "Ongju Y/n will continue to lead the project related to external affairs."

A polite smile graced your lips as the meeting concluded, but beneath it, a fierce determination simmered. You were not just a princess, not just a wife—you were a leader. And no one, not even Seungcheol or his silent approval of the assistant’s slight, would diminish that.

"That was bold," Jisoo remarked, falling into step beside you as you walked back to the office. His voice was calm, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

You cast a brief glance at your older brother before your gaze shifted to the training grounds, where Commander Jeon—your husband—stood tall, addressing the new Hwarang recruits with his usual unwavering demeanor.

"I have no reason to fear him," you stated plainly, your tone edged with defiance. "His mother is the true snake."

Jisoo’s expression shifted, his amusement replaced by alarm. "We shouldn’t speak of the Queen in such a manner," he whispered urgently, his voice barely above a breath.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to meet his gaze with unwavering determination. "Yes, we can. And we will. We will speak of the Queen however we see fit—especially when I become Queen."

Jisoo’s eyes widened slightly, your words rendering him momentarily speechless. His usual composure faltered as he studied your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. But there was none.

Not waiting for a response, you resumed your stride, your steps swift and purposeful. From the training grounds, Wonwoo’s sharp eyes caught sight of you—your figure moving with fierce resolve. He watched you, a faint sense of awe mingling with his curiosity. In that moment, you looked like someone prepared to set the entire kingdom ablaze if necessary.

He had known you possessed a spark, but now it was as though a fire had been ignited within you.

And as he observed you, a quiet thought settled in his mind—had he, perhaps, been the one to light that flame? Or had he merely uncovered a side of you that had always been waiting to burn just like his plan?

Wonwoo rode out of the capital under the cloak of night, the rhythmic thud of his horse’s hooves a steady companion on the quiet, moonlit path. After ensuring you were safely asleep in your chamber, he slipped away, the chill of the night air biting at his skin as he traveled for two hours beyond the bustling city.

His destination was a secluded village nestled among misty hills—a place few knew he frequented. Here, he wasn’t Commander Jeon, the King’s esteemed military leader. He was simply Wonwoo, a son of the fallen Jeon Kingdom. His colleagues here were not Hwarang warriors or palace officials but the remnants of his bloodline—the left Jeons.

These were the people who had survived the brutal Silla invasion, who had fled with nothing but their lives and the shattered pride of their fallen kingdom. His uncle, a former commander of the Jeon Kingdom, had raised him among these survivors, forging him into a man who bore the weight of two identities. Wonwoo was taught not just to survive but to excel. He mastered politics, combat, and military strategy under his uncle’s strict guidance.

The fall of the Jeon Kingdom was a story written in blood and ash—a once-proud realm crushed beneath Silla’s might. Yet in the shadows of this village, the Jeons lived on, rebuilding a life far from the eyes of the conquerors. Wonwoo was their hope, their quiet vengeance, a man who had clawed his way into the very heart of Silla’s military—becoming a Commander of the Hwarang, the elite force of the kingdom that had destroyed his home.

Tonight, as he dismounted his horse and walked among his kin, the whispers of old stories and the weight of his lineage pressed heavily upon him. Here, he was not just a commander—he was a prince without a throne, a leader of a scattered people who saw him as a symbol of resilience and a future they had not given up on.

"Looking good after a marriage, Wonwoo..." Jungkook, his cousin, teased with a grin as Wonwoo dismounted his horse, the familiar warmth of the hidden village greeting him. The moonlight bathed the settlement, its humble houses a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palace.

Wonwoo's lips curled into a faint smile as he approached Jungkook, handing over the reins. But before he could reply, a familiar voice rang out, full of excitement.

"Commander Jeon!" Chan’s voice cut through the crisp night air, and moments later, the boy came running, his small frame colliding against Wonwoo in an eager hug.

Wonwoo’s expression softened. "How are you, Prince?" he asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.

"I miss my sister. Did you bring her today?" Chan looked up, eyes wide with hope.

Wonwoo shook his head, the gentleness in his gaze unwavering. "She’s been busy these days, but I promise to let her know you miss her."

The sound of steady footsteps approached, and Wonwoo turned to see his uncle, Donghyuk, stepping out of the main chamber, his weathered face breaking into a subtle smile at the sight of his nephew.

"How’s the wedding? Are you staying tonight?" Donghyuk asked, his voice a mix of concern and pride.

Wonwoo gave a slight bow before falling into step beside his uncle, leading them toward the quiet of the residence. "I can’t stay long. I’ll leave before dawn. But I wanted to report on our progress. I’m working hard on our plan, Uncle."

Donghyuk nodded, his expression one of cautious approval. "Good job, son. Your parents would be proud. We’re getting there."

Behind them, Chan laughed brightly, already engrossed in some playful banter with Jungkook. Yet as Wonwoo stepped into the residence, the warmth faded, replaced by the weight of his hidden duty. The shadow of their shared legacy loomed ever closer, and he knew that each step he took brought them one step nearer to their long-awaited retribution.

Wonwoo settled into the dimly lit chamber, the heavy scent of burning incense mingling with the damp, earthy aroma of the secluded residence. His uncle, Donghyuk, leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on his nephew. Jungkook stood by the window, his playful demeanor replaced with a serious expression.

"You've done well," Donghyuk began, his voice a low rumble. "Marrying the Ongju—King’s only daughter. Our bloodline finally has a foothold in their palace."

Wonwoo’s expression remained unreadable, his jaw tense. "Efforts had paid. She trusts me more than she realizes now. And soon, she will trust me enough to do anything I say."

Donghyuk’s lips curled into a thin smile. "Good. You must keep her close. Make her see you as the only ally she can rely on. If we are to bring down the Queen and the King, we need someone on the inside—someone who can move freely, make decisions without suspicion."

Jungkook’s voice cut in, sharp and direct. "But what about the King? He is no fool. Even if the Queen falls, he may stand in our way."

"That’s why we need Seungcheol," Wonwoo stated, his voice cold. "He despises the King’s power over the court, and he resents me. But his jealousy toward his sister can be useful. I will manipulate their strained relationship, turn it into a wedge between them."

"And then?" Donghyuk asked, his gaze sharpening.

Wonwoo leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a darkness that matched the room’s shadows. "Then we use her. With her as a pawn, we can dismantle the King’s power and take the throne."

A silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. Finally, Donghyuk chuckled. "A Jeon as Queen of Silla. Poetic justice, wouldn't you say?"

Wonwoo didn’t respond, his expression cold and calculated. The warmth he showed you—the gentle touches, the soft smiles—were all part of a carefully woven lie.

"We will avenge our people," he declared, his voice low but laced with resolve. "And Silla will fall by its own greed and betrayal."

"Where were you this morning?"

Wonwoo's focus shifted to you as you stepped into his office, a commanding presence in the kingdom's staff uniform. The external affairs badge sat proudly on your shoulder, and a stack of books rested in your arms. You looked every bit the charismatic diplomat, a stark contrast to the serene, angelic figure he watched sleeping just last night.

"You're staring," you noted, crossing your arms and tilting your head, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

Wonwoo sighed, feeling a faint tension in his chest as he shook off his thoughts. "Your father summoned me regarding your mother's case. We found proof."

Your eyes widened, the books slipping slightly in your grasp. "Really? My mother... she wasn't at fault, right?"

Wonwoo nodded, reaching for a scroll on his desk. He unfurled it with a practiced ease, revealing the findings of months of investigation. "We uncovered a potential motive involving the Queen, but we still need a witness. I believe the Queen has ensured that everyone involved in your mother's death is either silenced or loyal to her."

A sharp breath escaped your lips. "Is the Queen going to be sentenced?"

Wonwoo's dark eyes lingered on you, his expression careful. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "She might."

Your knees buckled, and you sank onto the cold stone floor. Relief and shock washed over you in equal measure. You had always suspected the truth, yet seeing it confirmed felt like a blade twisting in your chest. Your mother was murdered—accused of black magic by the Queen, all to tear you away from any claim to the throne.

"You look... startled," Wonwoo remarked, his voice softer now, tinged with something unreadable.

You shook your head, wiping a faint trace of moisture from your eyes. "Was it because of me?"

Wonwoo's brow arched slightly. "What do you mean?"

"The Queen killed my mother. Was it because of me?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice.

A brief silence hung between you before Wonwoo spoke, each word measured. "There's no specific motive yet. But it seems she wanted to secure our Seja's place... and to do that, removing your mother's influence was necessary."

"And that influence... was from me."

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, but his voice remained steady. "It was not your fault."

But in the quiet that followed, you weren’t so sure.

That night, the moon hung low, casting silver light over the palace gardens. Wonwoo waited by the secluded pavilion just outside the palace walls, his figure blending with the shadows. His eyes scanned the path until he saw you approaching, wrapped in a dark cloak to avoid attention.

"You came," he said, a hint of relief escaping in his voice despite himself.

"Of course," you replied, pulling the hood away from your face. The moonlight touched your features, the cool breeze tousling your hair. "I need to know more... how can I secure justice for my mother?"

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened, his expression serious. "The only way to ensure justice is for you to take a stronger position in court. As long as the Queen’s influence over the ministers remains, any accusations against her will be buried."

You frowned, your fingers nervously toying with the edge of your cloak. "But I’m just a princess—no real power in the court’s decisions." The tone in your words showed a vulnerability he had never heard before.

"Not yet," Wonwoo corrected, his voice firm. "But if you strengthen your alliances, build trust with the right ministers, and show them your capability... you can turn the tide."

"And you... you’ll help me?"

Wonwoo met your gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Always."

Your shoulders seemed to relax, and there it was again—that smile. Genuine, grateful. A warmth spread in his chest, a feeling he tried to deny.

"Thank you, Wonwoo..." you whispered, stepping closer. "I... I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Wonwoo felt his breath hitch for a moment, your proximity disarming him. He nodded, forcing his voice to stay steady. "I’m just doing what’s right."

As you turned to leave, the shadows seemed colder without you. Wonwoo stood there for a moment, watching your figure disappear into the moonlit path. His heart pounded against his ribcage, his mind racing.

She trusts me.

But for the first time, the thought didn’t bring satisfaction. It brought guilt.

"It's not a sin to stare at your wife," Jisoo's teasing voice seeped into Wonwoo's ears, pulling him back to reality. Wonwoo shifted his gaze from you, where you stood across the training grounds, back to Jisoo and Seungcheol, who were sparring with swords.

"I'm not staring. I'm monitoring," Wonwoo muttered, adjusting his grip on his sword. "One more round," he added, signaling another bout. Jisoo groaned, wiping the sweat from his forehead, while Seungcheol got back into position without complaint.

Laughter echoed from the other side of the field—your laughter, light and melodic. You stood beside the younger trainees, Seungkwan and Dokyeom, showing them proper sword techniques and gently calming Seungkwan, who was rubbing his head after a clumsy blow from Dokyeom.

"Are we going to witness another spar between the Seja and Ongju?" Dokyeom asked innocently once the session ended.

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze shifting to Seungcheol, who was catching his breath after sparring with Jisoo. Meanwhile, Jisoo was already sprawled on the ground, panting.

Seungcheol straightened, gripping his sword again. "I'm always ready, Ongju," he declared, determination flaring in his eyes.

Wonwoo's gaze remained fixed on you. He noticed how your fingers wrapped around your sword—different, more resolute. As you drew it, the sunlight caught the blade, revealing a stunningly ornate weapon with your name engraved on it, adorned with delicate floral patterns. It was new.

A murmur of awe spread among the onlookers, Seungkwan and Dokyeom exchanging excited whispers as they watched. Your skill was undeniable, each movement calculated, each step confident. Yet, Wonwoo noticed you were holding back, your strikes precise but never too forceful.

Yet as the spar continued, something changed. Your strikes grew sharper, your eyes more intense. Seungcheol’s defense faltered under your relentless assault, his sword flying out of his grasp, clattering against the stone floor. He stumbled, gasping for air, and there you stood—your blade inched away against his throat.

"Enough for today." Wonwoo's voice cut through the tension as he swiftly stepped between you and Seungcheol, his hand gently pushing your sword down.

Your eyes, fierce a moment ago, softened at his touch. You took a deep breath, sheathing your sword and looking away.

"You shouldn't let your emotions guide your sword," Wonwoo whispered, his voice low but firm. "It only leads to regret."

You clenched your jaw, your gaze fixed on the ground. "It wasn't emotions... It was control."

Wonwoo’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, the words weighing heavily between you both. And yet, beneath your calm facade, he could sense the storm raging within.

"Draw your sword," Wonwoo instructed, his voice steady as he unsheathed his own. The training field lay quiet and empty, a canvas of fading sunlight catching on the polished blades. It was just the two of you, shadows stretching long on the ground.

"Seja let his emotions get the better of him earlier," Wonwoo continued, guiding you through a familiar technique. His movements were precise, controlled, each swing calculated. "And you almost let yours take over too."

Your swords clashed, the sharp ring of metal slicing through the silence. You adjusted your stance, trying to mirror his movements, but his expertise made it feel like a dance you struggled to keep up with.

"Emotions are a luxury in the field," he reminded you, his voice low but firm. "You should let your head lead everything—your mind should be your weapon, not just your blade."

You gritted your teeth, pushing against his strikes. "I'm from the women's military, Wonwoo. What do you expect?"

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Women are quick learners. They’re agile too. You have an advantage."

In a swift, fluid motion, he twisted his wrist, catching your sword at an angle and pulling your arm. The force made your weapon slip from your grasp, and before you could even react, your body collided with his. His arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you as you let out a surprised squeal.

Your breath hitched, your chest pressing against his. For a second, you were close enough to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him.

"Are you messing with me?" you murmured, your eyes narrowing at the faint grin on his face.

"Perhaps," he replied, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering. "But remember—losing focus, even for a moment, can be costly."

Your heart raced, a mix of frustration and something else entirely swirling within you. But instead of pulling away, you found yourself staying there for just a heartbeat longer, caught in the quiet, lingering closeness.

"Argh…"

Wonwoo’s pained groan filled the quiet training field, and you couldn’t help but burst into a fit of laughter, your giggle light and melodic.

"You’re right," you teased, leaning back slightly while still caught in his hold. "Losing focus for even a moment can be costly."

Wonwoo glanced down, seeing your foot firmly planted on his, the sharp ache radiating from the spot. Yet, despite the pain, a chuckle slipped from his lips.

"Noted," he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. "But I didn't think you'd take my lesson so literally."

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh? I thought a great commander like you would’ve been prepared for any surprise attack."

Wonwoo’s smile widened, and in a swift move, he leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. "Careful, princess. Provoking your instructor might lead to more intense training."

A faint blush crept up your cheeks, but you maintained your defiant smile. "Is that a threat, Commander Jeon?"

"A promise," he replied, stepping back and letting go of your waist, though his eyes lingered on you for a second longer.

From the upper balcony of the palace overlooking the training field, the King stood silently, his sharp eyes observing the scene below. His stern expression softened as he watched you and Wonwoo. His beloved daughter, always so fierce and resolute, now laughed freely in the presence of her husband. The sound of your laughter, carried by the gentle breeze, reached his ears like a soothing melody.

Beside him, his trusted advisor cleared his throat softly. "Your Majesty, it seems the princess has found comfort in Commander Jeon’s company."

The King’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Comfort? Perhaps. But more importantly, she seems happy."

He had been wary when you insisted on marrying Wonwoo, even more so when the marriage was hastened. There were whispers—speculations that you were driven by something more than love. Yet watching you now, eyes bright and smile unwavering as you bantered with Wonwoo, the King’s doubts faded.

"She has always been strong," the King murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "But even the strongest need someone who can match their strength... and soften their heart."

Wonwoo’s gentle laughter joined yours as he leaned closer, whispering something that made you swat at him playfully. The King chuckled under his breath. His daughter, who once stood as a fierce warrior on the battlefield and an unyielding presence in court, was now a young woman in love—blissfully unaware of his watchful gaze.

"Perhaps Commander Jeon is the right choice," the King whispered, his tone more certain now. "A man who can make her smile so freely might also be the one who can protect her in ways even I cannot."

The advisor nodded but remained silent, recognizing the rare moment of a father’s quiet pride and relief.

Below, you stood with Wonwoo, his voice low and urgent. "The confrontation with the Queen is tomorrow. My team found the black magic tool in her chamber. The same type used against your mother. This is our strongest evidence yet."

Your pulse quickened, and you leaned closer. "So it’s true… she used black magic to murder my mother?"

"It seems so." Wonwoo’s tone was steady. "But you need to be wary of your brother. He might act impulsively. The Queen is his mother, and if he feels cornered—"

"You’ll be there," you whispered, your voice laced with trust.

Wonwoo’s grip on your back tightened slightly. "Yes, I will. But I need you to be ready for everything. This is the moment of truth. Tell me…" His voice softened, his breath brushing against your ear. "What do you want to be?"

Silence settled between you. The wind seemed to hush, the distant hum of the palace growing faint.

"A queen." Your voice was unwavering.

Wonwoo’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. His hand moved in soothing circles on your back. "I thought so. Then we will make sure you become one."

Above, the King’s smile only grew, watching you two so close, completely unaware of the quiet storm brewing in his own palace.

The next morning, Seungcheol stood by the palace balcony, staring at the distant mountains. The crisp air did little to calm the storm in his chest. Rumors of the Queen's chamber being sealed and whispers of dark artifacts found within had shaken the palace. His mother denied everything when he asked, her voice steady but her eyes avoiding his.

"Seja."

The familiar voice of Commander Jeon pulled him from his thoughts. Wonwoo approached calmly, his expression unreadable.

"You seem troubled," Wonwoo remarked, leaning casually against the railing.

"Of course, I am," Seungcheol replied sharply. "These baseless accusations against my mother… They disrespect the royal family."

"Accusations are dangerous," Wonwoo agreed, his tone neutral. "But avoiding the truth can be even more dangerous."

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

Wonwoo’s gaze stayed on the distant courtyard where you stood, speaking with some palace staff. "Loyalty is a fine thing, Seja. But it should never blind you."

"My loyalty is to my family," Seungcheol stated firmly.

"As it should be." Wonwoo turned slightly, his face thoughtful. "And family is not just by blood. It's about those you protect, those you stand beside… those you trust."

Seungcheol’s grip on the balcony tightened. "If you're here to lecture me—"

"Not at all." Wonwoo’s voice was calm, almost warm. "I'm simply reminding you that loyalty to the wrong person can cost you everything."

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. "You speak in riddles, Commander."

"Do I?" Wonwoo finally looked directly at him, his eyes steady. "I speak only of ensuring that those we care about are safe. And that means making difficult choices."

Seungcheol said nothing, his gaze shifting back to you, watching as you laughed with the staff, a bright presence even in the tense atmosphere of the palace.

Wonwoo's voice softened, almost a whisper. "It would be a shame if someone tried to harm her... or use her."

Seungcheol’s breath caught. "Who would dare?"

"Who indeed?" Wonwoo stepped away, his tone light again. "Be careful, Seja. The palace is full of secrets. And those who survive are the ones who choose their allies wisely."

And with that, Wonwoo walked away, leaving Seungcheol in quiet turmoil.

The grand hall was filled with tension as the King sat at the head of the chamber, surrounded by ministers and royal advisors. You stood beside Commander Jeon and his investigation team, the air thick with anticipation. The evidence of the Queen’s dark practices lay displayed—charms, sigils, and artifacts pulled from her private chamber. Wonwoo’s voice was steady as he presented the findings.

"After extensive investigation, we have uncovered these items in the Queen's chamber. The symbols match those of forbidden practices."

Whispers erupted among the ministers. Some looked shocked, others whispered among themselves, and the King’s face darkened with disbelief.

"This is a grave accusation," one minister dared to speak, "Are we certain of their authenticity?"

"My team has verified them," Wonwoo stated confidently. "This is no fabrication."

The doors suddenly burst open, and Seungcheol stormed in, his eyes blazing with fury. "Fabrication? That’s exactly what this is!" he shouted. "This is a scheme orchestrated by them—by her and her husband!"

The room fell silent. The King leaned forward, his face unreadable.

"Seungcheol," his voice was low, "mind your words."

But Seungcheol was beyond reason. His gaze fixated on you. "You have always been a thorn in my mother’s side. And now you bring this falsehood to tear our family apart? Have you no shame?"

You stepped forward, your voice unwavering. "Are you underestimating my husband's professionalism?"

"Professionalism?" Seungcheol scoffed, unsheathing his sword. "This is a coup disguised as justice!"

Before anyone could react, Seungcheol lunged forward, his sword aimed directly at you. Gasps erupted across the chamber.

But Wonwoo was faster. In a heartbeat, he moved between you and Seungcheol, his own sword drawn and his body acting as a shield. Metal clashed with a resounding ring, and Wonwoo’s steely gaze locked with Seungcheol’s.

"Seja! I order you to stop, or I will take your crown prince title for tainting the palace with your recklessness!" the King’s voice boomed, his authority undeniable.

Seungcheol’s face paled, his sword trembling against Wonwoo’s. The room was frozen in silence.

"Step back, Seja," Wonwoo's voice was calm, but his gaze held a quiet warning. "Do not mistake your anger for righteousness."

Seungcheol's breathing was heavy, his rage and desperation clear. But the weight of the King’s words sank in, and slowly, he lowered his sword, stepping back with a glare that could burn through steel.

You exhaled, your hand clutching the back of Wonwoo’s sleeve. Wonwoo’s sword remained up, protecting you until he was certain the threat was gone.

"Escort the crown prince out. He will remain under supervision until this investigation is concluded," the King commanded, and the guards moved immediately.

Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you, a mix of betrayal and fury, before he was pulled away.

The King’s voice returned to its composed, regal tone. "Commander Jeon, proceed with the presentation. This matter will be judged without bias."

Wonwoo gave a respectful nod, his hand gently touching yours in a silent reassurance. The investigation continued, but the room had already felt the tremor of a family on the edge of a storm.

Later that evening, you were summoned to the royal chambers, the air thick with uncertainty. The King’s advisors had left for the night, but the weight of the day’s events lingered heavily in the silence. As you stepped into the dimly lit room, the King was seated by his desk, papers scattered in front of him. He looked older tonight, wearier than usual, as if the pressure of the crown were beginning to take its toll.

"Ongju," he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours. "Come sit with me."

You approached cautiously, wondering what new twist this complicated situation would bring. The King motioned for you to sit across from him, his expression serious.

"I have been thinking," he began, his voice low but steady. "You have shown great strength in recent days, and your actions have proven you are no longer just my daughter."

You blinked, uncertain of where this conversation was headed. The King studied you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful.

"Do you understand what I mean?" he continued, his voice almost hesitant. "The whispers... they are growing louder. There are those who believe that Seungcheol is the rightful heir, that he is the only one worthy of the throne. Yet, there are others who look at you and see the same strength in you. You are the daughter of a king—your bloodline is noble, and your actions have proven your capability."

A tightness formed in your chest as his words hung in the air. You had known the politics of the court were always about power, but to hear your own father speak of succession, especially now, made everything feel more real.

"You are considering... me?" you asked quietly, unsure of how to process what he was implying.

The King nodded, his face serious. "I am. It’s not just about blood, but about what you can offer to the kingdom. What you’ve shown today, in the face of threats and uncertainty, it’s not something Seungcheol has done. He is... impulsive. He acts with his emotions leading him, and that could be dangerous. You, on the other hand, have a steady hand. You know when to act and when to hold back."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. The throne was no longer just a symbol of power—it was a dangerous position, one that could bring enemies closer than ever.

"Seungcheol has the Queen’s backing," the King added, his voice dropping into a more guarded tone. "And you’ve seen the lengths to which she will go to secure his place. Her supporters are pushing hard for him to take the throne, and there are whispers in the shadows... that if I am not careful, I may lose everything. Not just the throne, but my life."

Your heart quickened. The Queen’s influence was vast, and her supporters, many of them still deeply embedded in the palace, were a force to be reckoned with.

"Your mother’s death was only the beginning," the King murmured, more to himself than to you. "The Queen will stop at nothing. I have tried to keep her at bay, but her reach is long. If Seungcheol takes the throne under her influence, he could be just another pawn. The court will be hers to control."

The King looked at you then, his eyes softening. "I need you to be ready. You must prepare yourself. You are not just a daughter of this kingdom—you are the future of it. If you want to be the one to wear the crown, you must take it. But know this, my child..." His voice faltered for a moment, something raw seeping through. "There are dangers ahead. Many will try to destroy you before you even get the chance to rule."

You nodded, a chill settling deep in your bones. The path before you was dangerous, fraught with enemies both outside and within.

"I won’t let them take what is rightfully yours," you said, your voice resolute. "I will fight for this kingdom, for you."

The King reached out, taking your hand in his. "I know you will, my child. And I will be here to guide you. But remember—being the heir to this throne is not a privilege. It is a responsibility that weighs heavier than anything else."

The weight of his words crushed down on you, but there was no turning back now. You had already made your decision. Whatever it took, you would do whatever was necessary to protect the kingdom—and yourself—from the shadows that loomed ever closer.

"You must prepare for what is to come," the King added, his voice thick with the gravity of the moment. "You and Wonwoo both. He is your strength, and you are his."

You nodded, a silent promise forming in your heart. With the Queen’s forces lurking in the background, and Seungcheol’s volatile nature, the game of thrones had only just begun. And you would be ready.

The news spread like wildfire across the kingdom, swiftly moving from the royal court to the streets, and every corner of the kingdom buzzed with whispers. The King’s announcement that you, Princess Y/n, were now considered a potential successor to the throne, alongside Crown Prince Seungcheol, sent shockwaves through the kingdom.

For years, it had been a given that Seungcheol, backed by the Queen’s influence, was the clear heir. But now, with your name officially in the running, the political landscape was thrown into chaos. Supporters of the Queen saw it as an affront to her carefully laid plans, while those who had quietly hoped for your rise whispered that this was the beginning of a new era.

In the royal court, tensions flared. Ministers and advisors who had once been steadfast in their loyalty to Seungcheol were now divided. Some saw the King’s decision as a brilliant move to balance power, ensuring that the kingdom’s future would be in capable hands, no matter which path it took. Others feared that it was the beginning of a deadly power struggle, one that would tear the kingdom apart.

Among the nobles, debates raged. Some secretly hoped for Seungcheol’s downfall, seeing your rise as a way to bring back stability. They admired your calm, measured approach and saw it as a stark contrast to Seungcheol’s emotional decisions. Others, particularly those loyal to the Queen, viewed your claim as a direct threat to their own power and wealth, and they would do whatever it took to ensure you were never crowned.

The people, meanwhile, were divided. Some viewed you as the beacon of hope, a princess who had shown courage and strength despite the odds. Your involvement in your mother’s case, your unwavering determination to protect the kingdom, made you a symbol of a new, more just rule. Others, however, still saw Seungcheol as the rightful heir, the one groomed for the throne from birth, and they were hesitant to accept any challenge to his position.

The Queen’s supporters were particularly vocal, spreading rumors and making it known that they would not tolerate such a disruption to the throne. They accused you and Wonwoo of conspiring to undermine Seungcheol, even going so far as to say that your actions were merely a way to avenge your mother’s death, a personal vendetta that should not influence the fate of the kingdom.

Inside the palace walls, the pressure mounted. Seungcheol’s reaction to the announcement was swift and volatile. His pride, already wounded from his earlier confrontation with you, flared up again. He felt betrayed—not only by his father but also by the very court that had once rallied behind him. It was one thing for you to challenge his position indirectly, but now the King’s words had solidified your place as a contender. This wasn’t just about a title anymore—it was a threat to everything Seungcheol believed he was entitled to.

As the whispers in the court grew louder, the inevitable became clearer. The Queen’s treachery could no longer be denied. The evidence—irrefutable and damning—had been laid out for all to see. The black magic tools found in her chambers, the dark rituals she had orchestrated in the shadows of the palace, and the bloodstains of countless plots woven to ensure her son, Seungcheol, would inherit the throne had all been uncovered. The King, with great reluctance, had no choice but to order her banishment from the palace.

The Queen was stripped of her title, her wealth, and her influence. Her supporters in the court were purged, one by one, as the King acted swiftly, making an example of anyone who dared to question his decision. The Queen was sent outside the palace, cast into the cold and unforgiving world, her once grand power reduced to nothing more than whispers in the wind.

Seungcheol’s reaction was expected, though no less shocking. He was enraged. His mother, the one person who had always stood by him, had been torn from his side, and he could not, would not, allow it. He stood before the King, sword in hand, his face twisted in a fury that had never been seen before.

“Father,” Seungcheol spat, his voice a venomous whisper. “You’ve betrayed her. You’ve betrayed me. This is not justice—this is a political game, and you are a fool to think I’ll sit back and allow you to take everything from me.”

The King stood resolute, his gaze unyielding, though the pain was visible in his eyes. “Your mother’s actions were not of justice, Seungcheol. She tried to seize the throne through deceit, through murder. I cannot allow her, or her supporters, to hold any power in this kingdom.”

Seungcheol’s grip on his sword tightened. “Then I will take what is mine by right. I will not let you destroy everything I’ve fought for. You’ve destroyed my mother, and now I will destroy you. I will take the throne by force if I have to.”

The room went silent as the tension in the air thickened. The King, with his final breath of resolve, turned to you. “Princess Y/n... You are now the only one who can take the kingdom forward. Seungcheol’s rage will only burn everything in his path. We have to stop him.”

But even as he spoke, it was clear that the kingdom was on the brink of collapse. Seungcheol’s plan was already in motion. His supporters, loyal to the Queen, were rallying around him, and whispers of a bloody coup began to spread.

As Seungcheol gathered his forces, plotting his revenge, he turned to the one person he believed could take the throne from his father—you. In his eyes, you were now the only option left to secure the kingdom’s future, even if it meant eliminating the King in the process.

“You, Princess Y/n,” Seungcheol said, his voice cold and calculated as he faced you one evening in the royal courtyard, “are the only one who can stop this madness. I will not let my father destroy everything. He has chosen to destroy my mother, and now, I will do what’s necessary to take what is mine.”

He stepped closer, his sword at his side, but there was no threat in his posture—only an eerie calmness. “The King is weak. His time is over. You will either stand with me, or you will stand with him. I will take the throne. The question is whether you’ll be by my side, or if you’ll watch me burn the palace to the ground.”

The choice was placed before you. The kingdom was teetering on the edge of chaos. The King, your father, was desperate to maintain control, but Seungcheol’s anger and thirst for justice were undeniable.

And there, in the silence of the night, as the storm clouds gathered on the horizon, you knew your answer.

To take the throne now meant to fight a war—one that would tear the kingdom apart. To stay loyal to the King was to risk your life in a game of politics, where enemies lurked in every shadow. But to align with Seungcheol, to stand at his side, meant betraying your own blood, your own father.

The path ahead was unclear, but one thing was certain: the battle for the throne was about to begin. Whether you would rise as the future queen or fall victim to the flames of war, only time would tell.

The weight of the world pressed against your chest, each breath a struggle as you stood alone in the quiet garden under the pale moonlight. The cold metal of your sword felt like ice in your trembling grip, and your vision blurred with tears that you could no longer hold back. The scent of fresh earth and damp leaves filled the air, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging within you.

You didn’t want this.

Not the crown. Not the power. Not the throne built on blood and suffering. A sob escaped your lips, raw and desperate, as your knees buckled, and you fell to the ground. The sword slipped from your grasp, the metallic clang echoing in the darkness, but you didn’t care. Your hands covered your face, and your shoulders shook with silent cries.

"I don't want this... I don't want any of this..." The words spilled from you, muffled by your own palms.

You felt a presence before you saw him. Wonwoo’s warm, calloused hands reached for you, gently pulling your hands away from your tear-stained face. His touch was steady, but his gaze betrayed a deep concern, an emotion you hadn’t seen before in his sharp, calculating eyes.

“Y/n…” His voice was a whisper, soft yet pained. He crouched before you, his dark eyes searching yours, and the sight of your tears seemed to shatter something within him.

“I never wanted this... I just wanted... I just wanted to protect them... to protect you...” Your voice broke, and you felt your chest tighten again. “But... all I see is blood... blood on my hands, blood on my family...”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched. For so long, he had been the one with a plan, the one who held his resolve like an unbreakable shield. But seeing you like this—vulnerable, broken—every calculated thought he had ever harbored, every whispered promise of revenge, crumbled. His ambitions, his hatred, even his own thirst for justice seemed insignificant now.

“I never wanted to lie to you,” he whispered, his fingers gently trailing along your cheek, then falling away. “But everything I’ve done, everything I planned… it started long before I met you.”

A cold sense of dread washed over you. The weight of his words pressed down, making your breath hitch. “What are you saying?”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched, his gaze shifting to the moonlit garden before he spoke again. “I wasn’t just a simple commander in Silla’s Hwarang. I was born as Jeon Wonwoo, the crown prince of the fallen Jeon Kingdom—overthrown and destroyed by Silla’s forces.”

Your blood ran cold. “The Jeon Kingdom… the one that was… massacred…”

He nodded. “My family was killed. I was only a child, taken in by my uncle who survived the invasion. He raised me in the shadows, trained me for one purpose—to take revenge on Silla’s royal family. To bring justice for my people, my family… for everything we lost.”

“Revenge…” you echoed, the word like ash on your tongue.

Wonwoo’s gaze fell, guilt clouding his sharp eyes. “I infiltrated Silla, rose through the ranks, and became a commander. I built connections, watched the court, and gathered allies. And then… I met you.”

You stepped back, your voice wavering. “So… you married me for your plan? To get closer to the throne? To manipulate me?”

“Initially, yes.” His voice was firm but laced with regret. “That was the plan. To use our marriage, to use your status, to bring down the queen and weaken the royal family. But…”

He took a step toward you, his hands trembling slightly. “But everything changed. You changed everything, Y/n. The moment I saw you fighting for your own place, for your own justice… I saw something beyond vengeance. I saw someone I didn’t want to hurt.”

Your heart raced painfully in your chest. “And now? Are you still trying to use me? Are you going to kill the king? My brother?”

Wonwoo’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “No. Not anymore. I won’t hurt you or your family. Not if you don’t want it.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, tears stinging your eyes. “Not if I don’t want it? Wonwoo, everything is already falling apart! The queen is exiled, Seungcheol is desperate, the kingdom is on the brink of chaos—and I’m a pawn in your game!”

His expression twisted with pain. “You’re not a pawn. Not to me. Not anymore.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and his thumbs gently wiped them away. “But everything is ruined, Wonwoo. I’ve hurt people. I’ve done things I never wanted to. And it was all for a lie…”

“It wasn’t a lie,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Not for me. Not anymore.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” his hand gently resting on your cheek, wiping away the fresh tears. “We can stop. We can let it go.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching. “Wonwoo… after everything… you would stop?”

His eyes darkened with a thousand emotions, but he nodded, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Yes. If it means you won’t cry again, then I’ll stop. I will walk away from everything.”

A sob escaped your lips again, but this time it was softer, almost a breath of relief. You leaned into his touch, letting his warmth ground you, letting his calm voice silence the chaos in your mind.

“But… Seungcheol… the King… the court… they will never stop. They will turn on us… they will—”

“Then we will face them together.” Wonwoo’s voice was resolute now, a fire in his eyes. “Not for revenge, not for power… but for you. For us.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, your tears soaking into his robes. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, a quiet promise in his embrace. The sword lay forgotten on the cold ground beside you, the moonlight reflecting off its blade—a faint glimmer in the darkness.

And for the first time, in the midst of this chaos, you felt a flicker of hope.

The king had fallen under his own son's sword in the dead of night. By dawn, the news spread like wildfire, leaving the kingdom in turmoil. Whispers filled every corner, from the bustling markets to the quiet courtyards. The ministry acted swiftly, stripping Seungcheol of his title as crown prince, a desperate attempt to maintain order. But instead of breaking his resolve, it only fueled his rage. Seungcheol’s ambition turned merciless, his gaze now fixed on one target—you. The only obstacle between him and the throne.

The grand hall was a storm of frantic murmurs, ministers and generals speaking over each other, panic evident in their faces. But your voice cut through the chaos with the clarity of a blade.

"Evacuate the people outside the capital at first light," you commanded, your voice unwavering. "Prioritize children, women, and teachers. All military units must be prepared for combat. I will face Seungcheol myself."

Silence followed your words, the ministers exchanging uneasy glances, but none dared to challenge you. Your presence, a commanding force, anchored them in the midst of chaos.

"I’m going with you." Wonwoo’s voice rang out, steady but tinged with a desperate protectiveness. As Commander Jeon, his duty was clear, but as your husband—an even stronger bond pulled him toward you.

But you shook your head, your expression resolute. "No, Commander Jeon. Your responsibility is to ensure the safety of our people. They are your shield, and you are theirs. Trust me to do what I must."

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened, his knuckles pale as they gripped the hilt of his sword. "Y/n—"

"Don’t make this harder than it already is," you whispered, forcing a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "You taught me to lead with my head, not just my heart. So that’s exactly what I’m doing."

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, a storm of emotions swirling within him—fear, anger, and something far too close to grief. But he knew better than to argue with you now. Not when every second mattered.

"I will protect them," he promised, his voice low but fierce. "But promise me… you won’t take unnecessary risks."

"I promise I will do what I must. For this kingdom. For our people."

As the grand hall emptied, the heavy doors groaned shut, muffling the frantic echoes of preparation beyond them. But in the stillness that followed, you remained—standing beneath the vast banners of the royal crest, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across your resolute face.

A familiar warmth wrapped around your wrist, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see Wonwoo, his dark eyes fierce yet softened, a contradiction of fear and longing.

"You don’t have to do this alone," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but each word weighed with emotion. "Please… let me stand by your side."

"You already are," you whispered, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Wonwoo, if something happens to me—"

"Don’t." His voice broke slightly, his grip tightening on your wrist. "Don’t talk like that."

"You taught me to face reality," you countered gently. "And the reality is, I might not come back from this. Seungcheol is driven, and I cannot guarantee—"

"I don't care what he is," Wonwoo interrupted, his other hand coming up to rest over yours against his cheek. "Listen to me. I never told you this… but I never planned to love you. I never planned for you to become the one person I cannot lose."

Your breath caught, his confession hitting you like a tidal wave. You had known him as a strategist, a man of unwavering resolve—a man who always seemed to know what he wanted. But in this moment, he was simply Wonwoo—the man who held your heart.

"Then don’t lose me," you whispered, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. "Stay alive. Protect our people. That’s your promise."

"And you?" His voice trembled, his hands now cradling your face. "What do you promise me?"

"I promise… I will fight with everything I have. And if I must fall—" you hesitated, your voice thick with emotion, "—I will fall knowing I loved you."

Wonwoo’s lips captured yours, desperate and fierce, a kiss that spoke of everything he couldn’t say. A promise. A plea. A goodbye he refused to give.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads remained touching, your breaths mingling in the tense silence. His eyes, dark and intense, held yours.

"I will come back to you," you whispered, the tears you tried to hold back finally slipping free. "I swear it."

"And I will be waiting," he whispered back, his thumb brushing away your tears. "No matter how long it takes."

As you pulled away, the cold air rushed between you, but Wonwoo’s warmth lingered—an invisible shield around your heart.

You turned, walking toward the door, the weight of war pressing upon your shoulders. But with each step, you held onto his promise, like a faint light guiding you through the darkness.

Wonwoo led the people to the hidden village where the remaining Jeons lived. His uncle listened intently as he explained the chaos that had erupted in the capital—the king’s fall, Seungcheol’s betrayal, and the abrupt turn of their once carefully planned revenge. The weight of bloodshed hung in the air, a bitter reminder of how far vengeance could twist one's soul.

“It’s over,” Wonwoo whispered, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Enough of this revenge. We’ve lost too much.”

His uncle placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a silent understanding passing between them.

Days turned to a week, and the village grew restless. News from the capital was scarce, tension simmering beneath the surface. The people prayed for peace, for the safety of their loved ones. But Wonwoo’s heart remained in turmoil. He found himself pacing at the village's edge, eyes fixed on the distant forest path, hoping for any sign of you.

Then, a rider arrived from the capital, his horse covered in dust, a royal emblem on his chest. Breathless and weary, he delivered the news.

"The Choi clan has fallen. The queen’s allies have been defeated. Seungcheol has been overthrown."

A collective gasp swept through the crowd, joy and relief spreading like wildfire. Mothers hugged their children, elders whispered thanks to the heavens, and even the warriors smiled with pride.

But Wonwoo remained still, his heart pounding against his ribs. “And what of the princess?” His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed his fear.

The messenger smiled, “The capital is now secure, and the coronation of the new queen will be held in a month.”

Wonwoo’s vision blurred for a moment, the tension flooding out of him in a rush.

“She’s safe! My sister is safe!” Chan’s voice pierced the air, and he jumped up, hugging anyone nearby.

But Wonwoo’s relief was silent. He closed his eyes, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. A faint, shaky smile crossed his lips. You were safe.

“Commander!” his uncle’s voice snapped him back.

Wonwoo’s expression hardened with determination. “Prepare the people. Those who wish to return to the capital can do so. Our warriors will guide them for protection.”

“Yes, Commander!”

But even as his people moved in a flurry of preparation, Wonwoo was already mounting his horse. His grip on the reins was tight, his gaze locked on the forest path.

“I’m going back to her.” He spurred his horse, the powerful beast surging forward, hooves thundering against the ground. Trees blurred past him, the cold wind biting at his face, but none of it mattered.

His thoughts were filled with you—your fierce resolve, your gentle smile, your warmth.

“I’m coming to you.”

The gentle hum of the projector filled the spacious lecture hall, casting a soft, warm glow over the screen at the front. Jeon Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, his steady gaze meeting the curious faces of his students.

"And that's where our story ends," he concluded, a faint smile crossing his lips. "The tale of the Queen of Wonhwa and the turbulent rise of the Jeon family."

A hand shot up among the students. "Professor Jeon, how was their life after that? Did the queen live happily ever after with Commander Jeon?"

Wonwoo's smile deepened, but there was a subtle wistfulness in his eyes. "History is often silent on personal happiness. There isn't much evidence detailing their private lives. However, what we do know is that the Queen's reign marked a significant shift. Women's education began to establish itself as a formal part of the kingdom’s policies, and her son—later known as one of the most strategic kings in military history—led an era of unparalleled strength and prosperity."

The students whispered among themselves, a mixture of awe and curiosity in their expressions.

"So, was Commander Jeon the father of that legendary king?" another student dared to ask, leaning forward.

Wonwoo chuckled, "Historical records are unclear, but there are many who believe so. After all, the Queen’s most trusted advisor and protector was none other than Commander Jeon."

"Professor, do you think they loved each other?"

Wonwoo paused, his gaze drifting momentarily to the window where a gentle breeze rustled the leaves outside. His voice softened. "Love can be found in many forms—through trust, sacrifice, and shared ideals. Perhaps that is the greatest mystery of their tale."

The bell rang, and the students began packing their things, chattering about the lecture as they filed out. Wonwoo stood by his desk, collecting his notes, his fingers lingering on the worn pages of his lecture book.

As the last student left, a familiar voice broke the silence.

"I think you make it sound more dramatic each semester."

Wonwoo looked up to see you leaning against the doorframe, a playful smile on your lips.

"Perhaps," he admitted, his expression softening. "But you have to admit, it keeps them interested."

"Did you tell them about how the Queen and Commander Jeon would sneak out of the palace to share mooncakes under the stars?" you teased, stepping closer.

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. "That's not historically verified."

"Neither is their undying love, but you mentioned that."

"Touché." He leaned back against his desk, his smile lingering as his eyes met yours. "Shall we get some dinner?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Dinner? Or mooncakes under the stars?"

"Why not both?"

You laughed, taking his outstretched hand. Even after centuries, the story of the Queen of Wonhwa and Commander Jeon lived on—retold in history books and whispered between two souls who somehow always found their way back to each other.

Wonwoo closed his leather-bound lecture book, tucking it under his arm as he walked beside you. The hallway buzzed with students rushing to their next classes, but his focus was entirely on you.

"I'm just saying, your administrative policies seem overly strict," Wonwoo remarked, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Strict?" You turned to face him, your expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. "Wonwoo, I’m trying to maintain academic integrity, not run a summer camp."

"And I'm saying that micromanaging professors' attendance reports isn't maintaining integrity. It’s just paperwork chaos," he shot back, his tone teasing but his words pointed.

"That's because some professors treat their classes like optional gatherings. I’m ensuring consistency," you defended, crossing your arms.

"Or you’re turning the faculty into a military academy," he quipped.

You stopped walking, your gaze challenging. "You sound like you're worried you’ll be the first to break the rules."

Wonwoo chuckled, stepping closer. "I'm the model professor. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s the others who’ll run for the hills the moment they hear about your new policies."

A faint smile tugged at your lips, but you tried to keep your tone stern. "Well, if they do, at least we’ll know who’s not serious about their roles."

"You really do enjoy being the strict dean, don’t you?" Wonwoo leaned slightly, his teasing gaze unwavering.

"I prefer 'responsible,'" you corrected, turning back to continue walking.

"Of course, Madam Dean," Wonwoo replied with a playful salute, easily matching your pace.

"Don't you 'Madam Dean' me," you muttered, but you couldn’t hide the smile forming.

"Won't I be hearing that a lot when you take over the dean’s office officially?" Wonwoo teased, his voice light but proud.

"Yes, you will. And you better address me properly in meetings," you retorted, feigning seriousness.

"Fine. But don’t think I won’t bring up your paperwork obsession in the next faculty gathering," he warned, earning a light glare from you.

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Try me," he challenged, the mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart skip a beat.

"Maybe I will."

"Good. I love a challenge."

And as your bickering continued, anyone passing by could see it—two professors locked in a playful, spirited exchange, each word carrying a mix of familiarity, trust, and something far deeper.

The end.

667 notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 1 year ago

Text

Room for One More

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader x chris redfield

summary: months ago, chris let his apprentice slip through his fingers when she transferred to the d.s.o. to work with leon kennedy. now the three of them have been sent on a mission together and are forced to share a hotel room.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, threesome, p in v, oral sex (f and m recieving), face-sitting, exhibitionism, age gap (early 20s, late 30s), jealousy, light angst

word count: 9.2k

a/n: had this in my drafts since february let's go. hope you guys like it <3

You and Leon were so fucking annoying.

Irritating, aggravating, infuriating pains in his ass. That’s all Chris could think while speeding down the road, his knuckles white from their tight grip on the steering wheel. The three of you were all supposed to be professionals for god’s sake. He shouldn’t have to deal with the two of you acting no better than a couple of horny teenagers during a fucking mission.

It was constant. The giggling and gasping, soft whines of “Leon stoppppp.” And he could hear Leon’s stupid fucking smirk when he chuckled and kept doing whatever was causing you to squirm around with him in the back seat. If he had to sit through much more of this, he was pretty sure he’d end up plowing the car into a nearby tree and putting himself out of his misery.

Chris glanced in the rearview mirror. Darkness engulfed the car right now, making it hard to clearly see what his ‘partners’ were up to. All he could really make out was that Leon’s head had been in the crook of your neck but was now tilted upwards to capture you in a kiss. The only thing keeping him sane was the miniscule light in the distance. The small reminder that he wouldn’t be stuck in the car with the sounds of saliva swapping forever. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head, trying to will himself to just tune the aggravation out. But as the minutes pass by, each wet smack of lips grates on his nerves more and more.

“Can you two cut it out back there? I’m trying to focus,” he says. His harsh stare remains on the road ahead.

He hears your bodies briefly untangling as his words pierce the bubble you had created for yourselves. Leon is the first to respond.

“Our mistake, Redfield. Didn’t know it was such a challenge to go twenty-five miles an hour on an empty road,” he remarks. Again, Chris’s blood boils as he senses that self-satisfied expression taking over the other man’s features.

Your light slap to Leon’s bicep sounds through the car’s interior. “Sorry, Chris. We’ll keep it down,” you apologize.

In contrast to your boyfriend, your tone rings genuine. You sounded almost a little embarrassed by Chris calling out your antics. Your soft voice drifting to his ears actually softens him a tad. He knew the expression you wore now too. How your eyes were fixed on the DSO agent, giving him the glare you used when you wanted to seem firm. In reality, it came off as cute, like an angry kitten. And now Leon got to be the one to grin at you and shake his head, amused by your sweet face. He got to be in the position Chris let slip through his fingers months ago.

***

You’d been his first. Started out at the BSAA as his rookie. Your first day you’d been so bright-eyed, hopeful and ready to start out your career and face the world. He’d been reluctant to take on a trainee at first. It’s a lot of work with a 50/50 shot at reward, but the second he laid eyes on you, he knew the luck of the draw had worked in his favor.

You were the ideal apprentice. A great listener, eager to learn everything you could, and accepting of commands. Every day with you was a breeze. And besides the parts of you suited for your job, you were just generally pleasant to be around. He could joke with you, talk to you about damn near any subject. You were a great partner in the field too. At first, he’d been worried. A cute little thing like you taking on bioterrorists? He struggled to believe that would work out. As soon as he saw you in action though, you left no doubt that he’d been wrong. He became more taken with you upon seeing you act so capable. He realized that he felt a connection with you that he’d been lacking for so much of his life.

Unfortunately for him, he had these pesky things called ‘morals’ that prevented him from pursuing you. Every time he legitimately considered flirting or asking you out, the guilt gnawed at him, filling his mind with words of shame rather than anything that could charm you. No matter how he thought about it, he just couldn’t work out any way it would be right. Not only were you his subordinate, his rookie, you were nearly twenty years his junior too. You shouldn’t be wasting the prime of your life with some old man, so he cut off any hope of being more than a mentor to you.

About a year after he’d taken you on, the two of you were sent on that mission in Texas. It was simple, standard, routine. You and Chris were simply there to assist local police with the aftermath of a bioterror attack. Both of you were in the transport vehicle on the way to the site, and this was a rare occasion where he was pretty calm. He wasn’t tense or anxious, didn’t have any other motive than getting in and getting out. He was just enjoying the ride and watching your pretty face soak up the sunlight beaming through the window.

What he hadn’t been briefed on was the DSO’s involvement in the case. More specifically, a certain DSO agent’s presence. Apparently he’d been in the area on unrelated business and had been ordered to stop by in case your team needed assistance.

The two of you got out of the car and wandered through the remnants of the event. At first, Chris was happy to see him. It’d been a while, and he seemed to be in a better place than the last time they’d met. You seemed happy to see him too despite the fact that you’d never met before. Right then, Chris should’ve known it was over.

“Who’s that?” you asked with more interest than he felt was appropriate, leaning closer his muscular frame to keep your tone hushed.

He glanced down at you and raised his eyebrows, initially amused with the way you almost seemed in awe.

“Leon Kennedy. He’s with the DSO. Probably just here for some backup,” he informed you.

You nodded, and as you padded along behind Chris, your eyes remained locked on the agent in front of you. If he hadn’t been wrapped around your finger, it would have been obvious to him that you were developing a little crush. You became so bashful around Leon. Smiling up at him, batting your eyelashes like a cartoon character, following him around the scene like a puppy.

At the time, Chris thought that you were simply intrigued by the prestige of the DSO. Looking back, he couldn’t believe how clueless he’d been.

It was only six weeks later that you came to his office to notify him you were transferring agencies.

“What do you mean transferring? I’ve been training you to work here. I need you here,” Chris said.

Your eyes had cast down. Your body appeared to shrink in on itself. “I know. The BSAA is important and all, and I’ll always be grateful for what I learned here. It’s just that Leon said…”

And those last two words were all Chris heard.

“Leon said? What’s he know? He met you one time. He’s gonna try and tell you that you’re a better fit for the DSO?” he asked, probably coming off more interrogating than concerned, “You’re perfect for what we do here. The Agency hasn’t had someone with your propensity for research and field work in years.”

All his reasons paled in comparison to the hearts you had in your eyes for Leon. Chris ended the day by signing off on your transfer and watching you pack up your desk. You gave him a hug and tearful words of goodbye before walking out the translucent doors of the BSAA building.

The next time he saw you was another two months after that. He had to bring some files over to the DSO building. The only thing he was looking forward to about it was seeing how his rookie was adapting to her new position. He wasn’t prepared for the sharp pain in his chest when he saw your new position was on Leon’s lap.

Your eyes had gone wide. You shot up off the other man’s thighs to try and act as if you two were merely two agents and nothing more. Chris wasn’t fooled, but he kept his composure even in the face of Leon’s obvious amusement. He had no real place to get mad at you. It’s not like you were throwing your career away; you still held a respectable position at a federal government agency. You hadn’t betrayed him either. The relationship between you and him had actually just been professional. He had no claim on you that could keep Leon away. The only thing Chris had to be angry about was the fact that you were going to spend the prime of your life with some guy over a decade older than you. It just wasn’t gonna be him.

***

The collection of lights down the road were getting closer now. You and Leon had settled down enough to make the last fifteen minutes of this trip bearable. Chris glances around the small, misty town the road was leading into. It was pretty desolate and old-fashioned. Everything was tinted orange from the dated street lamps lining the road. Buildings were mostly bricks except for the upcoming motel which looked primarily wooden. It would’ve been eerie if he wasn’t so exhausted.

He pulled into the parking lot of the place and stopped the car. Turning around in his seat to talk to you and Leon, he tries not to roll his eyes at how the younger man has you tucked to his side while you show him something on your phone.

Chris clears his throat. Leon’s eyes meet his, still smug from the earlier exchange. He can’t be mad though because you look up at him in earnest, ready to do what needs to be done.

“The target isn’t going to be passing through until tomorrow. How would the two of you feel about staying here for the night?” he asks.

Fortunately, you and Leon seem to want to rest for a while just as much as he does so there’s no pushback.

Chris steps out of the car into the brisk air. He heads across the way into the small lobby of the motel to grab a room. You and your boyfriend handle getting the small bags you were allowed to take on missions out of the car.

“Cold out here, baby,” Leon mumbles as he pulls you flush against his chest and plants some kisses down your neck.

“Mhm. And you’re making me shiver more,” you say as you still try to collect the bags.

He chuckles at your little joke and nips at the warm flesh of your throat. “Once we get in the room, I think I’ll be able to heat you up,” he says.

You giggle and squirm a bit in his hold as Chris comes back to the car. He’s stone faced, but for once on this trip, it isn’t due to you and Leon.

“They only have one room available,” he says flatly and holds up the small golden key.

Your face drops and Leon lets go of you.

“What do you mean they only have one room?” he asks, “Look at this place. It doesn’t even look like anyone’s even accidentally wandered through here in this century. How could they only have one room?”

“They said the others are closed for renovation,” Chris relays.

“Renovation for what? For the ghosts of people who stayed here the last time this place was actually full?” Leon continues.

“I don’t know, man. You wanna go in there and argue with the lady at the desk? She’s half deaf and in a great mood, I’m sure she’ll be open to hearing your concerns,” the older man says sarcastically, beginning to grow frustrated.

Their bickering continues as you glance around at your surroundings. It was cold, it was dark, and it really was starting to creep you out how empty this place was.

You carefully take Leon’s hand and give it a little tug.

“I’m really tired. Can we just deal with it for the night?” you ask him hopefully.

He looks over at you, the petty complaints seeping from his body when he hears your soft voice requesting something so simple.

He sighs and nods. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says and kisses your forehead.

Chris is grateful for your intervention and scoops up the bags so you aren’t bothered with them. The three of you walk in line to your room.

The door creaks as your ex-mentor pushes it open. It’s pitch black inside until Leon reaches over and taps the light switch. Your eyes scan the small room. It wasn’t a horrible set up. The furniture was a little vintage to put it nicely, but it didn’t feel haunted. Two double beds sat against one wall while a ratty leather chair occupied the opposite corner. Besides that there was a dresser, an old tv that was shaped like a cube, and a small counter with a microwave and mini-fridge. Leon looks around with the same disinterest displayed on your face.

“Hey, at least there isn’t only one bed,” he jokes and slaps Chris’s shoulder.

The older man rolls his eyes and tosses his duffel onto the mattress closest to the door. You and your boyfriend follow suit. You tuck your bag neatly against the side of the dresser while he drops it on the floor next to the farther bed.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Chris tells the both of you as he fishes some fresh clothes and toiletries out of his bag.

He gets two unconcerned nods in response, and that’s enough for him to head to the bathroom. As he’s shutting the door, he can already hear your giggling starting up again along with the creak of the mattress, presumably from Leon pulling you down onto it.

Turning on the water, he sighs deeply. The faucet was as old as everything else in the room. It whooshed and groaned before starting up and letting out some water. The stream was hot and even, so he guessed he couldn't complain too much. He sheds his clothes and steps in the shower that was too small for him. The confined area didn’t act as much as a reprieve for him. His head is about three or four inches too tall for where the showerhead was angled. The slick curtain clings to the part of his bicep that stuck out against it.

It felt like a physical manifestation of how the next twelve hours would feel.

Being in the room next to you and Leon would’ve been bad enough. He’d have to hear you two going at it for hours like there was no tomorrow, but at least he’d be alone. He wouldn’t have to repress his grimaces or hide his wistful exhales. No one would have to know how shameful he looked when he felt himself getting hard over the way you whined and mewled for the other agent.

Now you two wouldn’t be going at it, but he’d have to be in the room clouded by both of your desires to do it. He’d have to watch the lingering looks and hear the little hitches in your breaths. He’d see whatever cute little pajamas wore and the way you curled up to Leon beneath the covers. He’d witness how peaceful your face looked while you slept in another man’s arms.

He’d honestly just prefer to be forced to listen to the sounds of your headboard banging against the wall all night.

But he pushes those thoughts away to finish up washing himself. His large hands guide the shampoo out of his hair and glide the washcloth over his muscular form. The steam starting to rise helps to calm him a little.

He isn’t in there for much longer before he shuts the water off and steps out of the shower to dry off. He wraps a towel around his waist, letting the cloth hang on hips just below his happy trail and v-line. His reflection gazes back at him through the fog on the mirror as he rubs a towel over his head and dries his hair.

In an effort to be considerate, he dresses in the bathroom. Gray sweats cover his lower half while a loose t-shirt adorns his chest. He makes sure everything in the bathroom is back in place before heading back out there, hopefully to just get some sleep and not be bothered by his temporary roommates.

That isn’t meant to be though. As soon as he steps back into the main portion of the room, he’s greeted by the sight of Leon’s hand down your shorts and your lips locked together in a flurry of kisses. He’s frozen in place for a moment, watching how Leon’s knuckles move underneath the fabric between your legs. Though a moment later, he remembers how he should be reacting.

“Come the fuck on,” he says and brings his hand to his face in frustration.

Your eyes widen, and your head snaps up. Leon lazily glances in his direction. Chris looks back at the pair of you, thinking you’d had enough time to readjust. What really enrages him now is that Leon’s hand was still where it was. You have to grab his wrist and pull it away.

“I’m so sorry, Chris,” you apologize without another thought, “We got distracted and didn’t hear the water shut off. I’m so-”

He doesn’t even look at you though. He’s locked in a stare with the other man in the room.

“Grow the fuck up, Leon,” he says, his tone deadly serious, “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re acting like a fucking high schooler. Like a dog with a bone.”

You go silent and look down with guilt. He would’ve felt bad if he wasn’t so fed up. To make matters worse, Leon merely rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, calm down,” he says, “You’re acting like you just walked in on a porno or something. You’ve never seen two people making out?”

“Leon, shut up,” you say, keeping your voice hushed as if Chris couldn’t hear you from a small distance of ten feet. Your boyfriend doesn’t even acknowledge you though.

“That’s not what it’s about, and you know that. I don’t give a shit if the two of you want to make out till your lips are blue. Do it on your own time. I don’t wanna have to deal with the two of you slobbering all over each other while I’m trying to do my job,” he says with a glare.

“That’s not what this is about either, and you know it,” the younger man retorts.

“Leon, just give it up!” you plead. He shoots you a look though that makes you react like a scolded puppy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chris asks incredulously as he crosses his arms.

Your boyfriend almost laughs in his face. He sits up, looking at him with a more pointed gaze. “You don’t care about what I’m doing. You’re pissed off because I’m doing it with her,” he taunts.

Somehow the look on Chris’s face darkens further.

“Alright, man. I’m sure that’s what it is. It’s not you just being an insecure dickhead like always,” he says, trying to sound dismissive as he walks to his own bed, “You're more immature than I thought.”

“Don’t try to act like it’s bullshit because I know it’s the truth. All the years I’ve known you, all the missions we’ve partnered on; this isn’t the first time you’ve seen me with a girl but you’ve never pitched a fit about it before,” Leon says.

Chris shakes his head, not dignifying the accusations with a response, but he won’t give it up.

“Also, you think I’m fucking stupid? You think I don’t see the way you’re looking at her? Undressing her with your eyes, laser focused every time she bends over? I think if she gave you the go ahead, you wouldn’t even hesitate to steal her away from me,” he says.

You notice as they argue that in contrast to the genuine aggravation on Chris’s face, Leon’s words come from somewhere else. Almost as if he’s enjoying calling him a liar, poking and prodding at the other man to provoke a reaction.

Chris looks directly at him now as if he’s ready to lunge in a moment’s notice.

“Shut your mouth. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Tell me then. Tell me how it is.”

That makes the older man pause. Of course Leon was right, but under no circumstances would he make that apparent.

“She had a bright future ahead of her, and look what you’ve done. She’s the best either one of the agencies has had in years, and you keep her in the palm of your hand like she’s a barbie doll!” he exclaims.

He sees the flicker of hurt on your face and knows he fucked up, but he could apologize later. He continues speaking to try and temporarily rectify his slip up.

“She’s too good for you, Leon,” he says simply, sighing and sitting down on his bed.

You see genuine emotion flash in your boyfriend's eyes. Chris struck a chord, picking at a very real insecurity Leon held. But he wanted to win this confrontation too, so he wouldn’t let that be known. Instead, he beckons you to him with a languid wave of his hand.

“C’mere, baby.”

Chris rolls his eyes, thinking Leon was gonna swoop in to comfort you for the way your feelings had been hurt. You waddle across the mattress on your knees and plop down between his legs, your back against his chest. His hands sweep over your stomach, soothingly caressing your skin.

“She might be too good for me, but you’re pissed off because she’s too good for you too,” he says.

“Leon, stop,” you whisper. Tomorrow was going to be awkward enough as is. He didn’t need to make it any worse.

Chris glances up at the two of you but looks down again quickly, not wanting to see the way the other man’s hands moved on your body.

“You think I’m the bad guy. That I’m corrupting your innocent little rookie,” Leon mocks, “But tell me you wouldn’t take my place if you could.”

“I wouldn’t,” he mumbles instantaneously.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me. Tell me that if she was actually interested in you, that you wouldn’t have taken her in your arms as fast as you could. When she was prancing around the BSAA, looking up at you with stars in her eyes, tell me you didn’t want her,” your boyfriend challenges.

Chris looks up at the both of you. His expression is hard to read. It’s some mixture of hurt and relief that you’re unfamiliar with.

“I didn’t,” he maintains.

Leon’s hand continues trailing on your tummy up and down. His fingers coast in between your breasts, causing you to shiver, but everyone’s so wrapped up in the conflict that you choose not to say anything.

“That’s a shame because I’m pretty sure your little rookie had a crush on you,” he says quietly.

“Don’t joke around like that Leon,” Chris scoffs at the same time as your eyes widen and you start to tell your boyfriend to be quiet.

“Shh shh shh,” he hushes you and places a small kiss on your temple, “You’re giving yourself away, sweetheart.”

You look down and the man across from you just looks confused. Leon smirks at the both of you before resuming.

“C’mon man. Don’t tell me you couldn’t see it. She’s a terrible liar, and I think she had it pretty bad for you. I just came along and pulled her attention elsewhere,” he says, teasing you while redirecting his words to Chris.

Your face was heating up fast as Leon aired out a confession you’d made to him on a night after too many drinks. Chris slowly returned his gaze back to the two of you. Instead of bothering with Leon, he looked into your eyes this time.

“Is that true?” he asks.

Every limb on your body feels frozen up, but you manage to force your head into nodding. You hear Leon chuckle from behind you, which only intensifies how awkward you feel.

“I liked you at first when I first started working at the BSAA. For the first few months,” you begin to explain. It’s not like anything you said would help the situation at all, but it still felt like you were supposed to offer something.

He continues staring at you, and you honestly can’t tell what’s running through his mind. All you can think is that he looks like he’s in pain. Meanwhile, your boyfriend’s hands caress over your skin in a pattern they’d developed.

“You were just so nice and understanding with me-” you start. But you’re cut off by your sharp gasp when Leon’s hand slides under the waistband of your bottoms and into your panties.

“Leon!” you whimper as fast as his fingers find your clit. You grab his wrist and try to pull it away like you’d done earlier, but when he didn’t want to be interrupted, he wouldn’t be. It wasn’t like you tried too hard anyways. You were still a little pent up from earlier, craving the pleasure that had been cut short.

“No, go on, sweetheart. Keep telling Chris how much you liked him. I know he wants to hear it,” he says lowly while his fingers toy with you.

“Leon,” Chris says firmly, trying to stand up for you. But fuck, if he didn’t want to keep watching your breath hitch and your hips squirm. Or your face getting pouty whenever his fingers stroked a certain way.

“Chris,” he says back, “Don’t act like you don’t wanna see. This might be your only chance.”

He smirks and kisses your temple again, rotating the pad of his middle finger over your clit. The motions draw little whines from you, and your eyes flutter. You keep them on Chris, looking into his own as you sink back into Leon’s chest.

“Go ahead, honey. Continue your story,” Leon prompts.

“You were so sweet- mm- and you taught me a lot and- ah- I don’t know it was just a little crush,” you say timidly.

Chris watches you. He doesn’t move at all for fear of bringing attention to how fast his cock has hardened.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he breathes.

“Cause you were my boss,” you say, “I- Leon fuck- I didn’t wanna put you in a bad position.”

His chest feels like it’s turned to stone as he takes in these revelations. It’s hard not to let the regret take over. The realization that he’d been much closer to everything he’d wanted threatened to consume him if he dwelled on it. That on top of the fact that he was hearing all this while you whimpered another man’s name between your words had his mind scrambled.

“It wouldn’t have put me in a bad position, sweetheart,” he says, attempting to sound normal about the situation.

Your lips curve further down, as if you feel guilty for the mess of emotions building inside him. Behind you, Leon’s mouth makes the opposite expression.

“What happened to not wanting her, Redfield?” he teases.

“Shut up,” Chris says. Even if he wasn’t the one pleasuring you, this was a moment for you and him.

His eyes are locked on you, trying to drink in everything about the vision of beauty in front of him. Leon’s warning that this could be the only time he gets to see it echoes in his mind. He doesn’t know how he’ll survive if this is the only time. He doesn’t think he could ever get enough of this. The way your lashes flutter and your eyes look dreamy. How your soft thighs tremble while spread open. The little movements of your hips rocking your ass back and forth against the man behind you.

Why couldn’t that man be him?

It was the most blissful form of torture he’d experienced. He tried to tell himself that even if he just got to watch you cum, it’d be worth it. It’d be better to share this unforgettable sliver of time with you than to have nothing special at all.

He tries to refocus himself back on enjoying the view of your shorts sliding off your legs rather than mourn the relationship he’d lost out on. It was just nearly impossible to avoid envisioning himself and the other man swapped. He had imagined you in his lap like that for months before you even knew the name Leon Kennedy.

Chris’s mind is actually drawn back to the action in front of him once Leon’s got your shorts off, and your panties are fully exposed. The crotch is soaked through. He can see the way the fabric sticks to your center, only peeling away to make space for the nimble fingers working beneath it.

“Leon…” you mewl and tilt your head back against his shoulder.

“I know, princess,” he murmurs, “You’re doing such a good job showing off for Chris. I’m proud of you. You’re really making it worth his while.”

“Thank you,” you whimper.

Leon grins at your display of submission and rewards you with a gentle pinch to your clit. You yelp, and Chris’s cock jerks inside his pants. His bulge is completely visible to everyone in the room by now, no way of sitting could hide that. Despite his arousal, he still had questions.

“Am I the reason you left?” he decides to ask you.

He watches you snap out of the throes of lust and look at him. You hesitate before answering.

“No,” you say softly, “I left to be with Leon.”

It feels like a dagger straight to his heart. He watches any chance of salvaging you as his own die before his very eyes, those words acting as the nails in the coffin. It shows on his face too because he can see the guilt replacing the desire in your eyes. Even Leon’s face flashes with some sympathy. He tilts his head towards you again and nips at the shell of your ear.

“I think you might have hurt Chris’s feelings, baby,” he chides lovingly. His hand then leaves your panties and goes with his other one to your waist. Boosting you to your feet, he looks up at you and taps your ass. “Maybe you should help him feel better. Show him some of what I taught you.”

There’s only a brief pause on your part. You stand between the two beds, between the two men, looking back and forth. You weren’t against the idea at all, it just didn’t seem real. You never imagined this happening in your wildest dreams.

You drop to your knees and approach Chris from the ground, positioning yourself between his legs and looking up at him.

“You don’t have to,” he says, his tone quiet and genuine.

You reach up, sliding your hand up his thigh to palm at his bulge.

“I know,” you respond.

In the simplest of terms, you were still very much attracted to Chris. Your relationship with Leon had extinguished the torch you carried for him down to a small flame, but on a physical and instinctual level, you still wanted him bad. Especially having not cum yet after being teased twice. Your fingers unzip his pants and begin pulling them down, eager to get his cock out.

In a way, you were pretty sure you loved him. Not in the way you love Leon. You knew that. You didn’t dream of love and marriage and the baby carriage with Chris. But for so long, he’d been your safe space. Amongst the violence and horrors in the world of Bioterrorism, your mentor had always been there for you to hold your hand.

You yank his pants down to his ankles, and his dick flops out against his thigh. Your eyes widen slightly. It made sense for it to be big just like everything else on him was, but the sight had you drooling. It was thick and long, from one look you could only imagine how it would stretch you out.

Your fingers wrap around the length, feeling its warmth. The veins that sprawl across it pulse with desire for you. He moans quietly with only one stroke. Your hand pumps up and down tentatively as you spit down onto it for some lubrication.

No one in the room is in the mood to be teased tonight, so you lean in and flick your tongue against the tip. Another groan bubbles from Chris’s lips and you can feel Leon’s lecherous gaze on you the entire time. You lap at the head some more and keep working your fist up and down.

You’re either very talented or Chris is very needy for you, because it only takes a handful of gentle licks before precum beads at the top. His eyes are blown out and locked on you as you suckle the swollen tip between your lips and bob your head. Your mouth is the perfect combination of warm and wet and soft. You cup his balls and give them a gentle massage while working your magic.

He reaches down and pets your head as you work. His head snaps up when he hears the other man speak to him.

“How’s it feel? As good as you imagined?” he asks.

“Better,” Chris moans.

His breaths enter and exit his lungs in deep puffs. This truly was better than he could’ve imagined. Everything about you was beyond the capabilities of human imagination. Your gags were so soft and tender. They were precious despite their inherent lewd nature. You looked up at him with glossy eyes, maintaining eye contact most of the time. That was something he’d taught you. Your first days of work you were always looking down at your shoes or right through him at the wall. He’d been the one to tell you eye contact was important. It was the most baseline form of connection.

You take your mouth off Chris’s shaft with a small pop. A string of saliva dangles between you and his cock, but you quickly destroy it when your lips smoosh against the flushed skin. You kiss the tip over and over, savoring the taste of precum it brings.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not caring if he heard or not.

But he does, and his gaze softens. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, rookie,” he says back.

Leon decides not to interrupt the exchange or tease Chris about the old nickname for you. He had no genuine ill will toward the other man. That plus his own cock was rising to attention, and he was more interested in palming it through his jeans.

“You're such a good girl. You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Chris continues to coo at you as you take his length back into your mouth.

His eyes crinkle as they shut. He doesn’t want to cum yet just in case there was the chance for anything more. You’re too taken with servicing him to notice that you should maybe slow down. Lucky for the both of you, Leon intervenes.

“Ah ah, baby. Don’t take Chris out of the fun too quick,” he tuts, reaching forward to guide your head back.

You pull off obediently and lean back onto your knees. Chris sighs at the reprieve but nearly blows his load when his eyes refocus on you gazing up at him with spit and precum on your lips.

“I think Chris needs a break, angel. You know how good that mouth of yours is,” he says and pets your head before looking up to the older man, “You want a little taste of her while you cool off?”

It’s like time slows to a halt in the world of Chris Redfield. The heavens part and the words he just heard are the gateway to paradise. He stares at Leon, almost in the same disbelief you had been in minutes ago.

“You’re cool with that?” he says, trying to seem casual.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he says and shrugs, “Plus, I think your rookie deserves a treat for her performance.”

“Of course she does. She’s probably feeling pretty needy by now too,” Chris says in return, beginning to feel more comfortable with the situation at hand.

“I’ll even let you pick, man. You want her spread out on the bed or riding your face?” he asks.

You look between the both of them as they speak before stopping on Chris as he makes the decision.

“Riding my face. Want her to smother me,” the older man says as he looks down at you with his familiar smile.

Leon glances down at you too. “You heard him, baby,” he says.

You return to your feet and approach the bed closer to the window. Chris discards his pants completely and removes his shirt before lying back. He pats his chest, signaling for you to climb up. As you move closer, so does your boyfriend. He rounds the bed and sits on the other side of the mattress to watch the pair of you.

You crawl over Chris’s muscular body, looking down at him for a moment when your faces are level. You then scoot up more so you’re basically sitting on his chest. You weren’t shy about sitting on someone’s face necessarily. You’d done it for Leon about a dozen times before, but Chris was new and you didn’t know how he liked to do it. From the way he guided your hips higher up though, you could already tell he was a little more gentle than your boyfriend.

He pulls you up until your pussy is hovering over his face. Then he takes a few moments to just admire it. It was cute just like every other part of you. One of his fingers drags over your flesh and pulls on the puffy folds, showing off your pretty little clit and slick entrance.

“Don’t hold back for me, rookie. I want to taste all of you,” he says as he looks up at you.

You return his look and nod before he pulls you lower by your hips onto his face. A squeak flies from your lips when his tongue makes contact with your cunt. Leon chuckles as he watches the two of you with lustful eyes. He’s working on undressing himself now.

Chris’s tongue takes a long swipe from the bottom to the top of your pussy, taking in as much of you as he can. Right now you’re all he can smell. Every breath brings him more of you. Your taste overwhelms him too. It’s the way he wants to live. You whine as his lips engulf your clit to suck on.

“Already making such pretty noises,” Leon teases, “Is Chris doing it how you like, sweet girl?”

You nod, your eyes connecting with those of your boyfriend’s for a moment. He kneels on the bed to be closer to you. His hand comes up to stroke your cheek.

“Good. You deserve it, baby. Just look at you. So precious. No wonder he’s crazy about you too,” Leon murmurs as he leans in and kisses you deeply.

His lips move with yours as you moan into his mouth. You begin rocking your hips back and forth on Chris’s face to get more of the stimulation he’s providing you with. His tongue flattens over your cunt and presses against it in stripes, making broad strokes that spark euphoria in your belly each time. His hands lock onto your hips to keep you still enough that you’re not interrupting his devouring of you.

The constant pleasure to your core makes you lightheaded. You would be swaying if not for the two men’s combined efforts to keep you up right. Your kisses become sloppier, and to alleviate it, Leon ducks down to kiss your neck instead. He peppers your skin with hickeys, his possessive nature shining through a bit.

“My pretty girl, doing so good for us right now. Taking it like a pro,” he whispers teasingly as his hands cup your breasts and give them a tender squeeze.

His lips travel down to where his hands are. He plants a few kisses on the swell of your chest. The sight of your nipples perking up for him would never get old.

“Sweet baby, everything about you is perfect. Don’t know how Chris resisted and never got a taste,” he says as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your head falls back and you shudder. Two mouths on you, both licking and sucking in harmony. It made you moan loud enough that you would’ve certainly got a noise complaint if any of the other rooms were occupied.

“Is that for me or Chris, babydoll?” Leon asks and smirks up at you.

“Both,” you whimper, “Both of you are making me feel so good.”

“Not picking favorites, hm?” he goads you further.

“Can’t think enough to pick one right now,” you say simply before another whine leaves you. You didn’t want any more drama. At least not before you came.

“Oh, is your head getting all foggy, baby?” he coos.

“Mhm,” you whimper and nod.

On your lower half, Chris keeps his mouth firmly attached to your pussy. He’s pretty sure you already have him addicted, and you haven’t even cum yet. He’s licking with all the dedication in the world as if this task was his life’s purpose, the action he was put on this very earth to complete.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he grunts into you as he continues open mouth kissing your cunt, “Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Leon smiles at the compliment, almost as if it was partially intended for him by virtue of being your boyfriend.

“She’s loving you, Chris. You’ve got her brain melting out her ears,” Leon purrs while rubbing your back soothingly, steadying you from the tremors that rack your body, “Pretty baby’s probably gonna cum all over your face soon.

When he hears that, the man below you pulls your hips down even harder and locks you onto his mouth. He works even harder to please you, relishing in the way your noises grow louder and more strained.

You give Leon puppy eyes as your hand darts out for his. Your fingers squeeze his palm so tight, he’s sure there will be little red crescents on the skin when you let go.

“What is it, sweetheart? You need to hold my hand?” he croons. He gently squeezes your hand back and moves his face to your neck to press a few more kisses there. “I’ve got you, baby. You cum whenever you want, I’m not gonna let go. Show Chris how pretty you are when you cum.”

Your teeth dig into your lip and your hips quiver violently.

“Fuck Leon- I just- I- Chris,” you stutter out. Your brain rushes to latch onto something, but it can’t seem to get a lock on anything.

“Don’t gotta say anything, angel. Just cum all over my face,” Chris commands from between your thighs.

“You heard him, baby. No thinking. Just let yourself feel good. That’s what we both wanna see,” he whispers and brings your hand to his lips.

Your lips part to say something, but you decide to just listen. You grind your hips down against Chris’s mouth, gasping as the euphoria paramounts within you. Your hips roll even faster as you feel release within your grasp. You’re closing in on it when you shriek and nearly double over with the shattering feeling of your peak.

“There we go, that’s it,” Leon chuckles softly, “Show him what I get to see every night. My favorite sight in the whole world.”

Your body moves as if it’s possessed when you cum. Your back arches into a curve with supernatural speed. Your eyes are screwed shut while your mouth is wide open. The younger man next to you grins while the older man below you continues to make out with your pussy, lapping up every drop of you that he could.

When you start to come down, he lets up, knowing Leon had more in store from you. He lets your hips go, and you basically topple over onto the mattress. You inhale and exhale deeply as the cool motel sheets rest against your cheek.

Chris’s eyes are hooded from lust, the effects of the most erotic experience in his life lingering. His cock is fully hard, standing up and aching for more of your touch. Yet in a way he’s satisfied, having just made you cum, tasted the sweetest part of you, and heard your most vulnerable sounds.

Leon’s undressed on the bed, the only one of the three of you whose mind didn’t feel hazy with clouds of desire. He tugs on his stiff cock a few times as he decides what to do. His eyes flit between your crumpled up form and the other man lying on his back.

“Chris, you wanna hold her for a little bit? Have her sit in your lap?” he asks.

The older man almost felt pathetic at how eager he was to play along and say yes. Almost. Because he still does that. He nods and sits up, leaning back against the headboard.

The next move is getting you up. Your boyfriend guides you to where Chris is, and he then helps you into his lap. Your mind was coming back to normal, and you were looking up at Leon with adoration while you melted against Chris’s broad chest. You nuzzle it gently, feeling its warmth and plush quality. His thick arms encase you, making sure you feel secure.

Leon pulls you on your hips to get you a bit lower where he has easier access.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck her this time. I wanna show you how it’s done first,” Leon teases as he slots himself between your legs.

In any other instance, this would’ve pissed Chris off. Everything about it would’ve left him disappointed and annoyed. But now any negative emotion is overshadowed by two words.

This time.

Because this time implies there will be a next time. And maybe even a time after next time. Another time for him to feel his cock inside you. Another time for him to make you cum on his fingers or watch you ride him. Some of his hopes spring back to life.

Internally, his heart is soaring. He kisses your hairline carefully as Leon slides his tip between your folds that are sticky with arousal. He teases himself with the feeling only a few times before nudging the tip inside.

Your head falls back against Chris’s chest and you moan. He kisses your temple and caresses your sides as if you need to be soothed. As if this isn’t the dick you’ve been taking nightly for the last few months.

Chris’s own length is rock solid against your back. Every small change in your facial expression or rise in pitch of your voice sends blood rushing to it, the threat of cumming untouched ever present.

Leon steadily pushes in until he’s buried all the way inside and you’re nice and filled to the hilt.

“So fucking tight. You gotta feel it, Chris. You thought she tasted good? Just wait till you feel her,” he grunts.

“I bet. I could tell from how cute her pussy was. She was clenching around nothing the whole time. I’m sure she loves to squeeze down anytime she’s got a cock in her,” Chris whispers

More hope was rising in him that this wouldn’t be a one night only thing, and it took all his strength not to smile like an idiot. His knuckles move down your cheek lovingly as he speaks to you and holds you while Leon thrusts. Your body rocks gently with the momentum, pushing you against Chris’s cock each time.

“She does love to get all tight. Just wants to suck me in so I can never leave,” Leon says and holds your thighs to start thrusting harder.

“Such a needy girl. I should’ve known, rookie,” Chris murmurs to you.

“It just feels so good,” you whine, “It’s not my fault.”

“Oh I know it’s not, precious,” Leon mocks, “Your head is always full of nothing but air when I’m around. It probably just gets worse with Chris here.”

You whine in protest and squirm a little, unknowingly grinding your ass on Chris’s cock and coaxing a moan from him. Leon’s dick hits deeper too, bringing you heightened pleasure.

“You’re not an airhead, baby. You’re a sweet girl. My rookie. You just wanna feel good, hm?” Chris says teasingly.

You nod along, and from the look on his face, Leon is amused, pleased with the dynamic Chris opened up.

“No one said she isn’t sweet. Just that she goes a little dumb as soon as she’s got my dick in her,” he teases.

He sighs and his eyes roll back for a moment as you clamp around you. He keeps rocking in and out, enjoying the wet sounds coming from each one of his movements. He also can’t get enough of your mewls or the way you're clutching one of Chris’s forearms right now.

“Maybe he’s right about that. You just work so hard all the time. You need something that can calm you down,” Chris says and squeezes his arms around you, “You’re still so precious.”

You look up at Chris with lovey dovey eyes, remembering why you’d been so enamored with him in the first place. He talked to you like you were the sweetest thing to walk this earth and made you believe it. He made you feel cared for in a way that was indescribable. Pure feeling.

“Yeah you are,” Leon grunts, “And you can go as dumb as you want right now, baby. We’re both here taking care of you. I’m sure Chris loves holding you while all you can do is whine for more.”

“That’s right. I love seeing you like this, knowing you’re taken care of,” he whispers, “And you know I’ve always got you. I’ll never let my rookie go.”

All the words are overwhelming. You pant and writhe more in Chris’s grasp.

“You getting close again, babydoll?” Leon asks, knowing your tells.

You whimper and nod quickly.

“Good. I am too,” he grunts.

He starts working himself into you harder. The momentum from each snap of his hips keeps you rubbing against Chris’s shaft and working him closer to the edge as well. All three of you are panting, muscles tensing up in some way as the end approaches.

You stare into Leon’s eyes for a moment before rotating your head and looking up at Chris. Both sets of eyes are fixated on you. The overflow of attention is the final strike your body needs to start convulsing with release. The older man’s arms tighten around you, keeping you close as your skin heats up and your noises grow whinier. Your boyfriend keeps a steel grip on your hips, his fingers stroking back and forth.

“That’s my girl,” Leon grunts, “Let it out, baby.”

He moans and lets his head fall back as he feels himself hurtling towards the finish line.

“My rookie. Just perfect, honey,” Chris whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

The words nearly triple your pleasure and you continue to ride out the high as Leon finally cums and shoots it inside you. He nearly growls as he pounds into you, completely emptying himself. All the rutting is enough for Chris to cum too. He spurts his hot seed against the small of your back, holding onto you with all he has as his hips jerk upwards and he imagines it’s him buried inside you.

Leon’s the first to get his bearings back. He pulls out slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of emptiness. He then rolls to the side of you and Chris, watching the final moments with the other man. You lie on his chest with your eyes drooping, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. His hand lazily runs down your side. He savors your warmth on his chest. Almost subconsciously, it feels like you really are his in this moment.

That is until you regain your composure and sit up. You hop up for a moment to clean off the mess on your back. He knew you’d have to, but the sight still makes Chris’s heart ache.

As you return to the bed, you give your boyfriend a dizzy smile and crawl over to curl up at his side. He rubs your back and pecks your forehead. For the two of you, it’s like a regular night. Chris isn’t sure where he fits in this anymore. Should he just move to the bed you two had claimed earlier? Should he make the two of you get up?

He’s running through solutions in his mind when your hand comes out and grabs his wrist. You’re looking up at him with some sort of longing in your eyes.

“Stay with us,” you say.

It was softer than he ever heard from you, different from when you introduced yourself on your first day of work or made a mistake on a mission. It was a new kind of shyness that just made him want more from you. He stares at you and contemplates the idea. Leon raises his eyebrows and gives him a look, giving him the silent ok he needed to slowly lower himself to the mattress.

He shuts off the light first, leaving the motel room in darkness except for the glow of the yellow street lamps shining through the window. His head hits the pillow, and he drapes an arm over you. You’re still leaning into Leon for the most part which he makes no move to interfere with.

The three of you don’t say anything for the rest of the night. Silence permeates the atmosphere of your shared space. The events of the last hour run through each of your minds in different ways. The mission had taken a back seat for now. It could return to prominence tomorrow once the mental dust had settled.

Leon’s eyes flutter shut first, and his deep, even breaths of sleep follow. You’re barely awake with your cheek squished against his pectoral muscle. Chris watches you, the outline of your face illuminated from the faint light outside. He wonders if this really will be the only time with you. If his taste of heaven will remain that, a sample of what he could have had. He chooses to not believe that and drive himself crazy.

He shuts his eyes too and brings his face to nestle against the crook of your neck. His breath hits your neck when he sighs. In the abyss that is the motel room, he feels your hands come up to rest on his arm.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield x y/n #chris redfield x you #chris redfield imagine #chris redfield smut #ch: leon kennedy 💌#ch: chris redfield 💌

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count-on-mi · 2 months ago

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Whatever it takes... (Nayeon)

“Enter, Nayeon,” you command, your voice low and authoritative. “Close the door.”

She swallows hard, her throat dry, and obeys, the heavy door sealing her fate with a soft thud. The room is stark, with bare walls and a single desk where you sit, exuding control. Nayeon’s practice outfit—tight sports bra and shorts—clings to her lithe frame, accentuating her curves. Your eyes linger, predatory, as you lean back, fingers drumming the desk.

“You know why you haven’t been chosen for TWICE yet, don’t you?” you said, your voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of menace. “Your singing is decent, your dancing passable, but you lack… something special.”

The words cut deep, slicing through her pride like a blade. Nayeon bit her lip, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the resume. She knew she wasn’t the most talented trainee, but she had poured her soul into this—how could she lack anything? Her mind raced, searching for a defense, but her voice came out weak, trembling: “I… I can work harder. Please, give me a chance.” The plea felt like a betrayal of her dignity, each word a step closer to surrender.

You rose from your chair, your movements deliberate, predatory. Circling behind her, your shadow loomed over her like a dark cloud. The air grew heavy, and she felt the heat of your breath on the back of her neck, carrying the faint scent of cologne. Her body stiffened, every muscle tensing as fear and shame coiled in her gut. She wanted to run, to scream, but her legs felt rooted to the floor, trapped by the weight of her dream. This is for TWICE, she told herself, but the lie felt hollow, a fragile shield against the truth she refused to face.

“Chances?” you murmured, your voice a low, mocking purr. “Chances are earned, Nayeon. What are you willing to give for yours?”

Her heart sank, the implication of your words sinking in like poison. She understood now—this wasn’t about her talent or her effort. It was about something far darker, something that would stain her soul. Her lips trembled, and she tried to deflect, her voice barely a whisper: “I don’t know what you mean…” But she did know. Deep down, she knew exactly what you wanted, and the realization filled her with a suffocating shame. She was a good girl, a dreamer, not this—not whatever you were turning her into.

Your hand landed on her shoulder, fingers sliding down her arm with a slow, deliberate touch that sent a shiver through her. The warmth of your skin contrasted with the cold dread pooling in her stomach. “Don’t play innocent,” you whispered in her ear, your voice dripping with sick amusement. “You know how to please me. Strip.”

The command hit her like a physical blow, and her knees nearly buckled. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her mind screamed in protest: No, this isn’t me! I’m not that kind of girl! But the dream—the years of sweat, the sleepless nights, the endless rehearsals—loomed like a specter, demanding she pay its price. She tried to speak, to beg for another way, but her voice broke: “Please… I’ve never…”

“Strip, or get out,” you cut her off, your tone icy, unyielding. “No debut. No TWICE. Nothing.”

The finality of your words shattered her. The dream she had clung to for so long was slipping through her fingers, and the cost of keeping it was her dignity, her purity, her very sense of self. Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent and scalding, as she reached for the hem of her sports bra with trembling hands. The fabric slid off, exposing her pale breasts, her nipples hardening in the cold air, a humiliating betrayal of her body. She hesitated, her hands hovering over her shorts, but your impatient glare forced her to continue. The shorts and underwear fell to the floor, leaving her naked, defenseless, her skin prickling with goosebumps under your ravenous gaze.

Her arms instinctively moved to cover her chest, a futile attempt to shield herself from the shame that consumed her. She felt like a specimen under a microscope, every inch of her body exposed to your scrutiny. Her cheeks burned, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of what she was doing. This is for the dream, she repeated, but the mantra felt like a lie, a justification for the degradation she was enduring. Her mind churned with self-loathing: How did I end up here? I’m supposed to be a star, not… this.

“Hands down,” you ordered, your voice a whip that cracked through her thoughts. She obeyed, her arms falling limply to her sides, her body fully exposed. The humiliation was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to disappear. Your eyes roamed her body, lingering on her breasts, her flat stomach, the untouched space between her thighs. A cruel smile curled your lips. “Not bad,” you said, your tone dripping with condescension. “Your body’s worth more than your voice.”

The words stung, each one a fresh wound to her pride. Nayeon’s chest heaved with silent sobs, her tears pooling on the floor. She felt like a commodity, reduced to flesh and curves, her talent and hard work discarded in favor of her body. The shame was a living thing, wrapping around her heart, squeezing until she could barely breathe. She wanted to scream, to claw her way out of this nightmare, but the dream—the cursed dream—held her captive.

“Get on the table,” you commanded, your voice sharp with impatience. “Spread your legs.”

Her stomach lurched, the order amplifying her humiliation to an unbearable degree. She climbed onto the table, the cold surface biting into her skin, a stark reminder of her vulnerability. As she parted her legs, the act felt like a violation of her very soul. Her virgin pussy glistened faintly under the harsh lights, the exposure making her feel like a whore, a betrayal of everything she had ever believed about herself. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood, leaving crescent-shaped marks. She stared at the ceiling, trying to dissociate, to pretend this was happening to someone else. But the shame was relentless, a tidal wave that drowned her in self-disgust. I’m filthy, she thought. I’m nothing.

You shed your jacket and unbuckled your pants, revealing your erect cock, thick and menacing, veins pulsing with anticipation. Nayeon’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in terror as she saw it. The sight was grotesque, a symbol of her impending ruin. Her mind screamed: No, please, not this! But she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, paralyzed by the weight of her dream and the crushing shame that bound her.

“Look at me, slut,” you snapped, forcing her to meet your gaze. Her eyes, red and swollen from crying, locked onto your cock, the sight filling her with dread. “Virgin, huh?” you taunted, your fingers brushing the inside of her thigh, creeping toward her untouched core. She nodded, tears streaming down her face, her shame intensifying with every second. The word “virgin” felt like a brand, a reminder of what she was about to lose—not just her physical purity, but her identity, her pride, her humanity.

“Good,” you said, your voice thick with sadistic glee. “I love breaking in virgins.” Your fingers paused at her entrance, teasing the sensitive flesh, sending a jolt of unwanted sensation through her. Nayeon’s body tensed, her mind recoiling in horror. This isn’t me, she thought, but the mantra was losing its power, eroded by the relentless tide of shame.

“Please… be gentle,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a desperate plea born of fear and humiliation. The words felt like a surrender, a final admission of her powerlessness. She hated herself for saying them, for begging, but the terror of what was coming was too much to bear.

“Gentle?” you sneered, your fingers plunging into her tight pussy without warning. She screamed, the pain sharp and searing, her walls clenching around the intrusion. “You’re here to serve me, whore.” You thrust your fingers in and out, rough and unrelenting, her body jerking with each movement. Her thighs trembled, blood and arousal mixing in a sickening cocktail that dripped onto the table. The sound of your fingers moving inside her was obscene, a wet, rhythmic squelch that echoed in the silent room, amplifying her shame to a deafening roar.

Nayeon’s mind was a battlefield, shame and pain warring for dominance. Every thrust of your fingers felt like a violation, not just of her body but of her very being. She was supposed to be a star, a beacon of hope for her fans, not this—this degraded, broken thing. Her tears fell faster, her sobs choking her as she tried to cling to the fragments of her dignity. But the shame was all-consuming, a black hole that swallowed her pride, her dreams, her self. I’m disgusting, she thought. I’m nothing but a toy for him.

You withdrew your fingers, licking them clean with a grotesque smirk. “Sweet little cunt,” you said, savoring her taste. “Time for the real thing.”

You positioned yourself between her legs, your cock pressing against her entrance, the swollen head teasing her slick folds. Nayeon’s breath hitched, her body trembling with a mix of fear and unwanted arousal. The shame was a living thing now, a serpent coiling around her heart, squeezing until she could barely breathe. She knew what was coming, knew it would destroy her, and yet her body betrayed her, responding to your touch with a heat she couldn’t suppress.

“Beg me to fuck you,” you ordered, your voice a low growl. “Beg me to take your virginity.”

Her lips quivered, the words stuck in her throat like shards of glass. The humiliation of begging for her own violation was unbearable, a degradation so profound it threatened to unravel her completely. Her mind screamed: Don’t say it! Don’t give him that! But the dream—the cursed dream—loomed like a guillotine, ready to sever her last hope if she refused. “Please… fuck me… take it…” she choked out, her voice breaking, each word a fresh wound to her soul. The shame was excruciating, a fire that burned through her pride, leaving only ashes.

You didn’t hesitate, thrusting forward with brutal force, tearing through her hymen and burying yourself deep inside her. Nayeon screamed, the pain a white-hot lance that split her in two. Blood trickled from her stretched pussy, pooling on the table, a stark symbol of her lost innocence. Her walls clamped around you, tight and unyielding, the sensation both agonizing and strangely intoxicating. You groaned, relishing the resistance, and began to move, each thrust a deliberate assault on her body and spirit.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” you growled, your hands gripping her hips, nails digging into her flesh. Your thrusts were merciless, each one driving deeper, slamming against her cervix with a force that made her body quake. The table creaked beneath her, the sound mingling with the wet slap of skin on skin, a perverse symphony that filled the room. Nayeon’s hands clawed at the table, her nails splintering the wood, her body writhing in a futile attempt to escape the pain.

The shame was a tsunami now, drowning her in its relentless waves. Every thrust felt like a public execution, her dignity stripped away before an invisible audience of her own shattered dreams. She was no longer Nayeon, the aspiring idol, the girl who danced with hope in her heart. She was a whore, a vessel for your pleasure, her body a canvas for your cruelty. Her tears fell in a steady stream, her sobs choking her as she tried to hold onto some fragment of herself. I’m filthy, she thought. I’m nothing.

Your fingers found her clit, rubbing it with a cruel precision that sent unwanted jolts of pleasure through her. Her body betrayed her again, her pussy growing wetter, lubricating your brutal thrusts. Nayeon’s mind recoiled in horror, the pleasure a twisted mockery of her shame. No, I can’t feel this! she screamed internally, but her body didn’t listen, her hips twitching involuntarily as the sensations built. The shame was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to die. She was supposed to be pure, untouched, a symbol of innocence—yet here she was, her body responding like a slut’s.

“Look at you, whore,” you taunted, leaning down to bite her neck, your teeth leaving angry red marks. “Your cunt loves this. You’re just a filthy slut pretending to be pure.” Your words were poison, seeping into her mind, amplifying her self-loathing. Nayeon’s sobs grew louder, her body shaking with the force of her shame. She hated you, hated herself, hated the dream that had led her to this moment. But the pleasure was relentless, a dark tide that threatened to pull her under.

You felt her walls tighten, her body on the brink of climax. “I’m gonna cum in this virgin pussy,” you snarled, your thrusts growing erratic, each one a hammer blow to her sanity. Nayeon’s cries turned to whimpers, her mind fracturing under the weight of her shame and the unwanted pleasure coursing through her. “No… please…” she whispered, but her body betrayed her, her pussy clenching around you as her orgasm crashed over her. The shame was apocalyptic, a cataclysm that obliterated her sense of self. She was coming, her body surrendering to the very act that was destroying her, and the realization filled her with a despair so profound it threatened to consume her entirely.

With a final thrust, you buried yourself deep inside her, your cock pulsing as you unleashed a torrent of hot cum into her womb. The sensation was overwhelming, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her soul. Nayeon’s body shuddered, her orgasm mingling with the searing shame of your release, her pussy milking you against her will. Cum and blood dripped from her ravaged entrance, pooling on the table, a grotesque testament to her ruin.

You pulled out, your cock glistening with her blood and fluids. “One hole down,” you said with a cruel smirk, wiping yourself clean as Nayeon lay trembling, her mind a wasteland of shame and despair.

Nayeon collapsed on the table, her body limp, her breath ragged. The shame was a physical thing now, a weight that pinned her to the table, heavier than your body had been. Her pussy throbbed with pain and unwanted pleasure, the sticky mix of blood and cum seeping from her, a constant reminder of her degradation. Her mind was a storm of self-hatred, each thought a lash of the whip: I’m a whore. I’m filthy. I’m nothing. She tried to cling to the dream, to tell herself this was for TWICE, but the lie felt hollow, a cruel joke at her expense.

You grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her stomach with a rough yank. Her face pressed against the cold table, the wood slick with her tears and sweat. You spread her ass cheeks, exposing her tight, untouched asshole, a pink, puckered ring that clenched instinctively under your gaze. Nayeon’s heart stopped, a fresh wave of terror crashing over her. “No! Not there!” she cried, her voice raw, desperate. The idea of you violating her there was unthinkable, a degradation so profound it made her previous shame seem trivial. Her mind screamed: This is too much! I can’t do this!

“You don’t get to say no,” you snapped, spitting on her asshole, the warm saliva trickling down her crack. The act was so degrading, so humiliating, that Nayeon’s sobs grew hysterical, her body shaking with the force of her despair. The shame was a living thing, a monster that devoured her from within. She was being reduced to nothing, her body a series of holes for your pleasure, her dreams a cruel bait that had led her to this abyss.

You pressed your cock against her asshole, the swollen head forcing its way past the tight ring of muscle. Nayeon screamed, the pain unlike anything she had ever felt, a burning, tearing agony that made her vision blur. Blood seeped from her stretched hole, the coppery scent mingling with the musk of her arousal, a sickening reminder of her body’s betrayal. You thrust deeper, her asshole gripping you like a vice, the tightness almost painful for you but excruciating for her.

“Fuck, this ass is perfect,” you groaned, your hands gripping her hips, nails drawing blood. You fucked her with savage intensity, each thrust a brutal assault on her body and soul. The table rocked beneath her, the wood creaking in time with her sobs, a perverse rhythm that filled the room. Nayeon’s mind was a void, her shame so overwhelming it threatened to swallow her whole. She was no longer a person, just a collection of orifices, a thing to be used and discarded. The thought was a knife to her heart, each thrust driving it deeper.

Her body betrayed her again, the pain giving way to a twisted pleasure that made her want to vomit. Her asshole clenched around you, the sensation both agonizing and intoxicating, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her very essence. Nayeon’s sobs turned to whimpers, her mind fracturing under the weight of her shame. I’m disgusting, she thought. I’m a slut, a filthy whore who enjoys this. The realization was a death knell, a final blow to the girl she had been.

You reached around, your fingers finding her clit, rubbing it with a cruel precision that sent shocks of pleasure through her. “Cum for me, you dirty bitch,” you commanded, your voice a lash that stripped away the last of her resistance. Nayeon’s body obeyed, her asshole spasming as another orgasm tore through her, the pleasure a grotesque mockery of her shame. She screamed, her voice raw, broken, the sound of a soul being shattered. The shame was absolute, a black hole that consumed her, leaving nothing behind.

With a final thrust, you buried yourself in her ass, your cock pulsing as you filled her with cum. The hot, sticky flood was a violation so profound it felt like a desecration, a final mark of her ruin. Nayeon’s body shook, her sobs choking her as the reality of what had happened sank in. She was broken, defiled, a shell of the girl who had walked into this room.

You pulled out, your cum leaking from her gaping asshole, mixing with blood and dripping onto the table. “Two holes down,” you said, your voice cold, triumphant. Nayeon lay still, her mind a wasteland of shame, her body a monument to her degradation.

Nayeon was a husk, her body sprawled across the table, her breath shallow, her mind numb. The shame was a physical thing, a weight that crushed her, a poison that seeped into every cell. Her pussy and asshole throbbed with pain and cum, the sticky mess a constant reminder of her ruin. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes vacant, but beneath the emptiness was a flickering spark of self-loathing, a hatred so deep it threatened to consume her. I’m a whore, she thought, the words a mantra of despair. I’m nothing.

You grabbed her hair, yanking her off the table and forcing her to her knees. The pain in her scalp was nothing compared to the shame that burned through her, a fire that left only ashes. “Time for your mouth,” you said, your voice a cruel promise of further degradation. You gripped her head, your fingers digging into her scalp, her hair tangling in your grasp. Her knees ached against the hard floor, the position a humiliating reminder of her powerlessness.

You rubbed your cock across her face, smearing her with the remnants of her own blood and cum. The scent was overpowering, a nauseating mix of musk and copper that made her gag. Nayeon’s sobs grew hysterical, the shame of this final act threatening to break her completely. Her lips trembled, her mind screaming: No more! I can’t take it! But the dream—the cursed dream—held her captive, a chain she couldn’t break.

“Open your mouth, slut,” you ordered, your voice a whip that cracked through her despair. She obeyed, her lips parting, her tongue recoiling as you shoved your cock inside. The taste was vile, a mix of her own fluids and your musk, a final degradation that stripped away the last of her dignity. You fucked her mouth with brutal force, your cock hitting the back of her throat, making her gag and choke. Her saliva dripped from her lips, mixing with tears and blood, a grotesque cocktail that pooled on the floor.

Nayeon’s mind was a void, her shame so overwhelming it threatened to swallow her whole. Every thrust of your cock was a reminder of her fall, a confirmation of her worthlessness. She was no longer Nayeon, the girl with dreams of stardom. She was a whore, a vessel for your pleasure, her body a canvas for your cruelty. The shame was apocalyptic, a cataclysm that obliterated her sense of self. She hated you, hated herself, hated the dream that had led her to this moment.

You gripped her head tighter, your thrusts growing erratic. “You love this, don’t you?” you taunted, your voice a lash that stripped away the last of her resistance. Nayeon’s body betrayed her one final time, a faint pulse of pleasure stirring in her core as your cock filled her throat. The shame was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to die. She was supposed to be pure, untouched, a symbol of innocence—yet here she was, her body responding like a slut’s.

“Beg me to cum in your mouth,” you commanded, your voice a knife that cut through her despair. Nayeon’s lips moved, her voice a broken whisper: “Please… cum in my mouth…” The words were a final surrender, a complete capitulation to her shame. Her mind screamed: I’m disgusting! I’m nothing! But the pleasure was relentless, a dark tide that pulled her under.

With a final thrust, you buried your cock in her throat, your cum flooding her mouth in hot, thick spurts. The taste was overwhelming, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her soul. Nayeon gagged, her body shaking as she swallowed, the act a final mark of her ruin. Cum dripped from her lips, mixing with her tears, a grotesque testament to her degradation.

You shoved her away, and Nayeon collapsed on the floor, her body a trembling heap of flesh and shame. Her mouth was half-open, cum leaking from her lips, her breathing shallow. Her body was a map of her ruin, covered in blood, cum, and sweat, her hair matted to her face. Her eyes were vacant, but beneath the emptiness was a sea of self-loathing, a hatred so deep it threatened to consume her.

“Still got time, slut,” you said, your voice cold, triumphant. You stood over her, aiming your cock at her face, and began to piss. The golden stream hit her face, soaking her hair, running down her cheeks, pooling in her mouth. The stench was overpowering, a final degradation that stripped away the last of her humanity. Nayeon coughed, choking on the acrid liquid, her body shaking with the force of her despair. The shame was absolute, a black hole that consumed her, leaving nothing behind.

“This is where you belong,” you said, your voice dripping with contempt. “In the filth, like the whore you are.” The words were a final blow, a confirmation of her worthlessness. Nayeon’s sobs grew silent, her body curling in on itself, a broken thing in a pool of piss and cum.

You kicked her ribs, the impact sending a dull thud through the room. She gasped, her body folding further, her breath hitching in pain. “Shut up, whore,” you snarled. “You don’t even deserve to stand.” You continued to piss, the stream soaking her body, a final mark of her ruin. The clock’s shrill beep signaled the end, and you stepped back, zipping up your pants.

Nayeon lay in the filth, her body trembling, her mind a wasteland of shame. “Good luck with your debut, you useless meat toilet,” you said, your voice a cold farewell. You turned and left, the door slamming shut behind you, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Nayeon remained on the floor, her body a broken relic, her mind a graveyard of dreams. The piss and cum dried on her skin, a crust of degradation that marked her as something less than human. Her ribs ached, her breath shallow, the pain a constant reminder of her ruin. She tried to move, but her body refused, too weak, too broken.

The mirror reflected her shattered form, a stranger staring back at her. Her hair was matted with filth, her face streaked with tears and piss, her eyes hollow. She whispered, her voice barely audible: “Why… why me…” The words were a lament, a cry for a life that no longer existed.

Outside, the laughter of other trainees echoed, their voices full of hope and innocence. The sound was a knife, cutting through the last of her resolve. Nayeon closed her eyes, tears falling, mixing with the filth on the floor. . Her dream, once a beacon of hope, had become her damnation, a chain that bound her to this moment of utter despair.

#minasaiyatis #twice smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #m reader #twice imagines #nayeon smut #twice nayeon

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kaiyunsim · 2 months ago

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still into you —

pairing : idol!ni-ki x manager m!reader

summary : one minute you’re managing chaos at work, the next you’re realizing the kid you used to babysit is taller and totally in love with you. somewhere in the middle, your brain forgets how to function.

warnings : fluff, age gap (ni-ki is ~4-5 years younger), kinda cliche tbh, reader is boynextdoor’s rookie manager

a/n : trying to get these requests done ! also do we like these ^ photos / header ?? or should i go back to the normal ones

queuing : still into you - paramore, who are you? - saga faye, always - daniel caesar, endlessly - bixby, night changes - one direction

[requested] by anon

— wc : 2.0k — not proof read —

you’re running late. not a great first impression when you’re barely a week into your new job, sprinting down hybe’s polished hallways with coffee in one hand and a tablet tucked under your arm. the building feels endless, identical glass doors and blinding white lights making you dizzy. you skid around a corner too fast, don’t even see the group coming until it’s too late.

coffee sloshes out of the cup, splattering the floor and the front of someone’s black hoodie. you freeze, heart thudding.

“shit, i’m so sorry—” you start, looking up—

and then up. and up. because the guy you’ve just doused is tall. ridiculously tall. he blinks at you, stunned for half a second, before this slow, familiar grin spreads across his face.

“hyung?” he says, voice somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

you blink at him, brain buffering. the face is vaguely familiar, sharp jawline and messy hair and a glint in his eyes that you can’t quite place.

“you grew,” he says, laughing as he plucks the empty coffee cup out of your hand and tosses it in a nearby trash can. “you’re still tiny though.”

you stare, heat creeping up your neck. tiny? who does he—

and then it clicks.

the way his nose crinkles when he laughs. the way he tilts his head, waiting for you to recognize him.

“riki?” you say, almost a question.

his grin widens. “you remember.”

you do, but it’s like an unconfortable amazement. because the last time you saw nishimura riki, he was twelve years old, barely up to your chin. he had just moved to korea, awkward and shy and homesick, and you, freshly eighteen and cocky with the title of “part-time babysitter” had been assigned to look after him.

he’s not that kid anymore. not even close.

“you got tall,” you mutter, dazed.

he laughs, and it’s deeper now, richer. “yeah. you didn’t.”

you scowl instinctively, and that just makes him laugh harder, like it’s the most natural thing in the world after not seeing eachother for about 8 years. like there’s not a solid foot of height difference between you now.

“still cute though,” he adds, and then winks.

you’re too stunned to respond, standing there while he and his group, enhypen, shuffle around you, offering half-hearted apologies and amused glances. someone hands you a napkin. ni-ki doesn’t move his arm until one of his members drags him away by the sleeve, still grinning at you over his shoulder.

you’re left in the hallway, clutching the napkin

later, when you’re sitting in the boynextdoor practice room, trying to scrub coffee stains out of your jacket with a half-dry wet wipe, your mind drifts back to earlier. to him.

to the way he’d had to double take when he saw you. like he wasn’t expecting you at all. like he was happy.

you chuckle under your breath, shaking your head.

you remember that kid, the one who used to tug on your sleeve and show you secret corners of the trainee dorms, dragging you into trouble with his bright-eyed plans. the one who fell asleep on your shoulder halfway through every movie you put on.

you hadn’t thought much about where he might end up. hadn’t pictured him all grown up.

but there he is now. somehow taller than everyone in the hallway. flashing the same grin like no time had passed. it’s weird, seeing someone you used to babysit look so… grown.

but it’s not a bad feeling. just strange. like looking at a before-and-after photo you didn’t know you were waiting for.

you shrug it off. he’s just being friendly. you did spend months babysitting him, after all. maybe he’s just happy to see a familiar face. you let it go.

except, you keep running into him.

hallways, practice rooms, elevators. it’s almost funny how often your paths cross. and somehow, every time, ni-ki’s there first, already grinning like he knows a secret.

he leans on your shoulder casually whenever you’re standing close, treating you like his personal armrest.

he tosses snacks at you like it’s a sport, flipping bags of chips across rooms with scary precision.

he lingers after rehearsals, pretending he’s looking for something he dropped, just so he can stick around a little longer.

“you’re really bad at pretending you’re not following me,” you joke one afternoon, catching him loitering by the vending machines again.

ni-ki just smirks, handing you a cold can of coffee without being asked. “maybe i’m not pretending.”

you snort, bumping your shoulder into his without thinking. easy. familiar. like slipping into an old hoodie you forgot you loved.

he’s always teasing you about your height, too, leaning down exaggeratedly when he talks to you, grinning like he’s waiting for you to get mad.

“swear i grew another inch this week,” he says once, ruffling your hair before you can duck away. “you’re basically a collectible now.”

you roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself.

it’s just ni-ki being riki.

it feels almost normal, falling back into this pattern. even if he’s bigger now. sharper around the edges. a little more confident than the kid you remember.

you’re not overthinking it. you don’t need to overthink it. he’s just someone from your past, someone who you helped make trainee life a little less lonely, finding you again.

you’re just…happy he’s doing well. that’s all.

but sometimes you catch yourself staring at him, across practice rooms, down long corridors. you can’t help but think about how fast everything changes.

he used to be the homesick kid you snuck extra snacks for. the one who needed you to stay up late playing video games so he could fall asleep with company.

now he’s chatting with the members of the group you’re managing, about to record a collab video to advertise the recent comebacks.

you clear your throat and flick your pen against your clipboard, focusing on your task list.

it’s good to see him again. really good. but you’ve got a job to do. and he’s got his own path, too. whatever this is, friendship, familiarity, something in between, you’re just glad you didn’t lose it.

—

you’re running on fumes by the time the day ends.

it feels like you’ve been putting out fires since noon. double-booked schedules, a last-minute venue change, two different members bickering over nothing. your head’s buzzing from all the noise.

so you escape. just for a second.

you find an empty breakroom tucked into the corner of the floor, dim and too quiet, and drop yourself onto the nearest couch like a puppet whose strings got cut. you lean forward, elbows on your knees, hands dangling. just breathing.

you don’t even hear the door creak open. not until a cold can taps lightly against your knee.

you blink up.

ni-ki’s standing there, casual, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket. he doesn’t say anything. just nudges the drink toward you again, like: take it, dummy.

you crack open a tired smile, accepting it. “you stalking me or something?”

he huffs a laugh and slides down onto the couch beside you, slouching until his knees are practically level with yours.

“could smell the burnout from the hallway,” he says easily.

you snort, tipping your head back against the cushion. “yeah, well. it’s been a day.”

you expect him to crack another joke, something about you getting old and fragile or short and tiny, but he doesn’t. he just sits there, his shoulder a warm line of comfort next to yours, fiddling idly with the tab on his drink.

it’s… nice. the quiet. the way he’s not pushing you to talk, just being there. you take a sip, the coldness biting pleasantly at your throat, and let yourself laugh under your breath.

“you’re weird, you know that?” you murmur, side-eyeing him. “not a lot of people would track me down just to hand me a drink.”

ni-ki shrugs, mouth tilting into a small smile. “not a lot of people babysat me through my weird dancer phase,” he says, casual as anything.

you chuckle. yeah. you did live through that era..

for a second, it’s easy to believe you’re just those two people again, him, the stubborn kid dragging you into whatever weird idea he had next, and you, the one trailing behind.

you’re about to say something stupid, something like, ‘you turned out alright’

when he speaks again, it’s soft. like he’s thought about it for a while.

“i’ve liked you forever, you know.”

the words land like a dart hitting the exact center of a target. sharp. impossible to ignore.

you blink, mid-sip, nearly choking. “huh?”

he shifts, turning a little to face you, expression open and weirdly calm, like he’s not just detonating your entire brain with a single sentence.

“i used to think it would go away when i grew up,” ni-ki says, eyes steady. “but… it didn’t.”

your brain shorts out. completely.

liked. you.

liked you.

used to? didn’t? WHAT.

you stare at him, mouth slightly open, like he’s suddenly started speaking a language you don’t understand because the lingering after practices, the snacks, the teasing, the leaning down so he could look you in the eye, like it was some kind of private joke.

you thought—

you genuinely thought he was just being friendly. nostalgic. grateful.

not this.

not into you.

your ears burn. you’re pretty sure your soul just left your body.

‘the kid i used to babysit is into me??’

in caps. bolded. flashing like a giant neon sign. actually caps doesn’t even show how stunned you are.

you make a sound. a wheezy, useless one.

then you laugh, awkward and breathless and absolutely struck with something, rubbing the back of your neck because your hands don’t know what else to do.

“i… i’m sorry,” you stammer out, the words tumbling over themselves. “i didn’t—i mean, i didn’t notice. at all. seriously. i’m the biggest idiot, huh?”

ni-ki laughs too. a little embarrassed, sure, but there’s relief in it too, like he was bracing for something worse.

“you noticed now,” he says simply, bumping your shoulder with his. “that’s enough.”

you sit there, heart hammering away in your chest, trying to catch up to the reality you just crash-landed into.

ni-ki likes you. riki has liked you. for years, probably.

and somehow, you, who prides yourself on noticing everything, missed every single sign.

you glance sideways at him. he’s leaning back against the couch now, sipping his drink like nothing earth-shattering just happened. like he didn’t just turn your world slightly sideways.

and he’s still riki. still the kid who used to tug you out to the park on weekends. still the one who fell asleep next to you with his shoes half-on.

just… taller now. steadier. more himself than ever.

you breathe out slowly. “can i be honest?” you say, voice a little hoarse.

ni-ki tilts his head, waiting.

“i… need a little time,” you admit, fiddling with the tab of your can. “not because i don’t… like you—” you break off, not sure how to finish that sentence without lying. “just… it’s a lot to process, you know?”

he smiles. small, but real. “take all the time you want,” he says, standing and stretching like a cat. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you watch him walk to the door, tall, unhurried, somehow carrying the same stubborn hope he always had. you watch him grin over his shoulder one more time before slipping out, the door clicking shut behind him.

you stare at the empty room.

your heart’s still fluttering. soft and persistent. like it’s remembering something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.

you drag a hand over your face, groaning under your breath. “maybe i’m into him” you mutter to yourself.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

tysm for reading :>

enha taglist :

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver @solkver @lov3lyaaru

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literaryavenger · 3 months ago

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Everybody pictures Bucky joining the team as a broody, sour and glaring machine, but what if he just... Isn't? Because I can honestly picture him as like Jim from The Office.

Like, after he recovers in Wakanda and they manage to stop Thanos before he can get all the stones because Thor went for the head, life settles into a routine as the Avengers work together to keep the peace on Earth (and the rest of the Universe in Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy's case) and living at the Compound.

Slowly, an organization not unlike Shield starts growing again, but this time it's done the right way with Steve as the leader next to Fury and no Hydra or Red Room or purple alien grape with a nutsack chin plotting behind the scenes.

Of course, this means the Avengers have to train new cadets. Each member gets their own class to teach between missions until they're ready to graduate to agents and then the cicle starts all over again.

Bucky is mostly fine with this, the cadets are competent enough and respect him because they know his history, (also who wouldn't respect an Avenger that literally helped save the Universe?) but every once in a while he gets a cocky, insubordinate, defiant cadet that takes advantage of his easy-going nature. And he doesn't know how to handle it.

"I have to make an example out of him." Bucky mutters lowly to you as you both discreetly watch Cadet Johnson take a break from training with the other agents-in-training he convinced to relax instead of doing the exercise Bucky politely requested ordered they do.

"I could yell at him?" Bucky looks at you with a small frown.

"Can you yell?" You raise an eyebrow at him, mostly amused.

"Oh, I yell." Bucky insists. "You've heard me yell."

"I've heard you exclaim." You correct him after thinking about it for a moment. "Like that time you said, 'Hey, we parked over here!'"

"Well, that was Plums Day. There's no need to yell that day." He says like it's obvious as he turns back to look at the trainees. "I was just excited to find our car after leaving the farmer's market. Perfect end to a perfect day."

You almost want to laugh and coo at him at how cute and innocent he seems when he talks like that, but you simply kiss his cheek.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, Sarge." You pat his arm and make your way out of the training room, leaving an adorably pouty Bucky behind.

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scoupsakakitty · 4 months ago

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Ten Years Too Late | idol!Woozi x 14thMember | fluff

Requested

The living room, dimly lit and littered with empty snack wrappers and half-finished drinks, buzzed with lazy energy. Fourteen people sprawled across couches, floors, and bean bags — a scene familiar and comfortable after over a decade spent together.

Most of them thought they’d long run out of ways to surprise each other. Ten years touring, training, living, practically breathing in the same space left little room for secrets.

But Jeonghan, as usual, decided otherwise.

“Let’s stir things up,” he announced, voice tinged with mischief. “Confession game. Old school.”

Groans echoed instantly.

“Nooo,” Seungkwan protested, flopping back onto the couch dramatically. “What could possibly be left to confess? We’ve shared everything.”

“I bet someone’s hiding something,” Jeonghan smirked, eyes glinting as he leaned forward. “First crushes. Secret habits. Come on, make it interesting.”

Hoshi sat up. “Wait, wait—first crushes?” He wiggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

“Sounds dangerous,” Vernon murmured, already skeptical but clearly intrigued.

Mingyu grabbed an empty water bottle and set it in the middle. “One spin. Whoever it lands on has to spill.”

The bottle spun lazily. Everyone watched with mock disinterest.

First, it pointed to Joshua, who calmly admitted he used to secretly eat ramen after practice when no one was looking, despite their diet restrictions.

Laughter broke out. Nothing earth-shattering.

Another spin. Jeonghan confessed he once swapped members’ socks just to mess with them. Dino, betrayed, demanded to know how long.

A few more rounds in, and the bottle gradually pointed to each member, the confessions lighthearted, silly, familiar.

Then it landed squarely on the fourteenth member — Y/N.

A collective murmur rippled through the room.

Y/N laughed nervously, adjusting her oversized hoodie, glancing around the circle. “I genuinely don’t think I have anything left…”

Jeonghan leaned forward eagerly. “Come on. Ten years, surely there’s something you’ve kept hidden.”

The others chimed in — DK clapping, Minghao raising an eyebrow, Woozi quietly sipping his drink from the corner.

Y/N hesitated, eyes flicking across the faces she knew better than her own reflection.

And then, before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Fine. I had a crush on one of you when I first joined.”

The room froze. Even the background noise from the television seemed to dim.

Seungcheol sat up straighter, grin already forming. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Who?” Seungkwan demanded instantly, eyes wide, practically bouncing.

Y/N’s face was already flushed. “It was years ago! Doesn’t matter now.”

“It very much matters now,” Jeonghan declared, a devilish smile tugging at his lips. “Spill.”

All eyes zeroed in. Mingyu looked like he was holding back laughter. Hoshi was clutching DK’s arm dramatically.

Woozi, as usual, remained still, expression unreadable.

After a beat, Y/N gave in, exhaling sharply. “It was… Woozi.”

The silence stretched thin, seconds ticking by before the group erupted.

“You’re kidding!” Mingyu gasped, grinning like a kid at Christmas.

“WOOZI?!” Seungkwan practically shouted, eyes darting between Y/N and Woozi.

Even Joshua, usually the calmest, chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Woozi’s fingers paused on his drink. His gaze flickered briefly toward Y/N, surprise barely showing, but there in the slight crease of his brow.

“Me?” His voice was low, careful.

Y/N nodded quickly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah. I mean… you were focused. Talented. Kinda intense. I was a new trainee; it felt impossible not to admire you.”

Jeonghan was cackling now, clapping Seungcheol on the back. “Of all people, Woozi! Our serious little producer.”

Minghao leaned forward, chin in his hand, studying both of them with amused interest.

Hoshi nudged Woozi. “Hyung, say something. Don’t act cool now.”

But Woozi only gave a faint, almost shy huff of laughter and looked back down at his hands. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Wait, wait,” Dino cut in eagerly. “You never noticed at all, hyung?”

Woozi shook his head slightly. “Not a clue.”

Seungkwan was already leaning conspiratorially toward Y/N. “Was it bad? Like, full-on crush? Daydreaming about him writing songs for you?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, face still burning. “It was short-lived, okay? We became family pretty fast.”

But it was too late; the teasing had begun.

The next few days were relentless.

Every time Y/N walked past Woozi during practice, someone would whistle. If they sat beside each other at lunch, someone would nudge the other members and grin knowingly.

Hoshi went as far as to label Woozi’s notebook with “Love Songs for Y/N” in thick marker one afternoon, earning himself a deadpan stare and a half-hearted shove.

Even Woozi, usually the one to avoid jokes at his own expense, seemed oddly… thoughtful.

It was subtle at first — the way he glanced up during breaks when Y/N was talking, how he lingered after practice when everyone else filtered out.

No one noticed right away.

Until one evening, after a particularly long rehearsal, Woozi approached her as she was tying her shoes.

“Hey,” he started, voice quieter than usual.

She looked up, slightly surprised. “What’s up?”

There was a pause. He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the empty studio door, as if checking no one was around.

“I’ve been thinking,” Woozi said slowly, “about what you said. The other night.”

She smiled awkwardly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

He shook his head, then, almost imperceptibly, smiled.

“It’s not weird. Just… I never knew you saw me that way back then.”

She gave a half-hearted shrug, trying to brush it off. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

But Woozi didn’t look away.

“You know,” he added, voice soft, almost thoughtful, “I always thought you were the one who worked hardest out of all of us. Even back then. Maybe that’s why I wanted to write songs that fit you.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

He glanced down, fingers fiddling slightly with the strap of his bag.

“Anyway,” Woozi continued, almost too casually, “I was wondering… coffee tomorrow?”

Her breath caught, just a little.

He didn’t wait for an immediate answer. “If you want.”

And with that, he slung his bag over his shoulder, giving her a faint smile before heading out of the room, leaving her sitting there, stunned.

By the time she made it back to the dorm that night, her phone buzzed with a message.

Woozi [11:48 PM]:

If you’re free. No pressure.

Across the dorm, laughter still echoed from the living room. She could hear Seungkwan and Jeonghan bickering about something trivial.

But for a moment, it felt like everything had quieted, the noise receding into the background.

A grin spread across her face as she typed back.

Y/N [11:49 PM]:

Yeah. I’m free.

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ofstarsandvibranium · 4 months ago

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The Protege and The Apprentice

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: When he’s not busy with politics, Bucky helps train you, a former Flagsmasher that took the super serum. Inevitably, your paths cross with Sam Wilson and his own trainee, Joaquin. And it seems Joaquin has taken an immediate liking to you.

Your newfound strength was an incredible yet dangerous thing. After everything that went down with Karli, you surrendered to Sam and Bucky. He visited you at The Raft and after talking, he saw some potential in you.

Fast forward, you're on probation, now under the watchful eye and apprenticeship of Bucky Barnes. When he's not dealing with the political climate of the country, he trains you. Helping you hone in on your newfound strength and how to better control it.

Currently, he's helping you with sparring.

You fall onto your back with a resounding thud against the mats. You groan as Bucky stares down at you with amusement.

"It's one thing to have strength, it's another thing to know how to use it." Bucky stretches out his metal hand and you take it.

"I know, I know," you grumble as you come to a stand.

You roll your shoulders and neck, loosening out your limbs. You then get into a fighter stance, "Okay. I'm ready."

Bucky looks at you with raised brows, "We can take a break."

You shake your head, "Nope. I'm good. Let's go."

He then gets into a stance that mirrors yours, "Alright then. Let's do this."

He strikes first, throwing his metal fist towards you, which you dodge. You throw your own punch and Bucky catches it in his fist. With your other free hand, you punch his side.

You grin at the victorious hit, but it didn't last long because Bucky took a shot at you as well.

"Don't get cocky," he retorts with a smirk.

You two continue to skirmish, completely unaware of the new pair that walked into the training room.

______________________________

Joaquin follows Sam into the training room. He hears some grunts and looks over Sam's shoulder to see Bucky sparring with someone.

"Who's that?" he watches in fascination. You move swiftly, dodging hits. You're still a little sloppy, but it seems like you have an idea of what you're doing.

"Y/N, she was one of the Flagsmashers. She surrendered herself to us and after discussing, they let her serve her probation under Bucky's care and guidance."

"She have any fighting experience before the serum?"

Sam answers with a shake of his head, "None, but she's a quick learner." Both men continue to observe while you and Bucky spar.

Eventually, you manage to take Bucky down, his cheek pressed against the mat and your knee on his neck.

He taps the mat and you let go. You're giddy on your feet as the super soldier rolls onto his back and sits up, "You've improved a lot," he holds his hand out and you help him to his feet.

"Thanks!"

Sam takes this moment to step forward, "That was quite a show, Y/N," he says with a smirk.

You shrug, "The old man puts up quite the fight," you then notice the younger man behind Sam, "Hi. I'm Y/N," you hold your hand out.

"Joaquin," he takes your hand in his, "That was quite some-ah!" His words are interrupted as he's thrown onto the mat.

Bucky and Sam cackle in amusement.

You sheepishly stare down at him, "Sorry. I was told to do that when you came in." Joaquin practically flies to his feet as he's pulled up with your super strength.

He clears his throat, "Yeah, no. That's-I'm good. I'm fine. I can get behind a little prank every now and then," he dusts off his clothes.

You chuckle, "Hey, when Captain America gives you an order, you kinda have to obey it," you give a shrug.

"Yeah, I hear ya," he nervously scratches the back of your head, "So, um, you-you fight pretty good."

"Thanks. This is, well," you clench your fists and look at them, "it's still so new to me. I need to keep remembering how strong I am so I don't hurt anyone."

"Understandable, but it seems like you learn quick. Is it okay if I give you a few pointers?"

"Sure!" You follow Joaquin into the middle of the mat and listen intently.

Meanwhile, Bucky and Sam stand off to the side.

Sam chuckles, leans in and whispers to Bucky "The kid's got a crush."

Bucky's brows furrow, "On who?" he asks as he still keeps his eyes on you and Joaquin.

He rolls his eyes, "Y/N, clearly. Open your eyes, man!" He gestures to the both of you and Joaquin blushes when you look at him.

Bucky watches the two of you intently and his eyes narrow, "Absolutely not." He steps forward to interject, but Sam holds him back.

"Woah, woah, why not?" Sam looks at his friend confused.

"Y/N is here to improve herself and understand her strength, not go on dates with guys like Joaquin." Bucky now glares at the young man with you.

Sam sighs and shakes his head, pulling Bucky back, "Buck, I know you're protective of Y/N, but Joaquin's a good guy. You know he won't hurt Y/N."

The corner of Bucky's lips twitch upward, "Honestly, she's more likely to hurt him."

Sam rolls his eyes, "Sure, but listen, this could be good for the both of them. Don't go all scary big brother on the guy."

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, going back to observing you and Joaquin, "Okay...but what if I threaten to demote him if he hurts her instead?"

"...that'd be an abuse of your power, Buck."

Bucky scoffs, "Other politicians have done much worse than that."

________________________________

After that first meeting with Joaquin, you've been seeing him a lot more, to Bucky's dismay.

You two exchanged numbers and would text all the time, sending each other funny memes and videos you found.

He'd find ways to visit you at Bucky's home, train with you at the compound. He's also managed to bring you out on supervised trips around the city.

You really like Joaquin. He was a breath of fresh air after everything you've gone through with Karli, the Flag Smashers, and being held on the Raft.

Joaquin saw you as a person, not as some monster or criminal. It felt...nice.

You found yourself falling for Captain America's Falcon apprentice quickly and it kind of scared you.

Did you really deserve someone as joyful and caring as Joaquin? Sure, you hurt people, but it was to help others. He's done the same thing right?

But what if you hurt him? Sometimes you have nightmares about you accidentally hurting Bucky or Sam because of your strength and it scared you.

You couldn't hurt Joaquin. You refused.

So you did the only logical thing to do: ghost him.

His calls and texts went unanswered. You asked Bucky to schedule your trainings earlier in the day or later in the night. Bucky wasn't sure why the sudden change, but he was happy to oblige when his own schedule allowed it.

But then Joaquin came up to him one day and asked if you were okay, then Bucky understood what was going on.

_____________________________

After some meetings, Bucky came home to find you lounging in the living room, scrolling through your phone (that was being monitored, of course).

"So your phone works," he states as he places a bag of takeout on the coffee table.

You sit up, digging through the bag, "Of course it does," you look at him confused as you stuff some fries in your mouth.

"'Cause Joaquin said you're not answering any of his texts or calls. He thought I confiscated your phone or something."

You shoulders sag, "Oh, um, yeah I'm not talking to him anymore."

"That so?" Bucky should be jumping for joy right now, but he can't seem to since he's taking in your downtrodden look, "Did something happen?"

You shrug, "Just don't think we really click," you avoid looking at him, finding more interest in the food he brought home. Anxiety creeping into you, making your heart rate increase.

Sensing your nervousness, Bucky lays off, but puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, "You can talk to me, you know that right? I know we got off to a rocky start, but I care about you, Y/N. You're my friend and if anything is bothering you, you can talk to me. I may not give the best advice, but I'll listen."

You slump back into the couch and hide behind your hands as you say, "I like Joaquin and he likes me back."

"...isn't that a good thing?"

Your hands fall onto the couch, "Usually but, I don't know," you pick with your shirt, "Do you think I deserve to be with a guy like him? Someone so nice, passionate, caring? Shit, Bucky, I was ready to kill hundreds of people just for Karli's cause. I'm a bad person!"

Bucky immediately shakes your head, "No, you're not. You did bad things, but for the sake of helping others. That doesn't make you bad person."

He sighs, "Listen, I know a thing or two about thinking that you don't deserve good things because of your past. But it's not true. You do deserve good things, because you're putting in the work to make up for what you've done. I wouldn't have taken you on as my protege if I didn't see potential in you, if I didn't see good in you.

"And I may not have liked the idea of you and Joaquin before, but I've seen how happy he made you. Y/N, you've worked really hard all these months to better yourself and to prove that you're good. And you are. Like Joaquin, you're also compassionate, strong, and caring. If Joaquin makes you happy, then you should be with him."

You nod, "Thanks, Bucky," you give the man that became a big brother figure to you, a hug, "I'll-I'll talk to him. Not tonight but soon."

"Good. Now eat up," he pushes the food closer to you and you're happy to oblige.

_______________________

"I think Y/N hates me," Joaquin says as he jabs at the punching bag.

Sam pauses at his own bag, "What makes you say that?"

Joaquin continues to punch while he explains, "She hasn't replied back to any of my calls or texts. Bucky says she has her phone and it works just fine. She's ghosting me and I don't even know why."

"What happened the last time you saw her?"

Joaquin's cheeks suddenly heat up and he's hoping that he can blame his workout for the red appearing on his face, "I, um, I told her I like her and kissed her."

Sam's brows shot up, "Oh. Wow."

Joaquin lets his arms fall to his side with a sigh, "Did I fuck up?"

"Dunno. Did it seem like she liked you back?"

"I mean, yeah. She'd always be down to hang out with me, we're constantly talking. We've bantered and flirted here and there. Fuck, was I reading this all wrong?" his eyes widen in panic, "I fucked up, didn't I?"

Sam holds his hands out, "Hey, wait. That might not be the case. I've seen you two together and it seemed like she liked you, but also who knows. She's been through a lot. Maybe she's not ready for all of that yet. She might be scared."

"Shit," Joaquin groans, "I fucked up big time. What should I do? I mean, she won't even answer me and she's switched her schedule so I don't see her around anymore."

"Just give her some time. She might be trying to figure out how to navigate all of this. A lot has been going on."

Joaquin gulps down the urge to finding more solutions, but he, instead, follows his mentor's advice. He'll give you time and, hopefully, all answers will be given to him soon.

_________________________

Saying you were nervous was an understatement. Honestly, you didn't even know a word to describe how you were feeling right now. All you knew was that you wanted to throw up, your heart was probably ready to beat out of your chest, and that you want to run for the hills.

But you're not going to do that. Nope.

You deserve good things. You deserve happiness....You deserve Joaquin.

You kept repeating those three sentences in your head while you head to the floor where Sam and Joaquin made their headquarters.

The elevator stops and opens the door. A part of you wants to turn around and head right back down, but the other part of you makes your legs walk out and towards the common area of the floor.

Sam is on the couch looking over paperwork and Joaquin's at his desk.

You clear your throat and both men whip their heads to you.

"Y/N," Joaquin abruptly stands.

Sam looks at Joaquin, then you, then back at Joaquin. He closes his file and stands, "I'm gonna grab a drink in the kitchen. You guys want anything?"

"I'm good. Thanks, Sam," you give him a nod as he walks out.

Joaquin slowly walks towards you, "Um, hi. What's up?"

You're nervously wringing your hands together, "I wanted to apologize for ghosting you this week."

"I-"

"Please don't make excuses for me. I'm an adult, I shouldn't have done that. I should've talked things out with you instead of just ghosting." You pause to let out a deep breath, "When you told me that you like me and you kissed me, I-I got scared. Not because of you but because of me. I'm-I don't think I'm good enough for you, Joaquin. You're everything I'm not.

"And I like you, Joaquin. I really, really do. You make me feel normal again but it's just...yeah."

Joaquin takes your hands in his, "Y/N, you are good enough for me. You being here proves that. You want to make a difference, a good difference, with your new powers. You coming here to apologize and talk things out shows how good you are."

"I wanna try things out with you, Joaquin, if you'd still like that too."

"I do, but we'll go at your pace. Anything that makes you uncomfortable or makes you think we're going to fast, bring it up to me. I'll slow down. Don't want you running for the hills again." he grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer.

You can't help but laugh in embarrassment, hiding your face in his chest, "I'll be more communicative. I promise."

He then lifts your chin so you can look at him, "Can I kiss you?"

You nod, leaning in until Joaquin's lips press to yours. You smile into the kiss because you know you deserve this. You deserve good things. You deserve Joaquin.

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres imagine

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starsenha · 11 months ago

Text

COLLAB STAGE / Y.J

Pairing ◊ sub!fem!idol!reader x dom!idol!jungwon (ft. Lesserafim Yunjin)

Genre ◊ SMUT, fluff

Warnings ◊ SMUT (MINORS DNI), harddom!jungwon, hair pulling, fingering, oral (m. receiving), semi-public sex, overstimulation, rough, slight dacryphilia, mirror sex, aftercare, dry humping, petnames (sweetheart, baby...), reader is a year older than jungwon (so he calls her noona)

Word count ◊ 6.7k

Summary ◊ You and Jungwon were friends since your trainee days, you've always seen him as a little brother, until this collaboration you had to with him for your Summer Gayo Daejeon performance

a/n: not proofread, enjoy!

You stepped out of the sleek, black car provided by Hybe Entertainment, the cool morning air brushing against your face as you headed toward the familiar studio entrance. The tall building loomed above you, your company logo glinting in the sunlight. As you entered the lobby, you were greeted by the usual bustle of staff and trainees, everyone busy with their own schedules.

“Good morning!” you called out to a few familiar faces, receiving nods and smiles in return. The anticipation bubbled in your chest as you reached the designated practice room. Today was pretty special. The CEO had chosen you to do a collaboration stage with a member of Enhypen for the upcoming SBS Gayo Daejeon performance. And you were so happy that that member was Jungwon. You used to train together back in the day. He was only a year younger than you, and you were always pretty close. Plus, your groups debuted around the same time. But, what you did not know, was that Jungwon always kinda had a crush on you, and he’s been trying to make you see him differently for months now.

Pushing open the door to the studio, you saw him already there, stretching on the floor. His eyes lit up when he noticed you, and he jumped to his feet with a wide grin.

“Noona!” Jungwon called out, his youthful enthusiasm infectious.

“Won! You’re here early,” you said, smiling back as you dropped your bag on the bench and joined him in stretching.

“I was too excited to sleep much,” he admitted with a chuckle. “This is going to be so much fun. I can’t believe we finally get to do this.”

“I know! I’ve been looking forward to it too,” you replied. “It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to work on something together.”

As you both chatted and caught up, the door swung open again, and the choreographer, Ji-eun, walked in. She was a renowned figure in the industry, known for her intricate and dynamic hip-hop routines. You had already worked with her, as she created the choreography for your group’s last comeback.

“Good morning, everyone!” Ji-eun greeted, her energy palpable. “Are you two ready to work?”

“Yes!” you and Jungwon responded in unison, exchanging amused glances.

Ji-eun clapped her hands together, signaling the start of the session. “Great. Let’s get started with the basics of the routine. It’s a hip-hop piece with a lot of sharp movements and synchronization. I need you both to bring your A-game.”

You and Jungwon nodded, focusing as Ji-eun demonstrated the initial steps. The beat of the music pulsed through the room, and you found yourself getting lost in the rhythm. Jungwon mirrored your movements perfectly, his natural talent shining through.

“Good, good! Now, let’s add some more complexity,” Ji-eun said, moving into the next sequence. The steps were fast and challenging, requiring both agility and precision.

As the session progressed, Ji-eun occasionally stopped to give pointers, adjusting your posture or tweaking a movement here and there. The routine was demanding, but you relished the challenge. You and Jungwon fell into an easy rhythm, your movements syncing effortlessly.

“Perfect! That’s what I’m talking about,” Ji-eun praised after another run-through. “You two have great chemistry. This stage is going to be amazing.”

Jungwon grinned at you, wiping sweat from his brow with his towel. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

“We always have,” you agreed, returning his smile. “Remember those practice sessions back when we were trainees? We were always trying to outdo each other.”

“Yeah, and you always won,” he laughed, a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Not always,” you corrected him. “But most of the time, yes.”

You saw Jungwon roll his eyes playfully and open his mouth to retort, but Ji-eun called for another run-through. You threw yourself back into the routine, your body moving instinctively to the beat.

An hour and a half flew by in a blur of music and movement. By the time Ji-eun finally called for a break, you were both exhausted but exhilarated.

“Take fifteen, and then we’ll do a full run-through with the music,” Ji-eun instructed, heading out to take a call.

You collapsed onto the floor, stretching out your legs. Jungwon flopped down beside you, panting lightly.

“This is going to be epic,” he said between breaths.

“Definitely,” you agreed. “We’ll show everyone what Jokerz and Enhypen can do together.”

Jungwon’s expression softened as he looked at you, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

Ji-eun returned to the studio and gave you both some final pointers before she left you to rehearse on your own. The studio was buzzing with the high-energy choreography you had been perfecting all morning.

“Okay, you two, I think you’ve got a good handle on this,” Ji-eun said, clapping her hands together. “I’ll leave you to practice on your own for a bit. Just remember to keep the energy up and stay in sync.”

“Got it!” you and Jungwon chorused, both of you giving her a confident nod.

As Ji-eun left the room, you turned to Jungwon with a grin. “So, ready to run it again?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with determination.

You both got into position, and the music started up again. This time, without Ji-eun’s watchful eye, you found yourselves more relaxed, allowing your natural chemistry to shine through. Your movements were fluid and synchronized, feeding off each other’s energy.

“Nice move there, wonnie!” you called out mid-routine as he nailed a particularly tricky step.

“Thanks, noona! You’re killing it too!” he shot back, his smile wide.

After a few more run-throughs, you both paused for a break. You went to take your water bottle in the corner of the room, trying to do some air with your hand.

At the corner of your eye, you saw Jungwon pulled off his hoodie, revealing a tank top underneath. You blinked, momentarily taken aback. You had always seen Jungwon as a little brother figure, but seeing the definition of his muscles was… he was so hot. You tried to ignore the unexpected flutter in your stomach as you took a sip of water. As he took his own water bottle, you watched him discretly, a pool forming in your belly.

“Uh… you’ve been working out lately?” you said, attempting to keep your tone casual.

He glanced down at himself, then back at you with a casual shrug. “Oh, this? Yeah, I sometimes work out with the hyungs. Gotta stay in shape, you know?”

You nodded, trying to focus on the conversation and not how his tank top clung to his frame. Wow, this was new. “Makes sense. It’s just… I guess I never noticed before.”

Jungwon’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he caught the slight flush on your cheeks. “Noona, are you blushing?” he teased, flexing his arm a bit more prominently.

Your face heated up even more as you sputtered, “N-no! I’m just… it’s hot in here, that’s all.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Sure, whatever you say.”

Determined to shift the focus, you stood up and stretched. “Let’s get back to it. We’ve got to nail this routine.”

Jungwon chuckled, following your lead. “Alright, let’s do it. But don’t think I didn’t notice, noona. You were totally checking me out.”

You shot him a mock glare, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. “Focus, won. We’ve got a show to prepare for.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, still grinning. “I’m focused, don’t worry,’’ his grin transformed into a cocky smirk as he put his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants and walked up to you.

As the music started up again, you threw yourself into the routine, trying to push aside the newfound awareness of Jungwon. But every now and then, you caught him glancing your way, that same smirk still on his lips. It was clear he enjoyed seeing you flustered, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of embarrassment and something else you couldn’t quite place.

After a long and exhausting practice session, you finally made your way back to your dorm. As you opened the door, you were greeted by the familiar sight of one of your bandmate, Yunjin, lounging on the couch with her phone in hand.

“Yay, you’re back!” she exclaimed, looking up from her screen. “How was the practice with Jungwon?”

You sighed, dropping your bag by the door and collapsing onto the couch beside her. “It was… something.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What happened?”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Well, you know how I’ve always seen him as a little brother, right?”

“Yeah, of course. You’ve mentioned it a million times,” she replied, her curiosity piqued.

“Okay, so today, we were practicing this really tough hip-hop routine for Gayo Daejeon,” you began. “And Ji-eun left us alone to rehearse on our own for a bit.”

“Uh-huh, go on,” she encouraged, leaning in closer.

“Well, Jungwon took off his hoodie because it was getting hot in the studio,” you continued, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory. “And he was wearing this, like, tank top underneath. I had no idea he was that… fit.”

Yunjin’s eyes widened, and she burst into laughter. “Oh my God, you got flustered, didn’t you?”

“I mean…a little,” you admitted, burying your face in your hands. “It’s just, I’ve always seen him as this cute younger brother or something. But today, he looked… argh.”

“Different how?” she pressed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You sighed, finally giving in. “He looked… so, so hot. I couldn’t stop staring, and he totally noticed!”

She laughed even harder, clutching her stomach. “This is priceless! Our ynnie has a crush on Jungwon!”

“It’s not like that!” you protested, though your blush betrayed you. “I was just… surprised. I didn’t expect him to have grown up so much.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, still giggling.

“Stop teasing me, Unnie,” you groaned, playfully shoving her. “I’m just trying to process it. I mean, he’s always been like a brother to me, and now suddenly, he’s this attractive guy. How did that even happen?”

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad,” Yunjin teased, nudging you with her elbow. “But seriously, it’s not a bad thing. Maybe it’s time to see him in a new light.”

You sighed, leaning back on the couch. “I don’t know. It’s just… really confusing. I’ve always been so sure of our dynamic, and now it feels like everything’s shifted. It doesn’t feel…platonic anymore.”

She smiled sympathetically. “Feelings can be complicated, especially when someone you’ve known for a long time changes. Just take it one step at a time and see where things go.”

“Thanks, Unnie,” you said, grateful for her understanding. “I guess I’ll just have to see how things play out during this collaboration.”

“It’s just a week and a half away, you’ll be fine. And in the meantime, try not to get too distracted by his muscles,” Hana added with a wink, causing you to throw a pillow in her direction, one she dodged as she got up from the couch and sprinted to the kitchen.

“I hate you,” you said, loud enough so she could hear you.

As the evening wore on, you couldn’t help but replay the events of the day in your mind. Seeing Jungwon in a new light was certainly unexpected, but maybe Hana was right.

The next day, you arrived at the practice studio a bit early, hoping to get some stretches in before Jungwon showed up. As you rolled out your yoga mat and began your stretches, the door opened, and Jungwon walked in, his demeanor radiating confidence.

"Morning, noona," Jungwon greeted you with a charming smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Morning, wonnie," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "Ready for today?"

"Absolutely," he said, dropping his bag and joining you on the floor. He started stretching beside you, his movements fluid and relaxed.

You chuckled nervously. "We need to nail this routine."

As you both warmed up, the studio felt smaller, the air charged with an unspoken tension. Jungwon seemed more confident, and his movements were more assured. And you couldn’t help but feel turned on by his confidence. Focus, yn. Stop thinking about that. When you began practicing the routine, his eyes never left you, making you hyper-aware of his presence.

“Alright, let’s take it from the top,” you said, hoping to focus on the choreography and not on the way his tank top accentuated his toned arms. Of course, he had to wear a tank top again. A white one this time.

The music started, and you moved in sync, your bodies effortlessly flowing through the steps. But every time Jungwon’s eyes met yours, you felt your concentration waver. He seemed to notice, and his smirk grew more pronounced.

“Come on, noona, keep up,” he teased, executing a particularly sharp move with ease.

“I’m keeping up just fine,” you shot back, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

As the routine progressed, Jungwon's playful teasing only intensified. During a particularly close part of the choreography, where you had to mirror each other's movements, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear.

“You’re doing great, noona,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you missed a step, stumbling slightly. “Th-thanks,” you managed to stammer, trying to regain your composure.

He pulled back, grinning. “What’s wrong? You seem a bit distracted.”

“Just focused on getting the steps right,” you lied, hoping he couldn’t see through your facade.

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced but not pushing it further.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus. The routine was intricate, demanding your full attention, but Jungwon's newfound confidence made it increasingly difficult. He moved with a grace and assurance that was hard to ignore, and his constant teasing only added to your distraction.

You couldn’t continue like that, or else you might burst. You never noticed how handsome he was or how hot he looked when he was focused on something. But since yesterday, that was the only thing you could think about.

During a break, you sat down to catch your breath, wiping sweat from your forehead. Jungwon plopped down beside you, a bottle of water in hand.

“Here,” he said, offering you the bottle. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking it and drinking gratefully. “You’re really on fire today. Did you have an extra shot of coffee this morning or something?”

He laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Maybe I did. Or maybe I just enjoy seeing you flustered.”

You nearly choked on your water, coughing slightly. “I-I’m not flustered.”

“Sure you’re not,” he said, his smirk widening. “It’s okay, noona. It’s kind of cute.”

Your face burned, and you looked away, trying to hide your embarrassment. Why did your heart skip a bit when he said that? The way he was looking at you, with his playful smirk and his glimmering eyes. You should scold him, he was younger than you, how could he called you ‘’cute’’. You hated that you actually liked it.

You cleared your throat, your cheeks still red and got up from the ground. ‘’Uh… we should get back to practice ‘’

“Of course,” he agreed, but the playful glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t done teasing.

As you both resumed practice, Jungwon continued to push your buttons, his confidence making him bolder. During a particularly challenging sequence, he placed his hands on your waist to guide you into the correct position, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“There,” he said softly, his breath warm against your neck. “Perfect.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his closeness. “Thanks,” you murmured, stepping away to put some distance between you. You couldn’t be cphysically close ot him right now. Not outside of the chores.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Anytime, noona.”

By the end of the session, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Jungwon’s confident teasing had left you more flustered than you cared to admit, and focusing on the routine had been a constant struggle.

“Good work today,” Jungwon said as you both gathered your things. “We’re getting better.”

“Yeah, we are,” you agreed, forcing a smile. “See you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” he said, giving you a wink. “I can’t wait.”

As you left the studio, you couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in your mind. As the days unfolded, you avoided him the best you could. After practices, you always came up with an excuse whenever he asked if you wanted to grab something to eat or drink. But most of all, you avoided looking into his eyes. His beautiful and hypnotizing eyes.

Today was one of your last practices, as the Gayo Daejeon was approaching. You tried to keep your focus only on the routine, determined not to let him get to you. You couldn’t. The choreography required for you to look into his eyes, but today was clearly impossible. His hair was parted in a way to make his features appear stronger. he looked so good. Every time your eyes locked, your cheeks would heat up, and your heart could race uncontrollably. Instead, you fixed your gaze on the floor or focused on a point over his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But Jungwon wasn’t one to miss much. After the fourth time, you avoided his eyes during the routine, he began to suspect something was up. Plus, he noticed how distant you were and how you tried to avoid him during the last few days. During a particularly close part of the choreography, where you had to face each other and mirror each other’s movements, he finally decided to confront you.

You were supposed to step into each other’s space, your faces mere inches apart. Instead of looking at him, you kept your gaze firmly on the floor, focusing on your feet.

“Look at me,” Jungwon’s voice was low but commanding. He stopped his movement and placed his fingers gently under your chin, tugging your head upwards to look at him, holding your waist wth his other hand.

You swallowed hard, your eyes reluctantly meeting his. “Why are you avoiding my eyes, noona?” he asked, his smirk widening as he saw the blush spreading across your cheeks.

“I’m not avoiding your eyes,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, his fingers still holding your chin. “You’re a terrible liar. What’s got you so flustered?”

“I’m not flustered,” you protested weakly, trying to pull away, but his grip, though gentle, was firm.

“Sure you’re not,” he said, his tone dripping with playful confidence. “Come on, noona, you can be honest with me.”

The intensity of his gaze, coupled with the proximity of his body, almost buckled your knees. “I just… I’m trying to focus,” you stammered.

He leaned in closer, matching your height, his breath warm against your lips. “And looking at me makes it hard to focus?”

You bit your lip, your mind racing for a plausible denial, but nothing came to you. The way he was looking at you and how confident he seemed made it hard for you to concentrate. “Yes,” you finally admitted, your voice barely audible.

A triumphant smile spread across his face. Before you could say anything, he closed the small distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, testing, but when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his other hand that was on your waist pulled you closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt like you were melting into him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back with a hunger you hadn’t realized you’d been suppressing.

You both pulled away, breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Your eyes locked with his, and you could see the desire in his eyes. His pupils were dilated and he looked at you with half-lidded eyes.

Without even thinking twice about it, you grabbed the front of his tank top, pulling him back to you for another kiss, this time a lot more aggressive and forceful. Jungwon groaned against your lips, his hands finding the small of your back and pulling you closer. The kiss was fiery, your mouths moving in a heated dance. You both put so much force into the kiss, you were practiaclly sure your lips would have bruises on tomorrow.

He backed you up until you felt the cool surface of the mirrored wall against your back. His hands were firm as they roamed over your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Your hands were feeling him, going from his broad shoulders to his biceps to his abs. You felt every muscle tense against your hands, and you absolutely loved it. You needed to touch him.

“Look at you,” he murmured as his lips attached to your neck, kissing and biting it, his voice thick with desire. “So needy. You like this, don’t you?”

You gasped, feeling a shiver run down your spine. “Fuck, yes,” you whispered, the admission making your cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

His eyes darkened with a predatory gleam as he pinned your hands above your head, his body pressing against yours, trapping you against the mirror. You could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants. “Say it again,” he demanded, his tone commanding.

“Yes, I like this,” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly.

Jungwon smirked, his lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl.’’ His hand slipped under your shirt, caressing your skin, eliciting a moan from you. He chuckled, his hand moving higher, his thumb brushing over your bra. “So desperate for my touch. Fuck, you’re perfect.’’

You bit your lip, trying to stifle another moan. “Please…”

“Please what?” he taunted, his thumb circling your nipple through the fabric. “Use your words, baby.”

“Please, touch me,” you begged, your voice breaking.

“Good girl,” he praised, his hand slipping under your bra to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your sensitive skin. “I love hearing you beg for me.”

You moaned, pressing into his hand, your body trembling with need. “Wonnie, I need you…”

He growled, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. “I know, baby. I know.” His free hand slid down to your thigh, lifting your right leg to wrap around his waist. “God, you’re so perfect. So responsive.” You felt his hard-on against your clothed core as he started to move a bit, causing both of you to hiss.

You felt like you were drowning in him, every touch, every word sending you spiraling deeper into desire. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Look at you, so desperate for me. Do you know how hot you look right now?” He thrust again, a little harder this time, and you let out a small, needy whine. He smirked, his hand moving to the waistband of your sports shorts.

In one swift motion, he slipped his hand inside, his fingers finding your core. You gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. ‘’Fuck you’re so wet for me,’’ he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? So ready to be touched.”

You moaned, unable to form coherent words, your body responding to his touch with a mind of its own. “Yes, yes, please…”

He leaned in, his lips hovering your ear, before you could feel him sink his teeth to your lobe. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” And with that, he entered one finger and started pumping it, slowly at first. He picked up the pace when he saw you responding to his moves. He quickly added another one and you couldn’t stop the moans from slipping.

"God, you’re so tight," Jungwon murmured, his voice laced with a mix of awe and desire. "I can barely fit two fingers in."

You gasped, the sensation overwhelming as he pushed his fingers deeper inside you. The tightness and the heat around his fingers made him groan in satisfaction. "Fuck. If you’re this tight around my fingers, I don’t know how I’m gonna fit."

You moaned, the combination of his words and his rough touch driving you wild. He smirked, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing harsh circles around it. "You like that, don’t you? You like feeling my fingers inside you, stretching you."

"Yes," you breathed, your hips bucking against his hand, seeking more of his touch.

His smirk widened as he pushed his fingers deeper, his pace rough and unrelenting. "Look at you, so desperate for me. So wet and tight. Oh, I’m gonna ruin you."

You whimpered, the pleasure building inside you, making it hard to think or speak. He chuckled darkly, his free hand coming up to cover your mouth as a particularly loud moan slipped out of your mouth. "Shh, we can’t have anyone hearing you, can we? Anyone could walk into the studio and see you like this, begging for my touch."

His hand muffled your moans, the pressure of his fingers inside you and the movement of his thumb on your clit pushing you closer to the edge. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "You’re such a good girl, taking my fingers so well. But you’re also a dirty little thing, aren’t you? Getting off in the practice studio where anyone could see."

You nodded, tears of pleasure forming in the corners of your eyes. The combination of his praise and degradation made your body tremble, every nerve ending on fire.

"You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?" he whispered, his voice low and commanding, as he felt your walls tightening around his fingers. ‘’Fuck, I can feel how close you are. Go ahead, come for me, but keep it quiet. Show me how good you can be."

His words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You bit down on his hand to muffle your cries, the intense waves of pleasure crashing over you. Jungwon continued to finger you through it, his touch relentless and rough, prolonging your release until you were a shaking, panting mess.

When you finally came down from your high, he withdrew his fingers slowly, his eyes dark with desire and satisfaction. ‘’You’ve made such a mess, all because of my fingers."

You blushed, leaning your had against the mirror. You were completely breathless. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "You taste amazing. I can’t wait to be inside you.’’

When you finally find some sanity left, you gently push him a bit from you and let your hands run through his abs before tugging at his shirt, signaling for him to take it off. You wanted to make him feel just as good. He took off his shirt, revealing his toned abs.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, his smirk reappearing as he realized your intent. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"Returning the favor," you said, your voice husky with desire.

His eyes darkened with lust as you dropped to your knees in front of him, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants. You pulled them down slowly, your breath hitching as you revealed more of his skin. When his boxers followed, you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp. His cock was big indeed and the sight of him made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance and amusement.

You nodded, your eyes locked onto his impressive length. You licked your lips, your desire evident.

"Then show me," he commanded, his tone dominant. "I want to see that pretty mouth of yours around me."

You nodded, leaning in to place a soft kiss on the tip of his hard cock. He groaned, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and command.

You opened your mouth, taking him in slowly, savoring the weight and feel of him on your tongue. He let out a deep groan, his hips twitching as you began to bob your head, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

‘’Fuck, baby" he growled, his grip tightening in your hair. "You look so good like this.’’

You hummed around him, the vibration eliciting another groan from him. You quickened your pace, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length.

"That’s it," he praised, his voice breathless.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze made you shiver. His dominance, the way he looked down at you with a mix of adoration and arrogance, only fueled your desire. You wanted to make him lose control, to hear him praise you more.

You deepened your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Jungwon’s head fell back, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. "Fuck. Your mouth feels so fucking good. So fucking perfect."

You felt a surge of pride and arousal at his words, your movements becoming more fervent. His grip in your hair tightened, guiding your movements as he thrust roughly into your mouth. "You like this, don’t you?" he asked, his voice rough. "Being on your knees for me, taking my cock like a good little slut."

You moaned around him, the degrading words sending a thrill through your body. He was pushing all the right buttons, and you loved every second of it.

"Answer me," he commanded, pulling you off him just enough so you could speak.

‘’Fuck, yes, I love it," you gasped, your voice breathless and needy. "I love making you feel good."

"Good girl," he purred, thrusting back into your mouth. "Keep going. Make me come."

You redoubled your efforts, your hand stroking him in time with your movements. His breathing became more ragged, his moans louder. "I’m close," he warned, his hips bucking into your mouth. "Fuck, you’re gonna make me come."

You moaned in encouragement, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you could. With a final, guttural groan, he tensed, his release spilling into your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste and the sound of his pleasure. When he finally released his grip on your hair, you pulled back, licking your lips and looking up at him. Jungwon’s eyes were dark with satisfaction and something deeper, something more tender.

He grabbed your jaw forcefully, making you go back on your feet and crashed his lips into yours, tasting himself on your tongue. He grabbed your hips firmly.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire.

You did as he said, your heart pounding in anticipation. Jungwon pressed you against the mirrored wall, his body heat radiating against your back. He tugged your shorts and underwear down in one swift motion, and you gasped at the sudden coolness against your skin.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered in your ear, his hand gripping your chin and tilting your head up to face the mirror. “I want you to see how desperate you are for me.”

Your eyes met your own reflection, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with anticipation. Jungwon’s eyes bore into yours through the mirror, a predatory gleam in them. He positioned himself behind you, his hand sliding between your legs to tease you, finding you already wet and ready.

He smirked, positioning himself at your entrance. Without warning, he thrust into you roughly, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he filled you completely. You cried out, the sudden intrusion overwhelming, but Jungwon’s hand quickly covered your mouth.

“Quiet,” he ordered, his voice a harsh whisper. “Anyone could walk in and see you like this, see how much you love being fucked by me.”

You nodded, biting down on your lip to stifle your moans as he began to move. His pace was relentless, each thrust rough and deep, pushing you against the mirror. The sensation was intense, every nerve in your body on fire.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, his hand gripping your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to meet your own eyes in the mirror. “Look at how you’re taking me, how much you love it.”

You whimpered, your reflection showing you lost in pleasure, completely at his mercy. His other hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in sync with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much, and you felt your body tightening, the first orgasm building rapidly.

“Wonnie, I’m gonna—” you started, but he cut you off with a harsh thrust.

“Do it,” he commanded, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “Come for me, beautiful. Show me how good I make you feel.”

His words, combined with the relentless pace of his thrusts and the pressure on your clit, sent you over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Jungwon’s hand muffled your cries.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You look so beautiful when you come.”

He didn’t give you time to recover, his pace never slowing. Each thrust pushed you higher, the overstimulation making your body tremble. “Won, please,” you begged, your voice a desperate whisper. “It’s too much.”

“You can take it,” he growled, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. His fingers moved faster on your clit, the pressure building again. You couldn’t believe how quickly another orgasm was approaching, your body responding to his every touch.

“Won, I can’t—” you started, but he cut you off with another rough thrust.

“Yes, you can,” he insisted, his voice filled with dominance. He leaned in, his chest pressed against your back as his lips hovered over your ear. “You’re going to come again, and you’re going to do it while looking at yourself. I want you to see how much you love being fucked by me.”

The intensity of his words and the unrelenting pace of his thrusts pushed you over the edge again. You screamed into his hand, your body convulsing with the force of your second orgasm. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, your vision blurring as you were overwhelmed by the sensation.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jungwon groaned, his own release approaching. “You feel so good. So tight and wet. You’re fucking perfect.”

With a final, deep thrust, he came inside you, his body tensing as he filled you with his release. You both stayed there for a moment, panting and trembling, the intensity of the encounter leaving you both breathless.

After you both recovered a bit, Jungwon carefully helped you straighten your clothes, pull up your shorts and panties, and made sure you were comfortable. He guided you to sit down on one of the benches, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and concern.

“You okay, noona?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, still breathless and trembling slightly. “Yeah, just… wow.”

He chuckled, his confidence still shining through. “Yeah, wow.’’

You smiled weakly, feeling the soreness already settling in. “I don’t think I can practice anymore today. I’m too sore.”

Jungwon’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I guess I really did a number on you, huh? Didn’t expect you to be so breathless and sore. Maybe I should’ve gone easier on you.”

You gave him a playful glare. “Don’t get too cocky, now. You’re just lucky I didn’t outlast you.”

He laughed, sitting down beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Sure, sure. But that’s not what you were saying when I was indie you, huh? All I heard was you begging for more.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Now, let’s see what we can do to make you feel better.”

Jungwon stood up and retrieved a small towel from his bag, dampening it with some water from his bottle. He knelt in front of you and gently wiped the sweat from your face and neck, his touch tender and caring.

“Here, let me massage your legs a bit,” he said, his tone softening. “It’ll help with the soreness.”

You nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness. As he began to knead the muscles in your calves and thighs, you felt some of the tension easing away. His hands were skilled, and the massage was both soothing and relaxing.

“Better?” he asked, looking up at you with a warm smile.

“Much better,” you sighed, feeling more at ease. “Thank you, wonnie.”

“Anything for you,” he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. He leaned in and kissed your neck, his lips warm and gentle against your skin.

You shivered, a mix of pleasure and exhaustion washing over you. “Won, we can’t… not here. We’re already lucky nobody walked in on us.”

He pouted playfully, his eyes filled with mischief. “But I was just getting started on round two.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Maybe later. I’m way too tired right now.”

He smirked, his confidence and cockiness still evident. “Fine, I’ll hold you to that. But don’t think I’ll forget.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle hum of the studio lights created a comforting atmosphere. You laid down on the bench, your head resting on his tights, while he played with your hair.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of footsteps in the building provided a soothing backdrop to your quiet moment together. Jungwon's fingers traced light patterns on your scalp, making you feel relaxed and content.

“You know,” he began, his voice soft, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh,” you teased, peeking up at him with a playful smile. “That sounds dangerous.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Very funny, noona. But seriously, I was thinking we should go out sometime. You know, on a proper date.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised but intrigued. “A date, huh? Are you sure you can handle that?”

Jungwon smirked, his fingers still threading through your hair. “I think I can manage. Unless you’re too scared to go out with me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Scared? Please. I’m just worried you might not be able to keep up.”

“Oh, I’ll keep up,” he said confidently. “The question is, can you handle it?”

You rolled your eyes, enjoying the banter. “Alright, tough guy. Where do you plan on taking me?”

He pretended to think for a moment, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “How about dinner at that new rooftop restaurant downtown? I heard the view is amazing.”

“Ooh, fancy,” you replied, impressed. “Trying to impress me, are you?”

“Is it working?” he asked, his expression hopeful but playful.

“Maybe,” you said, pretending to ponder. “But I’m going to need more than just a nice view to be impressed.”

He laughed, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Challenge accepted. So, what do you say? Dinner tomorrow night?”

You bit your lip, considering his offer. Despite the teasing, you felt a genuine excitement at the prospect of going out with Jungwon. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a date. But only if you promise not to be late.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning seriousness. “I promise. I’ll even show up early, just to make sure.”

“Wow, early?” you teased. “You must really want to impress me.”

“Maybe I do,” he admitted, his tone more sincere. “You’re worth it.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you smiled up at him. “Well, in that case, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” he said, his fingers resuming their gentle play in your hair. “It’ll be nice to spend time together outside the studio.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and letting the comfort of the moment wash over you. “Yeah, it will be. Just you and me, no distractions.”

“No distractions,” he agreed, his voice a soft promise.

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